Was I still dreaming? No, the pain was too real.
A gasp. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry but he got in my head- he made me,” the voice from my dream stammered.
Heat and pain and hot liquid and-
Blood. Gushing from me. Not water. Blood in my lungs.
“We were supposed to deliver him, he’s fucking valuable. You weren’t supposed to kill him!” cried the other one.
I knew those voices, but my mind was too erratic. I tried to move-
My vision darkened.
Not yet. Not yet.
“What about Miranda? We can’t just leave her- and the others can wake up any second. They'll know it was us.”
Heavy footsteps paced. “She saw us, she stays. All of them stay.”
“You fucked this up! You- you murdered him!”
“I didn’t mean to, he made me!”
Their voices distorted like I was submerged in a pool.
“All you had to do was drug him- you fuckingstabbedhim!”
Cold. I was really cold.
Acute pain muted to a dull ache as ice took its place. Gurgling warmth dribbled down my chin. Heat leaving me. Numb fingers flexed around the little book.
Capture everything.
“...his lighter and cover the couch with vodka.”
Coughing. Banging. Smoke. So much smoke. Hot. It was hot, but I was cold.
A wet wheeze- a sliver of air broke through the sludge all tainted with smoke. Everything was red. A tug in my chest- a weak cough. The bond. Hand on fire, lungs on fire, heart on fire. I reached out through the threads, finding them. All of them fraying.Miranda. Jack. Serina. Buddy. My angel was the only one far away- the only one not fraying. The journal burned hotter, those threads binding to me. Binding all of us.
Find us, Angel.
The pain finally stopped.
53
Courtney
Present
“Gofish!”
Delilah clapped her cards enthusiastically. Despite appearing as a woman in her mid-forties, Marcy housed three alters: Billy, a grouchy mechanic, Becky a horny high schooler and Delilah, an obnoxious 6-year-old.
I dropped my cards. “We’ve been playing for almost an hour.”
“Play with me!”
