Page 28 of Insidious

But Lily never calls twice. She calls once and then sends passive-aggressive messages about what needs doing.

I pick it up.

“Hey—”

“Isaac, you need to come home. Now.”

Urgency entwined with panic blasts my ear. My stomach drops to my feet as my mind turns all the things that could have gone wrong. Amelie has fallen. Amelie has stopped breathing. Amelie is ill …

I close my eyes tightly, afraid to ask the question.

My grip white-knuckles the phone.

“What happened? Is it Amelie?” I ask with a croak, already pulling my jacket off the back of the chair.

“You need to get home now. Something is wrong with Luna. She called me, and she sounded … Isaac, she didn’t sound right.” Lily stops, breath hitching. I can hear the traffic on the road. “Isaac, just come. Please. I’ve called 999.”

Paralysing fear has me in its grip as I run for my car.

“I’m on my way.”

***

The drive feels longer than it should.

I don’t know how many red lights I have run. Every slow car in front of me makes my jaw clench until it aches.

And my mind won’t shut up.

It drags me back to yesterday.

“Mum,” I said, my voice sounding like a cowed teenager as I braced my hands against the counter. I needed something solid to keep me going. “I think something’s wrong with Luna.”

Mum was drying the dishes. She had always been the strong one in our family, dragging us through every crisis. I owe her everything.

The kettle whistled in the background, but neither of us moved.

“She doesn’t talk to me,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t want me touching her. I don’t know what to do.”

Even saying it had felt like scraping my heart raw.

“Yesterday,” I went on, “I asked her if she’d had a bath. I only wanted to help if she was in pain. She didn’t even respond.”

Mum turned the kettle off then.

“Mum,” I’d said, tentative, because I knew she wasn’t going to like what I said next. “I’ve been Googling.”

God.

“Do you think it’s … depression or something?” I soldiered on.

She went very quiet.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “It could be.”

“The health visitor said everything was fine,” I added quickly, like I needed to justify the fear sitting in my chest. “She came by last week … said Luna was doing well. Amelie too. Vaccinations are next week.”

I let out a breath that didn’t ease the elephant sitting on my chest.