Page 19 of Possess Me

And try as I might, I don’t remember getting back into bed beside Damien.

Relief floods through me. I’m not crazy.

I laugh out loud. I’m not crazy, and the journal isn’t possessed.

I was dreaming. Of course, I was dreaming. That’s why the words on the page changed—because they only changed in my dream.

I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Apparently, your wife sleepwalks.”

He cups my cheek. “Apparently, she does.”

“It’s probably because of the house. Unfamiliar. The bogeyman. All that jazz.” I slide his hand from my cheek to my lips, then kiss his palm. “But I have you to look out for me.”

“Always,” he says, the word so full of love I feel tears prick my eyes.

“We should get going.” I nod to indicate that we’ve stopped on the path. “I’m kind of starving. Those late-night walks work up an appetite.”

He laughs, the worry fading a bit from his face. And when it does, something inside me cries out. Screaming that he’s wrong to be soothed. That we both are. Because everything is off—is wrong.

But the words won’t come. Instead, I hear a little mantra in my mind—it will be fine, it will be fine, it will be fine. And so I force my worries back, then twine my fingers with his as we hurry the rest of the way to the beach and the dock where The Veronica is moored.

Sylvia spots us right away, rising from her seat at the pretty picnic table on the beach. “I was beginning to think you got lost."

“We’re three minutes late,” Damien says, glancing at his watch.

“The great Damien Stark? I thought he was never late for an appointment.” She grins as she hurries toward us, then hugs us both in turn.

“Where’s Jackson?” I don’t have to ask about the kids—I can easily see Ronnie and Jeffery playing in the surf.

“In the galley.” She nods toward the boat. “Playing chef.”

Damien chuckles. “That’s something I want to see,” he says, then kisses my forehead before heading toward the boat.

I take a seat across from Sylvia, who’s already half into a mimosa. She pours one for me, and I take a sip, relishing the bubbles and, frankly, looking forward to getting buzzed. Maybe even drunk.

Anything to forget.

Sylvia props her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands as she leans forward to study me. “Okay, tell. What’s wrong?”

I take a long swallow, downing the mimosa. “It’s just...weird stuff at the house.”

“Oh! So it is haunted!” She leans forward. “Creaky floorboards? Flickering lights? Full-on poltergeist? Tell me everything.”

Despite myself, I laugh. "Nothing so dramatic. Just—it’s hard to explain. Weird vibes,” I say, realizing as I speak that I feel more like myself now. Was it all my imagination last night?

“A house with a vibe. That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Yeah, well, I also thought I saw something in the mirror last night.”

“Something?”

I pick up the pitcher and refill my mimosa, then take another long swallow. “Vivien.”

Her brows shoot up. “Wait. What?”

“She was bleeding.” I stifle a shiver. “It was … well, it really freaked me out.”

“Hell, yeah, it did.” She lowers her voice. “What did Damien say?”