Page 98 of Wicked Nightmare

As I bounced over to Rose, I caught sight of his face. The playfulness had dropped clean off. That watchfulness he got when he couldn't pin something down had taken over, the way his body shifted into scan mode without him even thinking about it. He liked Rose enough. Was curious about her at least. But he was still chewing on the whole situation, still running it through whatever filter he used to decide if something was a threat or just strange.

It should have bothered me, I guess. All that paranoia. But honestly? It just made me feel safe. Protected. Nothing could touch us as long as we had each other's backs. Same as the homes. Same as always.

I grabbed Rose's hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Ready for an adventure?"

Her face changed. Not a big reaction, not some dramatic transformation. Just this tiny shift around her mouth and her eyes, this loosening. She'd been holding herself so tight for so long that even a small release was obvious.

"Let's go," Cam said, ushering us towards the door.

As we stepped out into the grimy hallway, I bounced on my toes. A day in the sun with my favorite person and my almost second favorite in the world. Sure, Rose had only been here a week and a half, but she'd earned that spot faster than anyone else ever had. Spider had taken years. Rose took days.

What could possibly go wrong?

The city was a fucking mess, as usual. Trash piled up on street corners, the stench of piss and rot so thick you could chew it. But today, I didn't give a shit. Today was about Rose.

In the last few days, she'd opened up more and more. She estimated she was probably around twenty or twenty-one. Couldn't remember her birthday, but at least they taught her to read and write. They'd done a ton of fucked-up things to her and the other girls with her until she was the only one left. Kinda like my life, I guess. Only she remembered everything, and I didn't.

She had no explanation for that, but her scars told me her story was true. I asked her about the little girl, and she said she had no idea. She was kept mostly in the lab. Said one of the doctors was nice to her sometimes and gave her cake every now and then. Of course, that would be before they cut pieces of her skin off and sewed it back on to see if she could tolerate the pain. Or, as she put it, "to see if my pain tolerance had risen since the last time."

I'd sat there listening to her say that with a straight face, no emotion behind it, and it took everything I had not to scream. Not at her. For her. Because I knew what it was to describe the worst thing that ever happened to you in a flat, dead voice because the feelings had been beaten out of you so long ago they didn't exist anymore. I'd done it a hundred times. Cam had done it. And now Rose was doing it on our couch, picking at the peeling fabric on the armrest, and I wanted to burn Chimera to the ground with everyone still inside.

We piled into the shit-box Camry we'd kept after Skeets jacked it, the engine coughing to life like a grandpa with emphysema. I turned to Rose in the backseat, flashing her my biggest smile. "We're going somewhere special. You're gonna love it."

As we crawled through traffic, I kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out all the sights. Not that there was much to see in this shithole. But Rose's head kept swiveling between the windows, trying to take in both sides of the street at once, and her wonder turned even the graffiti-covered walls into something worth looking at.

"Look, Rose! See that building? Rumor has it, a serial killer used to live there. Fascinating, right?"

Cam shot me a look, struggling not to laugh. "She's literally bumpin' around with us. Why would she find that fascinating?"

I rolled my eyes at his jab and switched gears.

"Oh, and over there. That's where they film those cheesy soap operas. Maybe we'll spot a celebrity!"

Rose pressed her face against the window, drinking it all in. She probably hadn't seen the sun in years, judging from how pale her skin was. The thought sank into my gut and sat there. At least we got out. We got to play in the sun at the homes. Besides all the trauma, we still got to make mud pies every now and then. Rose didn't get mud pies. Rose got scalpels and observation rooms and doctors who gave her cake before they sliced her open.

It made me feel kinda shitty, to be honest. I just chalked it up to indigestion from last night's questionable takeout. Easier than admitting the alternative.

Finally, we pulled up to our destination. An abandoned amusement park on the outskirts of town. Nature had started reclaiming it, weeds poking through cracked asphalt, vines crawling up rusted rides. Abandoned places held a certain charm, and I was somewhat obsessed with them. Cam had wanted to be a cop, while I wanted to explore all those abandoned cities dotted around the states. The obsession started after some documentary talking about how people just up and left their homes if they couldn't sell, and it spiraled from there. When we found this place, I was in heaven.

"Ta-da!" I sang out, throwing my arms wide. "Our own private playground!"

Rose's eyes were as big as saucers as she climbed out of the car. She just stood there for a solid ten seconds, head tipped back, staring at the sky with her mouth slightly open. Then she looked at the park, the rusted Ferris wheel against the clouds, the carousel with its chipped horses, the overgrown paths disappearing into weeds taller than me. Which, granted, didn't take much at 5'1, but still.

She took a hesitant step forward. Then another. I held my breath as she reached out to touch a nearby carousel horse. Its paint was chipped and faded, the enamel cracked in spiderweb patterns from years of weather, but to Rose, it might as well have been made of gold. She ran her fingers along its mane, slow, careful, the way you'd touch something you thought might disappear.

A warm breeze ruffled her hair. She tilted her face up to the sun, eyes closed.

And then, it happened.

Rose laughed.

Not a nervous giggle or a forced chuckle. A real, full, honest-to-God laugh of pure joy. We'd never heard it before. It came out a little raspy, rough around the edges, and I realized she probably hadn't used it in years. Maybe ever. But it was there. It was real. And it filled that whole empty park.

Fuck.

Was this what it was? Caring about someone other than Cam? Because my chest was doing something strange and my throat was tight and my eyes were burning and if I cried right now in front of God and the rusty Tilt-A-Whirl I would never forgive myself.

I glanced at Cam. His arms were crossed, his jaw set, his whole body screaming I am not affected by this. But his throat moved. Just once. A hard swallow he probably thought I didn't catch.