Page 83 of Overkill

But I didn’t hate Greg. How could I?

Even if he hadn’t meant every kind word he’d said to me, none of this was his fault.

It was mine. Mine, because I thought there was a chance. Mine, because I believed I could actually be happy. That I could feel less lonely. Mine, because…I thought someone could love me as much as the man I’d drowned in the lake.

The knowledge of what I had done was my burden to bear, and the resulting curse was that I would never be anything to anyone ever again.

A car honked as it passed me. Another tidal wave. Another splash of dirty water blurred my vision as it ran down my head and face, replacing my salted tears with the acrid taste of mud.

Maybe things would be better if I just slipped and fell into the raging river. Maybe I should just let myself get swept into the raging water, and tossed to the Hudson, and finally out to sea.

Miriam and Marcus would be fine…right?

No. I couldn’t be sure. Miriam was only fourteen, and I knew enough about my uncle that I couldn’t trust she’d be safe. Even as their blood relation, I didn’t trust them. Not him, not his sons, not the cousins. No one.

But once she was eighteen, maybe.

Maybe I would float out into the water until my legs went numb and the cramps kept me from moving. Maybe I’d slip under. Let myself go the way I let him go…

Thunder clapped and lightning cracked, its light burning into my vision long after it disappeared. It hit somewhere in the woods, the sound of falling trees joining the loud cacophony of pouring rain on concrete, on leaves, on grass.

This was real life. Cold, indifferent, dangerous. It didn’t care about me. No one did.

I was stupid enough to believe someone could, and I hated myself for it.

Another car, another honk. But this time, it didn’t pass me by in a flurry of water and waves. It stopped and parked in front of me.

The door slid open.

Ian? What the hell was he doing here?

Why wasn’t he doing volunteer fireman things? This rain was fucking biblical, and likely coming with its own flash flood, so why the hell wasn’t he helping Captain Riley with sandbagging the town’s barriers?

No, of course, he didn’t do anything like that. Grays were too good for such physical labor, right? They were there to look good and bless us with their presence, and that was it.

“Melody!” His voice squeaked; a teenager barely past his pimples. “Lemme give you a ride home. It’s pouring out here!”

What did he want? He’d never even spoken to me before. What could he want with me now?

I scoffed and crossed my arms, shivering against the cold.

“Come on, Mel.” He smiled, but it was fake. Just like the rest of them. “We’re family!”

We were not.

Never had been. Not to them, and not to me.

“What do you want, Ian?” I asked, giving him a wide berth as I started walking around his car, almost slipping where the shoulder ended and just avoiding a tumble into the carved edges of the creek.

“I’m just trying to be nice. I saw you fighting with that out-of-towner. Thought I’d lend a hand.”

Next, he probably had a bridge he’d like to sell me.

I had almost walked past him, but he stepped out of the car and stopped in front of me. My foot slipped again, kicking dirt down the embankment and into the water.

“Gosh! It’s dangerous out here. Come on. I’ll belt Marc is worried about you.”

But something niggled at the back of my mind. This was about money, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to help me. This was somehow connected to the inheritance. Everything with the Grays was about money. It always had been.