Page 1 of Whispers From The Dark

2015

PETRA

As my blood swirls around the porcelain, I pretend. For just a minute, I close my eyes and imagine I’m somewhere else.

In my mind, it’s springtime, and I’m washing my hands clean of paint in the school bathroom. Gabi is giggling at the next sink over, telling me all about how Eric kissed her in the wings after rehearsal. There are only a few more set pieces to finish painting before the end-of-year musical, and everything has to be perfect. If I screw my eyes shut and pretend hard enough, my biggest worry is that Ms. Short won’t choose me for set design next year. My dad is still answering my texts, and Jack hasn’t been born yet.

I’m a normal freshman girl for a moment, and it’s just crimson paint swirling against the stark white of the sink. It’s not my blood, and I’m not hiding in the bathroom of The Crossroads. I’m not inside some hole-in-the-wall bar in a sketchy area of Chicago. And yet.

As the door thumps open, I jump, glad my sink is within the privacy of the accessible stall. Ignoring the trickle of pee from the next toilet over, I use my teeth to rip at the athletic tape I brought and try not to think about how unsanitary everything is.

Maria shouldn’t be much longer. Since I refused to go to the hospital, Gabi convinced me to ask her nursing student sister to look at the slice down my arm. I hope all she’s going to recommend is a bandage.

Because there’s no freaking way I’m going to the hospital.

They’ll take one look at the vertical cut down my arm and think I did it to myself. The doctors will put me on a psych hold—complete with grippy socks and meds I don’t need.

I’m not depressed, I’ve just got a shitty life. But telling them would make things worse.

I lean against the wall near the diaper-changing station, and I can only stare at it as I pull Mom’s phone out of my purse. Who would bring a baby to a sketchy Chicago bar? Let alone this one.

Even Mom made a face when Gabi brought up her sister’s new job the last time she was over. It’s Mom’s loss, though, since the beer is cheap. If she knew I was here, my mom would do a lot worse than throw a pair of scissors at me. It was stupid of me to ask if she was too drunk to be cutting her own hair while she was holding them—but coming here? Way worse.

I just have to hope an entire case of Milwaukee’s Best will keep her asleep. I took her phone so none of her booty calls can wake her up. But Jack is a baby, and he’s unpredictable—even though he started sleeping through the night since I swapped his formula brand.

I huff a breath, frustrated that Maria is taking so long, annoyed that I let Gabi talk me into this. I’m sure it’s fine.

When I glance down and see blood seeping through the athletic tape, I wince. I need to get home before Mom knows I’m gone, or else I’ll definitely end up in the hospital, or the neighbor will call the cops again. Jack and I would be put into foster care, and we’d probably end up separated.

There is no fucking way I’ll allow that to happen.

Not wanting to think about that possibility, I swipe open the baby monitor app on Mom’s phone. When I see my little brother breathing deeply, little fist curled up at his mouth, I exhale a shaky breath.

“You alright in there?”

The woman from one stall over is washing her hands, and I can see her through the crack in the door. She’s tall, wearing leather pants, and her vivid red hair is curled in a way that makes her look like an old-time movie star.

“I’m fine,” I say, voice a little squeakier than I intended. Biting my lip, I grimace, hoping she doesn’t suspect that I’m underage.

“Maria’s sister’s friend?” she asks, voice as thick as syrup. She bends forward to inspect her makeup, and I watch her through the gap in the stall, admiring the reflection of her smooth ivory skin as she reapplies her mascara. She is so pretty that I feel nervous. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t deal with kids—too risky.”

I say nothing, hoping she’ll just leave me alone. She swipes on her lipstick as her gaze meets mine in the mirror. Through the crack, she watches me with dark green eyes—and winks. Just as I break eye contact, I swear the green flashes black, but she’s walking out the door before I can confirm if I’ve lost my mind or not.

“I’ll tell her to hurry, angel.”

Despite her warm molasses tone, a chill sweeps over me. I glance down, realizing I’ve gotten blood on my tank top and it’s sticking to my skin. I shake off the discomfort, both from the unsettling woman and the pain, and slide down to wait on the dirty bathroom floor.

1

PETRA

“Are you freaking kidding me, Jack?”

My little brother sits on his bed with his head in his hands, fingers dragging through his light hair. When I checked on him to make sure he was ready for bed, I hadn’t expected to see a broken window over his desk. Eyes wide, I step inside and carefully shut the door behind me.

“What were you doing?” I hiss, keeping my voice low so Mom doesn’t hear us. No matter how irritated I am, I won’t resort to involving her. Especially after dinnertime.

“It was an accident,” he mumbles, then he looks up at me with those big blue eyes, and I do my best to steel myself. Jack looks nothing like me, though we share a mother. His baby blues and sandy hair come from his dad. With my dark hair and light green eyes, the only commonality we have is light fawn skin, quick to tan in the sun. When he was a baby, I called him Herc because he reminded me of the tiny hero from the Disney movie, glowing and adorable. Those big, tear-filled eyes make it hard to stay frustrated with him.