Page 14

“Let me open it,” I say, not asking.

She eyes me with the kind of scrutiny that feels like she’s trying to psychoanalyze me again. I don’t like it. Despite myself, I release her wrist, and she retreats. She nods once, permitting me to open the box as if I wasn’t planning to do it regardless.

Good girl.

I reach for the tiny double latches, flipping them upward on a pause. I know that I shouldn’t be afraid of what lies in here, but something within my soul is restless near it. I inhale once and then flip it open, scrunching my face in confusion at what’s inside.

“A music box?” we ask in unison.

Lydia laughs softly, and I turn toward the melodious sound of it without thought. Some small part of me wishes I could hear it again. I hold my breath, working overtime to keep my walls from slipping in her presence.

She’s so close, our shoulders nearly touching. Her playful expression shifts into something sharper as we lock eyes. Her gaze falls to my mouth and then back up again. A war rages within me, but I can’t be bothered to listen as I lean into her. She sucks in a breath and her eyes fall closed slowly. I drop my gaze to her lips, allowing my eyes to linger there. Her breath brushes my skin, close enough to blur the space between us, until the delicate chime of the music box cuts through the moment. We both turn, staring down at the small box.

The tiny ballerina turns in a slow circle, both arms suspended above her. I watch as the creepy doll turns away from me, her vacant stare devoid of life. The melody is familiar, yet wrong. The music feels fractured, like something is off. The air feels thicker, the walls around me growing closer. When I glance over at Lydia, she’s staring down at the tiny dancer with an expressionless look on her face—one that I recognize immediately.

Fuck.

“Lydia!” I whisper-shout, snapping my fingers in front of her face. Groaning, I lean over and push the stupid box across the floor. It hits the back wall with a loud thud, breaking in two.

Lydia’s gaze snaps to mine, her eyes wide and filled with horror. I’m moving her way within seconds, frozen in place when she falls to the ground unconscious.

Shit.

I’m brought to my knees by a loud ringing in my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut, lifting my hands to my ears to muffle the sound. The ringing grows louder, and I quickly realize that the sound is inside my head. I frantically open my eyes and look over toward Lydia, gasping when I don’t see her.

I’m no longer in the storage unit.

I’ve been transported to another time and place, where I stand staring down at Kaila’s lifeless and bloody body. Her contorted limbs lie on the damp grass next to the car. Glass covers her in a fractured array, and her blood-soaked hair hides her face. I fall to my knees next to her, pleading with her to return to me. I scream out into the frigid darkness, knowing that no one can hear me out here.

No one is coming to save her, because this isn’t real. This is only a memory, isn’t it?

I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them, attempting to pull myself from the nightmare. And finally, I find myself back in the storage unit, staring up at the aluminum ceiling. It takes several seconds for the ringing inside my head to die down completely.

A groan from the other end of the unit reminds me of Lydia’s presence. Moving fast, I jump from the ground and go to her, kneeling beside her. She moans, stirring to a wakeful state as I hesitate on the ground beside her.

She’s okay. She’s alive. She’s not Kaila.

Whatever that music box did to me must have fucked with my brain chemistry. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I stare down at Lydia and struggle against an internal battle. I resist the urge at first, telling myself that she’s alive and well without my interference. But then the next thing I know, I’m reaching forward and pulling her into my lap.

7

Lydia

Am I in Callum Thorne’s lap right now?

Either that, or I died and went to Heaven. The latter isn’t likely, though. The sky daddy would take one look at my Kindle history and ship my ass right down to the pits of fire. He’d probably hand deliver me to Satan’s doorstep himself. Ugh, that joke isn’t nearly as funny when I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Damn, my head is pounding. What the hell happened? The last thing I remember is the creepy music box playing that eerie sound, and then everything went … black.

I squint my eyes open again, catching a glimpse of Callum staring down at me. For once, he isn’t scowling. He looks worried. Worried for me. I decide to close my eyes and pretend to be unconscious for a moment longer, knowing that the second he realizes I’m perfectly fine, he’ll probably toss my ass right off of him. I nuzzle into his chest, feigning restlessness and soaking in the intoxicating scent of him for a moment longer. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right? He stops rocking, and his body stiffens as his breath comes to a screeching halt. Busted.

“Lydia,” he grumbles. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

“Who, me?” I ask, popping my eyes open and smiling up at him.

He glares down at me, that remarkable scowl returning. And as I predicted, he shifts me off of him and scoots away. Frowning, I sit up and brush down my hair with my hands.

“What happened?” I ask, standing and taking in the broken music box lying haphazardly near the back of the storage unit.

“I honestly have no fucking idea,” he mumbles, more to himself than to me. He stands, crossing his large arms over his chest as he paces back and forth.