Page 5

Useless.

Weak.

Dead weight.

Russ’s voice. My parents’ voices. Every ugly thing they taught me.

Stop.

Not now.

Not in front of her.

I grab Poppy’s face with shaking hands, forcing her to look at me. Her cheeks are streaked with soot and tears. There’s blood on her chin. Her eyes are too wide.

Too young for this.

“You need to go.” My voice cracks in half. “Find Trish. At the hospital. You tell her—” My throat tightens so hard I almost can’t get the words out. “You tell her to take care of you for me.”

Poppy shakes her head, hair sticking to the tears on her face. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

I press my forehead to hers. “Baby, please. You have to go.”

Her hands clutch my wrists. “I can’t.”

“You can.” I force the words out even though they shred me. “You’re brave. You’re so brave.”

A door slams somewhere in the back of the office.

I grab Poppy and pull her beside me, one hand fumbling across the floor for the crowbar. My fingers slip once, slick with blood, before they close around the metal.

The pounding at the front door doesn’t stop. Another hit. Another rattle of the handle.

Then a shadow stretches across the floor from the hallway in front of us.

Broad.

Tall.

Moving closer.

“Stay back!” My voice comes out raw and shaking, more wounded animal than warning.

The figure doesn’t rush. It just keeps walking, slow, hands raised.

Not like the others.

Tears and pain blur, then sharpen around red hair.

A beard.

A scar across his throat.

Relief hits first.

Then shame.

Of course he is the one who finds me like this.