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“Lyra!”
I slam the door in her face.
Once outside, I send Chase a text, asking him to meet me at the park. As I walk, my eyes blur with tears. It was too good to be true to think I coul
d trust Mom with the truth. Chase had warned me. He’d said that she would never believe me. That no one would. He had been right.
What am I supposed to do now? When I go home, will Mom already have looked up therapists or psychiatric hospitals? I don’t want to be put on medicine.
As I approach the park, Chase is leaning against his car, parked near a streetlamp. The light pours over his body. He looks harsh under it, but I run to him anyway. He wraps his arms around me and I cry into his chest. He doesn’t say anything. He waits for me, and when I’m ready, I tell him everything—about my fight with Mom and her threat to commit me. I tell him things I’ve never told him before, about the coins and how I make them with a thread that comes out of my palm.
He wipes my tears away. “I told you she’ll never understand. She can’t. She doesn’t see what you see.”
“I know.”
“But I understand. I see what you see.”
“What am I going to do?” I ask, not expecting him to answer, but he does.
“Leave with me,” he says.
“What?” I pull away and meet his gaze.
“Leave with me,” he says again and his arms tighten around me.
“I…I can’t.”
I might be mad at Mom and scared that she will stay true to her threat, but I can’t leave her. Poppa just died. She would be all alone, and besides, as much as running away would make me feel better right now, in the long run, I’d only feel guilty. I need Mom just as much as she needs me.
“Lyra,” Chase says, taking my hands. “Your mom will never understand you. She’ll never believe you.”
I tear away from him. He’s no longer helping me feel better, he’s just making me mad.
“Shut up!”
He moves toward me. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m only using your words, Lyra.”
I feel like he’s slapped me, and I flinch.
“You know what? Never mind.”
I start to turn, but he grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my skin. He’s never touched me this way and it has warning bells going off in my head. “Where are you going?” he demands.
“Home!” I try to pull away, but he won’t let go.
“Why would you go home? You just ran away.”
“Because I should have never come here.” I jerk away again and once I’m free, I start to run.
“Lyra!” Chase calls. Then closer, “Lyra!”
That’s when he grabs me and something sharp digs into my neck.
His breath, hot against my ear, threatens, “I'll slice your throat. I don't care how 'precious' your soul is.”
My heart races in my chest and adrenaline rushes through me as he starts to drag me back to his car. I can feel the thread rising to the surface of my palm. It’s not painful, but the feeling is distinct, like holding a sharp rock tight in my palm.
“Stop!” I scream at both Chase and the thread, but it’s too late. The blade loosens around my neck and his weight eases off me as he falls to his knees. I twist to find my thread skewering his eyes, erupting through his nose and entering his mouth. It continues to lance his body until he’s consumed in golden light, and when it fades, a glittering gold coin lays a few feet from the body.
