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He’d had a ring of tiny keys. The sixth one had worked.
Moving her shoulder into the mirror’s view, she pushed at the red stripe on the outside of her biceps. And remembered getting shot. In fact, every time she blinked, more flashes of memory came back, and they were so vivid, she heard the sounds and smelled the smells that went along with them.
Screams. Moldy, damp air. Gunpowder.
Blood. So much blood.
Thrusting the recollections aside, she refocused on her pants. They came off only with effort, the wet, muddy fabric clinging to her legs— and she had a thought about how much of a mess she must have made in the back of the Volvo.
When she dropped them to the old tiled floor, the fleshy sound they made turned her stomach.
Before she got in the water, she used the toilet because Posie had said she had to. And it was the best piddle she had had in her entire life, the only thing that had felt good in what seemed like an eternity.
The bath was even better. But it came with the price of thinking of the hidden pool. Of Jack. Of them being together.
As she sank into the warm, gentle embrace of the water, she knew she was going to have to get used to the mourning. It was a part of her now, something as permanent as her arms and legs, as dispositive as the beat of her heart and the draw of her lungs.
Laying her head back on the curve of the tub, she closed her eyes and the tears that escaped were hot as they slid down her cheeks . . . and joined the now dirty brown bath water.
Knock, knock—
“I’m fucking fine,” she snapped.
The door opened anyway. Posie leaned in. Looked in. And then retreated with a warning that there would be another five-minute check coming.
Aware that she had to get on with it, Nyx sat up and gripped the sides of the tub. Rising to her feet in the water, she couldn’t believe how filthy things had gotten. She turned on the shower at the same time she took the drain plug out.
Posie was wrong. She did manage to stand on her own, although she made sure she didn’t let things get too hot.
Soap was a revelation. Shampoo and conditioner as well.
Nyx reflected, as she tilted her head back and winced from the sting at her temple and the stiffness, that when you did something every day, you got used to the benefits of the service. Cleanliness. Clean water. Food that was unspoiled and prepared to taste. Rest on a soft bed in a safe place. It was a luxury to complain about inconveniences like parking tickets and coworkers who reheated cod in the company microwave and storms that took your power for a night and plumbing that leaked.
Nyx had to wash her hair through twice.
And when she got out, the dirt rim around the white porcelain was so thick, it was like a stain. She had a thought that she should get the Scrubbing Bubbles right now, but she didn’t have the energy. Then, as she toweled off, she realized she hadn’t brought anything in with her to change—
On the back of the door, a pink bathrobe had materialized on the towel hook.
Posie had clearly done another check-in.
Nyx wrapped herself in the softness and cranked the tie around her waist. As she went to open the door, she noted every single ache and pain. Considering what she had been through, it could have been so much worse.
She had Jack to thank for all of that. His blood, so pure and strong, had sustained her.
The bathroom door opened soundlessly. Then again, it had had plenty of Posie warm-ups.
Beneath her bare feet, the floorboards creaked softly and she smelled something coming from the kitchen that made her mouth water. Onions sautéing. Beef.
Posie was making her something to eat—
Nyx stopped in the archway. Across the shallow space, at the table with its four chairs, there were two males sitting down in front of the place settings.
The one with his back to her had thin, small shoulders and shaggy brown hair.
Just as Posie pivoted at the stove, one hand on the pan’s handle, the other on a spatula, the pretrans did the same, his narrow torso twisting around in the chair.
His eyes, his brilliant, gleaming, aquamarine blue eyes, looked up at Nyx.
Someone made a strangled sound.
Herself?
Yes.
That was all she remembered as she passed out cold where she stood.
The following evening, as the moon rose over the farm and the heat dropped some, Nyx stepped out onto the porch. As she looked over the property, the barn and the pasture were like something out of an artist’s rendering, so perfect and homey, with the graceful, full trees, and the healthy grass, and the fences that undulated across the meadows.
