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“How could I, after seeing what you did to that boy? You nearly ripped him in half in your frenzy to get at his throat.”
“And I’ll just as soon do the same to your granddaughter.”
She finally looks away, and I continue my descent, passing through her on my way to the ground floor.
Katherine and her husband have been kind to me in my captivity. I will mourn the loss of their companionship when the time comes. But if it’s between remaining Edward’s prisoner and breaking the ephemeral hearts of a few ghosts, I’ll shatter those hearts like I long to shatter the cuffs that bind me.
“I am sorry, Katherine. Truly. I won’t enjoy killing Mariah, but I won’t remain chained to spare her life. Edward needs to pay for what he’s done.”
She manifests in front of me. “Revenge will not make you whole again, William. Only forgiveness can do that.”
I narrow my gaze. “If you think I’ll ever forgive that coward for starving me like a dog, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
I circle Katherine until I’m standing behind her.
“But let me tell you what I will do. I’ll tell Edward’s daughter whatever lies are necessary to coax her into the dark, dank cellar. I will bribe her, betray her, even seduce her if it pleases me. Anything and everything to convince her to take pity on this poor confined creature. Once I’m free, I will drink from her until my strength has been restored.”
Katherine shudders.
“And then,” I continue, “after I’ve had my fill of Edward’s daughter, I will kill him, and the rest of his miserable family, before I burn his vineyard to the ground.”
Chapter Seven
Mariah
With my heart rate finally under control, I throw on yesterday’s jeans, tuck in my oversized tee, and shove my feet into my sandals. Careful not to let the wet spot touch me, I gather the soiled bedding and sneak downstairs in search of the laundry room.
The clock in the foyer says it’s just past four in the morning. Thankfully, the staff don’t appear to be up and about. I discover the laundry room tucked behind the butler’s pantry and toss my bedding into the wash. I leave a note for the staff claiming I spilled soda on my sheets and then slip out the kitchen door into the early-morning chill.
Dew on the grass makes my feet slippery inside my sandals. I tread out to the patch of vineyard where I ran into the man in my dream. It’s dark, and I nearly trip twice. The air is heavy and cold. I could kick myself for forgetting to grab my grandpa’s flannel.
Smoothing the gooseflesh from my arms, I glance around to make sure I’m alone. Unlike in my dream, there’s no music, no dancing ghosts, no mysterious man reaching out to touch me. Just the sound of crickets chirping, and a few distant stars on the horizon.
I didn’t expect the man to be here waiting for me. It’s not like he is—or was—a real person.
Even so, I can’t recall ever having such a vivid dream about a real-life location. The whole thing felt more like an out-of-body experience.
My mom used to wander around our neighborhood while she slept, snooping in people’s windows and backyards. “The Careys finally got a thicker set of curtains,” she’d tell me the next morning. Or, “Looks like it’s Mrs. Sullivan who isn’t cleaning up after her dog.”
I would’ve liked to have woken up with a funny story to tell about my first nighttime walk about, instead of waking up and being pissed on.
What Christopher did to me was nothing short of vile. I don’t know whether to be more terrified or disgusted. He didn’t exactly hurt me, but the potential was there, and that was the point.
He wanted me to know that things could get worse—a lot worse.
Coming here may have been a mistake, but it’s not like I had much choice in the matter. My mom was convinced that this is where I need to be right now. Had she seen what Christopher would do to me? Had she heard the awful things his mother would say?
Mom didn’t always tell me everything she saw in her visions. I think she wanted to afford me as much normalcy as possible, even when I begged her for a heads up. What’s the point of having a mom who can see the future if she can’t help you avoid embarrassment or heartbreak?
When I begged her to tell me if my first high school boyfriend was going to break my heart, she said, “Knowing about awful things before they happen is only helpful if you can prevent them, and we can’t prevent them. Things happen the way they’re meant to. You can only brace yourself and prepare for what’s coming.”
“But you couldhelpme brace for it,” I said.
She just shook her head. “Trust me, sweetheart. It’s better not to know.”
Of course she was there when I found out he was cheating on me a week later, waiting in the car outside his house with two of my favorite candy bars and a box of tissues.
I’m still on the fence as to whether I agree with her that it’s better not to know about things before they happen.
