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Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Theywere coming.
She was so frightened; she wanted to hide, but there wasn't anywhere to go up here where they wouldn’t find her, and she should know she’d been here for so long.
The lock turned, and the sound seemed so loud—too loud.
The door creaked open, but no one was there.
Surprised, Clara took a step toward the open door—perhaps she could escape through it and finally go home.
She took another step but something stopped her. Something cold and sharp at her neck.
She wasn't in the attic anymore. Now she was in a car.
“I’m sorry, Clara.”
Something wet and sticky began to flow down her neck.
Blood.
A bang as loud as an explosion resonated through the vehicle.
For some reason, Clara knew what she was going to see even before she turned around.
She didn’t want to turn. She didn’t want to see it. And yet, turn she did.
Tommy was lying on the backseat covered in blood.
So much blood.
It was everywhere.
Flooding the car.
“Tommy!” she screamed.
He didn’t respond.
“Why, Tommy, why?” she sobbed.
“Clara!”
Someone was shaking her.
“Clara!”
She woke up with a gasp and bolted upright, panting and disoriented.
“Clara, are you with me?”
The room faded in and out a couple of times before stilling, and she realized it was her bedroom. She wasn't still trapped in that horrible attic, or in her car with Tommy.
“Clara? Are you okay?”
She focused her gaze on the face in front of her. She half expected it to be Tommy’s, but it was her sister’s instead.
Naomi’s brown eyes were brimming with concern as they searched her face. “You with me, Clara? Are you okay?”
