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“What the fuck is going on?” I asked, ignoring Diana. “Are you okay?”
“It’s not her blood, Nicholas!” Diana yelled, the rain drowning out the quiet of the night that always felt like a warm blanket when I roamed the streets.
“Then whose blood is it?” I asked, ready to run inside to call the Sheriff. Or Billy. Anyone.
“It doesn’t matter,” Diana repeated.
I reached forward, ignoring Diana. I explored Sorina’s body, my hands becoming bloody. When I found no wounds, I dropped the hands I’d been holding like poison. “What the fuck did you do?”
Sorina looked at me, blinked, and the black of her eyes went away; all I saw was the blue and something in the corner of her eyes. More blood, but this seemed to leak from her like tears. “I tried … I tried to fix it. It didn’t work. It never works. I can never save them. I couldn’t save her,” she mumbled, shivering in the rain.
“Sorina, go home. Clean up. I’ll get him to bed,” Diana commanded, and my red-haired girl turned to Diana, eyes sharp. She looked like she was ready to say something, a command, but she opened her mouth, then closed it.
Diana nodded, a wordless exchange taking place between them.
I was ready to fight, prepared to yell; I’d wake up the entire trailer park if they would just fucking listen to me. But Sorina looked at me, and I saw in her eyes what I saw when we played our games, something tender, something longing. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Nicholas. If you want to …” she trailed off, turning to the woods.
I felt it then, my anger bubbling to the surface, the lingering effects of my past bundled together like raw nerves. “Fuck you both,” I said, walking away.
I heard Diana call out to me, but I kept walking. Sorina didn’t say my name, didn’t fight.
I ran to the bench under my window, opened it, then crawled inside. When I closed it and fell to my bed, I shut my eyes, listening.
The trailer wasn’t quiet. I could hear movement, and it spurred me to action. I stripped my wet clothing, throwing it in a pile on my closet floor that was my hamper. I grabbed my covers, threw them back, jumping into bed. Just as I covered myself, I heard my bedroom door open. My eyes were closed when the light from the hall spilled in.
I was turned away, and the silhouette on my wall was Valerie’s form.
I wondered if the sounds outside had woken her, or if she had been awake getting ready for work.
If she saw Diana leading me down the driveway to the back of the trailer, I knew she wouldn’t say anything. She was good at biting her tongue. But if she saw me with two women in the woods, one covered in blood, that might be another story. I steadied my breathing, pretending I was somewhere peaceful. All I could hear was my heart breaking.
After a moment, Valerie closed the door, and I opened my eyes.
I didn’t hear her go down her hall, back to bed.
I heard her walk to the front door, leaving.
When her engine turned over, I jumped out of bed, sneaking out of my room. I moved the curtains only slightly as I looked out.
She was sitting in her car—not in the uniform she wore when she worked at the café—her hands on the wheel and she was talking to herself.
I couldn’t be sure. My mind was fuzzy from the tea, from the events of the night.
After a moment, she put the car into reverse and left.
It had never occurred to me I might not be the only one sneaking away.
TWENTY-SIX
Valerie was in bed when she heard the noise. She could not sleep, could not move. The drugged feeling that had left her limbs feeling like cement still lingered. She couldn’t see his eyes, but the feeling remained. She felt dirty, wrong, and beckoned.
She was under her covers, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. She had been there since she arrive back home. She wanted to sob in the dark, in the quiet. Nicholas had been gone when she pulled up, blood on her chin, the Deacon’s spit on her lip.
She’d been grateful for that. Grateful and incredibly sad. Some part of her wanted him to be there so she could beg him to pack a bag. So they could load up her car and leave Hart Hollow. The image of the Deacon’s red smile blinked in her head with the rest of the images. The winged beast. The fire on the ranch. The red-haired girl sheathing Nicholas.
At the sound of the second noise Valerie shot up in the dark, her nightmares melding with reality. She’d seen the red-haired girl in her dreams before, her naked body wrapped around Nicholas, holding him close. She blinked her eyes, rubbing them, then holding entirely still, she listened. She heard rustling, and without a second thought, she threw her flannel comforter off her legs, leaving her bedroom. She walked through the kitchen, past the sparse living room, to the hallway. She slowly opened Nicholas’s room, finding him asleep under the covers. She watched his breathing for a moment, then closed the door.
She thought she was going mad, and hastened down the hall, tears welling in her eyes. She thought she’d seen her sister tonight. Her sister, whom she had killed. Alive and well, below the house on the hill. The Deacon had touched her, teased Valerie. She hated him, his vile lies, and how he had sounded just like Markus. Fuck him, she thought. She wanted to expose him, to let the town know a pretender sat on the hill, watching over them. She’d made it all up, what she saw, what she felt. It was a Halloween trick, though the month had passed.
