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Natalie
Pain explodes outward from the point of impact, shooting down my spine all the way to my feet.
My legs give way and I crumple to the muddy ground.
I can’t move. All I can do is stare straight in front of me. Mom is on her side, not moving, blood trickling down her face that she makes no effort to wipe away.
She’s facing me, her mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out. She’s got something in her hand. She’s trying to pass it to me. A box, hardly visible in the darkness. A box of Milk Duds. Why is she giving them to me?
A hand grabs me and rolls me onto my back. I’m looking up at a man dressed in black, his face hidden behind a white porcelain mask. The stars of the night sky are lit up behind him. Cold, distant, indifferent to my pain. Like him.
The moon illuminates the club in his hand. It’s dripping with blood.
Mom’s hand wriggles underneath me, slipping something into my back pocket. Something important.
The man is saying something. The sound comes back like I’m turning up the volume on a TV. “—doesn’t belong to you.” He snatches up the Milk Duds and pockets them. “You didn’t think we’d let you just take them, did you? You any idea what they mean?”
I look up at the club in the man’s hand. It’s growing fuzzy, my vision fading as I try to roll away from him. I can’t move. I’m frozen with fear.
He swings the club down toward me.
This is it. This is how I die.
In the mud. In the dark. Next to the body of my mother. All because of a secret that I’ll never get the chance to learn.
Chapter One
Natalie
* * *
An hour earlier…
“You’re sure he’ll let us in?” I ask as the cab drives off into the distance, leaving us huddled on the roadside. “What if this is just another joke at your expense?”
“He invited us,” Mom replies. “Both of us. Not just me.”
“But why? We’ve no money he can borrow. He knows that.”
“He’s got a birthday present for you.”
I scoff. “You don’t think he’ll just give it to me?”
“He said he would. Why would he lie?”
“To piss you off. Same reason he does everything.”
“He said it’s your inheritance.”
“I doubt that. He sold your wedding dress, sold the rings, pretended they’d been stolen. I don’t forget that shit, Mom.”
“He knows he can’t trust himself not to use it, so he’s giving it to you early.”
“Giving me what?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”
“Come on,” she says, walking toward the gates. “It’s freezing.”
I tug at her arm. “What are you going on about, Mom?”
