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My head slides against his soft pillow as my attention drifts to the window on the far side of the room. It looks off into the backyard, the tall trees swaying in the light breeze. It’s dark out, with the moon peeking between the trees.
I can hear the whistling of the wind through the thick branches that slap against the window, the seal around the glass cracking.
With a sense of urgency, my body flushes cold, like I need to be there, not here. Like I need to do something. It’s as if my internal clock is running out, and if I want to save Castle Pointe, this is the moment I need to do it. Right now.
My fingers drop to the covers, and I pull them back slightly while sliding out from under Felix’s arm. He stirs, his fingers gripping the comforter, and for a moment, I’m wondering if it’s me he thinks he’s gripping.
No, impossible. He hates me.
Not only that, but I hate him, right?
Right?
A part of me wants to go up to him, shake him awake, and demand he tell me what’s going on between us. There’s this thick possessiveness that rolls from him and clings onto me.
I shake my head, knowing this is not the time to dive into that raging storm. I need to listen to my gut, and at this very moment, it’s telling me to focus on what’s in front of me, what’s blaring through my mind.
To focus on making things right.
With a sigh, I tiptoe across the room, being as silent as possible as I slip into the hallway. My fingers clutch onto the oversized t-shirt that falls mid-thigh. I have no clue how this got on me, but it’s soft and light as it brushes my skin.
I hold my breath as I make my way down the hallway, quietly racing across the dark hardwood floors and down the stairs. My fingers grip the banister at the bottom as I spin around, making my way to the living room. I see my backpack inside the door, Agnes’s folder and my books stacked next to them. I grab my backpack, gripping it as I glance over my shoulder. Thankfully, no one has heard me. I don’t hear any footsteps, don’t see any lights flickering on from down the hall.
It’s just me, and the darkness.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I head toward the doorway that leads to the basement. My fingers grip the handle, and I hold my breath as I open the door, the dark hallway appearing before me.
I step down, the plush carpet comforting my toes as I make my way downstairs. The light is dim, the air silent, a little cool as it caresses my legs. Turning the corner, the movie theatre comes into view, and I walk to the other side of the couches, so I’m somewhat covered from the stairway.
If Felix finds me down here, he may actually kill me.
I’m not doing this to anger him. I’m doing this because the overwhelming sense of need barrels from my chest so painfully I could scream.
I’m running out of time.
Sitting down, I fold my legs in front of me. Then I pull my backpack around, and unzip the top, my eyes falling on the contents.
I reach inside, pulling out a bundle of sage, a handful of amethyst, crystal quartz, and pyrite stones. Then I pull out my Mason jar, unscrewing the top and pulling out a small bundle of herbs. I place them in front of me, arching them around my legs. Reaching back into my bag, I take out a small bag of salt. Pulling it open, I pinch some hard grains between my fingers, creating a barrier between me and the outside world.
Once I reach the beginning of the salt circle, I close the gap, and folding my legs in front of my strategically placed items once again, I grab my knife and bowl from inside the bag, placing them in front of my legs. I open the knife, pressing the tip against the pad of my finger, watching as a bubble of dark crimson seeps out over my creamy skin.
I mash it inside the wooden brown bowl, grabbing some herbs and picking off the top, mashing them inside the bowl.
Shoving my fingers inside the bowl, I close my eyes. I don’t need a spell, or a book, or a seance to get across what I need.
I need guidance. I need the earth to show me what I’m supposed to do. I need a path to forge out in front of me so I can walk down it. Anything.
Anything.
As if I’m not in control of my body, my thoughts turn dark, nothing besides images of heavy rain, and the bridge connecting old and new Castle Pointe. The old businesses, the station, the asylum. The mattress with blood on it, the image of the dead woman, my friends being tormented. It’s a slideshow of horror that flashes through my mind, and I’m locked in this cage of terrible memories that I can’t escape. My head whips back and forth as I attempt to think about good, but the only thoughts that slip through the corners of my mind are cracking bones and horrified screams. Even with all the strength in my blood that I use to force my thoughts back to the light, they don’t. They only grow darker.
Blood splatters, and dark figures, and heavy laughter rings in my ears, and I gasp out a breath as my hands leave the bowl, my skin popping with goosebumps as the air turns crisp. My lungs feel cold, and my eyes slide open. I can see my breath puff out in front of my lips, and they widen slightly when I see a dark figure cloaked in the shadows standing in front of me.
My fingers curl around the edges of the bowl, shaking against the ground as it stands just on the other side of the salted circle.
It doesn’t speak, yet it doesn’t have to.
Because I canfeelthe words.
