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Even though the book is full with my creations, she’s my favorite. Probably because I didn’t exactly create her. She already existed.
“Momma,” I whisper as I trail my fingertip over the sketch. “I miss you.”
“What are you doing?” I look up to find Scarlet leaning against the doorjamb.
“Nothing.”
She frowns. “Thinking up new cartoons to draw?”
“They’re comics,” I remind her. “And no. There are no blank pages left.” I shut the book and toss it across the bed with a loud sigh.
“Hmm. Well, I’m going to take a shower. Afterward, we can order something to eat.”
“Whatever,” I say and wait for her to leave.
When her footsteps disappear, I grab the sketchbook again. I flip it open to Rage. Damn, Scarlet seriously reminds me of her. A part of me feels like maybe she’s Rage come to life.
But Mom and Scarlet aren’t the only ones my characters resemble. I turn to one of the last pages, until I come toHacker. She’s a feisty teen who can hack into any system. There’s no firewall too high, no password too unique that can keep her out.
A plan begins to form in my head, one I don’t really have time to think over too much. I leave my room and go down the hall, pausing at Scarlet’s suite.
I peek inside. Beyond the bed is the door to her bathroom. It’s slightly ajar, but I can’t see through the crack.
Moving as quiet as a mouse, needing to be sure she’s in there, I step close enough to see her through the reflection in the mirror above the sink. She bends out of sight, turns on the shower, and when she comes into view again, she’s taken off her long-sleeve turtleneck. I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp at the horror of what I see.
Dozens of thin scars cover her back, from her shoulders all the way down to her waist. Zigzagging lines that have no rhyme or reason.
She gets into the tub and pulls the shower curtain closed. I blink several times, trying to get the image out of my head. Was she in an accident? Or worse, was she whipped?
I shove all those thoughts out of my mind and leave the room.
Down the hall, right before the kitchen, is Scarlet’s office. I’m sure if she had any idea of what I can do, she would have locked the door. Or, at the very least, secured her computer.
Sliding into the chair, I open the laptop and go to work. It’s not that hard to get in if you know how to bypass certain login screens. Which I do.
“Sorry, Momma,” I say, glancing upward. She’s probably looking down from Heaven with disappointment. Although Daddy did always say that Skye needed to go into law so she could keep me out of jail, my mom was probably hoping that wouldn’t actually happen.
“That is the sort of thing I arrested people for, Maze,” I can almost hear her say. “We must abide by the law if we want others to follow.”
Doing what’s right is what got her killed.That thought has me pausing, my finger over the Return key.
I don’t want to disappoint Momma. But I also don’t want to die.
I hit the key, and I’m in. Windows pop up as the screen fills with whatever applications were being used before it was shut down.
The last to load are a set of PDFs. I’m about to click out of them so that I can search files when I catch a glimpse of what they are. Newspaper articles from November of 2004. But it’s not the date that has my attention. It’s the photograph of a little girl.
Eight-year-old Tamberleigh Johnson was found wandering the streets of Jackson after her parents, Travis and Elaine Johnson, were brutally killed just outside the city. It is believed that the young girl was witness to the murder, and she’s been taken into protective custody.
Leaning in, I get a better look at her. She has curly blonde hair and chubby cheeks and could be anyone. But her green eyes tell me who she really is. Scarlet.
“Take your fingers off the keys.” There’s a click before she presses something hard to the back of my head.
I instantly lift my hands. “Don’t shoot. I didn’t see anything.”
“Liar.” She reaches around me and slams the laptop shut. “Get up.”
“I can explain.”
