AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It wakes her, her lids opening slowly. She blinks a couple of times as she focuses on me. “You’ve been crying.”
“A little.”
“For Arran.”
Unheeded, tears begin to flow again. “Ugh, why does this keep happening?” I wipe the sleeve of my shirt over my eyes.
“You miss him.”
I shake my head, trying desperately to deny it. “How can I miss him after everything he’s done? He’s a bad man.”
Maisie pushes herself into a sitting position and pats the spot beside her. I sit there and take her hand.
“He did something really bad,” she says. “But he didn’t know, right?”
I consider her question for a second. “No.”
“I don’t think he’s a bad man.”
“You think I should forgive him.”
“Do you have a choice? You’re so sad. We’re both so sad. Is keeping him away worth it?” Her question shocks me. “I want to go home, Skye.”
Pulling her toward me, I place my chin on her head. Tears roll from my eyes, landing on her hair. “This is our home now, Maze.”
“Is that true? Or are you just saying it for my benefit?”
I wish it to be true, because I ache for home just as much as Maisie does. At least, that’s what I say formybenefit.
But the truth is that when I shut my lids and think of that warm place I want to return to, it’s not the house in Chestnut Hill I grew up in. It’s not even the house on Delancey Street. It’s the arms of the man I…
Abruptly, I straighten, wiping the wetness from my cheeks. I cannot love him. I cannot love the monster who killed my father.
Needing to change the mood, I reach for Maisie’s sketchbook. “Do you have anything new?”
“Not really.”
I flip through the pages. Many of her drawings are ones I’ve seen before. Some I haven’t.
But it’s one that Ihavethat gets my attention because something is different. She’s changed the clothes of her character, making the shirt she wore into a turtleneck, adding a few knives and weapons. And the title. What once readRagehas been scratched out. Beneath it is a new one.Scarlet.
That’s the source of my sister’s sadness. This woman who was a part of her traumatic capture. Stockholm syndrome can take many shapes. In her case, she sees Scarlet as some hero.
“She’s not Rage,” I say, annoyed.
Maisie snatches the book. “I never said she was.”
“But you believe it.” I tuck a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. Softening my tone, I say, “She’s not your character come to life, Maze.”
She peers at the picture. “Except she is.”
“No, she’s not. You’re too old to believe something like that.”
“Skye, she’s exactly the way I’ve drawn her. It’s like…” As she searches for the word, her face lights up and I feel a pang of jealousy that she looks up to her so much. “It’s like I wished her to come to me and she did. And ifshedid, then maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe Momma can too.” She flips the page and shows meJustice Girl, the character she based off our mother.
