CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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Should've listened

to my intuition—

Not the man you pretended to be.

Never thought you'd betray me.

A pop song blares in my ears. I groan and roll over, burying my head in my pillow, waving around blindly to find my clock radio. Ugh. It's time to get up and get going because I have work in a few hours. I finally find the snooze button and slam it off.

Holy crap is my head pounding. And I'm so thirsty.

I crack an eye and groan. It's only noon. I have time. Just a little more sleep. Just a few minutes.

I had the worst dream. The worst. It was so messed up, I just want to go back to sleep and have a better dream to reset myself.

Should've listened

to my intuition

knew somethin' was wrong

now I gotta be strong


I shoot up in bed and slam the clock radio off for good this time. Argh. Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck?

I cuddle back under my faded pink and cream paisley comforter and sigh. Gray light's streaming through the blinds in my bedroom window. Dust motes float through the air, dancing in the cool light.

My shift isn't until this afternoon. I'm fine.

My stomach lets out a growl, and I flip onto my back and stare up at the cracked plaster and the ancient light fixture on my ceiling. It's ornate, cloudy glass, etched with flowers. Old ceiling paint crusts around the edges. Ugly thing, and it doesn't even work anymore.

My stomach growls even more loudly.

"Fine!"

I was dreaming about chocolate donuts. I wouldn't mind one of those before work.

I throw off my covers and swing my legs onto the floor.

Oh, God.

I'm still wearing my clothes from last night. My jeans are stiff, streaked with salt and sand. My t-shirt is wrinkled and stretched out.

It wasn't a nightmare.

I hop out of bed, tossing my covers to the floor, horror making it hard to breathe.

My bed's filled with sand.

I whirl around, seeking my windbreaker. My room's a mess, as always, covered in piles of clothes, old cords, papers, hair ties, books, who knows. I tear through it all, my heart racing, throwing things every which way.

I whirl around, setting my sights on my peeling, white children's desk. There. My windbreaker is on top of the stack of books I got when the library closed.

I grab my jacket, and as I do, I knock the books all over the floor. I collapse beside them, breathing hard, my eyes burning as I fumble with my stiff, sandy jacket.

My hands are shaking too badly to get the pocket unzipped. I think I might puke.

Like I did in the cave.

No.

I try to banish the thought of that cave, of Amanda staring at me with dead eyes and blue-tinted skin. Of the strange black spidery veins crawling up her pale arms and throat.

You got this. One step at a time. Don't panic.

I finally manage to unzip my coat pocket. My phone and wallet are inside, but my keys are missing. I lean over to plug the phone into my charger, but it doesn't light up or respond. My wallet's still intact, and my driver's license and tip money are inside.

I pull the money out, and it's soaking wet.

A scream climbs up my throat, but I swallow it back and bite my lip so hard I taste the salty, metallic tang of my own blood.

I drop everything on the floor next to the sci-fi and fantasy books beside me.

The characters on the nearest covers stare back at me, blurring as I fight back panic. Anders, Selene, Zephyr, Dritan. Their names come to me, jumbling together with my tangle of ADHD thoughts. Those guys fight to survive an apocalypse and the end of Earth. They fight to find a new and better world to live on.

I like losing myself in their messed-up world. Life is so freakin' nightmarish and crazy in those books... It makes my life feel like a picnic.

But not anymore.

Now my life's the nightmare.

And it's my brain that's fractured and defective.

This. Can't. Be. Happening!

I jump to my feet and tear out of my room and down the hallway. The wooden floorboards creak under my feet as I run past my mother's old bedroom and reach the only bathroom in our house.

The bathroom's cramped, with a small standing shower, mildewed tiles, and a sink and mirror I never seem to get around to cleaning. My hands shake as I retrieve my ADHD meds from the medicine cabinet.

I open the orange bottle, cursing the child-proof cap, and quickly count what's left. Fifteen pills, but I can't be rationing today. Today, I'm gonna need a whole one.

I slip the bitter blue pill onto my tongue and wash it down with a bunch of tap water to slake my thirst. I follow that up with two ibuprofen to try to lessen my pain and quickly brush my teeth to get the taste of ocean out of my mouth.

I slam the cabinet shut and lean close to the mirror, staring at myself through old toothpaste spatter.

I look like hell.

My shoulder-length auburn hair is loose, the elastic I had holding it up long gone. It's a mixture of waves, ringlets, flyaways, and knots, sticking up crazily on one side. There are dark circles beneath my sunken chameleon eyes, which are dark green at the moment. My angular face is ghost-pale. Haunted. That's the only right word.

There are three light scratches marring my neck.

Goosebumps pop up everywhere on my body, and I shudder.

I won't let myself think about last night. Nope.

My medication is gonna kick in any minute, and then maybe it'll all be clear. Because nothing makes sense right now. Nothing.

My chest is tight, and my stomach's doing somersaults as I head for the stairs. Every step creaks, and I freeze when I'm halfway down. What if I'm not alone? I'm not even entirely sure how I got home.

I run the rest of the way down the staircase, because there's no sneaking in this creaky, old house, and if anyone's here, they've already heard me.

My heart's threatening to leap from my chest as I reach the living room. Empty. Just the ratty old floral couch and matching armchair next to a cold fireplace.

I continue down the hall to the kitchen. Our house is tiny, and I can see right away that no one is here. My pulse slows as I take in the kitchen, exactly how I left it.

A few days' worth of dishes are piled in the porcelain sink, casualties of my ADHD, and an old cereal bowl and cup of coffee sit in my usual place at our round, wood dining room table. The back door, a flimsy affair with glass panes and peeling white paint, leads out to our tiny overgrown, fenced-in yard. The door's latched shut, just like I left it.

Was the front door also locked?

I jog back down the short hallway, past the living room, and stop at the front door, my heart pounding.

Unlocked.

I lean forward and quickly lock the door, and as I do, something catches my eye. There's a side table beside the front door where I dump all my unread mail and eventually find all my late bills.

On top of my unread mail, there's a square of folded parchment with a bright blue wax seal.

The invitation Chloe was trying to give me in that cave.

My legs go wobbly, and I sink down on the floor, my back against the front door.

It's all real.

I can't lie to myself anymore.

The magick stuff... That's all obviously bullshit. Smoke and mirrors. Magic tricks. Drugs. I don't have an explanation, yet, but there has to be one.

What's real is the part where two psychos know where I live, and they kidnapped me in that cave and drugged me, and now they're trying to frame me for Amanda's murder.

But why did they bring me home? Why the hell did they tuck me in bed and leave this letter here?

I reach up and grab the letter, my skin crawling at the thought of those two inside my house, carrying my unconscious body upstairs.

Are they outside right now, waiting for me?

Sweat beads up on my forehead at the thought, and after a minute, I find the courage to get up and sprint for my living room. I toss the invitation on the couch in front of the windows. The blinds are down, like I always have them, but there are plenty of bent spots and cracks in them. So, very carefully, I align my eye with one of them to peek outside.

The sky is gray, and a light rain has smeared the windows.

There are cars parked along the street, as always. I don't see anyone around.

But there's a black SUV parked beside the curb, one door down, and I've never seen it before. It looks way too shiny and new for my street.

And it's a Tesla.

I've seen Tesla's before—driving the 101 as they pass our rundown town right by.

Some people, somewhere, own a Tesla SUV, but I am certain none of those people live on my street. I'd be surprised if any of us even know someone who owns a Tesla.

I swallow hard and squint through my rain-blurred window.

There's a silver decal on the back window. A geometric symbol.

Like the pins Chloe and Ethan were wearing.

I blow out a shaky breath, my chest tight as I stare, trying to figure out if they're inside the car, but I can't see a thing through the tinted windows.

After a minute or so that feels like forever, I abandon the window and collapse on the ancient brown rug in front of my couch.

My medication finally kicks in, and my focus grows laser sharp. My mind empties of all thoughts except the most important one.

What do I do now?

I don't know enough about this situation. I can remember some of what Chloe and Ethan said in the cave, but only bits and pieces. I don't know enough about what happened or about who they really are. And that's putting me at a severe disadvantage.

I lean behind me to grab Chloe's invitation from where I tossed it on the couch.

The cream parchment has a weird texture, and I run my fingers along it until I reach the seal. The bright blue wax has the now-familiar geometric symbol stamped into it. It's composed of interlocking lines, circles, and triangles. I don't know what it's called, but it's on Chloe and Ethan's pins, on their cars, and on this letter.

I take a deep breath and break the seal.


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