Cheeks flushed a bright red and eyes bloodshot, Mr. Henry dragged Rider across the dirtied, ripped linoleum floor by the arm. Rider was almost as tall as Mr. Henry now, but the man had a good hundred pounds on Rider. He was yelling so loudly I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but Rider wasn’t struggling. He covered his nose with one hand. Blood ran between his fingers. My tummy twisted.
Mr. Henry threw open the back door. Cold air rushed in as tiny snowflakes fell across the yellowish-white floor. The storm door, broken, swayed unsteadily in the wind. “I’m done with your shit, boy. You think you have it bad? Maybe you’ll realize just how lucky you have it after a couple of hours out there.”
In a stuttered heartbeat, Mr. Henry shoved Rider outside, onto the snow-covered porch. I cried out, peeling myself off the wall. Rider couldn’t be outside. He was just in a shirt and jeans. It was too cold.
The door slammed shut. It was too late.
Mr. Henry whirled on me, and trepidation seized my heart.
Fists pounded on the door, from the outside, and I started to back up. Nothing was between Mr. Henry’s unfocused gaze and me.
“Get out of my face, girl,” he shouted, spraying spittle into the air. “Or you’re gonna regret it real quick!”
Spinning around, I ran out of the kitchen and into the den. I pressed myself against the wall as I lifted my arm, dragging my fingers against my nose. Pain spiked, but there wasn’t a lot of blood on my hand when I lowered it.
Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.
Heart pounding fast, I listened to Mr. Henry stomp into the living room. A second later, sound blared out of the TV. He was seriously going to leave Rider outside. Oh my God, he wouldn’t last out there in the cold and the snow. I had to do something.
Waiting a few minutes, I turned and slipped around the wall. I crept up the stairs, careful to not be heard, and I walked down the hallway.
Don’t go inside the room. Don’t go in that room.
I pushed open the door. Soft yellow light flickered. Miss Becky was on the bed. Calling out her name, I walked up to the bed and I touched her. Her skin felt wrong, and I knew. I knew deep down, something was very wrong. A scream bubbled up in my throat.
Don’t make a sound.
Screams—there were screams, and I couldn’t keep quiet, because they were mine. I backed out of the room. Mr. Henry shouted from downstairs as I ran down the steps. I had to get to Rider and we had to get out of here. My heart was pumping so fast, and I knew what was coming, and I didn’t want to see it, but I’d already seen it.
Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.
I reached the kitchen door and then Mr. Henry was there, yelling and spitting. I couldn’t get any words out. He grabbed my arm, hauling me toward the living room. Flames crackled from the fireplace as he stopped in front of his recliner. Still holding on to my arm, he bent over, reaching behind it.
This is just a dream. Just a dream. Wake up.
Straightening, he clutched Velvet in his fist. I’d known that the doll was there. He’d taken her from my room three months ago because I hadn’t put the cap back on the milk tight, like he wanted. I’d known exactly where the stuffed doll was, but I also knew not to touch her.
He shoved Velvet in my face as he let go of my arm. I stumbled, the back of my legs digging into the edge of the coffee table.
Wake up. Wake up.
Mr. Henry cursed. “Fucking sick of this shit. Got a little smart aleck and a damn retard I got to take care of.” Squeezing the doll in his fist, he stormed toward the fireplace.
My eyes widened and—
“Mallory!”
I came awake, jackknifing up as I gulped in air. I wasn’t alone. Hands were on my arms. I screamed again, voice hoarse as I tore myself free.
“It’s okay,” the voice came again, and I was slow to recognize that it was Carl. “It’s okay, Mallory. You were having a nightmare...again.”
“Dark,” I managed, pushing back against the headboard. “It’s—” The bedside light flipped on, flooding the room in soft light, and there was Carl, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. His hair a disheveled mess, sleep clinging to his eyes and his white shirt wrinkled as he placed his hand on my forehead.
My chest hurt.
“It’s okay, Mallory.” Carl smoothed his hand over my damp hair. “It’s just a nightmare. Everything is okay. You are safe now.”
Safe.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was safe now, but the past...the past wasn’t. It never would be, and it would be haunting me forever.
Carl left the bed and returned a few moments later with a chilled bottle of water. He handed it over. “I want you to drink it slowly.”
With shaky fingers, I unscrewed the lid and raised the bottle to my lips. I took a small sip and then another, cooling the back of my parched throat.
He waited until I lowered the bottle and said, “We’re worried, Mallory.”
My breath caught. He didn’t mince words. Carl never had.
“You haven’t had nightmares in almost two years, but you’ve been getting them quite regularly since you started school,” he said, eyeing me intently. “We’re worried.”
“About?”
He tilted his head to the side. “About you and school, about Rider being back in your life, and maybe it’s too much, Mallory. You—”
“It’s not too much,” I interrupted. “It was just—”
“You’re having nightmares again,” he continued as if I didn’t know this about myself. “We’re just concerned. We don’t want you overwhelmed.”