I thought Keith was nightmare enough.
I didn’t count on the way his violence would tendril out and lead me to other nightmares. Silas Baker is very angry. He’s angry in a way that’s trying to pretend he’s not, but I see him. I’m the only person in this city who sees him. His hand is out and my hand is holding his phone. 451 Twining Street, Langford. 451 Twining Street—he rips it from my grasp and I don’t even flinch. Langford. 451 Twining Street.
“Who are you?” His voice is low and dangerous.
“—”
“Who are you?”
“I’m L-Lera. H—”
“No. You’re not.” He looks out onto the empty street. “Because I met the Holdens this morning. They have a daughter but she’s not you.” He turns back to me. One of his hands grips the frame of my car, the other the top of its open door. “You followed me.”
I shake my head.
“You followed me this morning. I saw your car.”
“I d-don’t know w-what you’re t-talking about.”
His grip on the door tightens. I watch his knuckles go white. His gaze travels over my body, to my eyes, trying to figure me out; if he actually knows me, has ever known me, if he should know me. His attention shifts beyond me, inside my car. The dirty clothes tossed in the backseat, crumpled food wrappers. My green bag in the passenger’s side. He reaches across me for it and I push back at him hard enough to make him stumble. I make a frantic reach for the door to close it, but he recovers too quickly and jerks it all the way open, making it groan.
“You took my phone. What else did you take?”
“G-get the f-fuck—get the fuck away!”
He pushes me back against the seat, his hand pressed against my throat to keep me there. He leans inside and makes that same reach for my bag and I choke against the pressure. My fingers fumble into my pocket for the switchblade. I get it out and push the release and the sharp tip of the blade pokes against his abdomen. He stares in bewilderment at the knife and then slowly raises his eyes to meet mine and I think, yes.
This is where I kill Silas Baker.
I push the knife forward at the same time his hand comes behind my neck. He slams my face into the steering wheel. The shock of it, the pain of it, overloads my senses and my body goes limp. The switchblade slips from my fingers and drops into the footwell. He pulls me bodily out of the car and I realize, dully, there’s blood on me, but it’s not his.
It’s supposed to be his.
And—oh, there it is, the belated, dizzying pain of impact. Did he break my fucking nose? His hold on me is bruising. Blood is pouring out of my nostrils and now it’s on him too.
“Who are you?”
My eyes roll side to side, hoping to glimpse someone pressed against the window of one of the houses surrounding us, readying to call the police, but there’s no one. The only sound I can hear is his labored breathing. His chest heaves. I lick my lips. They taste like copper.
“You know how much trouble you’re in? I’ll call the police.”
“You w-won’t,” I say thickly and then, “Y-you can’t.”
What little pretense left between us disappears.
“What do you think you know?” He hisses. His breath is hot on my face, unbearably close. When I don’t answer, he grabs me by the cheeks, squeezes them like Keith. “What do you think you know, huh? You want money, is that it? What do you think—”
It takes both of my hands to get him off me. He pushes me to the ground and my chin connects with the driveway before the rest of me does, my skin wearing against the pavement. I spit, roll onto my back and stare up at him and then I scream. He jerks toward me and I scramble back, dirt and pebbles tearing into my elbows. I yell louder, letting my voice become one clear, ugly note across his perfect life.
“Dad, what the hell—”
Silas takes several steps back at the sound of his son.
“Oh my God, Daddy—”
Kendall.
Noah and Kendall stare stupidly at the scene in front of them not knowing what to make of it. They see blood, they see me on the ground, they see their father standing over me and they don’t move. Neither of them move to help me.
“She’s not who she says she is.” Silas points at me and I get to my feet slowly, watching the blood from my nose pattern the pavement. “I met the Holdens—I met them this morning and this is not their daughter. She’s some kind of … drifter. Some thief! She tried to steal my phone, she pulled a knife on me—”
“Oh my God.” Kendall moves to the house. “I’m calling the police—”
“No!” Silas bellows and she stops in her tracks. He points to me. “You—get the hell out, get the hell off my property—get out of here!”
I take halting, dazed steps to the car. Silas moves away from me and Kendall rushes forward and grabs at his arm, pulling him to her. I sniff and immediately regret it, the taste of blood thick and metallic at the back of my throat. I ease into my car slowly and pull out of the driveway. By the time I’m at the end of the street, I’m shaking so hard, I don’t know how I’m driving and in my head, three, no four words:
451 Twining Street, Langford … 451 Twining Street … Langford.
When Silas Baker’s house feels far enough away, I pull over.
A long, long time ago, when Mom had just left, I ran a fever of 105. May Beth was too many states away, visiting family and I was so sick, I didn’t know my own name, no matter how many times Mattie called me by it.
Sadie, I think you’re sick.
Sadie, you gotta tell me what to do …
Sadie, I think you’re dying.
She ended up phoning my boss, Marty, who bundled me into his pickup and took me to the hospital an hour away, where they stuck an IV in my arm and waited for the numbers on the thermometer to go down. May Beth cut her family vacation short just to look after me and I was so mad at everyone I didn’t speak to any of them for a week.
Whole thing ended up costing us too much.
I stare down at myself. My shirt is soaked in my own blood, my nose still bleeding. I’m glad Mattie isn’t alive to see this because I can just imagine her hands fluttering uselessly beside me because she never knew what to do when I needed something, when I needed help. Never. You can’t blame her for it, though. She shouldn’t have had to.
She was just a kid.
Kids shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff.
It’s not right any other way.