I’m in bed with Molly snuggled against me, curled into the spot where my knees are bent. She’s warm and solid, a comforting presence in my otherwise empty bed. But I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, tempted to take the sleeping pills I keep in my bathroom drawer in case of an emergency. Not too long ago I’d been somewhat addicted to them—well, more like dependent on them. I finally went off them cold turkey, not liking how I felt when I took them. It was a strange feeling. Almost suffocating.

But right now, I’m tempted. Anything to quit worrying about being alone and get some actual sleep. I have a busy week ahead with plenty of schoolwork to keep me occupied. Yet I already miss Will. It’s stupid; I shouldn’t be so dependent on him, either, but I am. I like having him lying next to me, always with an arm around my waist or my head resting on his shoulder. He’s a comfort, always grounding me, always making me feel safe and loved.

Reaching up, I touch the guardian angel charm, my fingers slipping over the wings’ ridges. I love that he took the broken bracelet and added the charm to a necklace for me, that I can wear it closer to my heart. He promised he would come back to me in one piece and I know he will. He never breaks a promise.

But will I remain in one piece while he’s gone? I already feel like I could shatter, and I hate that. Where’s confident Katherine? I’d been trying so hard to become her. To become the woman I wanted to be. Yet the cracks in my surface first appeared when Molly disappeared.

Actually, those cracks appeared even sooner, when Lisa told me what Aaron Monroe said about Will using me. It still upsets me that I could doubt Will, though he has given me reason to not believe in him. I understand his reasoning behind the deception and I’m mostly over it.

Mostly.

I can hear the rainfall outside and I roll over on my side, careful not to disturb Molly too much. She’s doing so well, seeming to find her balance rather easily despite losing her leg. I’m proud of her, and so thankful we didn’t lose her. She was so happy to see us when we went to pick her up.

“We’re going to leave first thing in the morning,” I tell Molly as I reach out and pet her head. “I’m too spooked here, girl. We need to go spend time with your grandma.”

I sound ridiculous, referring to Mom as Molly’s grandma. Irritated with myself, I slip out of bed and go to the bathroom, opening the drawer and pulling out the bottle of prescription sleeping pills. I pop the lid and shake one capsule into the palm of my hand, then dry-swallow it, grimacing when I finally get it down. I go back to bed, pulling the covers up over my head.

Within minutes I can feel the pill already working. My head feels like a cloud, soft and hazy, and there’s a giant moth fluttering over my face, its wings buzzing, brushing against my cheeks. I roll over on my back and let the moth take me, swallow me . . .

My phone dings and I sit up so fast my head spins. I turn my head as if in slow motion, seeing my phone lit up where it sits on my bedside table.

A text from a number, so someone I don’t know? But it’s one I faintly recognize. What if it’s Will? What if he somehow lost his phone and had to get a new number?

Grappling for the phone, I almost drop it, my fingers squeezing around the edges to keep it from falling on the floor. I squint at the screen, trying to make out the words.

I frown and send a reply.

Wait, what? I frown even harder.

I glance toward the hall, blinking hard, my heavy lids wanting to shut. I am not in the proper frame of mind for company. More like I’m ready to pass out.

Okay, this is some straight-up bullshit, as Will would say. I get out of bed, thankful I’m wearing thick socks because the bare floor is cold. I shuffle toward the front door, peering through the peephole to see that it’s completely blocked.

I back away from the door, startled. So weird. I send a text to Lisa.

“I’m here,” she calls from the other side of the door. She sounds strange. Her voice is shaky. I wonder if she’s been crying.

Carefully I open the door to see Lisa standing on the doormat, wearing only a thin sweater and jeans, her hair a mess, her makeup streaked all over her face like she’d been crying. There’s a bruise around her neck, a red mark across her cheek, like someone hit her.

And she’s not wearing any shoes. Her feet are completely bare.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobs, just before she’s shoved out of the way and the man of my nightmares suddenly appears, looming in the doorway. Clad in dark pants and a blue denim shirt, his clothes drenched through, cheap prison-issued slip-on shoes on his feet.

That I’m able to catalog his clothes and shoes is just . . . odd. My brain is fuzzy and I blink at him, my heart seizing in my chest.

Am I having a nightmare?

“Katherine. We meet again.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes are dead, flat. Black as obsidian, they almost glitter in the dim light. He grabs hold of Lisa’s arm roughly and she cries out, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet of the night. This infuriates him and he backhands her, right across the jaw. I jump backward, about to shut the door on him when he thrusts out an arm, stopping me.

“You’re not getting away that easily.” He grabs me, his fingers curling around the crook of my elbow, and I squirm against his hold, trying to break free. Lisa actually does break free when he turns to concentrate on me, sprinting toward the car parked in front of my house. She stumbles and falls knees and hands first on the driveway but picks herself back up, running toward the road.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters as he withdraws a gun from his waistband and aims it right at her, no hesitation when he pulls the trigger.

I’m paralyzed, fear and unspoken screams clogging my throat as I watch Lisa collapse onto the street. Aaron grabs hold of my arm, his fingers pressing into my skin as he drags me toward a newer-model black Mercedes sedan, the gun pointed straight at my head.

“You say a fucking word, you scream, you do anything, and you’re dead just like that bitch out in the street.” He thrusts the gun against my temple, his face in mine for the briefest, most terrifying moment. The metal is cold on my skin. “Get in the fucking car.”

He pulls open the passenger-side door and shoves me inside, then runs around the front of the car, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine, backing out of the driveway so fast the squeal of the tires makes me wince. He races past where Lisa lies in the road and I breathe a sigh of relief that at least he didn’t run her over.

I wouldn’t put it past him if he did.

“Damn it!” He hits the steering wheel, then stares into the rearview mirror, his eyes wide and crazy looking. “Stupid bitch had to go and mess everything up. I wanted to keep her, damn it! She was perfect!”

He’s referring to Lisa. He wanted to keep her? How did he get out of prison? Did she help? I can’t imagine her doing that, but who knows? She was so sympathetic toward him . . .

I think of how she said she was sorry just before he pushed her out of the way, the look on her face, the utter fear I saw there. No way would she help him escape from prison. She’s not that crazy.

But now . . . I think she’s dead.

I stare at the road stretched out before us, hear the way he mutters under his breath, every other word a curse, his fisted hand still banging against the steering wheel. His frustration is a living, breathing thing, seeming to consume the interior of the car, and I swing my heavy head toward him, my mouth dry as I blink, trying to focus.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You on drugs or what?”

“Sleeping pill.” I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. My head is literally spinning. This feels like a dream, like it really isn’t happening, but I know it is. I can hear the low hum of the engine, Aaron Monroe’s heavy, almost frantic breathing. I can smell him, sweat and fear and adrenaline. I recognize his scent. It hasn’t changed in all these years.

I think I’m going to throw up.

“Where’s Will? Why didn’t he come out and try and rescue you? Have you got him that whipped?” he asks incredulously.

“He’s . . .” I swallow, my throat like sandpaper, and I open my eyes, though I can’t focus. Everything is blurry. “He’s in L.A.”

“Ha! Are you serious? He’s not even here?” He shakes his head, his mouth stretched into a thin line. “Well, this is gonna get interesting.”

What does he mean by that? I don’t want to know. “Wh-what do you want from me?”

“I was looking for my son. You stole him from me, you stupid little bitch.” He sneers. “Had one and then you wanted the other, just to sample us both? Is that how you operate?”

My stomach lurches. Oh God, if he keeps this up I really am going to be sick. I can’t believe he said that to me.

Actually, yes I can believe it. He’s a sick bastard with no regard for human life. Look at how easily he shot Lisa. He’ll probably just as easily shoot me.

I reach for my necklace, my trembling fingers sliding over the charm. I close my eyes and . . . pray. I’m not a religious person. But right now, I need God. I need someone to save me. To find me. To make sure I get out of this alive. I think of Will. How this will destroy him. How guilty he’ll feel that he wasn’t with me, that he couldn’t save me. But it’s not his fault. It’s never his fault.

We can’t control the monsters.