“I’m glad you’re staying home tonight,” Miss Myrtle said when Anna returned to the house that evening. The landlady sat at her drop-down desk in the living room, writing something. A letter. Something. Anna didn’t know or care. “You spend far too much time in that horrid warehouse,” Miss Myrtle continued. “I was mortified to discover you weren’t in your bed last night. I hope no one knows you were there all night. I don’t ever want you to stay out like that again. Do you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.” I killed someone, Anna thought. Not even twenty-four hours ago, I took a life. She remembered Martin’s fatherless daughters. She rested her fingertips on the back of an upholstered chair to keep herself upright.

Miss Myrtle frowned. “Are you ill?” she asked.

“I’m all right.” Anna’s voice sounded husky. She’d used it very little that day.

“Are you sure?” Miss Myrtle stood up and came forward to rest the back of her cool fingers on Anna’s forehead. “You’re not warm, but you look … quite pale.” She seemed concerned now rather than angry. “Can I make you some tea?”

Anna shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. She needed to get away from Miss Myrtle’s scrutiny. She couldn’t carry on a normal conversation for one more minute. “Just tired.” If Miss Myrtle studied her face any longer, Anna was certain she’d know what she’d done. She turned toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed,” she said.

In her room, she shut the door, then leaned her back against it.

You took a life, a voice accused her.

He was a beast, another voice answered.

“Stop!” she pleaded out loud, then whispered, “Please stop. Please please please. He was going to kill me!”

She crawled into her bed, still fully clothed, face unwashed, teeth unbrushed. She hugged her arms around her body. She ached all over. She had bruises on her arms, her shoulders, her throat. The inside of her thighs were turning black with them. She was so sore between her legs. Torn up. She knew her body would heal. Her mind, her heart, her soul, though—she wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 49. Morgan

Chapter 49

MORGAN

July 20, 2018

Oliver pointed to the wall adjacent to the mural. “I think we should hang Anna’s original sketch there,” he said. “That’s where I envision the wall text for the mural, so the sketch will be a cool addition. What do you think?”

I liked knowing that Oliver valued my opinion. “I think that’s perfect,” I said. “What are you going to say in the wall text?