“I’m tellin’ you, take a fucking pill.”

“No. The alcohol is still doing the job. I feel sufficiently bleary.”

“Mo’Lock—”

“Cal. No. I can do this, and you’ve got a job to do.”

He wasn’t going to budge. It was that uncanny ability to stay focused. He didn’t want me to worry or get distracted. No matter how badly I treated him, I was always his number one priority. I thought about it all the time. He could have any life he wanted, even travel the world if he so desired, yet here he was slopping through a subterranean voodoo pit with me—with not so much as a complaint.

“Cal. Up ahead.”

Ten feet in front of us, a zombie stood frozen, legs bent and poised to attack, its empty eye sockets dripping oily maggots. One hand was braced on the craggy earth, the other fanned out with palm toward us.

“Shit. Only one?” I laughed.

I handed Mo’Lock the heart and started in, but the thing wasn’t looking for a fight. I’d called its bluff. When I got within striking distance, it spun away and ran off into the darkness.

When I turned back to Mo’Lock to gloat, my stomach sank.

Hanging between me and the ghoul was the body of a man, swinging by his broken neck. I backed away, forcing myself to look up at the twisted face. Fuck if I hadn’t seen it before. It was my father as I’d found him years before; blue-faced, bloated tongue sticking out grotesquely between tight lips.

I spun away, letting a cry escape, but a new obstacle blocked my way. I covered my eyes, but this only left my other senses open to attack.

“Calvin? Is that you?” The voice was soft and tiny. I remembered it instantly despite the years. Then I smelled baby powder and knew she was there.

I spread the fingers covering my eyes and saw her standing there as beautiful as the last day I saw her—my sister Stephie. Seven years old and so pretty, the image of my mother.

“Stephie! Yes honey, it’s me . . . Cal.” I heard my voice cracking. I was losing control. It’s not her, I told myself. I clamped my eyes tightly shut and tried to speak, but before I could, Stephie’s face changed from the sweet child I’d known to one filled with burning rage.

“Why weren’t you in the car, Cal?” she spat. Crevices began to appear across her forehead, blood filling the hairline cracks. “You were supposed to be in the car. Me and Mom waited, but you never came.”

I shook my head hard and beat myself with my fist. The image before me flickered. “Get out of my head!” I screamed and struck myself again.

Stephie was falling apart. Blood ran from her face as it was raked to the bone by an invisible shattered windshield. She cried my name and called out to our father hanging from the rope. I slammed my head again and screamed, pulling my hair.