“Why did you scream?” I noticed a small slice on my thumb from the broken glass. Blood trickled from the wound so I placed my finger in my mouth to soothe it, comforted by the warm, metallic taste.

“I didn’t scream.” Jack peered at me, his eyebrows moving together, two indents forming at each brow’s edge.

I glanced around the room, noticing a mound of dead houseflies and sowbugs in the corner.

“You okay?” he asked, taking my hand and examining it.

I sat down next to him, feeling increasingly unsteady. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.” He pulled my thumb toward his mouth and wrapped his lips around the gash.

I stared at him blankly.

Letting my hand drop, he moved to hold my face, kissing me gently. I could taste blood again.

I lay back, overwhelmed, my stomach clenched into a ball of tightly knotted parts.

Standing above me, he pulled my tights and panties off. I couldn’t move.

He ran his fingers up my dress as the walls and slatted ceiling blended. He undid his belt and removed his pants, stepping out of them one leg at a time.

I lay immobilized.

Grabbing my legs and pulling me to the edge of the bed, he spread my knees apart with his and thrust himself inside me. A sharp, immediate pain shot through my body. I recoiled, but there was nowhere for me to go.

I opened my eyes and looked up. It wasn’t Jack. My mouth snapped open and a scream erupted as I shoved him off.

He hit the wall with a thud.

“What the hell?” he snapped, pinning me with an angry look.

I was released. I shot up and grabbed my clothes, heading for the door. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Chapter 15

Annabelle had always been an anxious child. With her long black, whip-straight hair and fair, unblemished skin, she reminded me of the porcelain doll that sat on my grandmother’s shelf. The one we were never allowed to play with. When she learned to talk, she began regularly having panic attacks.

Annabelle and I shared a room until we were teenagers. At first, we had a queen-sized bed, but later, having decided it was time for us to be big girls, our parents bought us each our own twin bed. The nighttime was the worst of all, and after the lights were shut off, Annabelle would make me promise she wasn’t going to die in her sleep. I’d make the promise, despite my reluctance. I knew I could never be an authority on the matter. But I always got up and pushed our beds together so she would be less afraid.

One afternoon, William and I were playing with his Batman and Robin action figures in the living room. He had carefully removed them from their packaging, to which they were always returned, resealed, and stacked neatly in his dresser drawer. It was tranquil and glittery outside, and light shone through the lace curtains onto the carpet in a kaleidoscopic pattern.