6. Hannah

Hannah

W hat did you do?” Mom snaps, her teeth barred and her gaze full of disgust.

She looks down at the little cat at our feet, her eyes flashing wickedly between both of us.

Tears well in my eyes.

Missy glowers at her.

“Which one of you did this?” Mom snaps, her face turning tomato red as she hovers over us.

I don’t want Mama to think I did that, but I don’t want Missy to get in trouble either. Mama is harder on her than me.

Floof was a good cat. My cat and now, he’s gone. All because he scratched Missy’s hand.

He never liked her. She hated him.

“Hannah did it.”

I gawk at her, fresh new tears slipping down my face at my sister’s betrayal.

“Mama—”

“What did you do, Hannah Marie, and you better not lie to me.”

“I didn’t do anything, Mama,” I whimper, but Missy steps in to handle that, too.

“She was petting it too hard. Broke it’s neck,” Missy shrugs. “I tried to save it, but . . . I think it’s dead.”

“Mama, I swear, I didn’t do it.”

“You’ve been acting out,” Mama says, taking hold of my wrist. “I don’t know how else to help you and God knows your father’s not here to help. Bastard couldn’t take raising two spoiled and evil little girls, such as yourself.”

She tugs me toward the house and when I realize where we’re going, I fight against her.

My lungs restrict, the air refusing to slip past my throat.

“Missy, tell her I didn’t do it,” I beg, looking back over my shoulder, but Missy just stands beside poor Floof, her gaze unfeeling.

Cold.

Thud.

“Mama, please?” I beg as she tugs me toward that dark place where my nightmares live. “Please.”

Thud.

“It’s time you spent a little while in the closet, Hannah.” Her piercing brown gaze shoots back at me over her shoulder and she only tightens her grip. “Maybe it will fix you.”

Thud.

I blink up at the stars on my ceiling.

Thud.

The knock startles me awake

Something is knocking against a wall.

I scrub a hand over my eyes, sitting up in bed and staring around my room.

Everything’s in place. It’s just Missy and I in the house and there’s a guard outside the gate.

Still, the even thump against the wall continues, like a bass drum from somewhere near.

I suck in a deep breath, slipping from the bed and tugging the flannel tighter around me.

It doesn’t even smell like him, anymore, but it’s become a source of safety in the darkness and I’ll be damned if I play Detective Hannah without it.

I slip into the darkness of the hallway, swallowing the sound of my heartbeat thumping in my ears and listening for the sound.

Missy’s room.

I’ve tried to speak to her this week, but she refuses to come out of her room.

I’ve seen her once and that was only when I caught her sneaking back with something to eat, long after I was supposed to have gone to bed.

Mom’s gone, so she’s no help. I don’t know where Marcus Parker is, but I haven’t seen him since the Christmas gala. Even Michael has been scarce and he’s staying with his parents in their LA mansion for the holidays.

“Missy?” I tap on her door, but the only answer is a resounding thud . Carefully, I push the door open and stand back as the darkness looms at me like a monster from within is daring me to take another step. “Missy? Are you okay?”

I’m ashamed of the tremor in my voice because it means that my earlier suspicions are correct.

I’m terrified of my sister.

Cautiously, I take a step into the room, searching for the sound of the banging, but she’s not in her bed. I cover my nose, the sickly sweet scent of something herbal mixed with unwashed skin filling my nostrils.

“Miss—”

I freeze. Missy is on the floor near the corner of her room, a little bottle sitting beside her while she bangs her head against the wall, muttering something under her breath.

Oh, fuck.

I step over the throw pillows and clothes littering the floor and my hands shake when I reach for her, my skin glowing in the darkness.

“Missy?”

In a flash, her eyes shoot to mine, her sinister smile gleaming wickedly in the darkness.

“Come on, Hannah,” she coaxes, lifting the little bottle beside her. “Just a little sip.”

I fall back, my heart lurching in my chest at the madness in her eyes.

“Missy, what is that?”

“Just a little sip to make the demons go away,” she whispers and my stomach fills with nausea. I stumble, tripping on a pillow and falling flat on my ass.

“Missy, stop!” Panic wells in my voice, fear gripping me by the throat when she climbs over me, little bottle in hand.

“Drink up, sister,” she hisses, her fingernails digging into the flesh of my lips until I can feel blood seeping from my once healed-over cut.

The cut from the Christmas party.

I scream, fighting against her hold and she cackles, only tightening her grip.

“Don’t you want to do this together?”

I kick, and her hand rears back, connecting with my cheek with blinding, stinging pain. I throw myself and finally, she topples off me, still laughing in that deranged shrill tone as I hurl myself from the room and nearly bash into the wall across from her bedroom door.

What the fuck?

I stay frozen in place, listening for the sounds of her footsteps on the hardwood floor, but they never come.

My skin burns and I have no idea what to do. Carefully, I tiptoe into my room and grab my phone, sneaking past Missy’s room on my way out to the sounds of that even, steady thump against the wall.

I dart for the stairs, my hands shaking when I try to make a call.

Michael doesn’t answer. Mom doesn’t answer.

So, I call the only number I can think of that would at a time like this.

“Hannah?”

“I need you to come over. Something’s wrong with Missy.”

“I’m on my way.”