Chapter 30

Thirty

JAKE

“ T his song sucks,” I grumble from the back seat as I kick out my legs.

One of my feet makes contact with the passenger seat, where my mom currently sits.

She spins around and arches one eyebrow at me. “Jacob, behave yourself.”

I simply roll my eyes and turn to stare out the window. Trees spin by, their branches illuminated by the white glow of the moon. There’s something about the night I’ve always found enticing. Maybe because, in the darkness, you don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not. You can display all of your flaws and demons, and no one will judge you.

And I certainly have a lot of demons.

With great reluctance, I peel my gaze off of the window and focus on the back of my mom’s head.

“I always behave.” I punctuate my words with a scoff.

And then, just because I can, I kick the back of her seat. She whirls around to give me a scathing glare, even as the edges of her lips twitch upwards in amusement.

My grandparents, who sit behind me in the car, chuckle at my attitude.

“He reminds me of you when you were a boy,” Grandma says to Dad, her tone holding nothing but fondness.

Dad throws her a look in the rearview mirror as he expertly merges the car onto the highway. “Please. Don’t say that. I’m not sure I can handle a mini me.”

Everybody says I look exactly like my father. We have the same blond hair, strong jawlines, and piercing blue eyes. My mother, on the other hand, has light-orange hair, green eyes, and an array of freckles on her nose and cheeks. I’ve always secretly wished I looked more like her than him. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.

“This is stupid,” I mutter for the one millionth time as the radio continues to blare some old-fashioned rock song.

How can anyone think this crap is good?

Ugh. If I’m going to be forced to be here, then I should at least be able to pick the music.

Mom and Dad insisted I join them for their monthly dinner with my grandparents. They all dress up, head to some fancy restaurant, and talk about boring stuff for hours. For the longest time, I was deemed too young to accompany them, but this month is different. Instead of staying home with a babysitter, they insisted on dragging me along.

So now I’m here, wearing a suit that practically suffocates me, wishing I were anywhere else. All of my friends are playing the new video game that just came out. Why can’t I do that?

I kick out at Mom’s seat again, and she spins around to face me, her eyes heated.

“Jacob, knock it off this instant. You’re being rude.”

“I don’t want to go,” I whine. “This is dumb.”

“Your behavior is dumb,” my dad counters immediately.

“Steve,” Mom says and turns imploring eyes onto my father, “talk to him.”

“What do you want me to say, Lizzie?”

“I don’t know.” Mom blows out a breath. “Take away his phone or something.”

I gape at the back of her head in disbelief. “What did I even do? Is this just because I don’t want to be here?”

“You don’t want to see your favorite grandparents, kid?” Grandpa leans forward to ruffle my hair, but I swat his wrinkled hand away.

“You’re my only grandparents,” I retort.

My mother’s parents died before I was born.

“Still your favorite, though.”

“I wouldn’t say ? —”

That’s when it happens.

One second, I’m joking with my grandpa.

The next, the world tilts upside down.

I’m tumbling. Falling. Rolling. I can’t differentiate up from down. Pain explodes inside of me, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. Everywhere. Nowhere.

A red sheen obscures my vision, like a curtain drawn shut, and a whimper of pain escapes me. Out of my periphery, I see my father, his face streaked with blood, his eyes vacant and unseeing.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

Pain.

So much pain.

Something digs into my chest, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s the seat belt.

My head’s foggy, almost as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton balls, and dizziness threatens to consume me. The edges of my vision darken.

Then I’m aware of nothing at all.

“No. You’re lying! This isn’t… This can’t be…” My body shakes. Trembles. Convulses.

I can’t think straight. There’s an incessant pounding in my head, like someone took a sledgehammer to my brain and is whacking it repeatedly.

I’m honestly afraid that I’ll pass out.

Is this some kind of cruel joke?

No, that can’t be right. My fathers wouldn’t do that to me. Neither would Izzy, whom I have come to love like a sister.

Bile snakes its way up my throat, burning like flickering embers, and I squeeze my lips together to keep it at bay.

“We knew we needed to tell you but couldn’t find the words to,” Hale tells me, his voice gentle. Crooning.

It almost feels as if he’s approaching a rabid dog, one snapping and foaming at the mouth. Am I that dog? I certainly feel a little unhinged, like my life has been tipped upside down, and I can’t get my feet back underneath me.

“Jake…” Izzy’s voice trembles as she attempts to comfort me.

“I… I need…” I jump to my feet and move to the kitchen, belatedly aware that the others have followed me.

I open drawers at random, knowing what I’m looking for but unable to remember where it is. My brain still doesn’t seem to be working right. Someone put up an Out of Order sign and left the premises.

Finally, I grab the handle of a steak knife and whirl around.

Izzy’s blue eyes are wide in her face. “Jake, what are you doing?”

“You’re lying,” I snap at Hale, who has come to stand directly behind her.

“I’m sorry?—”

I slice at my wrist with the blade.

Izzy screams, the noise chipping away a piece of my heart, but I ignore it and focus on the wound.

The non-bloody wound.

There’s nothing but a single line marring the skin.

“What the hell?” I whisper through numb lips.

“Jake, put the knife down,” Gerry consoles gruffly, advancing towards me.

But I can’t pull my attention away from where I cut myself.

I’m not bleeding.

Why am I not bleeding?

Why am I not fucking bleeding?

Panic grabs hold of me and shakes me around like a rag doll. My breathing comes out in stuttered, shallow gasps.

“No. No. No. No. This can’t be fucking happening.”

I’m not…alive.

I’m dead.

Oh god. I’m dead.

What the fuck am I?

They said… They said I’m a golem. A creature made of clay.

I need to get away. To run. To escape.

I lock eyes with Izzy, my gaze beseeching. She, more than anyone, can understand what I’m going through. I have no idea what role she has to play in all of this, but if it’s anything like the one I have…

She nods once in understanding and then shifts her body so she’s blocking Hale and Gerry from getting to me.

I take off in a run, ignoring their pleas for me to return. But I can’t. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever. My brain is in turmoil, and my heart feels as if it’s been squeezed through a meat grinder.

I’m not alive.

I’m not alive.

I’m not a-fucking-live.

I throw myself into the car and then slam the door shut. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I will my breathing to calm. Despite my best wishes, it continues to escape me in uneven, shallow pants.

Almost absently, I realize I’m still holding the steak knife, the weapon caught between my palm and the wheel. I force my fingers to relax, to loosen, and the knife clatters onto the seat between my legs.

I stare at it for a long moment. The wooden handle. The sharp blade. My tear-stained reflection on the surface.

I’m not alive.

I’m not alive.

I’m not alive.

Sobbing, I pick the knife up once more and hold it to my pinkie finger.

I didn’t bleed when it cut me.

But what will happen when I remove a body part?

A scream lodges in my throat, begging to break free, as I begin to slice.