One of Those Faces (68)

The rest. That was the first time I truly understood I was the last of us. “Next to Isabella and Mom?” I had found my voice, but it still came out strangled.

They stared at me with wide eyes.

“This is because of you,” my uncle spit back, getting to his feet. “You destroyed him with your deranged little games!”

I stood up as well. Despite the resemblance, he was shorter and frailer than my father had been. “It’s not on me.” They had allowed him to turn into a monster. They’d allowed him to raise Issi and me. They’d allowed him to live in a fantasy world until he’d snapped. If they hadn’t turned a blind eye, Issi would still be alive. And so would I. “I’m glad he’s gone.” I trembled as soon as the words ripped from my mouth. I had wanted him gone since that day.

My uncle lunged toward me and slapped me so hard it turned my head until it popped. I fell backward, my shoulders and neck slamming into the brick fireplace.

Wilder clattered in through the door, cigarette in hand, waving smoke out of his face. When he saw me on the floor, he threw the butt down and stepped between us. “Get back,” Wilder roared.

My uncle took a step back, and Wilder bent down to help me to my feet. “What the fuck?” he muttered, his arm around my shoulders.

I pushed him away and went for the door.

“Don’t come back here!” my uncle bellowed behind me, storming into the kitchen, a violent clatter of metal echoing through the hallway.

Still shaking, I grabbed the doorknob, Lydia frantically waddling behind me. “I’m sorry,” she huffed. Her face crumpled as she turned and scurried after her husband.

I pushed through the front door, then doubled over, my hands pressing into my knees. I picked up my head and stared into the darkening street. The sun had set, and the air felt lighter.

Wilder gripped my shoulders from behind. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, still filling my lungs with fresh air. I straightened back up. “Let’s go.”

Without looking back, I stumbled to the car. I fell into the passenger seat and leaned my head back, closing my eyes, my cheek and jaw still burning. I didn’t open my eyes again until the car jerked into motion.

“Why did she call you Isabella?” Wilder asked.

I fished the picture from my back pocket and squinted at it into the dark. This was the only photo of me as a child that had survived after the accident. It was also the only truly happy photo I had from when Mom was still alive. Issi and I were both leaning on our elbows and smiling at the camera from under a blanket, our hands pushing our cheeks up toward our eyes. “After Issi died, my father pretended I was her.” I spoke the words cautiously. They had never been uttered before beyond my desperate pleas as a child. “He did everything short of having my name legally changed.” I dog-eared one corner of the picture. “He told everyone that Harper died.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s fucked up,” he said quietly.

I rolled down the window. The smell of smoke emanating from his side was stifling. “I’m an idiot for coming back here.” The air hit my face as he continued down the road, winding to the highway. “I’m sorry,” I said, rolling up the window again.

He smiled wryly, eyeing my stinging cheek. “Believe me, I’ve seen much worse.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


As we turned onto my street, I saw a light in my apartment through the blinds. Iann. I could’ve almost cried with relief. I couldn’t imagine being alone tonight. “Let me out right here,” I said, pulling on the door handle.

“Jesus, hold on!” Wilder said, slamming to a stop a block away as I swung the door open.

“Thanks for the ride,” I called over my shoulder and shut the door behind me.

He shook his head and drove past me back onto the main road.

I glanced at my phone. It was only 8:00 p.m. Iann’s shift must’ve been shorter than usual. As I climbed the steps, my back still ached from having been thrown against the fireplace. I pulled my keys from the bag and turned them in the lock. It was silent as I opened the door. Iann’s jacket and shoes weren’t in a heap by the door like they usually were. “Iann?” I called.

Two yellow paws swatted at me from under the bed, and I leaped back as Woodstock emerged from underneath. But no Iann.

I surveyed the room. My pajamas were still strewed across the floor, my empty coffee mug still by the bedside table. I’d left in such a hurry this morning that it was possible I’d forgotten to turn off the light. I pulled out my phone.

Are you still coming over later?

I sent the message before thinking about the questions that would come with his presence.

I walked to the bathroom, biting my lip and forcing myself to look in the mirror. My right cheek was still red from the blow. I splashed my face with cold water, saying a silent prayer that it wouldn’t bruise.

I glanced down at my phone. No response from Iann yet.

I wound my fingers into my hair, sinking to the floor. I opened the cabinet and pulled out my bundle of pills. I thought about Iann. About my muttered promise from the other night.

No, he’s wrong. You’re in control of this. You need to sleep.

I dry swallowed one of the pills. I could feel it settle into the base of my throat before sliding down. I stumbled to the bed, lying there until the voices in my head fell silent and my vision blackened.