This One Moment (Pushing Limits, #1)(64)

Even though we had never watched TV this way before, it felt natural. Her body fit mine perfectly, like we were designed to be together this way.

My mind was only half on the movie—the other half was figuring out the best way to make my next move—when my cellphone pinged in my back pocket. Any other time I would have ignored it, not wanting to end this possibility between me and Hailey. But a warning in my gut told me I needed to check who was texting me, now.

I pulled the phone out and read the message from Sarah: Where are you?

Hailey’s.

Please come home. I need you.

Something was very wrong. Sarah never texted after she went to bed. She’d get in trouble if she did.

On my way.

“I’ve gotta go. It’s Sarah.”

Hailey scrambled up. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. My father’s probably yelling at Mom, and that scared Sarah.”

She followed me to the front door. “Are you coming back?”

I wanted to return to Hailey and the couch and the movie. I wanted to continue where we’d left off, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t leave my sister again. Not tonight.

I gave Hailey a sad smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Text me once you get back to let me know everything’s all right.”

“Okay.”

She must not have been convinced, because she said in a tone that warranted no argument, “Promise me, or else I’ll call the cops.”

“Okay,” I said, this time with more conviction.

I ran across the street to my house and opened the front door. The place was quiet. No yelling. No slurred conversation. No TV blaring in the background. I entered my house and flipped the light on. Instead of the usual warm glow, the light was cold and harsh. But that wasn’t what filled my body with icy dread.

Blood drops on the beige carpet formed a trail to the kitchen.

I strained to hear a sound, but my ears were met with nothing but silence. Darkness seeped from the room, and I walked toward it, my gaze glued to the bloody trail. A strong, unpleasant smell sat heavy in the air, and my stomach turned.

Ignoring the five alarms in my head telling me to get out of the house, I stepped into the kitchen and turned on the light. My hand recoiled at the sticky wetness on the light switch, and I glanced down to see what it was.

And wished I hadn’t.

Smeared bloody handprints stained the walls.

My heart slammed hard against my ribs, threatening to shatter them. My gaze traveled around the room. The island obscured my view of most of the floor, other than the pool of blood seeping across the tiles. Based on the amount of blood, I could only guess the person was no longer alive.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, a voice told me to get out of the house and call 911, but the rest of me didn’t want to pay attention to the voice. My body, working on its own accord, moved forward.

The first thing I saw as I walked around the corner of the island was an outstretched female hand in the pool of blood, her fingernails painted a muted red. Next came the familiar long brown hair. I choked back a sob and rushed to Mom’s side.

“Mom?” I said even though it was too late. Her eyes were wide, peering up at me but no longer seeing.

Call the police. Now, the voice insisted, but I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at what had once been my mother. Blood soaked through her cream-colored blouse, the fabric ripped in numerous places. It looked like whoever did this had stabbed her multiple times. She’d never stood a chance. Her hands wore defensive wounds from trying to protect herself.

I couldn’t hold back the sob. “Mom.” I sounded like a small child, lost, without hope.

A muffled bang from upstairs jerked my attention from Mom’s body. That was all it took to break the spell. Sarah.

I raced out the kitchen and up the stairs.

As I approached the top step, a frightened scream ripped through the air. This transformed into a pained cry and grunts. Concern for my own safety shoved aside, I rushed to her room and threw open the door. I didn’t give myself the chance to process the scene. I couldn’t. I just reacted.

I hurled my body at my father.

My father was a large guy, only I was bigger from working out at the gym. But in this moment of unspeakable insanity, he possessed the strength of two men. He didn’t even budge from Sarah’s body. It was like moving a house with your bare hands—impossible.

I did, though, manage to break his attention from what he was doing to my sister. With inhuman strength, he shoved me away. I half flew, half stumbled backward.

Before I could avoid the impact, my body slammed into Sarah’s desk. Pain shot through my hip. A level of anger I’d never seen before twisted my father’s once handsome features. Finished with his assault on my sister, he shifted his attention to me.

“What did you do?” I choked out even though I knew exactly what he had done. The why was a mystery. People got drunk all the time. They didn’t stab people to death and continue stabbing them long after the victim had died.

“They had to die,” he said, voice deadly calm, his body covered in blood. Mom’s blood. Sarah’s blood. “They had to die so she couldn’t have sex with anyone else.”

“She?” My voice was the opposite to his. I was amazed I could even utter any words around the rapidly beating heart lodged in my throat.