Page 7 of Waysider
Patrick’s eyes slid shut. “Describe it to me.”
“What?”
“Tell me how it felt to die,” Patrick murmured. His breathing was still slightly uneven, and Cass knew it wasn’t anger that had caused the shift in his demeanor.
It was excitement.
Cal must’ve realized this at the same moment she did, because a soft sound left him, almost like a snarl. Cass’s pulse skyrocketed again, but she hid the jolt of terror by curling her lip in open disdain. “You’re one sick fuck, you know that?”
The insult rolled off Patrick like rain. Even now, he kept his eyes closed. His voice was low as he replied, “We had a deal, Miss Ryan. My answers in exchange for your story. The entire story. I’ll know if you leave something out.”
Cass hadn’t lit a cigarette in months. She didn’t like how the smoke clung to her hair and her clothes, and her mom had the nose of a bloodhound. No matter how much perfume Cass put on, no matter how hard she brushed her teeth, hell, even when she changed outfits, Kathleen Ryan always knew when she’d had a fag. It wasn’t worth the trouble, so Cass quit. She hadn’t really felt any of the cravings or urges.
But right now, Cass wanted a cigarette so badly that she considered asking the redhead from the lobby if she would bum her one. She seemed like the type of person to have a pack of Marlboros on her.
Cass’s fingers started to twitch. She reached down casually, gripping the edges of the chair as if she were just getting comfortable. Every instinct she had screamed at her not to show any fear.
Patrick liked it when they were afraid.
Once again, he sat patiently, waiting for her to speak. Once again, Cass made herself keep going. She had gotten this far, and Patrick Doyle wouldn’t be what broke her—she’d faced far worse.
“It was cold,” Cass said tightly. “Quiet. After the awful part, where everything hurts and all you can think about is the pain, it gets peaceful. It just feels like falling asleep, I guess, except there are no dreams on the other side and you stop being… you.”
It was the best way Cass could describe it, and that was all this asshole was going to get. He must’ve known, or heard something in her voice, because he finally opened his eyes. His expression became pleasant and polite again, the mask of Patrick Doyle back in place. “And what brought you back?”
Cass’s narrow shoulders lifted in a tense shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. No one knows for sure. They never found the guy.”
“If the boy was never found, how did you learn his name?”
Cass’s jaw clenched. “That came later.”
Patrick studied her, his head tilted. The gleam was back in his eyes, as if he knew the next part of her story. As if her pain was a buffet, and he was about to feast. “Did your brother pull you out of the water?” he asked.
“No.” Cass looked at him with an empty expression, and her voice was dull. “No, he didn’t.”
CHAPTER FOUR
April 28th, 1984
Albany, NY
She was in a hospital room.
On a normal day, Cass woke up like a kid on Christmas morning. She opened her eyes practically thrumming with energy, eager to leave the confines of her bedroom. Cass had a lot of living to do and sleep only kept her from it.
But today was different. Today, her eyelids felt heavy, her thoughts clouded. And the instant she fully pulled herself from that peaceful nothingness, the pain hit, making Cass wish she’d stayed in the dark.
Gradually, she became aware that she was lying on her side, facing the wall. There was a device clamped onto her finger, attached to a wire that draped over her hip. A door must’ve been open behind her, because a slant of light spilled over the bed. Cass’s head lolled, instinctively seeking more of it.
Before she could form a single thought, her eyes latched onto a shape. Something that didn’t belong. Cass’s heart stopped.
A man stood in the corner.
She took one look at him and knew he wasn’t a doctor or a nurse—his clothes were outdated, as if he’d stepped out of the pages of a novel. He wore suspenders over a button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was too dim to see much of his face, but Cass knew he was staring at her. The blood in her veins quickened.
“Who are you?” she said. Her voice was a thin rasp. Only silence came from the shadows. In a burst of panic, Cass bent to turn on the lamp.
When she straightened, the corner was empty.
