Page 174 of Dream House
I cough a disbelieving laugh, but the whine of approaching sirens drowns it out.
She returns, holding a crying, wild-eyed Maisy on her hip. Stella’s rushing, but not running. Trying to seem composed in this moment of chaos.
“Here,” she says, setting Maisy down beside me. “Sit with Lark. Mama has to get dressed.”
Maisy looks up at me, her thick glasses askew and her wide eyes go even wider. “He’s bleeding, Mama.”
Stella’s already at her closet, yanking down a pair of yoga pants from a hanger that then clatters to the ground. “I know, baby. We’re gonna help him as soon as I’m dressed.”
I’m bleeding?
I run an unsteady hand over my face. My fingers brush something wet when I swipe beneath my chin. Yep, I’m bleeding.
I remember the teeth-rattling punch and run a tongue over my left upper bicuspid. Its surface is rough and raw like quartz.
Damn.
I press myself up to sitting and lean against the foot of Stella’s bed. Maisy scrambles closer, her little knees tangling in the length of her nightgown.
“Did the bad man hurt you, Bark?”
In spite of the fact that I just escaped death at the hands of a psychopath, I splutter a laugh. Because Maisy’s okay. She wouldn’t be calling meBarkif she weren’t okay.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice gruff. Wrapping an arm around her little body, I snuggle her into me. The smile she sends up to me is better than any painkiller I’ll surely need later. She wraps both arms around me and squeezes with all her might.
“I saw him hurting you.” Her voice wobbles a little and her eyes shine. I hug her tighter, and she breaks down again.
I know this is a good sign. That she feels safe enough to show emotion. But it still tears my heart out of my chest. I drag her fully onto my lap and wrap her tight.
From her closet door, Stella gives me a pained look over her shoulder, but she doesn’t slow. Her movements are jerky, still adrenalized. She sheds the robe and pulls on a sweatshirt as the sirens draw closer.
And then she’s on her knees at my side, her eyes locked with mine. “You’re r-really okay?” The tremble in her voice and the way her hand runs over my face, my head, my neck, stirs my already stirred emotions. As if her fussing over me is a reason for hope. As if this means that the thought of losing me is as gut-wrenching as the thought of me losing her.
“Is anything broken?” She gently touches my left hip where Doucet struck me. I wince, but I don’t think anything’s broken.
“I’m gonna have some ugly bruises, but I think that’s—“
Banging on the front door interrupts me.
“That’s the police.” Stella touches both Maisy and me on our cheeks. “Stay here, you two.”
Outside of thenight after the mine collapse, it’s the longest night of my life.
Shortly after the police arrive, a TV crew that picked up a report of a home invasion shows up. Stella doesn’t let them in, but it must be a slow news night because they set up a camera in front of the house and film the flashing police car lights, crime scene tape, and looky-loo neighbors.
Even though we let the others know what happened, the scene is still enough to make Nina’s knees give when she sees the ruined doors in Stella’s room. The knick in my chin has stopped bleeding by the time she arrives, but the sight of it and the bruising that’s already marking my throat drain every drop of color from her face. Tyler practically carries her to the chair in Stella’s room before she can collapse.
“I can’t stay here,” she mutters over and over. “I can’t stay.”
To which, we all respond repeatedly with variations like:
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“This is your home.”
“If you run, that bastard wins.”
“I...ll…ki…ll…hi…m.”
