Page 289 of What We Bury

The conversation continues and I listen for a while, but the reality of my life hits me like a Mack truck.

Up until now, I’ve been stubbornly ignoring the mounting pile of threats against me. But as I look up at the light fixture, all I can see is the noose. The threats and abuses of the last few weeks crush down, burying me under a pile of memories I don’t want.

Not again.

Not again.

Not again.

Tyler wants to corner me. Tyler and his friends, whoever they are, want to intimidate me into telling them what happened to Brock.Making her understand the consequences of lying.My chest tightens, and suddenly I’m not in the living room anymore.

Not again.

I’m under the jetty, and Brock’s hands are on me, and his breath is in my ear, and the ocean is crashing below us and I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t?—

I blink. I’m in the apartment. Amy is laughing at something Micah said. Knox is watching me with those dark, steady eyes that miss nothing.

I look away before he can read what’s on my face.

But my eyes land on the ceiling again. On the light fixture in the center of the living room, where the noose was hanging with a note that saidyou’re next.

Not again.

You’re next.

Making her understand the consequences.

Brock’s hands. The jetty. The rope.

The light fixture. The noose.

The intercom buzzes and I jolt, make a beeline for the door.

“Kitten, wait,” Milo calls out.

“The food,” I say in a rush. “That’d be the food.”

“I know. I’ll get it.”

“No. I want to.”

Micah’s on his feet immediately. “You’ll need help bringing it up.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“I’m coming.”

I don’t argue. If I argue, I’ll have to explain, and if I explain, I’ll fall apart, and I’m not doing that in front of Amy. Not tonight. Not when she’s finally stopped crying and started laughing and doesn’t need another person’s breakdown on her plate.

“We’ll be right back,” Micah tells the others. Knox nods once and turns back to Amy with whatever passes for small talk in Knox’s vocabulary.

We take the stairs down and step out through the lobby into the evening. The air is cool and smells like salt. I close my eyes and breathe.

When I open them, there’s nobody there.

No delivery guy. No paper bag sweating grease onto the concrete. Just the front steps, the dusk, and a moth hurling itself suicidally at the lobby light.

Micah leans out, glancing left, then right. “Hello?”