Page 105 of She Haunts Me Still

A bubble of laughter escapes her mouth. Then another. And another. Mallory laughs and laughs and laughs because of how fucking naïve she’s been. He’dtoldher, he’dsaidshewas his ticket to freedom. But it was never just about nailing a production. Never about her presence at a historical preservation society’s meeting.

It was her body. Her heart.

Anoffering.

And for what? To make his father happy?For what?

Her hoarse laughter sails through the shadowed air. Tears gather in her eyes. And Saskia just stares in horror.

“What in the world,” she starts, “could possibly be funny right now?”

“He fucked mein this bed. The things I let him do to me—” She buries her face in her hands. “And all this time! All ofthis! Under the floorboards!” A fresh round of dark, brittle laughter rattles from her. “Oh god, I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.”

“Let’s go.” Saskia attempts to grab her again.

“I’m fine.” She’s fine, she’s fine, she’sfine. She killed a rabbit, had sex with a monster, but she’s fine, she’s—

Her cackles taper to silence, like a valve suddenly shut.

Saskia studies her, clearly worried. “Mal?”

But Mallory doesn’t answer. Simply snatches the knife from the floor and stands.

This is no longer war.

It’s fuckingtreason.

Mallory marches toward Ezra’s closet. Flings the doors wide.

“Mal—”

With a growl, Mallory rips shirt after shirt, slashing the fabric to ribbons. She tosses each torn garment to the floor, stomping them into mottled, dirty shapes. She hears Saskia saying her name, but her hands move faster than her thoughts,unable to process the weight of this betrayal. She briefly imagines setting fire to the entire room, maybe every memory, too, until she’s scorched Ezra from history. Until there’s nothing left for her body or heart to remember.

“Mal, stop it,” Saskia pleads. “Stop!”

Finally, Saskia just gathers Mallory in her arms, and Mallory crumples against her.

“I trusted him. I could havelovedhim. And he lied to me over and over and”—Mallory swipes at her tears—“noneof it was real. He set out to break me, and he did. Hedid.”

Saskia rubs her back in slow circles, holding her as she cries. Each stroke of her hand is soothing, comforting, but when she speaks, it’s in a blistering whisper.

“Fuck him.” Possessive rage clings to her words. “Ezra Pierce can rot in hell.”

“I think,” Mallory replies, “he’s been there for a while.”

But there’s no satisfaction in the words. She stares at the torn black fabric at her feet. The hunger for vengeance that raged inside her a moment ago has been replaced with despair, another low-grade fever settling in. She can feel herself weakening against the dark thing that lingers inside these walls.

Perhaps, she reasons distantly, Ezra has already won.

And then, she catches sight of a framed photograph, face down in the closet. Wiping her eyes, she bends to retrieve it. Shards of glass slip loose, as though Ezra smashed the frame in a fit of anger before tucking it out of sight.

Mallory blinks at a younger Ezra, his father, and an older man. And she remembers.

“This same photo was in Ezra’s dad’s office,” she murmurs.

Saskia peers at the third man in the picture. “Ezra’s grandfather?”

“Itmustbe,” Mallory says, flipping it around. “Wait. There’s something in here.”