Page 28 of She Haunts Me Still

“Do youwantto tell me?” he asks softly.

She doesn’t. She does. The words are locked in her mouth, tight as bolts.

She wrenches them free.

“My mother killed herself,” Mallory says. “And I was the one who found her.”

Ezra’s expression turns serious. But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. The secret is loose, like a knotted thread coming undone.

“It was late morning; we were supposed to go Christmas shopping.” Mallory fidgets with her sleeve. “I went into her room. At first, I thought she was asleep. But then I saw the blood. There was so much of it. On her skin, soaked in the sheets. Dripping onto the carpet.” She closes her eyes. Her voice shakes. “Her chest was torn apart. She looked like something hanging at a butcher’s shop. Just cracked open and bleeding and bleeding and bleeding and—”

Ezra’s hand lands on her knee again. More firmly this time, fingers pressing into her skin. “There was a knife in her hand,” Mallory whispers. “Shedid it. To herself.” She swallows and opens her eyes. “I was five years old. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to call nine-one-one. So, I climbed into bed with her. Just laid there, in her blood. Forhours. Crying and crying for her to wake up.” She finally dares to look at him. “But she never did.”

Mallory waits for him to say something. Anything. But he remains silent, slides the paper into a candle.Jasmine Webb,now in flames.

Traitorous tears prick at Mallory’s lashes. Every muscle in her face strains to look away, but instead she lets him notice.

The paper burns all the way to Ezra’s skin, and he curls his hand to spread the ash into his fist without breaking their locked gaze. And then, still devoid of any words, he reaches along the antique sofa until his fingers close around hers.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” he hushes. “Just let me.”

Mallory glances down as he transfers the ash from his palm into the creases of hers—heart line, lifeline, all turning black. For a moment, she’s frozen, paralyzed, but then she mirrors his movements, kneading remnants of the flame into his hand. Their fingers move in tandem, wrists slowly arching and rotating until their palms are inked with identical whispers of death and loss.

But she doesn’t let go and neither does he, and when she looks back up, his eyes are wild and tenebrous, pupils blown and glittering.

“What’s supposed to happen next?” she whispers.

“Well—”

Without warning, a kaleidoscope of images flashes behind her eyes.

A woman’s lifeless body, being pulled from the dirt. White dress. Dark hair.

A dripping, bleeding heart.

A crooked gravestone with an engraved emblem at the top—a cross with ivy.

And a name in the center, demanding to be seen:Lily A. Hubbard.

She cries out, startled, ripping her hand away. The motion throws her off balance and she nearly tumbles to the floor, but Ezra’s hands fly to her waist, hauling her upright.

“Holy shit,” she pants. “I think I just—”

Mallory slams to silence, catching sight of his expression. The way he’s staring at her incredulously, like she’s something he dreamed into existence.

The way for a singular, foolish second, she dares to hope—

“Ezra? Did you see that, too?”

His expression transforms into confusion. “See what?”

Mallory swallows a burst of unexpected disappointment and shakes her head. “Sorry. Of course you didn’t.” She blinks, trying to hold on to the images. “Oh my god.”

“Jules.” He carefully brushes a strand of hair away from her face. “What did you see?”

“I should have put it together sooner,” she whispers.