Page 5

CHAPTER 5

REDLEY

Granny’s footsteps echo down the hall as she heads to her bedroom for the night, and it’s my turn to put a finger over my mouth. I jump back from him when I see how close we’ve both gotten to the end of the bed. As she passes, I realize I’m more afraid of my granny than an intruder who won’t tell me his name. I’m not sure how to feel about that.

Whoever he is stays silent, though, and when Granny’s door closes, I sigh in relief. We’re quiet for a little while after that, and eventually, the dying sun gives up. I grab the box of matches off my table and light my oil lamp to better watch his movements in the dark.

Even though Granny is in bed, I keep the flame dim. I don’t need to draw any more of her notice. The glow only makes him more sinister but also softer somehow. The lighting makes this romantic, and my gut twists in opposing directions.

“I need water,” he eventually tries again, and some of his snarkiness has died along with the light. The house sits quiet, and I’m pretty sure Granny is sleeping by now. I really do want to hear that cassette.

“Okay.” I stand and hold up my hands. “ Please stay here. She’d beat me senseless if she knew I let you stay.”

“Afraid of a few more slaps?” he taunts me with a handsome smile.

“ No , I’m afraid of whatever heavy thing is lying around.”

I shake my head at him. There wouldn’t be a good reason to be scared if she wasn’t willing to hurt me. He nods, but his jaw tenses, and those yellow eyes seem a lot more serious than they were a second before.

“How badly does she beat you?” he asks, but there’s no way I’m going to answer that right now when I’m about to risk her wrath.

“Please, just be quiet,” I say as I turn to the door.

Fear slithers down my spine as I open it and slip out into the house. Keeping as quiet as I can, I pass Granny’s room. No light shows from beneath the door, and I assume she’s asleep inside, but I don’t dare stop to check. The dull sound of her snores doesn’t mean all that much either. She snores awake sometimes, and she’s a damn light sleeper.

I make it to the kitchen without issue. The main area of the cabin is really just one big room. The night is impossibly dark, and not even a stray bit of starlight shines through the many windows. I keep my hands in front of me as I move, aware of the space enough to get around but still worried I might knock something over.

A tank feeds our sink, and most of our water comes from the spring that opens nearby and forms a stream as it winds its way down the mountain. The same spring turns into the waterfall they claim Heather Murphy fell down when she had her “heart attack.”

The cupboard opens quietly, so I’m sure no one will hear, but my fingers slip on the knob, and the door thuds as it closes. My heart speeds up. I wasn’t kidding when I said Granny would beat me senseless if she caught me, and a whooping has never excused me from chores before. So that would make tomorrow an exceptionally bad day.

A few pumps to build the pressure, and I fill his glass, making sure not to waste a drop. Once finished, I walk back to my bedroom, one hand stretched out as I go. I’m more excited to get back to the nameless guy in my bedroom than I should be, and I know I can’t encourage these feelings. He has to leave.

I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow. That will make getting my guest out all the more complicated, and I shake my head as I realize I’ve already decided to let him sleep in my bed tonight. I’m debating whether the chair or the floor will be better, but I'm suddenly stopped by my hand grazing soft, weathered skin.

“Granny,” I shriek and jump. The cup goes flying, water splashes everywhere, and the glass shatters as it hits the ground, skittering shards across the floor and over our feet.

She flips on the one overhead light in the entire house, brightening up the kitchen and living area. From that one move, I know how badly I’ve screwed up. Our access to electricity is spotty at best up here, and we very rarely use it when we can avoid it. The one power line that runs up the mountain feeds our entire community, and here at the top, there isn’t much left. She never wastes it to look at me.

My eyes struggle to adjust when it was pitch black a moment before. Rage twists her sagging cheeks, making her look older and more frightening all at once. She knows I wasted water and broke a glass, but does she know about the man in my room? That’s what will really make the difference.

“I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up,” I tell her, my voice begging for some mercy that doesn’t actually exist.

“You. Stupid. Little. Girl.” Her voice twists with her anger, letting me know I’m no longer dealing with a rational person. This is the Granny who will beat me half to death and leave me in the woodshed to heal.

Granny’s arm swings, and I expect her fist, but I don’t see the razor strap. The leather collides with the side of my head, blunt force mixed with the snap of a whip. Its strike is so familiar I’d know it in my sleep—have known it in my sleep once or twice.

The hit jiggles my eyes and brain, leaving everything fuzzy. I cry as pain explodes in my eye. I’ve been beaten with this piece of leather more times than I can count. It used to belong to my grandfather, and I’m sure it blackened my daddy’s behind a time or two, but this is different. She really wants to hurt me.

“Please,” I beg, and I’m not sure if I’m asking her to forgive me, to stop hitting me, or both.

The second hit takes me off my feet. My hip connects with the hard, wet floor, and the sharp pain from the glass registers as it digs into my skin, but my pants take the worst of the damage. I look up at her from my spot on the floor, and I don’t even have a chance to raise my hands as the strap connects with my head a third time.

Spots of colors swirl in my vision with the impact, and I fall the rest of the way, slamming my face against the floor. The shards of glass meet no resistance and slice my skin deeply. Blood spills, rolling down my cheek like tears.

“Please,” I whisper, but I’m speaking into the floor, and I can’t even hear myself over the ringing in my ears.

She still hasn’t answered my pleas when the light finally goes out. I’m back surrounded by the darkness, but her actions speak loud enough. You don’t deserve mercy . I shake through the pain, glad at least that she can’t see me and I can hide my shame.

“Clean it up,” she speaks into the dark. “You’ll be getting a new glass in the morning, and you won’t be using my money to do it.”

Her feet pad softly away, and a dull thud tells me she’s back in her room. A few minutes pass before my head stops spinning, and the ringing in my ears dulls enough to do as she says. My hands search across the floor until I find the island in the center of the kitchen and light the oil lamp, deciding her wrath will be worse in the morning if I miss some of the mess.

The broom takes care of the glass, and the mop gets the water. My head and hands don’t feel like my own as they work, and I run out the door to throw up over the side of the cliff twice, desperate for her not to hear me and wake up again. About an hour later, I’ve cleaned up the glass and wiped up the bloody pink water. My face stings horribly. Bits of glass stick out of my skin, but I don’t dare touch them before I’m hidden away.

I’ve forgotten why I went to get the water to begin with, and when I open the door to my bedroom, I’m shocked all over again to find that I’m not alone.