Page 31 of Soul So Dark

Dallas draws one knee up inside her oversized black t-shirt until only her toes with their sparkly purple polish are showing. Then she tucks her other leg underneath of her.

“Witcher 3,” she replies, “but I’m not really feeling that one anymore.”

“I can see how that would start to bore someone who can get through Sen’s Fortress in 10 minutes,” I smirk.

“Whatever,” Dallas mutters with a roll of her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement.

I continue along the wall, glossing over her double monitors on the desk and the giant basket of worn stuffed animals and assortment of blankets in the corner. I’ve walked past this room countless times, but I’ve never actually looked inside. All I knew was that it was pink. Very pink. And now that I’m standing inside, it’s kind of weird, like I’m not supposed to be here.

Maybe because I’m not.

Dallas notices me eyeing the knob dubiously. “It’s locked,” she volunteers, “but even if my parents come home, no one will try to come in.”

“How do you know?”

“Because my mom’s the one who told me to lock it at night.”

“Why?”

“To keep Colson out,” she replies with nonchalance.

As soon as she says it, I go still, unsure of how to respond. She must realize how it sounds, what reasons might exist to lock your older brother out of your room at night, and she quickly starts shaking her head.

“Sorry, that sounds weird. It’s because of what happened last week after he and Mason found—” her voice catches and she pauses momentarily to steady her voice, “after they came out of the woods.”

“What happened?” As much as I don’t want to bring up anything upsetting, I have to know what Colson did that warranted Christy telling Dallas to lock her door at night.

She looks up at me with her doe eyes. “You can sit down,” she says softly.

I suddenly realize that I’m towering over her small frame as I stare down at her suspiciously. Her invitation breaks my concentration and I sink down to the edge so that we’re eye-level.

“OK, why do you have to lock Col out of your room?”

“We were playing—Iwas playingWitcher 3,” Dallas corrects herself, “and we both fell asleep. I woke up because he was dragging me across the room. He was having a nightmare or something, and he thought I was Evie. Scott had to kick down the door and Colson tried to shoot him and my mom with an imaginary gun.” Then she pauses. “It was a lot like how he was today in the cemetery.”

This story is utterly terrifying, mostly because I know what Colson’s like when he’s awake, and the thought of him going on an unconscious rampage in the dead of night is the stuff of nightmares.

“Did he hurt you?”

“He doesn’t remember any of it,” she replies, not really answering my question, “so, if you say anything to him, he won’t know what you’re talking about. And I’d like it to stay that way.”

I hesitate, but then reluctantly nod in agreement. “OK,” I exhale, then turn my attention back to the flat screen on her wall, “so what are you playing instead?”

“What?”

“You said you’re not feelingWitcher 3anymore,” I clarify, “so, whatareyou in the mood for?”

Dallas tilts her head in consideration. “Tomb Raider.”

“Tomb Raider?”

She untucks her legs and slides off the bed, approaching the shelves next to the TV. After a few moments, she plucks a game off the shelf and turns the case toward me—Tomb Raider III.

“I’ve already beat it a few times, but I think it’s my favorite because it’s the one I taught Evie how to play,” she explains while loading it into the console.

“She any good?” I ask.

“Yeah, she’s alright,” Dallas muses as she loads the game, “she’s used to playingCall of DutyorHalo, but so much of those are just a bunch of mouth breathers in a micro-dick competition.”