Page 95 of Brian and Mina's Holiday Hits
“And you think you’re going to train me?”
Seriously, what’s with the pseudo-father routine? He killed my father. He doesn’t get to swoop in and take up the role this late in the game.
“I trained her,” he says.
I turn my attention back to the angel of death who does a slow turn, showcasing an arsenal of weapons attached to her body in various holsters.
“Okay,” I say.
Brian seems pleased at my easy acceptance. “Good answer, kid. You’re going to be glorious.”
And then, the bomb drops and explodes, and the silent truth that had been clawing to get out of my psyche finally becomes loud enough for me to hear. It’s the way he said ‘kid’. Somehow out of a million almost forgotten memories, I hear that store Santa saying kid in this man’s voice, and the obvious truth reveals itself.
I guess once I’d gotten older and realized she wasn’t magic, I’d thought maybe the store Santa had told her about me calling her an angel, and she’d somehow gotten the drawing to me. He did know my name after all. I reasoned maybe the guy playing Santa knew my family.
But it was my father’s killer the entire time.
I don’t know how long this fucker has kept tabs on me or why, but I’m going to find out.
prologue
MINA
6 a.m. Groundhog Day.
The alarm blares, and I roll over to turn it off. Brian has finally started setting it, and now I wish I’d never asked because he apparently gets up at stupid-o-clock before it’s even light outside. Whodoesthat? I mean besides all the normal people with normal jobs out in the real world. Either way, I stand by the idea that no one should ever get up this early—unless by force. Especially in the winter.
Also, why are the blankets so much more comfortable after you’ve been cocooned in them for hours? It’s all so unfair. This world might be Hell.
Brian’s arm snakes around my waist as he snuggles in closer to me. “Don’t forget your booties cause it’s cold outside today,” he says pressing a kiss to the side of my throat just above my collar.
“It’s cold every day,” I reply.
He just chuckles against my hair. Fun fact about Brian: Somehow this stone-cold sociopathic killer knows every single line in the movieGroundhog Day.
He sits up and grabs the remote off the side table to turn on the TV. I can’t believe he even remembers it’s Groundhog Day. What internal mental workings could possibly explain waking up every single day instantly alert and knowing what day it is? I’m sure this is a serial killer trait.
“Let’s find out what the little forest rat has to say about our future,” Brian says.
“I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” I groan, pulling the blankets back over my head.
“I do when it involves weather.”
Brian turns it to the local weather station where they’re streaming the Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania weather report. After the movie released, this poor small town was swamped with tourists, and it only seems to get bigger every year. This strikes me as bizarre. I mean, who wants to travel in all that cold and snow just to watch a rodent forecast the weather? Then again, people travel to stand out in the cold surrounded by millions of people to count down to a one-second holiday in adult diapers. People have strange fascinations.
It’s way too early in the morning for this. It’s gotta still be dark there. We both watch as six more weeks of winter is predicted, and I’m sure this is last year’s telecast. Maybe it’s a slow news day. There’s a blonde I swear I recognize in an obnoxiously loud fuchsia sweatshirt.
“You know, I think the start of spring actuallyisin six weeks?” Brian says conversationally, turning to me.
“I swear, if you quote another line from that movie…”
But before I can come up with a proper threat, Brian says, “If this floor wasn’t so fucking cold, and the guns weren’t so many steps away, I’d shoot the TV right now for this goddamned prediction.”
“Okay, Elvis,” I say. “You didn’t have to watch it.”
Brian half growls as he gets up and starts getting dressed.
But then, the local news station guy comes on and says: “That was last year’s prediction. Stay tuned for the livestream of this year’s forecast at seven-thirty Eastern time.”
