Melissa tugged her wrists apart, but the zip tie wouldn’t break. She couldn’t free her hands. And Amelia was running out of time.
Melissa moved fast, outrunning her ability to think or plan. She darted behind Kendall and looped her wrists around her neck,pulling her back. She didn’t want to choke the girl, only get her off Amelia. First Kendall resisted, but then her weight lifted beneath Melissa. She shifted her momentum and then wasn’t just coming up but actually launching herself backward, kicking her head back. Melissa saw a flash of white as Kendall’s skull knocked against her forehead. Then Kendall’s whole back caught Melissa’s chest like a battering ram, and they were flying together.
They landed in a heap on the ground. Melissa’s spine lit up with pain, and all the air went out of her. She wheezed as Kendall rolled off her, struggling to take a breath—and then Kendall was launching through the air, her face a picture of snarling rage.
By some instinct Melissa rolled to the side and got to her knees, oxygen finally filling her lungs. Kendall scrabbled up and stabbed out with the knife, making a straight line with her arm directly toward Melissa’s torso.
Melissa didn’t think, just moved—twisted her body, her arms, quicker and more gracefully than she thought possible. Kendall’s arm shot into the loop made by her arms and her bound wrists, slicing the air all the way past her shoulder. Melissa was a needle, Kendall’s arm the thread. And when Kendall was tangled all the way into her, about to withdraw her arm and stab again, Melissa pulled her wrists back with all her might. She caught Kendall’s forearm in the crook made by her wrists and the zip tie, pulled it hard against her shoulder.
She heard a crack. Kendall screamed. The knife fell. Melissa let go.
“You bitch!” Kendall yelled, staggering back, cradling her wrist. “You broke my fucking arm!”
“I’m sorry,” Melissa said—and she really was. She didn’t want to hurt anyone.
Kendall kept on staggering backward until her back hit a tree trunk, and then she sank to the ground, sobbing.
“Oh, God!” she yelled. The bobbing flashlights were getting closer now. The shouts.
“I didn’t mean to.” Her voice was hoarse, weak, and looking at her, Melissa almost felt sorry for her. Almost believed her, that this was all a big mistake. “I didn’t want any of this! I can’t help the way I am. Oh my God, these things I’ve done. I didn’t know how to stop, don’t you see? Why didn’t anyone help me?”
Amelia walked to her, sank to her haunches, put a hand on Kendall’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s going to be okay.”
Kendall leaned toward her, and Amelia caught her in a hug.
“I’m sorry,” the girl sobbed into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mom. Mom, I’m so sorry…”
Kendall’s mother wasn’t there to forgive her. The dead don’t speak. But Amelia didn’t correct her. “I know, sweetie. I know you’re sorry. Just hush now. Help is coming. You hear? We’re going to help you. You won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.”
Melissa fell to her knees, sat back on her heels, exhausted down to her bones.
And they stayed like that, a tableau in the middle of the woods—Kendall crying, Amelia comforting her.
After a moment, Melissa stood and moved into the darkness of the trees—stumbling through the undergrowth. Pressing toward light, toward hope. Toward her son, the boy she’d die to protect.
