Was that blood or paint?
Why was Mom sobbing?
Remembering that I was still naked, I knelt and grabbed a random T-shirt off the floor and tugged it on, following it up with some baggy sweats. When I was presentable enough, I steeled my spine and bolted through the door. Mom’s crying and shouting was coming from her room, so I followed the sound there.
It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. Mom was off the bed, kneeling on the floor with her face buried in her hands.
My breathing stuttered out of my chest when my gaze drifted to the bed. There was bloodeverywhere.Repulsion twisted my stomach as I took in my father’s mutilated body, a spike of fear slithering down my spine.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, my hand moving to cup my mouth.
I thought back to the dream I had last night. What if it hadn’t been a dream? What if it had been real? It was too unrealistic to wrap my head around. What? Someone snuck into my room in the middle of the night, ate me out, and then killed my father?
“W-what happened?” I choked out, glancing over at my mother. “Who did this?”
Mom just shook her head, tears cascading down her blotchy cheeks. The sounds that escaped her sounded almost animalistic and guttural. I knew they’d been having problems, but I couldn’t imagine her doing anything as gruesome as this.
“Where’s Isabella?” I pressed. “Have you even checked on her?”
My mother’s silence told me all I needed to know. Rage sparked to life within me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Isnapped. “You’re more worried about that piece of shit than about the baby he didn’t even care about?”
Another choked sound fled her lips, and I found myself shaking my head in response. “Maybe Dad was right about you.” I seethed. “Fucking worthless.”
If I had children, they would be my first priority. But no. All she cared about was the man at her side—a man who hated her fucking guts at that. I spun on my heels and crossed the hall to my little sister’s room.
The nursey was beautiful, but it was all a twisted illusion. A bassinet sat against the farthest wall, a changing table beside it. On the other side of the room was a white dresser with a ballerina on top. The room was painted light pink, with an assortment of girly toys scattered throughout. Mom wanted it to be as feminine as possible, not wanting another daughter who despised such things.
A relieved breath exploded from my lungs when I reached the bassinet, my gaze falling on Isobella. She was awake, but she was just lying there. I reached forward, brushing my large thumb against her tiny fingers. Instinctively, she moved her hand and cooed.
Warmth filled my chest as I watched her. She was absolutely perfect.
When I slipped out into the hall again and returned to my mom’s room, she was standing. She’d just lowered her phone when I entered, her bloodshot eyes flicking over to me.
“The police are on the way,” she muttered almost robotically.
I couldn’t even find it in me to feel sorry for her. What if the person who had done this was still here? What if he had been after Isobella?
Whoever did this seemed to know my mom on a more personal level, maybe even my dad. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked on the heels of my feet.
“Mom?” I addressed, furrowing my eyebrows as I reflected on the message in my room. “Who’s Savannah Emmerson?”
She glanced over at me in surprise but quickly smoothed her features back out. “I told you. She’s that crazy nutjob who lives at the end of the street. Stay away from her if you know what’s good for you.” She sniffled, swiping the back of her hand against her cheeks.
There was something she wasn’t telling me, and it made my stomach twist with unease. How was she connected to this woman? I always assumed she didn’t like her because of the stereotypical bullshit, but if that message told me anything, it was that there was more to it than that.
“Then why did Dad’s killer leave a message in my room, telling me to ask about her?”
This caught her attention, her skin paling two shades lighter. “What?” She breathed out, her chest accelerating as she worked to keep up with her rapid breaths. “I-I don’t know why they’d ask you to do that.”
My teeth scraped together, frustration bubbling through my stomach from the blatant lie.
“Are you sure?” I pressed. “Because it sounds to me like someone killed Dad because of this Savannah chick you always seemed so worried about.”
Mom snorted in response. “Please. That bitch is harmless. She’s just fucking weird.” The hostility in my mother’s tone had my shoulders straightening. I’d never heard her speak that way before, and never with such … aggression. “This is the last time I want to speak of her, Ember,” she added more calmly. “My husband was just murdered. Please let me come to terms with that first.”
My upper lip curled into a sneer. “As far as I’m concerned, that man died years ago. The only difference is, he can’t spout his abusive bullshit to you any longer. Maybe this was a blessing.”
Before she had the chance to respond, I was spinning on my heels and storming out of her room. Instead of heading back to my room, I made my way down the stairs, in need of some fresh air.
