his palm over the flame. His skin sizzled, making the room smell like burning flesh. I gagged.
“What are you doing?!” I demanded, batting it away from him. The lighter clattered to the floor.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said hollowly. “There is nothing.”
I’d ruined them. Permanently, maybe. I had ruined them. I had broken their minds apart.
“Just sleep!” I yelled. I balled my hands into tight fists and pressed them against my eyes. I heard my foster parents slump down, falling against the leather couch cushions.
Stacie circled her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. It was surreal, standing here with my tormentor, taking comfort from her. After a few minutes, she released me, rubbing my shoulders. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Communication
I felt sick as I slid into Stacie’s car.
“You didn’t know what would happen,” she said gently.
I shook my head, crying silently. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and stared out the window. I’d had enough warning— enough that I shouldn’t have risked it, shouldn’t have risked them .
“What will happen to them?” I whispered.
“If you wake them up, they’ll probably have to be institutionalized,” she said seriously, staring straight down the road.
If I wake them… was she suggesting that I kill them off? I wiped the tears away from my eyes, my heart heavy. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I’d ruined their lives anyway. Maybe death would be a mercy.
“If you don’t wake them, they’ll be in the hospital, in a coma,” she said, pursing her lips tightly together. “Which might not be a bad idea, truthfully.”
“Leaving them in a coma?” I squeaked, my voice cracking.
She rounded the corner into her driveway, putting the car into park. “Yes. It will buy time until you decide… until you decide what to do.”
There was nothing ambiguous in her inflections. The time would allow me to get comfortable with murdering them. I doubted I would live that long.
Stacie held up the bottle she’d retrieved from her cabinet earlier, “For now, we’ll see what my father has to say about it.”
“Your father?” I felt confused, regretful, distraught. I wanted the night to be over, for all this to have been a nightmare.
“When I pulled off the handkerchief, it alerted my father that I wanted to speak with him.” She clicked her seatbelt, sliding out of the convertible, and I followed her into her mansion.
“How is that possible?” I asked, “What’s inside?”
“Sea water,” she answered with a shrug, “gathered a few years ago from the beach in our back yard.”
“Just ocean water?” I asked incredulously, “So the bottle is special?”
“No, the water is special. It has one other ingredient, but it’s 99.99% plain old saline.” She kicked her shoes off and sunk down onto the chaise, gesturing for me to have a seat as well. I curled into one of the plush chairs dotting the edges of the room.
“What’s the other ingredient?”
“A single scale from my father’s eye.”
I wrinkled my nose, “Your father’s eyes have scales?”
She laughed, “It sounds icky, but it’s really not. My eyes have scales too, but they’re small. You know how the iris has varied pigmentation? It’s just one of those tiny slivers of color that we’re talking about here. We shed them normally. It was just a matter of my father collecting one. It links him to this bottle, when necessary.”
“Is it too small to see?”
“Well, yes, but even if it was large enough to see a dot floating around, you have to remember how our eyes work. They change color to match the water we’re in. This water is pretty clear, so the scale is pretty clear, too.”
“Why do we need to talk to your father?” Stacie seemed like she was fairly independent, and the servants all obeyed her as if she was the lady of the
“What are you doing?!” I demanded, batting it away from him. The lighter clattered to the floor.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said hollowly. “There is nothing.”
I’d ruined them. Permanently, maybe. I had ruined them. I had broken their minds apart.
“Just sleep!” I yelled. I balled my hands into tight fists and pressed them against my eyes. I heard my foster parents slump down, falling against the leather couch cushions.
Stacie circled her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. It was surreal, standing here with my tormentor, taking comfort from her. After a few minutes, she released me, rubbing my shoulders. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Communication
I felt sick as I slid into Stacie’s car.
“You didn’t know what would happen,” she said gently.
I shook my head, crying silently. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and stared out the window. I’d had enough warning— enough that I shouldn’t have risked it, shouldn’t have risked them .
“What will happen to them?” I whispered.
“If you wake them up, they’ll probably have to be institutionalized,” she said seriously, staring straight down the road.
If I wake them… was she suggesting that I kill them off? I wiped the tears away from my eyes, my heart heavy. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I’d ruined their lives anyway. Maybe death would be a mercy.
“If you don’t wake them, they’ll be in the hospital, in a coma,” she said, pursing her lips tightly together. “Which might not be a bad idea, truthfully.”
“Leaving them in a coma?” I squeaked, my voice cracking.
She rounded the corner into her driveway, putting the car into park. “Yes. It will buy time until you decide… until you decide what to do.”
There was nothing ambiguous in her inflections. The time would allow me to get comfortable with murdering them. I doubted I would live that long.
Stacie held up the bottle she’d retrieved from her cabinet earlier, “For now, we’ll see what my father has to say about it.”
“Your father?” I felt confused, regretful, distraught. I wanted the night to be over, for all this to have been a nightmare.
“When I pulled off the handkerchief, it alerted my father that I wanted to speak with him.” She clicked her seatbelt, sliding out of the convertible, and I followed her into her mansion.
“How is that possible?” I asked, “What’s inside?”
“Sea water,” she answered with a shrug, “gathered a few years ago from the beach in our back yard.”
“Just ocean water?” I asked incredulously, “So the bottle is special?”
“No, the water is special. It has one other ingredient, but it’s 99.99% plain old saline.” She kicked her shoes off and sunk down onto the chaise, gesturing for me to have a seat as well. I curled into one of the plush chairs dotting the edges of the room.
“What’s the other ingredient?”
“A single scale from my father’s eye.”
I wrinkled my nose, “Your father’s eyes have scales?”
She laughed, “It sounds icky, but it’s really not. My eyes have scales too, but they’re small. You know how the iris has varied pigmentation? It’s just one of those tiny slivers of color that we’re talking about here. We shed them normally. It was just a matter of my father collecting one. It links him to this bottle, when necessary.”
“Is it too small to see?”
“Well, yes, but even if it was large enough to see a dot floating around, you have to remember how our eyes work. They change color to match the water we’re in. This water is pretty clear, so the scale is pretty clear, too.”
“Why do we need to talk to your father?” Stacie seemed like she was fairly independent, and the servants all obeyed her as if she was the lady of the
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