A Shimmer of Angels by Lisa M. Basso Read Free Book Online Page B

was bloodstained. I didn’t want to have to ask Dad for another backpack. I’d cost him enough already.
    The stain was small enough for me to wipe the spot of red off with a towel. No one would notice. The black and red plaid jacket Aunt Nora had made special for me as a release day present, however, wouldn’t be so lucky. Into the bag it went.
    Once everything was shoved into the bag, I set it down in the hallway so I didn’t have to look at it again. Then I stepped into the shower, eager to scrub the stains off my skin. The hot water stung my eyes. I welcomed it—anything to keep from looking at the pink pooling at the bottom of the tub. Eventually the water ran clear and my shaking eased, small shivers returning only in short bursts.
    “Rayna, can I talk to you when you’re out?” Dad’s voice carried over the music.
    I stepped out from the shower. Steam clouded the mirror and dripped a foggy veil over the sky-blue walls. Dad would have a thousand questions. If I couldn’t keep it together, if Dad found out about the hallucinations returning, I’d probably never taste freedom again.
    Things felt like they had before, when the wing sightings were at their worst. For the better part of the year after Mom’s death, I’d seen at least one a month. Dad had reached his wits’ end. When I began to notice how much it bothered him, I’d tried hiding it. The lying had killed me a little inside every time, and in the end, I couldn’t keep it up. I never could.
    The last thing I wanted was for life to go back to that, to ruin everything the three of us had worked toward since Mom’s death, and my first hospitalization.
    I wrapped a towel around my hair and threw on my fluffy lavender bathrobe, the one with a monkey embroidered on the back. I took longer than I needed, pulling on all the reserves of strength I had left. The walk back to my room was a long one, the hardwood floor in the hallway cold beneath my feet. I rolled my shoulders, preparing for a fight I knew I couldn’t win.

Chapter Nine
    Dad paced the flower-shaped rug beside my bed. With my eyes down, I shooed him out so I could get dressed, buying myself more time. Time I needed desperately. Even with the door closed, I could hear him in the hallway. His heavy footsteps, working back and forth.
    I sank against the door.
    Get a hold of yourself. Your freedom depends on it.
    After a few false starts, I stood and pulled on a pair of heather-gray sweatpants and a white, long-sleeved top, spinning around to check that everything in my room was in order before letting Dad back in. Of course everything was in order. My room was spotless. When I was inside, the first thing they drilled into me—besides that I was nuts—was neatness. They made daily inspections. Handed out minor punishments to those who didn’t pass. In the beginning, I’d lost a lot of gardening time this way.
    Even now, if something here was out of place, it was because I’d done it purposely, to allow myself that little sliver of rebellion. To truly taste freedom. I still couldn’t stand it, but I was teaching myself to live with one book being askew or one pencil not quite lining up with the others.
    I took a deep breath, wiped my palms on the sides of my sweats, and opened the door. Dad whooshed in like a tornado, hands behind his back, still in pacing mode.
    “Before you say anything, Dad, I’m fine.”
    He canceled pacing mode and shoved his hands into his outdated jean pockets. Uh oh, Stern Dad mode. I swallowed.
    “Are you?” he asked.
    I forced myself to meet his gaze. I’d learned the hard way that eye contact was important when someone questioned my sanity; crazy people either avoid it altogether or stare too long. So I looked him in the eye as I said, “Yes, Dad. I’m good.” Waited a moment. Two. And then I looked away. Before he saw the lie in my eyes. That was another thing the SS Crazy had taught me: it’s hard to convince someone you’re not crazy when you wear a