Amity by Micol Ostow Read Free Book Online Page B

I didn’t bother checking out another hardware store, or any other place that might be nearby. Jules would just have to deal with the boathouse banging.
    All those wings beating against my brain, they wanted me to get back home.

NOW
    DAY 2
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    BY THE LIGHT OF THE MORNING , things felt bright and airy again in a way that made me almost laugh to myself, sheepish, as I rubbed my eyes and propped myself up in bed. The sun streaming through my window was so vivid it nearly felt surreal, reluctant as I was to think about things in those terms.
    The surreal was dangerous. Anything other than actual, real reality couldn’t be trusted.
    I couldn’t trust my own mind.
    But …
    But what about my eyes ?
    I flexed my fingers gingerly beneath the covers. My left hand, the one that had been more doused, ached. The pain was dim, but solid enough, still present. The pain felt real.
    But seeing was believing.
    I drew in a nervous breath.
    What are you afraid of, Gwen?
    If the blisters that had formed last night were gone, then all was normal and safe again. Safe enough anyway. If my hands were intact, I could tell myself I’d been dreaming, seeing things last night, that I was hysterical, exhausted, out of sorts from the first night in a new house.
    If my hands were unburned, unblemished, then all waswell. I’d only been having a moment of temporary …
    Well, the expression is “temporary insanity ,” isn’t it?
    Yes. Insanity.
    Everyone has those, Gwen . Everybody.
    Everyone goes a bit crazy now and again .
    If the blisters were still there—and they felt still there, oozing and prickling and protesting, angry and wet—
    Well. If the blisters were still there, then this place, Amity—it wasn’t safe.
    If the blisters were still there, I had issues to worry about other than the question of my own insanity.
    Everyone goes a bit crazy .
    Now and again .
    I slid my hands up, out from the covers, splaying them open before my eyes.
     
     
     
     
     

I WAS HUMMING AS I MADE MY WAY DOWNSTAIRS , memories of throbbing hands running off me like chalk lettering in the rain. I flexed the smooth, unmarred fingers of my left hand for good measure, cupping the cool, polished banister as I descended. It felt solid and reassuring.
    The kitchen was thick with breakfast smells: coffee, bacon, anything swimming in a pool of butter. A pile of dishes in the sink confirmed that a meal had taken place sometime while I was still upstairs, cowering in bed. I tried to ignore the ripple of shame that rose at the thought.
    I had just set a kettle of water on the stove when my mother wandered through the doorway, stretching her arms above her head.
    “Good morning.” She quickly crossed the room and kissed me on the cheek. “Did you sleep well?”
    “I—”
    (she was shot in the head)
    “—I slept fine.” I nodded.
    “Me, too.” She didn’t seem to remember being woken. She inhaled again, deeper. “Must be the river air. I was out cold as soon as my head hit the pillow. I slept like the dead.”
    It was a figure of speech, of course. Still, she offered a nervous glance my way. I did my best to avoid taking a peek atthe delicate blue road map of veins lacing my inner wrists. The blisters from last night were gone, but I had other scars.
    Go away, go away . The refrain echoed like a pulse. Sleeping like the dead is not the same as being dead .
    I knew that, of course.
    A hollow pounding blared from the other side of the wall. “What’s going on in the dining room?” I asked, deliberately (if not subtly) changing the subject. Better not to talk about the sleep of the dead. Better not to think about it at all .
    “Home improvement.” Luke appeared in the doorway, brandishing a hammer. “Mom wants shelves, Mom gets shelves.”
    “Mom wanted shelves before Ro gets here,” Mom clarified. She looked at her watch. “Mom isn’t convinced that’s going to happen.”
    Luke’s mouth twisted apologetically.