Splintered by A. G. Howard Read Free Book Online Page B

hacking cough shakes her throat and she doubles over, fingers clenched around the braid to loosen it.
“Alison!” I leap toward her. It barely registers that my ankle no longer hurts.
Alison falls to the muddying earth, gasping for breath. The rain falls harder, as if someone’s pelting pebbles at us. Her dirt-caked fingernails gouge at the platinum cord strangling her. In her desperation, she rips some skin from her neck. Blood rises along the welts. Her eyeballs bulge, snapping from side to side as she struggles to inhale. Her house shoes slap against the muddy ground.
“Alyssssss,” she hisses, unable to talk.
I’m crying so hard, I can’t see my fingers as I wrestle against the braid. Lightning strikes in the distance . . . once . . . twice . . . then the plaited cords tighten around my fingers and tangle me up, a pressure so intense, I fear my knuckles will snap. My fingers pop into place against my will and squeeze her neck.
    Something is trying to make me kill my mom!
Nausea, hot and vicious, rips through my stomach.
“No . . .” The more I struggle to free both of us, the more deeply
    interlocked we become. My yarn dreadlocks cling to my neck like a wet mop. Rain and tears bleed into my eye shadow, and black droplets smudge Alison’s dirty apron. “Let go!” I shout at her hair.
    “Stop . . . Allie . . .” Her plea is hollow and hissing, like air escaping a tire.
The braid squeezes my fingers again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, sobbing. “I’m not trying to hurt you . . .”
Thunder rolls through my bones, the taunting laugh of some dark demon. No matter how hard I pull, the strands embed me deeper and tighten around her neck. Her hands go limp. She turns blue, eyes lolling up until the irises disappear.
“Somebody help ! ” The scream strains my lungs.
The gardeners come running. Two sets of meaty hands curl around me from behind, and just like that, the braid releases.
Alison sucks in a deep, raspy breath, filling her lungs and coughing. I go limp as one of the gardeners holds me up.
Nurse Jenkins hovers into view, syringe in hand. Dad’s right behind and I slump into his arms.
“I d-d-didn’t,” I stutter. “I wouldn’t, not ever . . .”
“I know.” Dad hugs me. “You were trying to keep her from hurting herself.” His embrace makes my sopping clothes stick to my skin.
“But it wasn’t Alison,” I murmur.
“Of course not,” Dad whispers against my head. “It wasn’t her. Your mom hasn’t been herself for years.”
I suppress the urge to throw up. He doesn’t get it. She wasn’t trying to strangle herself; the wind controlled her braid. But what sane person would ever believe that?
Just before Alison’s eyes flutter closed, she mumbles something with a drunken stammer: “The daisies . . . are hiding treasure. Buried treasure.”
Then she’s oblivious—a drooling zombie.
And I’m left alone to face the storm.

4
. . . . . . .

BUTTERFLY THREADS
    It takes so long to get Alison settled at the asylum, Dad has to drive me straight to work. We pull up to the curb at the only vintage clothing shop in Pleasance. It’s nestled in a popular strip mall along the commerce side of downtown, a bistro on one side of the shop, a jewelry store on the other. Tom’s Sporting Goods is across the way.
    “Remember. I’ll be at work. Just one quick call, and I’ll take you home.” Dad’s frown forms wrinkles at the edges of his mouth.
I’m numb, still wondering if I imagined it all. I stare past the pink brick storefront and black wrought-iron fence. My gaze focuses and unfocuses on the curvy black letters over the door: butterfly
threads .
    I hold the moth air freshener at my nose. The scent reminds me of spring, outdoor hikes, and happy families. But winter is all I feel inside, and my family is more screwed up than we’ve ever been. I want to tell Dad everything, but in his eyes, admitting Alison’s delusions are real would be proof of my splintering sanity.
    “You don’t have