Whisper in the Rain

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

GRACE

Miles was still sleeping when my eyelids fluttered open the next morning. For a second, I sat perfectly still, wondering if I was making a mistake. Keeping secrets came easy to me; I had years of practice. But not opening up to Miles felt wrong.

He cared about me; loved me even, if those whispered words hadn't been part of a dream. Still, the idea of laying every broken piece of myself at his feet scared me more than anything.

Careful not to wake him, I slowly extracted myself from his warmth and crept off the bed. As I shuffled across the hall and forced my heavy, sleep-sore limbs to cooperate, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried to focus.

"Oh, hell."

I blinked at my grisly reflection in the mirror. My lips were dark and bruised, framing red-tinted teeth that made me look like a vampire. My hair was completely matted to my face on wide side while the other side looked like an eagle's nest. And my eyes – my poor, overly-perceptive eyes – were rimmed in black and red.

I looked like a monster.

As quickly and efficiently as possible, I brushed my teeth, scrubbed the residual blood from my face, and raked a comb through my hair, tugging painfully at my tangled locks since someone had hidden my brush.

After accepting it wasn't getting any better than that, I ventured into the kitchen. It was surprisingly quiet. The small thirteen-inch television on the counter was the only thing emitting noise, and that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. It was never quiet on Saturday mornings.

I vaguely remembered that Tammy mentioned taking the two younger girls to the park and that set me on edge even more. That meant Miles, Martha, and I were the only three people in the house.

Grand...

"Dishes aren't gonna clean themselves."

I jumped at the sound of Martha's voice. Turning, I found her taking a drag from her stump of a cigarette, smiling.

"Morning."

She lifted her brows and snuffed the cherry out in her ashtray but didn't return the sentiment. Oh well.

I ignored her right back and turned to the sink, knowing she'd instructed the girls to leave all the morning chores to me.

After my little trip to the hospital, Martha barely spoke to me. She kept her distance, only stomaching my company long enough to inform me that she'd taken chores off the other girls' lists and added them to mine.

In her mind, it was a clever punishment. But really, the extra chores didn't bother me the slightest. That just meant that Tammy and the girls would have more time to play, more time to do homework, and more time to be children. Like they were supposed to be.

"I'll do them after I eat."

Martha did little more than scoff as I poured myself a bowl of cereal and joined her at the small table where I could see the television. To my surprise, she wasn't watching a reality show or soap operas. Instead, two news anchors bantered back and forth on screen.

The story they were covering concerned infamous serial killer, Daimon Harrington, who had just been put to death. Although he was dead and gone, the reporters were having a field day with the list of victims Harrington left behind in his cell. Hundreds of names. Men, women, children. He didn't care. He didn't have a pattern. He was just your run-of-the-mill heartless psychopath.

"It's a shame," Martha whispered as the report turned to weather.

I dropped my spoon in the bowl with a clank.