The Devil Inside

26: Old Wounds

After another tense moment, he swept past her and never once looked back. It was as though they'd never spoken at all.

# # #

The next forty-eight hours were agony.

"You have to be patient," Cooper cautioned her on the phone one night. She could hear the sound of gunfire in the background—one of his silly little games. "We can't seem overeager to talk to him. The guy just woke up from a coma after getting shoved down a flight of stairs."

"Allegedly shoved," she corrected him.

She could practically hear the roll of his eyes. "Yeah, well. You and I both know better than that."

"What if he doesn't remember anything at all?" she demanded, irate. She'd spent the last hour pacing the length of her dark room with only the light of the full moon to see by, scowling down at the carpet. "What if he already told the police what he knows?"

"Calla," Cooper said, exasperated. "There's nothing we can do. Tom isn't going anywhere. You heard what the nurses said. We have to let him rest—"

"He can rest when he's dead," she snapped, turning to her window. She brushed aside the curtains and glared across the field, to the apartment complex beyond—and the speck of light on the second floor she knew to be Cooper's bedroom window. "I'm happy to help arrange the funeral, if it'll get him to talk."

"How thoughtful of you."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He sighed. "Can you please get some sleep? We'll try again tomorrow." And then he hung up on her.

She threw her phone on the bed. Took a deep breath. Exhaled.

Sleep, she thought, looking back at her bed. Trepidation rooted her to the spot. She should sleep. But she knew if she closed her eyes, the boy with golden curls would find her. Or else it would be Rachel and her sad smile, or Tracy laughing manically from her grave. Cory might even make a reappearance, if only to lure her into the woods—where he might be reunited with her once more.

My love for her is so great, that if all the leaves on the trees were tongues, they would not be able to express it.

She closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her temple. Sleep, she commanded. Her feet moved of their own accord, drifting to the bed. She crawled beneath the covers, cocooning herself in their warmth. And still she shuddered.

"Rachel is dead," she whispered into the darkness. "Tracy is dead. Cory is dead."

The golden boy flashed behind her lids. There and then gone.

"You're dead, too." She curled into a ball and slowly exhaled. "They're all dead." A minute passed, followed by another. "I am Death," she mumbled.

And I make all equal.

#     #     #

Calla woke with the rising sun. And with it, she found their fortunes improved.

"Sure, sweetheart. Tom can take a couple visitors today." The receptionist sighed into the receiver. "What time do you want to drop by?"

Calla sat upright, running a hand through her tangled mass of curls. "Um. Ten?"

"I'll let the nurses know," the receptionist said. Calla ended the call with a triumphant grin. At last. At last. 

By nine o'clock, she could wait no longer. She shrugged into an oversized sweater and snatched her leather bag from its spot on the dresser. "Mom?"