M.I.A.

Chapter 1

I cross my arms. "You're insane. Has anyone ever told you that?"

His hand comes up, tugs the 49ers cap backward and traces fingers through thin mud-colored hair, then he puts the cap back on and nods once. "Yeah. 'Bout time, old friend."

Mirroring his nod, I say, "I hear admitting it is the first step to recovery."

He plops the beer bottle down on the table with the telephone and his blunt fingers find the doorknob.

A moment later, I'm staring over his shoulder as he begins digging behind boxes, work shirts, and coats that smell like mothballs and mildew. He's still mutter-grunting to himself, but I can't hear what he's saying with his face shoved against Carhartt.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

A pleased noise escapes him and he draws back, bringing with him a very familiar black bag. Instinct kicks in, screaming for escape, and I'm staggering backwards before I realize that, really, there's nothing to be afraid of. Despite that, I remain pasted—back against the yellowing wallpaper. I know that bag. That bag is bad.

Grinning, Cutter grabs at the bottle with his free hand and swings back toward the kitchen, shutting the door with his foot as he goes. I follow, mute and horrified yet unable to turn away, as he crunches over the broken glass from the other beer bottles.

First the beer goes down on the table clack and then the black bag thunk. Smiling ear to ear, Cutter strokes the cracked leather with callused hands. "Did you miss me, baby?"

I wrinkle my nose. "Get a room." His little eccentricities have always grossed me out and, for some reason, joking about his creepy relationship with that bag and its contents makes me feel better.

His fingers find the clasps and before I can properly prepare for the horror, the bag is opened and I'm greeted with things I had hoped I'd never see again.

The Blade Sisters. That's what he calls his little collection. Each one has a name. He made certain that I learned every single one intimately. I know every name, every serrated tooth, every finely honed edge, every possible pain that The Sisters can produce.

A shudder skitters down my spine, sending goose bumps to forgotten flesh. I glance down at my arm and a desperate laugh fights its way into my throat. If this were another time and place, I would be cowering in fear. I swallow the sick humor and glare back at Cutter. I don't have anything to fear anymore. There's nothing Cutter or The Sisters can do to me that they haven't already done.

They've already broken me. Already bled me dry. Already changed me beyond recognition and left me for dead. Already chained me to them in a way that I can't break.

And now they've moved on, leaving me with the memories and the scars and the inability to break away.

I wish I could leave them; wish I could just walk away. But walk away to what? I can't go back to being the Corey Rossi I once was. My own parents wouldn't even know me now.

I have to stay here. There is nowhere else to go.

He lifts Ethel and turns her so that she glints in the light. She's cleaner than the last time I saw her, but she's still a little rusty around the edges. Cutter holds her intimately close to his broad chest and whispers, "You hungry, baby?" Lifting a finger, he tests it against her blade then draws back with a wince and examines his thumb.

A crescent of bright blood wells on the dry pad. He sucks it for a moment, then grins like the Mad Hatter. "Good girl. I like it when you've got a little fight. I like it when you're hungry."

The way he talks to her like he'd make hot, passionate love to her if he could makes my skin crawl.

Uneasy, I glance between him and Ethel. "W-What are you planning?" My voice is shaking. Am I scared?

Yes. Even now, when I know he won't hurt me anymore, I'm terrified of Cutter when he has a blade in his hand.

Humming to himself, Cutter packs Ethel back with her sisters and shushes them as if hearing silent cries for attention. With one last stroke to the black bag, he shuts it tight. "Soon, pretty girls." His fingers pat the leather. "Soon."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Cutter." I draw it out in wobbly admonishment, like how mom used to sound when she knew I was hiding something. I think I know what he's thinking and it makes my stomach churn.

I can't let him do it.

Not again. Not to someone else. Never.

Cutter picks up the beer, chugs it, then slaps the bottle down on the table with a loud "Ahhh."

I step in front of him and hold out my stupid, useless hands. "Cutter. Let's think about this. Let's be logical," I begin, but he's not listening. He never is. He turns away from me and grabs the keys for the van off of the hook.

"Damn it, Cutter, listen to me." Desperate, I lunge at him, trying to knock him over, trying to steal away the keys. Nothing. It's like I'm not even a gust of wind to him.

I hammer and punch at him as he makes his way toward the door, scream and plea as he wades through the tall grass toward the van—which he hasn't touched in months.

I pummel the grimy window as he starts it up and run after it as he accelerates down the driveway and out onto the back road.

He doesn't hear me.

He doesn't feel me.

He doesn't even see me.

And I hate him all the more for it because he should. I'm here because of him, aren't I?

I follow the car out to the main road and stand there, staring after it. Cars pass me, but no one bothers to notice the kid in the dark blue jeans and red Henley standing in the median. My heart is pounding and I'm breathing hard...even though I don't have to. I'm even shaking, despite the hot summer air. I'm afraid. Even now, I'm afraid. I know this kind of reaction is normal for an eighteen-year-old boy, but I'm not a normal eighteen-year-old boy.

Not any more.

At this point, I should be invincible. Nothing should faze me. But this does. Cutter does. The Sisters do. What they do together does. It makes me want to both cry and punch something. I hate that feeling.

Balling my fists, I scowl at the red glare of the van's lights disappearing in the distance. "I won't let you do it, Cutter!" I scream after him. "Not again! Over my dead body!"

And then a desperate laugh breaks free and I can't stop myself.