Page 83 of I Will Mend You
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No, no! Amethyst, you’re far away from him. Xero brought you back.”
Hearing his name is a knife to the chest. It pierces my heart, making it bleed streams of guilt. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the unbearable truth, and loosen streams of tears. He’s gone.
All that remains of him is what weighs on my conscience.
“Xero is dead,” I choke out through a sob, my body shaking with grief.
“He was just in the room a minute ago,” she says.
“Do you think I don’t know that was Delta without his beard? And you’re one of his lackeys. Is this another film shoot?”
Sighing, she places a hand on my arm. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Isabel’s footsteps retreat across the room, then the door swings open. As soon as it shuts, I crack open an eye. It’s time to escape before she changes tactics. Delta still needs me alive so I can spill Xero’s secrets. The moment he discovers their base in the catacombs, he’ll record my grisly death on camera.
Straining against the newly loosened straps, I pull one hand free. I reach down the side of the cot, my fingers brushing against the cool metal frame as I fumble for something—anything—that might give me an edge.
My fingers find the buckle on the strap securing my chest. With trembling hands, I fiddle with the metal fastenings, finally managing to slip my second hand free. Liberating my shoulders takes seconds. Once they’re released, I work on the strap around my waist.
I sit up, my vision blurring as blood rushes from my head. As I’m freeing my legs, the door swings open again, and Xero walks in with his wet, platinum hair sticking to his face.
FORTY-FIVE
Friday August 14, 2010
Why am I writing this? Nothing could ever shift the weight of this grief. I’ve lost everything, and it’s all my fault for being blind.
The madness continued after Amy stabbed my hand. She was still haunted by Charlotte, who demanded either a lock of Heath’s hair or his life. I should have gathered up a few wisps to satisfy her, but at the time, I thought she would demand more, like blood.
That night, I slept with the door locked to protect the baby from my daughter’s psychosis. Lyle looked at me like I was being ridiculous, but he didn’t interfere. Everything went fine until Amy woke us with a blood-curdling scream.
Lyle and I both charged out of the room to see what was wrong. My little girl was crouched in the corner of the room, bleeding and begging Charlotte over and over for forgiveness.
I cleaned the wounds, changed her nightgown, and hugged Amy to sleep, assuring her that everything was going to be alright. Charlotte wasn’t real. We’d get her some medicine in themorning to chase away the visions. I was half dead by the time I crawled into bed and passed out.
When I woke up the next morning, Heath wasn’t breathing. Lyle performed CPR on the baby while I called the ambulance. After that, my mind went numb. There were sirens, medics, the police, and a tiny body bag.
Lyle was inconsolable. He blamed himself for not acting sooner, for not seeing Amy as a danger to Heath. I asked what he meant. One of my biggest concerns about giving birth too early was the increased risk of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. If Charlotte hadn’t poisoned me twice, I might have carried Heath to term.
He grabbed my hand, dragged me up the stairs, and threw me into Amy’s room. I’ve never seen him so angry.
Amy rocked back and forth on her bed, her face puffy and red from crying, her curls standing on end. She mumbled the same words over and over again, “I didn’t mean to. Charlotte did it.”
I said it had nothing to do with her. No one could have entered the bedroom. It was locked.
Then I realized it wasn’t. I’d spent so much time calming Amy that I’d forgotten to lock the door. Nausea rose in my throat as I asked what happened.
Amy told me Charlotte had shaken her awake, brought her into our bedroom with a pillow and smothered Heath while we slept. Afterward, she shoved her back into her bedroom, saying they were even, and walked down the stairs.
My stomach heaved at Amy’s confession. Ghosts don’t murder babies. That’s the realm of disturbed children.
Lyle barreled in, saying it was time to tell the police everything. That the daughters of Giorgi Salentino were both deranged psychopaths. I stared at Amy, my mind still numb from the shock of losing Heath, and reminded Lyle what would happen if our faces appeared on the news.
The authorities would be the least of our problems. If Mother Salentino and her twins didn’t kill us, then they’d pass on the job to their more powerful cousins from the Montesano family.
Lyle broke down in Amy’s bedroom, clutching at his hair, saying he’d sacrificed everything for nothing. I glanced from my daughter to my husband, not knowing what the hell to do next, then I found myself asking him to call Mr. Delta at the Three Fates.
I convinced Lyle that Amy made up the story about smothering Heath. She still thought she killed Charlotte, remember? Lyle gazed up at me, a broken man. I repeated this story over and over, adding more details until he turned to Amy and sobbed.