“WAKE UP!” A piercing voice echoed in Miguel’s ears, slicing through the numbing nightmare. “Miguel, open your eyes!”
A sharp slap stung his cheek, sending his teeth clattering. The pressure in his head pushed at the back of his eyeballs. Miguel ground his teeth, allowing the pain to remind him he was alive. He buried his face in the crook of his arm. What time was it? How long had he been out?
Cold liquid shocked his system into awareness. His eyes snapped open and focused on Annika standing before him with a glass in her hand. “I said, wake up.”
“Why . . .” Miguel forced his brain to work through the fog. The orange glow of the setting sun sent beams of light through his house. Lane. She was here. And Noah. The pressure behind Miguel’s eyes began to build . . . the headache. “What-what was in that bottle?”
Annika set down the glass and bent forward so her face was next to his. Her breath was hot against his cheek and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Only something to help you.”
Miguel pressed himself up. Annika dragged a chair along the floor, its metal legs screeching. He winced as his head screamed. Why was she here? Again.
“What do you want?”
“I want to know why the sheriff and his deputy watchdog came by my gallery again today.”
“I-I don’t know.” His eyes flickered to the table. The drawing. He quickly looked back, but it was too late. Annika was already on her feet.
“What’s this?” She held up the crayon drawing of the dinosaur little Noah had drawn for him. “How many times has she been here since I last saw you?”
He bit down on his tongue.
Annika’s eyes narrowed. “What have you told her?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying to me!” Annika reached for the glass on the table next to him and hurled it against the wall, shattering it.
The noise set his teeth on edge. He wanted to close his eyes and bring some relief to the pounding in his head, but he didn’t dare. Annika was dangerous—she was dangerous. Clarity started to melt the haze of murkiness clouding his mind, revealing something . . . something he needed to remember, but the pills Annika had given him acted like a thick veil, blinding him to whatever it was.
“Have you considered what will happen to you in prison?” A long eyebrow hitched high up her forehead.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
The man didn’t have a name, but his fists were like rocks. He came looking for the painting. Sydney’s painting. “I don’t know . . . I didn’t think.” Miguel clenched his teeth and tried to swallow the lump wedged in his throat. “I d-don’t think I did it.”
Annika crossed her arms. “You were the last one to see her.”
The trembling in his hands crawled up his arms, through his torso, and down to his knees. Miguel squeezed his fingers into tight fists as he tried to ignore the image of Sydney’s face staring at him. Annika was right. Sydney was dead and it was his fault. He couldn’t protect her.
“My father spent his entire life, his fortune, helping people like you. The police won’t understand. They won’t be lenient. You’ll go to jail for the rest of your life or they’ll kill you.”
Confusion settled over him. Miguel let his gaze fall to his scarred hands and swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it, but his mind had long since succumbed to its fate as a tortuous prison, blurring reality. If it were true—that he killed Sydney—then he was a monster.
One who deserved to die.
Death. He deserved it. For all of the suffering, the pain, the deaths he couldn’t stop. Death would end his nightmares.
“Men like you don’t survive in prison, Miguel.” Annika’s heels clicked across the floor. “Are you making toys now?”
Miguel looked up to find Annika holding a small piece of whittled wood. It was an alligator—or it would be when he was finished with it. But he kept his mouth shut.
Annika walked back. “Does she have the painting?”
“Leave her alone,” he growled.
“Oh.” Annika pressed in close to his face. “Does she know what you did to Sydney?”
Miguel’s stomach clenched with nausea. “I-I didn’t kill her.”
“Really? Then tell me”—spittle landed on the side of his face—“who did?”
A flash of memory seared his mind, blinding him momentarily. Sydney. Panic. Car lights. Her voice . . . no, it was Annika’s voice. She’s dangerous. “You.”
Annika cackled, spinning on her heel. “I’d be careful with accusations like that.” She picked up something and tossed it at him. It landed next to him. “Call the police. Tell them I did it. I killed Sydney.”
Miguel picked up the cell phone, the weight of it in his hand almost as heavy as the burden on his shoulders.
“They won’t believe you.” Annika ran a thumb over the toy alligator in her hand, then studied it. “You, a reclusive baby killer.” She locked eyes with him. “That’s what they call you Nam vets, isn’t it? Do you really think they’ll believe you . . . over me?”
“Please d-don’t hurt her.”
“I can’t make any promises. Besides, you have only yourself to blame.” Annika tossed the figurine onto his lap. “I only intend to get back what’s mine.”
Annika tromped out of his home, not bothering to shut the door or take her phone. The cold look in her eyes and the heartless tone in her voice chilled him like the splash of water from earlier. The convulsions took over, wracking his whole body as he released a sob from the depths of his soul. It fell from his lips like a howl. What had he done?
Miguel clutched the sculpture in his hands. He couldn’t save anyone forty years ago . . . but the monster had returned and now Lane was in danger. He had to get to her before they did. They’d kill her. And Noah too.