Heather squeezed her eyes shut and clung to her brother like a life raft. It was all she could do. Part of her believed in the childish idea that if she couldn’t see what was behind her, it couldn’t see her either. Be still. Be quiet. Don’t look.
Alex urged her to get up, shouting in her face, pulling on her, but the pain in her ankle was overwhelming.
When she’d made it to her feet, her ankle screamed out in protest and forced her to drop to the floor. She couldn’t help but obey its command as the lightning bolts of pain zapped through the ankle, the foot, and up her leg. The bones felt like they were out of line, maybe even busted up.
Alex’s sweaty palms were tucked under her armpits as he tried to drag her dead weight behind him, but it was no use.
Her head jerked back and Alex’s forward progress came to a halt. Something was tangled in her hair. An attempt to twist her head around failed. The invisible hold was firm.
Always getting her hair snarled in something. Leaves and twigs from playing rough outside with the boys. And there was that stupid boy that sat behind her in homeroom—Nathan. He was always pulling on her hair. Her mom said it was because he liked her, but Heather thought that idea was wicked gross.
She winced, remembering the time she fell asleep chewing gum and it ended up in her hair. Mom had to cut out a chunk several inches long. She never fell asleep with gum in her mouth again.
But this was different. It felt like four bee stings on her scalp. Needle-like jabs. Or were those scratches? More like claws, not bees. But she could feel the venom coursing through her. Was it bees? Why was she so confused? And why was it getting so goddamned hot?
A scream welled up in her throat, tearing its way up until it escaped the confines of her mouth. And it wouldn’t stop.
Alex was still yanking at her, but that feeling was dull compared to the burning sensation taking over her scalp.
And then everything stopped. No more tugging, pulling, raking, tearing. No more screaming.
“My hair’s on fire,” she moaned.
A voice crept into her ears, soft chanting. “Back in the attic. Safe in the attic.”
She opened her eyes and saw Alex right in front of her, looking bewildered. Past him, she spied the source of the chants. Reid.
“Reid, how did you—”
Each word sent an echo of sharp, hot pain searing through her teeth and into the back of her skull. After bringing her hand to the aching spot, she found no curls. Just scalp. She snapped her hand back and inspected her fingers. Something felt hot and wet. Fingertips covered in red. Her fingertips. Her…
Blood.
Her mind clouded over like a hot, hazy New England summer day. Her brain swam. So heavy. Too heavy. Her peripheral vision shrunk inch by inch until all she could do was focus on Alex’s eyes just before her. He looked scared. Sad, even. She knew that, but everything else confused her.
The last thing she remembered was Alex’s voice, reaching out to her through her fog. “You’re safe. We’re back in the attic. You’re gonna be okay.”
She could tell by his eyes that he lied.
Heather was down at the old quarry with Mike. She’d just turned seven, and as a birthday present, he promised to teach her to fish. She’d never been more excited to hang out with her big brother. She thought he was the coolest thing since peanut butter and fluff.
She put the worm on the hook just like he’d showed her. It squiggled in between her fingers, trying to escape its fate, but she held on. Squishy slimy things never bothered her like they did other little girls.
The hook went through the worm and she wrapped it around and through again. A third time for good luck. That worm was only getting off the hook if she caught something and it ended up in its gullet.
She smiled at the thought of it.
Her fingers felt hot and wet.
Strange worm.
Her first try at casting was a bust. The hook got snagged in the back of her hair when she pulled too far back.
Giggling, she tried her best to stay still while Mike untangled her hair.
He finished with a nod and a warning. “Not so far back this time, kiddo.”
Seriousness fell over her as she concentrated, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. After pulling the line back, she released, and this time, although wobbly, it plopped into the dark water.
Within seconds, she felt a tug on the other end of the line.
“This is a big one!” she squealed. “I know it!”
As her catch broke the surface, she realized what she had and her smile faded. Not a fish, but a snapping turtle. It was a good eight inches across, both ways.
“Careful with that,” Mike said. “They can bite a finger off. Let me help you get it off.”
She turned away from him. “I can do it myself.”
Dizziness swept over her. “Hey, Mike, is the hook still in my hair? It hurts. Burns.”
When she turned back, Mike was gone and the snapping turtle was in her hands, its jaws opening and slamming shut. Its body shook as it tried to escape.
She used a hand to clamp its mouth shut, then slowly moved her fingers even closer.
When the turtle opened its jaws again, it said, “It got her. Look, her hair is gone. It scratched her.”
She giggled. Turtles don’t talk. And this turtle sounded just like Alex. After looking closer, she saw it had Alex’s eyes.
“Thank God. She’s waking up.”
The turtle melted away and Alex stood before her. Reid was behind him. Their expressions serious.
She looked around and realized they were back in the attic.
And her head burned, like a fire had been set from the inside.