Freaks by Callie Hart

Author:Callie Hart [Hart, Callie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-21T23:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

SERA

We didn’t head back to Brooklyn, after all. Instead, we doubled back on ourselves and headed north. The night grew darker as we left behind the tall buildings and the lights of the city, and the hustle and bustle of New York began to fade to indeterminable stretches of highway that whipped past suburbs and eventually small towns with names like Elmsford, and Sleepy Hollow, and Archville.

I’d never heard of half the places we passed, but still I didn’t ask where we were going. I wasn’t one to bury my head in the sand. When I’d left home with Amy, I’d made sure to enter into unknown situations armed with the facts. Made it easier to know what to expect, how to react, and how to handle whatever came my way. But right now, not knowing seemed better than having to face whatever shit storm was about to land in my lap. I needed a break. I deserved a damn break, even if it was only a temporary one.

We continued to head north.

Soon, the towns we passed grew more and more infrequent and the landscape changed, tall trees looming up on either side of the road like sentinels. Maple. Redwoods. Beech. Oak. Mountain Ash. In autumn, the canopy of the forest we had entered must have put on the most vivid, striking display of color, but now, with little more than the hint of moonlight piercing through the thick cloud cover overhead, everything was painted in black, greys, a deep, depthless shade of royal blue, and shimmering silver.

Monica was so quiet, I swung around to check on her—I didn’t know the girl, but during my brief encounters with her, the last thing she’d ever been was quiet. Her forehead was pressed up against the window, her face relaxed in sleep, the panic and the fear of the night’s events gone from her face. How the fuck was she sleeping?

“She was so wrong to do what she did,” Fix murmured. His eyes were practically glowing incandescent, reflecting the blue glow of the sedan’s dashboard. Normally so angular and sharp, his features were much softer than usual. The bruises that marked his jaw and beneath his right eye were darkening to an angry violet, but I barely noticed them. He was tired. So much driving. So much worrying. So much running. It was finally beginning to take its toll on him. I’d begun to think the man was impervious to the body’s need for sleep, but looking at him now I realized I’d been wrong. Fix had his limits, just like the rest of us. Granted, those limits were beyond those of anyone else I knew, but they did exist.

“She’s from Canada,” he said, his voice a soft lull against the rhythmic rumble of the tires on the road. “She was fragile before she even came to America. Her mother was schizophrenic. Dad left when she was a kid. Sometimes things were okay with her mom, but whenever she had an episode or stopped taking her meds, Monica was put into foster care.

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