Infinite Moon: A Samantha Moon Paranormal Mystery (Vampire for Hire Book 20) by J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox

Author:J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2020-06-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Detachment

The white glow fades to reveal my house in Fullerton.

I’m standing near the driveway by the detached garage, closer to it than the house. Nothing appears out of the ordinary at first glance. It seems I ‘passed’ whatever this weird situation required of me in The Monarch. Was the universe trying to show me how much of a difference I made? Or is Elizabeth simply trying to torment me?

Maybe none of this means anything at all and I’m having a weird dream.

Or a death experience.

Or maybe I really am in a padded cell somewhere, crazy as the day is bright.

Actually, I’m starting to think I haven’t been destroyed. Going to the Origin is supposed to be all sorts of awesome and peaceful for the last little while before any sense of my ability to realize I exist is gone. Being thirty feet away from Gwendolyn blowing her own head off three times is the opposite of serene.

Okay, so here I am at my house; in particular, near the garage.

I always did hate the detached garage. Such a silly thing to bother me about the place I once considered our ideal dream home. We’d been so happy to buy this place, yet something about it having a detached garage always needled at me. Maybe scars from being teased as a child about how poor my family had been. Did I look at a detached garage as being lesser somehow? Guess I feared mockery for having the slightly lamer house.

Wood clatters inside the garage, then scraping like someone dragging a piece of furniture over concrete. I’m almost afraid to ask what to expect here, but standing around watching isn’t the right answer. If I do nothing, whatever’s going to happen will play out to its ‘failure conclusion’ and I’ll reappear here again.

And again.

I walk around to the side facing the house and open the smaller ‘person door.’ A child’s shocked gasp comes from the garage. Never a good sound. Kids only make that noise when they’re caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing. Worried, I hurry inside.

Tammy, all of ten years old, barefoot in a coral-colored dress, stands on Danny’s old dresser in the middle of the garage. She’s up on her toes, in the midst of tying a rope to a crossbeam in the roof. The other end of the rope is around her neck.

She freezes, staring at me. Her expression of being caught shifts to ‘oh well, guess I’m in trouble.’ Tammy lowers her arms from the beam, leaving the rope draped over it but not secure.

I rush over and grab her. Too gobsmacked to speak, I stand there holding her like a teddy bear, rocking her side to side. What kind of twisted effed up alternate reality is this? Holy shit. Elizabeth, if you made me see my daughter trying to kill herself at ten, you’re going to die very slowly.

Tammy doesn’t make a noise, squirm, or say a word, as if I’m holding a lifelike silicone doll made to look like her.

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