The Broken-Hearted Many by AB Plum

Author:AB Plum [Plum, AB]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: psychological thriller, dark fiction, mystery, thriller, suspense, serial killer
Publisher: AB Plum
Published: 2018-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 47

ANNASOPHIA

The high, pale moon punches a hole in the night clouds and spotlights Ari and Soshanna climbing into their separate SUVs. The hush muffles doors closing and engines starting. I hug my waist, lean against the front door, and watch their taillights fade into the shadows engulfing the desolate street.

My chest tightens. I did the right thing. Insisting they go home. Sleep in their own beds. They have work tomorrow—an upcoming trip to Africa for Ari and ten straight nights of on-call shifts for Soshanna. They cannot pick up the pieces of my life. That’s my work.

By the time the red pinpoints of taillights are swallowed by blackness, I feel like the last person on planet Earth. Perfect mood for a gothic novel.

Horror novel fits better. I shiver, but still can’t lift my feet to step inside and say goodnight to Anastaysa and Magnus. Not with images of Maverick exploding so often and so up-front in my mind. Satish made the right call telling me about the murder, but my imagination is stuck like a damaged CD, playing and replaying pictures of Maverick’s toe-walking around the pool.

A breeze from the Bay drifts across my face. Goosebumps chill my arms. I shake my hands. Quick, hard flicks, shaking off the instinct to throw up. Shaking off Maverick’s ghost before I contaminate Magnus’s room. I exhale and open his door.

His eyelids droop, and his chest rises and falls in the even rhythm of near-sleep. Molly lies next to him, her nose buried behind his ear. Her golden eyes watch my every move. I’m sure she’d bite me if I approached Magnus with anything but signs of love. No wonder Michael never wanted a dog.

Hand extended, I slow-walk toward the bed. “You’re a good girl.”

Her head comes up, and Magnus stirs. She puts her nose behind his ear again.

Giggling, he opens his eyes. “Tickles.”

“But you love it.” I sit on the edge of the bed. My foot feels close to normal.

Magnus yawns. “I wish Zandra liked Molly. Molly could help her not be so sad all the time.”

This is a topic too heavy for bedtime, so I run a hand through his hair. “I think time in the hospital will help, too. Now you need sleep—”

“But since me ’n Anastaysa—Anastaysa and I—” After five years of grammar lessons from his father, he now corrects himself and continues in his wheedling tone, “Since we get to stay home tomorrow, will you read me extra pages tonight? Carter’s in real trouble, you know.”

“I do know, and I can’t wait to see what happens next, either. How about if I read until you’re asleep?”

He drags a copy of The Red Pyramid from under his pillow and extends his fist for a knuckle-bump. “Deal. Closed eyes don’t mean I’m asleep though. Make sure I’m comatose, ’kay?”

His use of comatose is another small sign of normalcy. I taught him the word when I was studying for my boards after Michael’s murder and staying up until I could fall asleep on my feet.

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