Edge of Dreams by Diana Pharaoh Francis

Author:Diana Pharaoh Francis [Francis, Diana Pharaoh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781611945782
Google: X37-BwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00R6TG2ZA
Goodreads: 24321026
Publisher: Bell Bridge Books
Published: 2015-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

She was in the kitchen at the sink. In the middle of the window hung a purple glass heart. The same one that I thought had been burned up in a fire, but later turned up in our investigation to find Josh. Mom’s fiery hair hung loose around her shoulders. She wore a purple sweater and jeans. From the back, she almost looked like me.

I made a little squeaking sound as she shut off the water in the sink. She turned around and said something. She frowned, looking more angry than scared. Was this real? Had it happened this way? Then someone moved. A big man wearing a black knitted cap stepped into view. I could only see his back. I didn’t recognize anything about him.

My mom grabbed a plate off the drying rack and threw it at him. He knocked it aside and lunged for her. He had a knife.

I pressed my twig fingers against my mouth. No, no, no! I wanted to scream, to tell her to run, to fight, but my throat squeezed the sound into a tiny squeak.

My mom fought. She kicked and hammered at the man with a dirty pot. She smashed his head, and he dropped his knife. Then she kicked him and ran for the doorway. He caught her, driving his knife into her stomach. I saw his face. It was . . . Gregg Touray.

For a moment hate filled me, pressing out everything else. I wanted to kill him. I would kill him. I shook with the emotions crashing through me. I couldn’t breathe.

Touray’s arm rose again and again as he stabbed my mom. Thirteen wounds altogether. I’d found that out later when reading the police report. I watched every one, horror twisting my stomach and knotting my lungs.

The image faded to white. I sat gasping, trying to understand what I’d just seen. But before I could put any of the puzzle pieces together, a new image appeared.

Dalton. At the diner. I was there, too. My forehead was bloody and bruised, and I was wearing the same clothes I had been in the mines, the clothes I was still wearing, somewhere. Patti threw her arms around me and then around Dalton. She was smiling and crying. Then I saw Dalton hold out his hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me out the door. The picture honed in on our linked hands, then faded. The bubble swirled white, and then melted away into smoke. It rose and melded back with the walls of my prison.

I couldn’t say how long I sat just replaying my mom’s murder in my head. Each time I felt sicker and sicker. I could almost hear the sounds of the knife pulling out of her flesh.

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