Chapter 5

I jolted awake from the nightmare, my body still sprawled on the icy ground.

I thought it was already late at night, and nobody had found me yet.

There was a patch of dried blood on my clothes. I must've coughed it up while I was out cold.

I glanced at the phone box beside me, and my dad's words echoed in my mind. "You really don't have nightmares? You never dream of your mom and brother, all covered in blood?"

Turned out, nightmares would really come true.

I stared at the phone box.

It felt like I was seeing those two urns my dad carried home seven years ago.

The blood on my clothes looked like the savage stains we found in the wrecked car at the bottom of the cliff.

I was gasping for air, my whole body shaking.

Finally, I grabbed the box and slammed it into the trash can.

I saw Lucas standing in the shadows not far away.

Even from a distance, I could almost picture the disappointment in his eyes.

He looked completely insane, desperate for me to accept the reality and let him have his way.

I struggled to my feet and stumbled out of the neighborhood.

My dad had another daughter now. He wasn't my dad anymore, and I didn't have a home.

I didn't know where I could go, so I wandered on, lost and empty.

Lucas caught up to me, his voice full of anticipation.

He said, "Isabelle, where do you think you can go?

"Your dad doesn't believe you anymore. He doesn't want you.

"But I want you. I have a place for you."

I clenched my hand into a fist, whipped around, and slapped him hard across the face.

Under the moonlight, his skin looked even paler, and a bright red handprint bloomed on one side of his face.

A flicker of satisfaction ran through me. How I wish I had a knife at that time. I raised my hand again, landing another slap on his other cheek.

I snarled at him, "Lucas, when the hell are you going to die?"

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he gave me a sneer. "I have to stick around as long as you do. When you're gone, that's when I'll go too."

I stared at that disgusting face of his, counting down the days I had left.

I spat out each word, "You better mean it."

I turned and walked away.

I heard him call out behind me, his voice full of worry. "Isabelle, you don't look so good. Are you sick or something?"

What a psycho.

Then it hit me—when my dad saw me, did he notice how pale I looked?

I called my boss and, after a lot of hassle, finally managed to get 500 dollars out of him for my wages.

For the rest, he said he was up to his neck in debt and couldn't pay me right now.

My heart was hurting more and more often, and what little money I had left would barely cover a few days of food and some painkillers.

I didn't want to spend money on a place to stay, so I ended up in an underground tunnel, huddled in a corner against the wall.

A bunch of homeless folks were crashed out in there, and every so often, someone kept watching me.

I stayed up all night, too scared to shut my eyes. With nothing to keep me warm, the cold kept creeping in.

I couldn't stop coughing, and the blood I spat out was forming a small puddle by my feet.

The other homeless folks probably thought I had some kind of disease, so they kept their distance, giving me a wide berth.

I couldn't stop coughing, and my chest kept twisting up with wrenching pain.

I reached into my pocket and found no more painkillers left.

I couldn't stand up, and every breath felt like a struggle. I had a sinking feeling something was really wrong.

My heart could fail, and I might drop dead any second.

I couldn't see any point in staying alive anymore.

But deep down, I was still terrified of dying.

Whenever the pain got so bad I could barely think straight, I'd catch myself searching the darkness for Lucas.

After a while, I remembered that he was always hiding in the shadows, where nobody could spot him.

The underground tunnel was bright everywhere, so even if he was still around, he'd only be hiding outside.

My mind was starting to blur. I fumbled for my phone and hit the emergency call button.

After a long moment, the person on the other end finally picked up, but there was only silence.

With the last of my strength, I managed to croak out, "Dad..."

I hadn't called him that in years.

After that terrible accident seven years ago, my dad hated me to the core. He wouldn't even let me call him "Dad" anymore.

I was really out of it.

Only after I spoke did it hit me that he was probably going to lose his mind.

There was a long silence on the other end.

I was struggling to breathe, waiting for him to blow up or throw some biting words at me. I felt like I could black out any second.

But the biting words I was bracing for never came.

After a long pause, I could barely make out his voice. "Where are you?"

I tried to say where I was. "I'm at..."

But my mind was so foggy that I couldn't figure it out.

Not far away, one of the homeless guys shouted out my location.

Maybe he was worried I'd infect him, or maybe he was feeling sorry for me.

I let out a sigh of relief.

No answer came from the other end. When I checked my phone, the call was already dead.

That little bit of hope I'd felt was gone in a flash.

What a joke. What was I even expecting?

He'd already said he wanted me to pay for my brother and mom with my life.

He wished I were dead. Why would he come to save me?