A Hand in Hell

Chapter 9

The kitchen ceiling above me was beautifully familiar, if a bit blinding, lit up by the overhead light as it was. I sat up with a groan and tried to remember just what had happened, just why I had to pretty much pry my fingers apart, just why every little tiny fiber of my being throbbed with a dull pain. It was easy to figure out why my fingers were stuck together and my limbs stiff — they were coated in dried blood and caked together — but this raised more questions than it answered, and I groaned again.

"Fuck, I hate days like this," I mumbled as I slowly got to my feet, cringing all the way up. My eyes landed on the half-full glass of booze on the counter, and I ran to it like a privileged, alcoholic white girl who had been stuck in the Sahara for a week straight without her daddy's scotch to steal. It was warm, and it burned all the way down, but I didn't think I'd ever had a better drink in my life.

I came up for air only when the bottom of the glass came into view, and panting, I sent my gaze over the kitchen. It was clean but for the spot where I'd been lying, even the place where Dexter's body had —

Fucking hell. Dexter.

"Dexter!" I called, my voice rougher than I'd been expecting. Jesus Christ. Maybe I should've taken the time to drink some water or something. "Are you still here, baby girl?" I clinked the glass back onto the counter and strode quickly out the kitchen door, lips pursed as I scanned the living room for any signs of life. "You made me all excited that I might come to with your pretty face nearby. Where have you gone, my pretty pet? Are you just trying to take an old woman's last joy away?"

I heard the creak of a door opening behind me, and I turned just as Dexter's voice filled the room. "I said I would stay," she said softly, and I found her standing in the basement doorway. She held up her cell phone, the screen glowing to show the list of contacts she'd just called, and the cold determination in her nearly expressionless face sent an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. "But I'm not your prisoner anymore."

"And you expect this to go well for you?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. She was wearing a new outfit, a pair of clean jeans and a skintight green T-shirt with faded white writing, but the purple collar with the bell on it was still around her neck. I wasn't sure why I noticed. "If you've given away my location, I'll kill you where you stand."

The corners of her lips twitched upward in a gentle smile, and the shift in her demeanor made me both uncomfortable and confused. "You won't," she said, and her phone's screen faded to black before she shoved it in the front pocket of her jeans. "It'd be a waste after you nearly died saving my life."

I felt my lips tighten, a glare furrowing my brow. "It's not like I did it for you, you silly bint," I said haughtily. "Don't let it go to your head."

She laughed lightly, and her boldness only further soured my mood. I needed another drink. Like, now. "Whatever," she said, leaving the doorway to hop onto the bar stool she'd been occupying earlier, and I made my way to the counter where Jose awaited me with quick, angry strides. "It doesn't really matter, anyway. I didn't tell anyone about you or your precious abode."

I pulled a clean glass from an overhead cupboard and clunked it onto the counter. "What did you tell them, then? And who did you even talk to?" I turned sideways to look at her as I unscrewed the bottle's cap. She was still smiling, and I felt my blood pressure spike. It was official: healing her had been the worst decision of my life — and I'd done some damn questionable things in my hundred-plus years on Earth.

"My mom and dad, my sister, a couple of other friends." She shrugged and leaned against the counter, resting her chin on an upturned palm. Her smile had vanished, replaced by something less sure, and I smiled to myself as I filled my glass to the brim with tequila. "I just told them that I was all right and that I…I…" I watched her throat shift as she swallowed, her downcast gaze dropping to the counter top, and I plopped the open bottle back on the counter while I savored the moment. "That I felt horrible about what happened to Vicky, but that I had no idea who would've done such a thing to her."