DISCLAIMER:
This book contains mature subject matter and triggering topics that may not be suitable for every reader.
• • •
"What is it that I always tell you, Winona? You'll always come back to me. A bird never forgets its home."
Winona Horton ha...
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July 2010 • • •
Winona's fists slammed against the wooden door of Wes's house, the force of her pounding echoing through the rain-drenched night like a primal drumbeat. Her body was soaked to the bone, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins kept her from feeling the cold. Every beat of her heart reverberated like the booming thunder overhead, drowning out every other thought and feeling except for the haunting image of Harry's lifeless body.
"Wes! Wes, open the door! Please!"
With each passing second, her anxiety grew, and she pounded harder and harder on the door, her knuckles turning red and raw from the effort. But still, there was no answer. The silence only amplified her fear and desperation, driving her to keep pounding, keep calling out for him, until her voice was hoarse and her arms ached from the strain.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the door creaked open, and there was Wes, his eyes widening in surprise and concern as he took in Winona's bedraggled appearance. Without a word, she rushed into his arms, her body shaking with sobs as she tried to convey the sheer horror of what had just happened.
"Wynn, why are you here? What happened? Where's Harry?"
The singular answer to all those questions was, "I don't know. I don't..."
As the sky illuminated with a sudden burst of purple lightning, Winona's heart thrummed with a sense of urgency that matched the intensifying storm. Her mind was consumed by the image of Harry's body, and the overwhelming panic left her with no other option.
"Did he do something to you?"
Wes's grip on her wrist grew tighter as he pulled her further inside the house, shielding her from the violent storm.
She stumbled inside, and her breaths came out in ragged gasps as she tried to catch her bearings. She could see the concern etched on Wes's face, his eyes darting over her in search of any signs of injury or distress.
"I-I was... we were talking a-and he—we were just together then h-he tried to...before I knew it he was on the floor and he wasn't moving and—"
He tried to steady her trembling form with his hands. "Take a deep breath," he instructed, his voice calm but firm. "Start from the beginning. What happened to Harry? Did he do something to you?"
As Wes grabbed her shoulders, Winona's mind spun with confusion and fear. She couldn't seem to grasp where the beginning of this nightmare was. It was as if time had fractured, leaving her stranded in a fragmented reality where one moment Harry was on top of her, and the next he was sprawled out unconscious. Had she really done that to him? She gazed down at her hands, drenched by the unrelenting rain, but clean and unblemished. And yet, an inexplicable sense of guilt and responsibility gnawed at her insides, as if the weight of Harry's life (or lack thereof) was resting in her palms.
