Cracked Coffins #1 | SAMPLE |

Chapter Two - Sample

I find myself staring into the bloodied water of a toilet bowl, my head resting on the seat. The large shadow cast over me blocks out the bright light that shines through the black spots of my thin vision.

"Who are you?" a voice asks from the doorway, the sound so quiet I question hearing it until my eyes roll to find Charlie standing in the doorway in his pajamas.

I try to tell him to go back to bed, but only a groan rolls in my chest and my skin flashes with heat as my stomach clenches.

"Go back to bed, Charlie," another voice says, though I'm not sure it's mine.

The sound of my own vomiting covers the following words that send Charlie on his way. I feel my head pull up and hear my own gasp when a hand tightens on a fistful of my hair.

"What—" I hear myself say, my voice so far it sounds like it's coming from another room. The taste of vomit is strong on my tongue, and my vision fails.

"You're overdosing," a man's voice says, the sound comforting.

When something presses hard against my mouth, my protesting whine rolls in the back of my throat and I gag on the sweet and thick liquid that flows over my tongue.

I fight to open my eyes and connect to my body so I can find and question the source of the voice, but it feels like I'm floating in blackness.

The next second comes and I find myself lying in bed, disoriented and groaning as my hands root through the blankets. I touch something that moves and feel coldness sweep against my face as I gasp.

"It's okay, Marianna, you're safe," the sweet voice murmurs.

Morning is suddenly around me. The smell of puke and sweat clings to the early-morning air. I sit, a headache pounding in my temples that chases away the memories of last night. Passing out in the shed is clear to me, but how did I get in my own bed? My sweaty skin makes me recall the feeling of puking last night, but looking around, I see my bed isn't covered in puke and I'm in different clothes than I passed out in.

Then, vaguely and like a fading dream, I remember the comforting tone of a man's voice and Charlie standing in the bathroom doorway while I puked. My heart jolts when I remember how he asked someone who they were and whoever was there told me I was overdosing.

The realization that someone brought me into the locked house while I was OD'ing makes me scramble out of bed and rush downstairs to the kitchen, where I can hear Charlie making Samantha breakfast.

"Who was here last night?" I demand, the swinging door bumping me as I stand disheveled in the doorway.

Charlie hip checks the cutlery drawer shut while looking me over through narrow eyes. "You were . . . you stumbled in the house and went upstairs. You spent half the night puking in the bathroom."

I fold my arms over my chest. "I saw you in the doorway and you asked whoever was with me who he was."

Without taking his eyes off me, Charlie carries the spoons over to the table and plops down beside Samantha, handing her one for her cereal. "I don't know what you're talking about. Only you came in last night. I didn't hear anyone else."

Annoyance adds to the pounding in my head and I glower at him. "Through the locked door, Charlie?"

"What are you talking about, Marianna? There's no way it was locked. I stayed in my bed, but I heard you come in and your puking kept waking me up. Are you sure you didn't hallucinate it all or something?" He takes a bite of his bran cereal, milk running from the corner of his mouth before he wipes it with the sleeve of his pajama shirt.