I can’t talk. I might never speak again.

There’s even more scars. Scars that will never heal.

You skeeve me out.

I could have killed someone.

I wish I had killed myself.

“I know you’re scared…but there’s more.” He takes a shaky breath before continuing. “Pop’s gone.” My brother’s baritone voice cracks and wavers. “He had a heart attack last night, and he died before they could get him to the hospital.”

I stop breathing. Everything around me stills. The sounds and smells tunnel backward. I silently will this moment to stop, to change, to not ever exist. I refuse to breathe, because I don’t want to move to the next moment: a time where my father no longer lives.

Tor covers his face with his hands for a moment and then slowly drops them. “I wish I could stay with you, but I can’t. Mom’s not dealing well with all this…none of them are…and I need to go make the arrangements.” He rocks on his heels, his hands stuffed into his front pockets, as he stares down at me, his exhausted, bloodshot eyes staying on mine, watching me absorb the worst news of my life. “I don’t have it in me to make this better for you, Ty, and I hope someday you can forgive me for that. If it’s any consolation to you, my life is ruined now, too. I can’t leave Mom and the rest of you alone. I can kiss the tour goodbye.”

I blink, and a tear slips down my scarred cheek. Silent sobs wrack my body long after he’s left me alone in the cold hospital room. I cry for my father, who I’ll never get to make things right with or apologize to. I cry for my mother, who lost her best friend and the love of her life. I cry for my brothers and my sister for losing an amazing father. I cry for Tor, for coming so close to his dreams, only to have them ripped away.

The faint voice that’s been whispering to me for the past three years, telling me how ugly I am and what a mess I am, finally finds its voice and screams through my soul.

This is all your fault.

I’ve never been a man afraid to cry, but right now I’m afraid I’m never going to stop.

13

Holly

“Holly! Wake up!” Lizzie bursts into my room, still wearing her red pajamas. “It’s Christmas. You have to come downstairs for presents.”

Turning my head on the pillow, I glance at the clock next to my bed. It’s barely 6:00 a.m., but my little sister is wide awake and hyperexcited. Sitting up, I cover my mouth as I yawn. I have yet to get a full night’s sleep since I was freed. Nightmares jolt me awake several times per night, and then I have a hard time falling asleep again.

“Sleep is an earned privilege, little girl. Not a right.”

“Come on,” Lizzie urges.

I smile at her, remembering the excitement of my own childhood Christmas mornings before there weren’t any ever again. Until today.

Today I get to have a Christmas and a birthday with my family again. I’m here for a four-day visit this time, the longest I’ve ever stayed at my parents’.

“Okay, okay,” I say teasingly, throwing my blanket off. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

She races down the hallway, her small feet thumping down the stairs to the living room. Stretching, I gaze out the window and smile when I see snowflakes slowly falling. Snow on Christmas! I run to the window to see the ground covered in a velvety blanket of white. After breakfast, I’m going outside to walk in it, make footprints, and catch snowflakes on my tongue. As I cross the room to grab the robe draped over my chair, I spot something strange on one of the other windows in my room. Frowning, I approach it slowly, knowing it wasn’t there last night, and it’s on the outside of the window.

My eyes focus on the red envelope taped to the glass. Cautiously, I peek around the edge of the curtain, not seeing any footprints in the fresh snow or on the sloped porch roof under the window. Quickly, I unlatch the lock, push up the window, and grab the card, and I close the window just as fast and make sure I lock it immediately.

If you run away, I will find you. I’ll take you again. And again, and again, and again.

Someone, somehow, got up to my second-story window. While I was sleeping.

Goose bumps sprout up on my flesh as I turn the card in my hands.

“Holly!” my mother calls from downstairs, making me jump nearly out of my skin. “We’re waiting for you.”

“I’ll be right there!”

With shaking hands, I rip the envelope open and pull out a white greeting card. There’s a tiny penguin on the front, balancing a wrapped Christmas present on its head. It doesn’t appear threatening at all. Slowly opening it, I see the printed words Merry Christmas and below that, in blocky handwriting, and Happy Birthday. A photo has fallen out of the card and fluttered to the floor at my feet. My heart lurches when I pick it up and turn it over.