Awakening You (Unraveling You 3)

Knowing Lila, she’s probably worried how I’ll react to reading the letter, hence the hesitancy. It isn’t for her to decide, though. I need to know what’s in the note my sister was forced to write and mail to the police while she’s being held captive somewhere by people who are skeletons of human beings and once tried to drain our souls dry.

“Thanks.” I scratch at my side, preparing to ask my next question. “I also want to get the tattoo on my side covered up . . . the one they put on me.”

It’s a big step just asking for it, but I’ve wanted the tattoo removed forever. The only thing stopping me has been my fear of being touched during the inking and of tumbling into a memory. I want to believe I have the hidden strength to do it, though.

Lila glances at Ethan. “What do you think?”

“I actually like the idea of getting rid of it.” He digs his phone from his pocket. “I have a buddy who owns a tattoo parlor down near my store. He does good work. I could take you in to see what it would take to get it covered up.”

“Thanks. That’d be great.”

I know it won’t solve my problems, but the idea of having the tattoo gone gives me the strangest sense of peace.

A taste of freedom

From the bleeding ink

Staining my skin

Like the blood on their hands.

Gone, gone, gone,

The ink is fading away.

Maybe after it’s erased,

I can finally feel like I was actually saved.

After Lila and Ethan agree to my requests, I collect the car keys to head to my therapy appointment.

“You’re just going straight there, right?” Lila checks while walking me to the door.

I shake my head as I grab my jacket from the coatrack. “Yeah, I don’t have band practice tonight.” Throwing a wave over my shoulder, I open the door and step outside beneath the clouds.

“You’ll call me when you get there, right?” Lila asks, following me outside. “And text the therapist to come walk you in if no one’s around?”

“Yeah, I know the drill.” I stop at the end of the walkway, studying her. She has her arms folded tightly around her, and her gaze is continuously inspecting the houses across the street. Odd. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course.” She smiles stiffly. “I was just making sure that car wasn’t out here. Lyric said it was a black, newer model, right?”

“I think so.” I eye her warily, not believing her story. “But you do realize that description fits every other car in this neighborhood.”

She sighs. “I know. I really wish she could have gotten a better look at it.”

Raindrops start to fall from the sky, and I pull my hood over my head. “It could have been someone going to work.”

“Yeah, it could have,” she replies, seeming doubtful. Her eyes rise to the stormy sky, and she shields her hair from the rain with her arm. “Anyway, you get going. I’m going to be here all day, so if you need anything at all, then call.”

Nodding, I jog up the driveway toward the black, newer BMW, which kind of proves my point about the car. With everything that’s happened, though, I can’t blame them for being concerned. I just wish I wasn’t such a burden, always causing stress and worry.

Lila remains on the front porch, watching me back onto the road and steer toward the main street.

I make the drive toward the therapist’s office across town with the radio up, listening to one of the playlists Lyric made for me. Being in the car alone always makes me edgy, and I’m always checking in my rearview mirror for some sign someone is tailing me.

Today, I swear a massive maroon SUV with tinted windows matches my every turn and lane change. But right as I start to panic, the vehicle veers down a side road.

Breathing easily, I flip on the blinker at the next road and take a right, driving into a rundown neighborhood located a few miles away from my therapist’s office.

A light drizzle of rain sprinkles from the clouds as I park the car in front of the house that was the last address listed for Sadie.

The house is boarded up and painted with jagged circular symbols that match the tattoo on my ribs. The home resembles most of the surrounding structures on the street, so the entire area is extremely creepy. In a strange way, the place reminds me of the home I grew up in and how damn lucky I am to be living where I am now.

I know it isn’t the best thing to be here, but I can’t help myself. Something about the place terrifies me yet draws me to it.

I’ve been making the detour for the last month. Every time I stop by, I contemplate going inside and looking around in the hope that I get a better understanding of what Sadie went through while she was living here. But I’ve never gotten the balls to even get out of the car.

I remain in the car, staring at the peeling paint, wondering if it was put there after Sadie was kidnapped or if they did it beforehand. The detective said our cases are similar, and they stalked her first before taking her, but I still don’t know exactly how it happened.

I don’t know

Anything

About her

Other than my heart aches for her.

A year younger than me, Sadie should be a junior in high school, having fun, going to parties like I used to before I got put on lockdown. I haven’t seen her since we were removed from that house four years ago, and I don’t know what her life has been like since then. Looking at the home to the side of me, I’m guessing it hasn’t been great.

I gawk at the house for ten minutes straight before I put the car in drive and start to pull away.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” I whisper to Sadie from across the room.

“How? You’re tied up, too,” she cries through the darkness, her voice weak.

Chains, chains, chains bite at my flesh.

Peel back the skin, reveal what’s inside.

Look at me raw, see the truth in my eyes.

“I don’t know how, but I will, Sadie. I swear.”

Broken promises,

Cracked and ruptured.

Left behind,

Like dust on the floor.

I’m sorry I lied.

I slam on the brakes and strangle the steering wheel as the memory crawls under my skin. Fueled with the need to see what’s hidden in the house, to understand just how badly I let my sister down, I shove the car back into park, fling the door open, and climb out.

Raindrops splatter across my face and drip from my hair as I hike up the lopsided driveway. When I reach the side door of the house, I glance around to make sure no one is around before opening it.

The smell of mold and rot engulfs my nostrils as I step over the threshold and inside what looks like a kitchen. The floorboards groan under my boots as I inch my way into the darkness.

Sticking my hand into my pocket, I remove my phone and turn on the flashlight app to get a better look around.

The cupboards are hanging crooked on the walls, the countertops are torn up, and shards of glass cover the floor.

I carefully maneuver my way through the kitchen and into the living room, the atmosphere growing darker as the outside world slips away from me. To my right is a stairway, but most of the steps are missing. I veer in the opposite direction toward a closed door tucked behind a raised wall. Painted across the wall are words that are way too familiar: Running away is like running in circles. You can’t escape once we’ve found your soul, and soon, you’ll end up back in the same place.

A cold shiver courses through me. I heard those words whispered during the weeks I was trapped.

Panicking, I turn away, but stop mid-turn.

No. I need to go through with this.

Wheeling back around, I inch toward the door, noticing an S carved in the wood right above the doorknob.

No, not Sadie.

My phone buzzes a few times, but I ignore it, needing to go through with this. I wrap my fingers around the metal knob and, with a deep breath, push open the door.

The stench of the room smothers the air from my lungs, heavy and weighted like death. I cough, covering my mouth with my arm as I glance around the small room with caved in walls and a rotting floor. In the middle of the mess is the metal frame of a bed. I can almost picture my sister sitting on it day in and day out, waiting to be saved, but no one ever shows up, and soon she’s taken away to a far worse life than even this.

Tears sting my eyes. I know it isn’t a memory, but thinking about what she must h

ave gone through—is still going through—aches deep inside me like searing hot metal against my bones.