hauled up into the blinding light of a deck.
Then, his mouth curved into a slow, terrifyingly serene smile.
“She had another nightmare, Carrie,” he whispered back, his voice smooth as oil, completely devoid of guilt or panic. “She was shaking so hard. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just keeping her safe.”
He sounded completely harmless. He sounded like the good man I had invited into my home to heal our broken lives.
And that was precisely what made a knot of pure, unadulterated terror form deep in the pit of my stomach—a knot that refused to loosen, no matter how hard I tried to swallow down the rising bile in my throat.
Act IV: The Eye in the Ceiling
I didn’t sleep for the rest of that night. I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, staring at
