sit up, groggy and confused. After swiping my hand over my eyes, it comes away smeared with black eye makeup.
My alarm clock says it’s noon.
All at once, the night before rushes back to me like a bad dream. Blood on white sheets. Sophie’s blood. The screams. The terrible screams.
The phone had gone dead after only about a minute, but I know the sounds of terror will live in me forever. I tried to call back several times, but the phone line was busy. Sophie’s father must have hung up and called 911.
I’d sat up in bed for the longest time, chewing caffeine pills and waiting for Mattie and Amber to get home. I was determined not to close my eyes until I knew my sister was safe. But that’s the thing about sleep—you can’t avoid it forever. It waited until my defenses were down and sucked me under.
I trip over my blankets, racing to my sister’s room. It’s still empty. Where could she be?
I hear something down the hall—someone in the bathroom, retching into the toilet. I run to the door, try the knob, but it’s locked. I bang on the door.
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