Page 45 of Kane

My stomach growls. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll get you something in a bit,” Mama says, her voice wiggling too much. “After we get your new friend home.”

Friend? I don’t have any friends…

I look at the girl beside me, at her long, dark hair. Shadows fall over her as we pass the streetlights, and I think for a moment it looks like prison. Like the moon’s holding us hostage.

“You just need to be patient,” Mama’s friend says. “Good things come to those who wait patiently.”

“That’s right,” Mama says in agreement.

I grumble as I try to get comfortable in the backseat, but everything's achy and sore and every time I move the leather squeaks. This isn’t our car.

Why is Mama driving someone else’s car?

“I don’t want to wait,” I mutter as the little girl next to me shifts, her small foot kicking me in the stomach, but not hard enough to hurt. In fact, it’s oddly soft, and I find myself curling up closer to her. She smells like soap. But it’s not a bad smell.

Her eyes flutter as she looks up at me.

“What are we waiting for?” she asks sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Mama’s friend says. “We’ll be home soon.”

The girl mumbles something I don’t understand. Something like “I thought we were home.” But that doesn’t make sense. If they were home, why did they leave?

Did we go somewhere? I can’t remember.

There’s a warmth between us, from the proximity of our bodies, and it’s strangely comforting. I close my eyes. The car is silent save for the rumble of the engine and the faint hum of the radio.

Some woman sings along to a guitar, her voice soothing and haunting at the same time. The soft guitars are like a lullaby as she smoothly serenades us.

“Thank you,” Mama’s friend says.

“You can thank me later,” Mama says, her voice low, but it doesn’t shake.

“After that bastard is locked up for good.”

“Kane?”

I blink, realizing it’s Tim.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have anything you’d like to share today?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Maybe if my head wasn’t splitting, I would though.”

Tim hums out a sound of agreement, and moves on from me, which I’m thankful for. “Maybe next time.”

“I have something to share,” Carter says, as I try to steady my breath. Remain calm.

Because there’s no way that wasn’t real. But why am I remembering this now? What triggered it? And who the hell is the little girl? I don’t remember her, but it can’t be sheer coincidence that she’s resurfaced twice now. That has to mean something.

Does it have to do with my mother’s death? With that night?

Should I call Margie? Am I having, like… a psychotic break or something?

No.