Page 52 of Kane

“Thirty,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

“Thirty-one,” he says.

I curl up against the phone, suddenly feeling tired.

“Thirty-t-two,” I say with a yawn.

“Thirty… three,” he mutters. I open my mouth to say thirty-four, but all I can do is murmur, “Good night, Kane.”

And as I drift off to sleep, I swear I hear Kane softly whisper, “That’s my good boy.”

Chapter Fourteen

Kane

I can’t sleep. Every time I try, I keep thinking about that hockey-mask man with the machete. The one the dark-haired girl said wasn’t real.

I toss and turn in my bed, but the mattress squeaks, and there’s a weird smell that’s making me wrinkle my nose. I have to pee. But it’s dark in this room, and likely in the rest of the house, too, and I hate the dark. I used to have a night light, but Daddy got rid of it because he said I didn’t need it.

I don’t want to get up, but I don’t want to think about what Mama or Daddy will say if I have an accident. Daddy got real mad the last time that happened, and he and Mama yelled a lot. So I get up and settle my feet on the cold, wooden floor and tiptoe as best I can down to the bathroom. The hallway is dark; like a black hole about to swallow me up. I look around for hockey-mask-men wielding machetes. I don’t think there are any, but I don’t know for sure. Hiding is easier in the dark.

I rub my eyes as I make my way to the bathroom and carefully turn on the light. I do my business as fast as I can, flush, and wash my hands. I turn out the light, carefully heading back down to my bedroom, when I hear familiar voices.

“You did the right thing, Leah.” The masculine voice is low, but familiar. I freeze, unable to move.

“What if he finds out?” Mama asks, her voice shaky and I think she’s crying.

Why is she crying?

I don’t like when Mama cries. It makes me want to cry, too.

“He won’t find out.”

I recognize the voice.

It’s Jasper.

“She said there were others, Jas. She said—”

I can’t make out what Mama’s saying because it sounds all garbled through her crying.

“What if they are—”

“It’s my job to worry about that, Leah. Not yours.”

“And the girl? What about her?”

“What about her?” Jasper asks, his voice low. Steady.

“What will happen to her?”

I take one step forward, carefully, but I trip over something big and hard, and go down with a thud.

“Oh no, don’t tell me he’s home early.” My mother’s voice pitches, and I hear the terror in it.

“Shit,” Jasper says, and I hear a rustling, and then the click of something.

A gun.