Page 7 of Savage Elites

About an hour after Uncle Trevor disappeared through the door, Peter picked up the remote and turned off the TV. Annie and Stevie screeched their objections, but the four-year-old picked up a pile of picture books and placed them on my lap.

“Willow, read me a story.”

My head throbbed. “Don’t you want to—”

“You always read us stories!” He turned to Stevie, who gave me a sharp nod.

“Alright, then.” I picked up the first book, cracked it open, and waited for the children to climb up on the sofa. “Once upon a time, there was a little boy—”

“That’s not what the book says,” Peter snapped.

I huffed out a breath. “What does it say?”

“It’s about a monster who wants a friend…” Peter continued his version of the story, and I stared at the boy through half-lidded eyes. My attention drifted in and out of focus until the landline rang.

Leaning over to where the phone sat on a side table, i picked it up and said, “Hello?”

“Hortense is having complications, and she’ll have to stay overnight. Sorry to burden you, but can you put the kids to bed at eight?”

A tight fist of panic squeezed at my gut. “Is she okay?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.”

“Don’t worry about the children. I’ll take care of them.”

“Thanks.” He hung up.

“Was that Daddy?” asked Peter.

“It was.”

“Is he coming back?”

“The baby’s taking a long time to come out,” I said. “They’re waiting in the hospital.”

“Why?” asked his three-year-old brother.

“What’s that, Stevie?”

“Stevie wants to know why the baby is taking a long time to come out.”

My gaze darted to the door, out to the kitchen, where I had left my painkillers on a high shelf away from curious, little hands. “You’ll have to ask him or her when your mom and dad come back.”

Preparing food for children when all I wanted to do was curl up and piece together missing hours was a pain. Peter, Stevie, and Anne wouldn’t eat the beans on toast I’d made them and demanded pizza. When I told them I had no money, the two little ones lay on their backs and howled.

Each shrill cry reverberated in my throbbing head, and nausea swirled through my insides. Of all the times to have a head injury, why did it have to be when Aunt Hortense’s waters broke?

By the time I had gotten them to eat something and put them to bed, I wished I was back in Cumbria Royal Infirmary, shrinking under the withering glares of the medical staff.

Early the next morning, at the first signs of light, the doorbell rang.

I sleepwalked out of the living room, through the hallway and to the front door and swung it open.

Ashley stood outside with her hands on her hips. “I heard this was where you were hiding.”

My stomach dropped. This was the first time I’d spoken to Ashley since her betrayal. Her parting words in Mrs. Benazir’s office had been a sarcastic reminder not to continue hurting myself. She had even twisted the knife by evoking Mom and Dad’s memory.

She bared her teeth. “Tell me you were lying on last week.”