Chapter One

Two In The Morning

Try as I may, I couldn't ignore the screams coming from downstairs. I closed my eyes and turned over in my bed, pulling the blanket securely over my head. Why couldn't she understand that I needed sleep, too?

I poked an eye out from under the warm fabric to look at my alarm clock on my bedside table. 2:11 in the morning. This had been going on for eleven whole minutes.

Finally, I unwillingly pushed myself from the bed and silently rushed down the stairs, hoping not to wake Tessa up. I met the woman in the kitchen, like I did every night.

She stood up straight in front of the large day window, allowing the moonlight to hit her body in a way that caused her shadow to overcome me. Her blonde hair was thin, as always, and her hands were clasped behind her back. She sported the purple jacket I'd bought her two Christmases ago.

Thankfully, when her eyeless sockets turned in my direction, her screaming ceased.

"Go to bed, Fiona," she ordered me in her maternal tone.

"I want some cereal," I replied. Like always, it felt as if someone else was controlling my voice.

"Go to bed, Fiona."

My eyes settled on the digital clock on the oven. 2:30.

Soft footfalls hurried into the kitchen and I looked down to see my sleepy-eyed three-year-old sister. Without permission, I scooped her tiny body into my arms and stole a fleeting glance at where the woman had been standing. All I could see now was the snow falling outside the window.

Tessa struggled a bit before falling asleep in my grasp. Her messy russet hair tickled my face as I carried her back up to her bedroom and placed her in her Spongebob Squarepants decorated bed. She didn't stir as I closed the door behind me.

Back in the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator and stared absentmindedly at a solitary Diet Coke nestled in the back. It hadn't been touched in a year and a half.

My eyelids suddenly felt heavier than ever, so I closed the cold metal door. The time was close to three in the morning. A strange sort of comfort sat in my gut.

I enjoyed this type of routine; waking up every single morning at two o'clock to her screaming, finding her in the kitchen until Tessa discovers us, carrying the girl back to her room, then staring at a seemingly forgotten drink in the fridge until I vaguely find myself back in my own bed.

Before I exited the kitchen, I took one last glance at the spot where she stood and whispered, "Good night."

The chilliness of the sheets on my bed was unwelcoming.