Fate's Revenge (Twisted Fate, Book 4)

Chapter Thirty-Three

I felt myself fading, the weakness growing more persistent while I ran home. By the time I reached the back door of my parents' house, I was as transparent as the image I'd left of David. The "soon" Lachesis had finally copped to now became a matter of minutes.

Please be home.

I took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. No contact. Instead of being able to hold and twist, my hand sliced through, sending pricks up my arm, across my shoulders, and into my chest where the sensation exploded. Each organ became a sparkler that wouldn't fizzle. The fireworks slowed at my center and then popped in my ear as it whistled through the internal space not already occupied within my body.

Now what? I couldn't let myself in and it was impossible to ring the doorbell. I cupped my hand over my eyes like a visor and peered through the blinds. At least the kitchen was clean again. Did that mean they didn't miss me anymore? Was I gone too long? Even the yard had been tended, its owners pride shiny and green.

The idea barely registered before I stepped forward. This would be easy. If my hand could do it, why couldn't the rest of me? It was this or wait until they came into the kitchen. Even if I didn't fade before that happened, could I handle it if only one could be seen? My mom popped into mind and I felt sorry for my dad. To be fair, I hadn't seen her since the day after her release and the time before that was in the hospital. Both were too short. It was logical to want to make sure she was okay, especially since my dad was always okay so long as she was fine.

Would this opportunity come with second—or however many were necessary—chances?

Four steps and I was through. There was no pain, only a slight push like what we'd felt exiting the tunnel before reaching the desert. The intensity was less severe than when I sliced my hand through the door, and I didn't know if that was good or bad. Maybe I was fading even quicker than I thought or it felt different even than the desert's transition because the tunnel's door led to another realm; this was only from the outside in. More importantly, this was my home, my parents, my Scruffy. That might not equal where I was meant to be, but to me, it was where I was supposed to stay. It was my family and no God or Goddess, or angel was going to change that.

Moving as softly as I could, already knowing which floorboards to avoid so the house wouldn't groan, I walked into the living room. Nobody was there, the house silent. It was still the same, though. The couch, the television, the end tables that matched the center coffee table. Even the picture of The Last Supper still hung above the larger couch.

I kept moving. Up the stairs full of unavoidable creaks, down the hall, and into my bedroom where everything was wrong. They'd changed it. Instead of my bed and desk—of all my personal belongings—it was full or work tables. Sewing machines, boxes, hot glue guns... It was a craft room slash home office. My bedroom. The only consistency from what I remembered it being were the maroon walls.

Where had all my things gone?

The front door slammed, jarring me out of my nostalgic memories of a childhood safety I never thought I would lose. Laughter floated up the stairs from the living room. My heart stopped. I slowed my breath so that I could hear every sound, hoping what they were talking about would provide insight into why my room disguised my existence as having never been.

I crept back down the stairs once the sounds shifted into the kitchen. Stopping at the bottom step, I peered around the doorframe. Before I'd been forced to leave, Scruffy would have given me away, but I hadn't seen him since arriving. Where was he? Was he as forgotten as I seemed to be? Or... would they have never gotten him if I hadn't been here? Was he with another family now? It broke my heart to think that Scruffy wouldn't know who I was—he was the only one I wouldn't have had to explain everything to for fear of them thinking I was completely insane.