“I think you should talk to someone.”
“Someone? Like a shrink?”
“A psychologist.”
“I was already cleared. No Stockholm Syndrome. No psychotic break. I’m fine.”
“You’re not yourself.”
“I’ll never be my old self again, Dad. I’d be insane if this whole experience didn’t affect me. That place changed me. Gabriel changed me. Sixteen years ago I lost my mother because of him. But I found her again down there. I find her every time I turn the pages of this book.” It’s not the copy Gabriel gave me when I was his prisoner. That one was destroyed in the fire. It’s my mom’s old copy. The one she touched with her hands and read with her eyes. When she was alive. Before he murdered her.
“What about reading a different book, Harps?”
“I’ll have to soon, won’t I? There will be tons of assigned reading for my classes this fall.”
“Tons. But I’m not talking about assigned reading. You’ve always been an enthusiastic reader with varied tastes. You’ve never limited yourself to one book and read it over and over again.”
“Did you talk to a psychologist, and he told you to make me read a different book?”
“She. She told me to suggest that you read another book in addition to this one.” He picks it up off my lap, lifts it to his face, and smells the pages. Only real book lovers do that. I Googled it. Only real nerds do that. The breakdown of cellulose and lignin makes the pages of an old book smell like almonds, vanilla, and flowers. Cellulose is what makes a tree strong, and lignin keeps a tree from rotting. Until someone chops the tree down and uses it to make paper. Then the cellulose and lignin break down. When you lift that old book up to your face, you’re smelling the tree’s strength and longevity as it fades away.
He closes the book and puts it on my nightstand. For a second I thought he was going to take it away from me. I wipe my palms on the blanket to dry the sweat.
“Don’t worry, Harper. I’m not going to take it away. I just think you should read something else in addition to this. Not instead of it.” He points at my mother’s old copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.
“Like what? Chick lit? Romance? Something with a happy ending? Oh, I know, self-help. How to Hold on to Your Sanity After Being Kidnapped by a Psycho. That one’s at the top of the New York Times bestseller list! I should run right out to the bookstore and grab a copy. ASAP! Before they sell out.”
He laughs out loud. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone about the book. Only because that’s the first sarcastic thing you’ve said to me since it all went down. Maybe there’s hope for you after all. Your old self is still alive and well.”
“So that’s what you were so worried about? I haven’t been giving you enough shit lately?”
“You haven’t been giving me any shit lately. Or Shane. Or your grandmother. No one’s heard even one smartass comment come out of your smartass mouth since you escaped from that lunatic.”
“Wait. You guys talk about me? When I’m not there to defend myself?”
“The people who love you are concerned, that’s all. Don’t get your undies in a twist.”
He’s chuckling and grinning at me, and it’s pissing me off. He’s humoring me. And it’s condescending. And patronizing. And I hate it. And he can tell, too. He cups my hands inside his huge hands.
“Don’t take a swing at me, baby. You’ll regret it. But it’s good to see that hellfire back in your eyes. I’ve missed it. Now calm down and go back to your book. I’m not going to make you talk to a psychologist, but think about it. I found someone good. Someone I think you’ll like.”
He gets up and leaves, but the dog stays put. I grab the book, slide down, roll over, and use Sam’s back for a book perch. I’ll be able to fall asleep if everything stays like this. Book in hand. Dog close. Light on. Door open. End of story.
Acknowledgments
A special thank-you to my father, Alvaro Sousa, for handing me a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird when I was twelve years old. And for all the other books in his “study” that he loved and encouraged me to read.
Thank you to Shaun Melendy for the great cover photo.
Thank you to my daughter, Megan, for being a braver-than-hell, sarcastic, brown-eyed blonde who climbs mountains and faces down giant moose in the wild.
Thank you to my daughter, Annie, and her friends for reading parts of this manuscript and raving about how awesome it is.
Thank you to my son Joe, for his editing advice.
Thank you to my husband Ray who’s skilled at sarcastic dialogue.
Thank you to every English teacher I ever had whose passion for literature was contagious, especially Francis Garcia and Sandra Wheat Price. And my dad’s favorite English teacher, Wendell Fogg.
Thank you to all of my students who took pity on my ignorance and taught me about firearms laws and muscle cars. If there are any inaccuracies, it’s my fault, not theirs.
Thank you to the best beta reader ever, and a truly loyal fan, Rebecca Brooder.
And thank you to the excellent editorial staff at Kindle Press.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
Start Reading
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
The Last Chapter
Acknowledgments
Hidden in the Dark (Harper Flagg Book 1) Page 32
