Chapter 4

Frona thrashed against Connie's grip, her heels kicking at the rug. "She's a leech! She's taking your life away, Kimball!"

Donita peeked out from behind Crockett, her face twisting into a sneer. "You're so stupid, Kimball. You're giving your money to a stray dog who doesn't even care about you."

Crockett let out a loud, mocking snort. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Kimball's frail, shaking body with utter disgust.

"Look at him," Crockett scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension. "He can barely stand up. He's a walking corpse trying to play the hero. Save your pennies, sick boy. You're going to need them for the funeral."

The air in the room snapped.

Elvera's fingers, which had been gently holding Kimball's wrist, went rigid. The soft warmth that had briefly entered her eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, black void.

She let go of Kimball.

She turned slowly. Her eyes locked onto Crockett.

On the coffee table to her right sat a tall glass of water, abandoned hours ago. Condensation had pooled at the base.

Elvera's hand shot out. Her fingers clamped around the cold glass. In one fluid, explosive motion, she whipped her arm forward.

The freezing water hit Crockett squarely in the face with a loud smack.

The shock of the ice-cold liquid made Crockett gasp, inhaling water into his windpipe. He let out a strangled, pathetic squawk, his hands flying up to his face as the water dripped down his nose, soaking the collar of his expensive shirt.

Donita shrieked, jumping backward so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet, scrambling away not from the water, but from the sudden, absolute, cold violence burning in Elvera's eyes.

The living room fell into a stunned, breathless silence.

Crockett wiped his eyes, his face turning a furious, violent red. His chest heaved. He took a step forward, his fists clenching, ready to swing.

Elvera didn't back away. She flicked her wrist.

The heavy glass slipped from her fingers and slammed into the hardwood floor just inches from Crockett's expensive leather shoes. It shattered with a sharp, explosive crack, sending jagged shards of glass flying across the rug.

Crockett froze. His foot hovered in the air, right above a massive, razor-sharp piece of glass.

Elvera stepped forward, her sneakers grinding the broken glass underfoot. The physical pressure radiating from her body was suffocating.

"Open your mouth and speak to him like that again," Elvera said. Her voice wasn't a yell. It was a low, vibrating hum that seemed to rattle the windows. "And I will tear your tongue out of your throat. Do you understand me?"

Crockett stared into her eyes. He saw no hesitation. He saw a predator looking at prey. The blood drained from his face. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat bobbing, and he couldn't force a single word out.

Elvera held his gaze for two more agonizing seconds, ensuring the fear was permanently etched into his brain.

Then, she turned her back on him. The lethal aura instantly dissipated.

She walked back to Kimball. He was staring at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Elvera reached out. Her fingers brushed against the thin fabric of his pajama pocket. She slipped the worn bank card back inside, pressing her palm flat against his chest to ensure it stayed there.

Kimball shook his head, his hand coming up to grab hers. "No, El. You need it."

Elvera pressed her fingers over his lips, silencing him.

"I don't need it," Elvera said, her voice soft, steady, and absolutely certain. "I can take care of myself. You focus on surviving. Do not skip your treatments."

She leaned in closer, her eyes darting briefly to the people behind him.

"Watch your back, Kimball," she whispered. "They only care about themselves."

Kimball's eyes filled with fresh tears. He looked at the bank card in his pocket, then back up at her. He slowly nodded, his throat working as he swallowed his grief.

Elvera took a step back. She didn't look at Frona. She didn't look at Connie. She didn't look at the shivering, wet mess that was Crockett.

She adjusted the strap of her backpack, her spine snapping perfectly straight. She looked like a queen walking out of a ruined castle.

She walked past Crockett. He instinctively pressed his back flat against the wall, giving her a wide berth.

Elvera grabbed the brass handle of the heavy oak front door. She yanked it open.

A brutal blast of December wind tore into the heated living room, bringing the smell of exhaust fumes and freezing asphalt. The cold hit her face, crisp and awakening.

She stepped over the threshold. She didn't look back.

She grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it shut with all her strength. The heavy wood slammed into the frame with a thunderous boom that rattled the walls of the Wright house.

Inside, Frona's voice finally broke through the shock. "Don't you ever come back! You hear me? Never!"

Elvera stood on the cracked concrete of the Brooklyn sidewalk. The freezing wind whipped her dark hair across her face. She took a deep, lung-expanding breath. The air tasted like freedom.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up, showing three missed calls from an unknown number.

A small, genuine smile touched the corners of her lips.

Elvera shoved her hands deep into her pockets, leaning her weight against the biting wind, and waited on the street corner for her real life to begin.