Chapter 4

Dinner was a surreal performance. Mom served all my favorite Thanksgiving dishes. The roast turkey was perfect, the mashed potatoes were creamy, and there was even a pumpkin pie, the same kind she had refused to make last year because she said it was too much work. She moved around the table with a determined, focused energy, avoiding my gaze, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.

"Everything you like, sweetheart," she said, placing a slice of pie in front of me.

She then poured me a tall glass of sparkling apple cider, her hand shaking slightly. "To a good holiday," she said, her voice hollow.

Just as I reached for the glass, Leo's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

"No," he said, his grip surprisingly strong. "She should have eggnog. She likes eggnog better."

"Don't be ridiculous, Leo," Mom snapped. "She loves the cider."

"She needs the eggnog," he insisted, his eyes fixed on me. He picked up a carton from the counter and poured a thick, creamy drink into another glass, pushing it toward me.

"I want the cider," I said, trying to pull my hand away.

"Drink the eggnog, Sarah," Leo commanded, his voice low and intense.

"Let her go!" Mom shouted. She tried to push Leo's hand away, and in the struggle, his elbow knocked both glasses. They tipped over, spilling their contents across the wooden table. The cider and the eggnog mixed into a puddle, and at the bottom of each empty glass, I saw it.

A dark, ashy residue. A gritty black powder clinging to the glass.

It wasn't a trick of the light. It was real. I stared at it, my blood running cold. It looked like the ashes from a fire.

My appetite vanished. I felt a wave of nausea.

"I'm... I'm really tired," I stammered, pushing my chair back. "I think I'm going to go lie down."

Neither of them tried to stop me. I practically ran to my room, locked the door, and leaned against it, my body trembling. They weren't trying to celebrate with me. They were trying to make me drink something.