Ainsley scrambled down the stairs, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
She burst into the living room, clutching her throbbing wrist.
Kristopher was sitting on the sofa, a bag of frozen peas pressed against his injured knee. He looked up, his face pale and drawn.
When he saw his wife's terrified expression, his stomach plummeted.
Ainsley threw herself onto the opposite end of the sofa. "She's crazy!" Ainsley screamed, tears of rage and fear streaming down her face. "Alissa has completely lost her mind! She attacked me!"
She shoved her wrist toward Kristopher. The skin was already turning red, and the faint, white indentations of Alissa's iron grip were clearly visible.
Kristopher stared at the finger marks.
A phantom pressure closed around his own throat. He remembered the cold, mechanical efficiency of the chokehold in the woods. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, soaking his hairline.
"You have to go up there and teach her a lesson!" Ainsley demanded, her voice shrill. "Beat some sense into her!"
Kristopher swallowed hard. His heart hammered against his ribs. Go upstairs? Face that monster again? He would rather jump into a woodchipper.
But he couldn't let Ainsley know he was terrified. He had to maintain his authority.
Kristopher shifted his weight, wincing as his knee throbbed. He put on his best, most serious teacher's face and reached out to gently hold Ainsley's uninjured hand.
"Ainsley, listen to me," Kristopher said, lowering his voice to a grave whisper. "Didn't you see her eyes? That fever she had... I think it broke something in her brain."
Ainsley sniffled, looking at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I mean she's having a psychotic break," Kristopher lied smoothly, spinning the narrative to protect his own cowardice. "She's showing severe signs of schizophrenia and violent tendencies. If I go up there and confront her, she might snap completely. She might grab a knife from the kitchen tonight while we sleep."
Ainsley's breath hitched. The image of Alissa's dead, emotionless eyes flashed in her mind. The idea of her sister standing over her bed with a butcher knife made her blood run cold.
"Oh my god," Ainsley whispered, the anger draining away, replaced by genuine dread. "What do we do? We can't just let her take over the house!"
Kristopher's eyes narrowed. A dark, cowardly plan formed in his mind.
"We can't handle a violent psychotic," Kristopher said softly. "But someone else can. We need to write a letter to Forrest."
Ainsley's eyes lit up.
Forrest Knox. Their oldest brother. A massive, hot-tempered man currently serving in the military, stationed at a base in Texas. Forrest ruled the family with an iron fist and a leather belt.
"Yes," Ainsley breathed, a cruel smile creeping onto her lips. "Forrest will know exactly what to do with her."
She immediately stood up, ignoring her throbbing wrist, and hurried over to the small writing desk in the corner of the room to grab a pen and paper.
Directly above them, on the second floor, Alissa lay flat on her stomach.
Her ear was pressed tightly against the rusted metal grate of the floor vent. The cold, dusty metal bit into her cheek. The old house's ductwork carried the sound from the living room up to her bedroom in muffled, echoing waves. She held her breath, straining to filter out the hum of the refrigerator, barely managing to piece together the distorted fragments of their conversation.
When she heard the name "Forrest," a violent shudder ripped through her body.
It wasn't her fear. It was the original Alissa's trauma reacting. Memories of heavy combat boots, the sharp crack of a leather belt, and the suffocating smell of chewing tobacco flooded her mind.
Alissa sat up, her expression grim.
Her tactical assessment shifted immediately. Kristopher was a weak, untrained civilian. She could break him.
But a fully grown, active-duty military man? With her current physical limitations, a direct confrontation with Forrest would be suicide. Worse, if Forrest came back, he had the legal authority as her guardian to sign papers and lock her in the State Asylum.
The clock was ticking. She had maybe a week before the letter reached Texas and Forrest got a leave of absence.
She had to get out of this house.
But running required money. Real money. Not seventeen dollars.
Alissa walked over to her desk. She pulled open the bottom drawer and dug through the old school supplies until she found a folded, worn map of Ohio.
She spread it out on the mattress.
Her finger traced the red lines of the highway, moving away from the Red Sorghum community, stopping thirty miles north at a large industrial city.
She tapped a specific location. Crawford Textile Mill.
It was where her second brother, Rudy Knox, worked as a floor manager.
Rudy wasn't violent like Forrest, but he was a greedy, image-obsessed hypocrite. The memories told Alissa that two years ago, Rudy had tricked the original Alissa into signing over the only thing their late mother had left her-a small life insurance payout.
Alissa stared at the map. A cold, predatory smile touched her lips.
Rudy cared about his promotion. He cared about his pristine reputation at the factory.
He was the perfect target for a public shakedown.
Alissa folded the map and shoved it into her back pocket. She was going to the city, and she was going to bleed her brother dry.
