by Mia Sheridan
ALSO BY MIA SHERIDAN
Archer’s Voice
Copyright
Published by Piatkus
ISBN: 978-0-349-41914-5
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Mia Sheridan
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Piatkus
Little, Brown Book Group
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Also By Mia Sheridan
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is dedicated to Danita,
who has her own angel Gabriel.
And to those everywhere who have
been given up on.
PROLOGUE
ELLIE
I didn’t want to go. “Please, Mama, can we go tomorrow?”
My mama didn’t answer for a minute, pushing her blonde hair away from her face and wiping at the sweat that dotted her forehead and upper lip. Her cheeks were bright red with fever again, and her green eyes looked dull and shiny at the same time, like the surface of the puddles in the parking lot at our apartment complex after it rained. “We have to go, Ellie. I feel well enough today, and I don’t know if I will tomorrow.”
Mama didn’t look like she felt well. She looked worse than I’d seen her in weeks. Even worse than the day she’d found the paper stuck to our door and cried and then got back into bed for three days. It scared me how sick she looked, and I didn’t know what to do.
I used to knock on Mrs. Hollyfield’s door and ask for help when she still lived in our building. She would come over with chicken soup and sometimes a box of Popsicles, and she’d talk to my mama in a quiet, soothing voice while I watched cartoons. I always felt better after Mrs. Hollyfield left, and it seemed like Mama did, too. But Mrs. Hollyfield didn’t live at our apartment complex anymore. Something called a blood clot had happened to Mrs. Hollyfield, and they took her away on a white stretcher.
After that, some younger people who I’d never seen before came and cleaned her apartment out. When I heard them arguing about who was going to pay her funeral costs, I knew she was dead. My mama cried and cried and kept saying, “What am I gonna do now? Oh, Lord God, what am I gonna do now?” But I didn’t cry, even though I wanted to, because once, when my mama was at the doctor’s, Mrs. Hollyfield told me that when you die, you fly away to heaven just like a bird. She said that heaven is the most glorious place any person could ever imagine, with gold-paved streets and flowers in colors that didn’t even exist here on earth. So I tried to be happy for Mrs. Hollyfield even though I was going to miss her hugs, her laughter, the red Popsicles that were my favorite, and the way she made my mama smile.
“Pick up your feet, Ellie. I can’t drag you.” I walked quicker, trying to keep up with Mama. She was walking fast, and I almost had to run to stay at her side. “We’re getting close to your daddy’s house.”
I swallowed heavily, a dizzy feeling in my head. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to meet my daddy or not, but I was curious. I wondered what he looked like—if he was handsome like the soap opera actors Mama watched. She seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew that was the sort of man she would have picked to be my daddy. I pictured him in a suit with thick, wavy hair and big straight teeth. I hoped he would think I was pretty despite my ragged clothes. I hoped he would like me even though he’d left us before I was even born.
We got to a small house with peeling paint and a shutter that was hanging crooked, and when my mama stopped in front of it, she squeezed my hand. “Lord, please give me strength. I have no choice, I have no choice,” my mama murmured before she turned and kneeled down in front of me. “Here we are, baby.” Her eyes were watery, her lips were shaking, and I was alarmed at how sick she looked. But she smiled so sweetly and looked right in my eyes. “Ellie, sweetness, you know I love you, right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
She nodded. “I didn’t do a lot of good in this world, baby. But one thing I did perfectly was you. You’re such a good, smart girl, Ellie. You don’t forget that, okay? No matter what, you don’t forget that.”
“Okay, Mama,” I whispered. I felt even more scared, and I didn’t know why. My mama stood and then adjusted my sweater with the missing buttons and unraveling hem. She frowned at my shoes, her eyes staying on the hole in my toe for a few more seconds before she straightened up, taking my hand and leading me toward the door of the ugly little house.
Mama knocked, and I heard a man shouting on the other side of the door. He sounded angry, and his voice scared me. I pressed myself into my mama’s side. She put her arm around me and we waited. Mama felt so hot, and now her whole body was shaking. She leaned into me, and I worried we both might topple over. I knew she needed a doctor, but she’d stopped going to the doctor months ago even though she didn’t seem to be getting any better. Weren’t doctors supposed to make you better?
After a minute, the door opened, and a tall man stood in front of us with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. My mama gasped. I peeked up at him, and he stared down at my mama and me. “Yeah?”
My mama ran her hand over my hair. “Hi, Brad.”
The man was quiet as he sucked on his cigarette, and then his eyes widened and he finally said, “Cynthia?”
I felt my mama relax, and I looked up at her. She had a big smile on her face. The one she used when she was trying to convince Mrs. Gadero to let us pay our rent late. I took another peek at Brad, my daddy. He was tall like the soap opera actors, but that was the only thing they had in common. His hair was long and sorta greasy looking, and his teeth were yellow and crooked. But we had the same blue eyes and the same color hair—golden brown, my mama called it.
“Well, I’ll be damned. What are you doing here?”
“May we come in?”
We went into the house, and I looked around at the old furniture, no better than the furniture Mama and I had at home. I heard my mama take a deep breath. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Brad squinted his eyes and looked back and forth between my mama and me before he said, “Sure, come on in the bedroom.”
“El, you sit on the couch, sweetness. I’ll be right back,” my mama said, seeming to weave slightly before she caught
herself. The red spots on her cheeks were even brighter.
I sat down and stared at the TV in front of me. There was a football game on but the sound was muted, so I could hear my mama and daddy talking from down the hall.
“She’s yours, Brad.”
“What the fuck do you mean she’s mine? You told me you got an abortion.”
“Well, I … I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew you didn’t want her, but I couldn’t get rid of my baby.”
I heard my daddy swear, and a big lump formed in my throat. My daddy hadn’t wanted me. At all. He hadn’t even known my mama kept me until just now. He hadn’t even known I was alive. My mama hadn’t told me different, but in my mind, I kept hoping there was a good reason my daddy had left. I kept hoping that when he saw me, he’d take me in his arms and tell me everything was going to be okay, and that he was proud to have me for a daughter. Like my mama says to me all the time. And then he’d find a doctor who could make my mama better.
“She’s a really good girl, Brad. You see how beautiful she is. And she’s smart, too. She’s real sweet and well behaved—”
“What do you want, Cynthia? Money? I don’t got no money. I got nothin’ for you.”
“I don’t want money. I need you to take her. I’m … I’m dying, Brad.” Her voice lowered so I almost couldn’t hear it. “I have stage four cancer. I have such little time—weeks, maybe just days. We’ve been evicted from our apartment. I thought a neighbor would take Ellie … but she’s gone, and I don’t have anyone else. You’re all Ellie has in this world now.” My heart tightened inside my chest, and as the room spun around me, a tear ran down my cheek. No, Mama, no. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want this to be true. I didn’t want my mama to fly to heaven like a bird. I want her to stay here. With me.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that but take her? Goddamn, I didn’t want her seven years ago, and I don’t want her now.” I grimaced, picking at the skin around my fingernail, feeling small and ugly just like the scrawny cat Mama never let me feed.
“Please, Brad, I—” I heard shuffling and the squeak of a bed as if my mama had sat down. She asked for a glass of water, and my daddy came out of the room looking mad. He shot me an angry look, and I sunk down into the couch. I thought I heard a door open and close at the back of the house, but I wasn’t sure, and then my daddy came out of what must be the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand and went back down the hall.
I heard him swear. I heard him calling my mama’s name, and then he came rushing out to the living room and threw the water at the wall, the glass shattering. I screamed and curled into a ball.
“Well, isn’t that a fine thing? That slut just up and left. Snuck out the back door. Bitch.”
I blinked, my heart racing. Mama? No, Mama, don’t leave me here! Please don’t leave me here!
I jumped up and ran down the hall where I found a back door, throwing it open and rushing out into the alley behind the house. There was no one in sight.
My mama was gone.
She hadn’t even said goodbye.
She hadn’t even said goodbye.
She’d left me here.
I fell to my knees on the ground and sobbed.
Mama, Mama, Mama.
Brad picked me up, and the harsh sting of a slap across my face made me gag on my own tears. “Shut up, kid. Your mama’s gone.” He dragged me back inside, where he threw me on the couch again. I clenched my eyes shut, fear racing through my body like the little needle pricks I felt when I’d been sitting on my foot for too long. When I opened my eyes, Brad was staring at me. The look on his face scared me even more. He made a disgusted sound in his throat and then turned away and left for what felt like hours. I stayed curled up on the couch, rocking myself slowly, as the day turned to night.
Mama never leaves me for this long. I’m always a good girl and do what I’m told, but she never stays away so long. I don’t like the smells here. I don’t like the sound of the dripping water. I don’t like this scratchy couch. I’m scared. I’m scared. Mama, please come back and get me.
When Brad finally returned, flicking on the lights and causing me to squint into the sudden brightness, he looked even more mad than before he’d left. He sat down and lit a cigarette and sucked in a puff of it before blowing the smoke out, causing my eyes to water. “What am I gonna do with you, kid? Just what the fuck am I gonna do?”
I looked away, tried to swallow back the sob that wanted to escape.
Mrs. Hollyfield told me that hearts are meant to beat all the time to keep us alive. Mrs. Hollyfield said that when your heart stops beating and you go to heaven, you don’t feel pain anymore. Mrs. Hollyfield’s heart had stopped beating. My mama’s heart is going to stop beating, too. My heart was still beating, even though it felt like it was crumbling in my chest. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I wanted my heart to stop beating so I could fly to heaven and be with Mrs. Hollyfield. And Mama.
I told my heart to stop beating.
I told it not to hurt anymore.
I told my heart I wouldn’t let it hurt anymore.
Ever.
CHAPTER ONE
Come with me, I’ll help you. It looks like you need a friend.
Racer, the Knight of Sparrows
CRYSTAL
Present Day
He didn’t belong here. Why that thought came immediately to my mind the moment I laid eyes on him, I couldn’t be sure. But it did. It wasn’t the way he looked—I’d seen handsome, clean-cut, seemingly wholesome boys here before. Get a few drops of alcohol in them, or a few whiffs of the pack mentality wafting thickly in the air, and they’d be acting just like the other drunken fools eager to part with their money and any common decency they might possess. And it wasn’t that he was out of place because he looked scared. I’d seen that before, too—eyes darting around, nervous and excited by the surroundings. No, the man sitting alone at a table near the back of the room, nursing a Miller Lite, didn’t look scared, merely curious. His head turned slowly as he took in the room at large, and I couldn’t help that my gaze followed his, wondering at his assessment.
My own curiosity confused and disturbed me. It was so unlike me to wonder about any of the men who came here, and I couldn’t find an explanation. I closed my eyes, pushing the thoughts away as the loud music filled my head. When my performance ended, the applause exploded and I plastered a smile on my face.
Anthony walked behind the crowd, making sure no one took liberties, pulling the ones who did away from me as they protested. Five minutes later, as I turned to leave, my eyes met those of the man in the back, still sitting at the same table, watching me. I straightened my spine, something about his face niggling at my mind. I knew I hadn’t seen him here before. Did I know him? Is that what kept drawing my attention?
Once I was backstage, I pulled the cash out of my underwear, uncrumpling the bills until I could fold it all into a thick wad.
“Nice job, honey,” Cherry said as she drew closer to me, headed toward the stage.
“Thanks.” I smiled, squeezing her arm gently as we passed each other.
I unlocked my locker in the hall and stuffed the tip money into my purse before heading to the dressing room I shared with two other girls. They were off tonight, so for once I had the too-crowded space to myself. I sunk down in the chair in front of the small vanity table littered with cases, tubes, and compacts of makeup, jars of cold cream, and bottles of lotion and perfume. In the quiet of the room, the sounds of the men in the audience who’d just watched me dance filled my head—the whoops, hollers, and the catcalls that described in lurid detail what they wanted to do to me. I could still smell the scents of the beer-laden breath, heavy cologne, and body odor that had overwhelmed me as I’d bent and shimmied toward all those masculine shouts and reaching hands.
For a moment I fantasized using my arm to swipe everything on the surface in front of me to the floor and watch as it shattered and spilled, mixing together in a mess of gloppy, powdery co
lor, and scent. Shaking my head, I stared at myself in the mirror, overcome by a sudden urge to grab a towel and begin scrubbing and smearing the makeup caked on my face. God, what’s wrong with me? A lump filled my throat and I stood too quickly, the chair I’d been sitting in tipping backward and clattering to the floor.
“Crystal?”
I turned at the sound of Anthony’s voice, and whatever was on my face caused him to frown. “You all right, girl?”
I nodded, a jerky up-and-down motion of my head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just thirsty.” I walked toward the water cooler, picking up a Dixie cup, filling and draining it quickly before looking back at Anthony. “What’s up?”
“You got two private dance requests.”
I filled the Dixie cup again and took a sip. “Okay.”
“Little extra money’s never bad, yeah?” One side of his lips tipped up.
“Never bad,” I murmured.
Anthony remained unmoving, his lips a straight line again as he studied me solemnly. “I could tell ’em you’re sick.”
I am. I am sick. Sick of this. Sick of life. I shook my head, attempting to shake off the morose thoughts that had pricked my brain. “No, just give me a minute and I’ll be out.”
Anthony inclined his head and shut the door behind him. I took a deep breath and moved back to the vanity, bending toward it and using my finger to fix the places where my makeup had smeared. I stood straight and offered the mirror a smirk. “Showtime,” I whispered before turning, opening the door, and walking down the hall, where a skinny guy with shaggy, dark blond hair and a long face waited. He jerked as I approached, pulling himself ramrod straight, his large Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Bile rose in mine. I gave him a sultry smile. “Hiya, sugar. You ready for me?”
* * *
It was getting close to closing time when I performed my last dance and made my way back to the dressing room again, stretching my neck from side to side and sighing with both relief and fatigue. When we girls weren’t dancing, whether onstage or behind closed doors, we served drinks. The manager, Rodney, liked our presence out on the floor—liked that bending over tables to deliver drinks and brushing past the men we were serving excited and encouraged them to keep spending money. Dealing with an obnoxious group of them, made bold by the stares of their friends, was nauseating. Tedious. But it also roused their generosity when I was onstage, so I did what I had to do. A subtle wink around the table and each idiot thought my next dance was just for him.