A Fractured Light (Beautiful Dark)

floor.
    “Skye,” she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears. There was such a mix of emotions on her face: sadness, relief, anger, regret.
    “I’m . . . ,” I started, not sure what I was about to say.
    “Oh my god,” she said, running to me and squeezing me in her arms. “Oh, Skye, Skye, Skye,” she repeated, rocking back and forth. “Are you okay? Where the hell have you been? You are in a world of trouble, young lady, but I’m too happy you’re home to be angry right now.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said, burying my face in her hair and letting her hold me. “I’m so, so sorry. I missed you so much.” For the first time, I realized just how scared I’d been that I’d never see her again. She pulled away, looking me over as we both sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. She squeezed her hands up and down my arms as if checking for broken bones.
    “What happened to you? Do you even know what you put us through? Do you have any idea how worried we were?” She wiped her eyes. “I should have been here. I should have said something, told you, I should have—”
    “Aunt Jo,” I said. “Stop the crazy talk. It’s not your fault!”
    “What happened?” she asked again, running her fingers over the cuts and bruises on my face. “My god, look at you. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
    The time for that had definitely passed.
    “No,” I said. “I’m fine. Really. Just tired. I missed my bed.”
    “Of course,” she said, pulling me in for an air-sucking hug again. “Of course. You don’t have to worry. You’re home now. You’re safe.”
    But how could I tell her the truth? I wasn’t safe. The white feather told me all I needed to know. I may have been back in the house I grew up in, with Aunt Jo there to take care of me and make me my favorite meals. But everything about home was going to be different from now on. “Safe” couldn’t have been farther from how I felt.
    Upstairs, I took a shower—my first shower in days. I let the hot water spill over me, washing away the dirt and the knots in my hair. Washing away every trace, every memory of what had happened in the woods that night. I let every betrayal, every thought of Devin swirl down the drain. Steam billowed up around me and I let myself get lost in it.
    After I wrapped myself in a big plush towel and padded back into my room, I took my favorite T-shirt and boxers out of a drawer and put them on my bed.
    “Skye!” Aunt Jo called from the hallway. Her voice was nervous and didn’t sound right. “Everything okay in there? Do you need anything?”
    “I’m fine!” I called. “I’ll be out in a second!” I turned to my full-length mirror and let the towel fall to the floor around me. My stomach was smooth and unmarked, as if I’d never been stabbed at all. I couldn’t believe it. I ran my fingers across my skin, but they felt nothing. Goose bumps prickled my arms and legs, and suddenly I had the creepy feeling of being watched. I quickly stepped into the old flannel boxers and pulled the T-shirt over my head. It felt like forever since I’d put them on, and I relished the feel of the soft cotton. I finished brushing my hair, pulling it up into a knot on the top of my head.
    Suddenly I winced, pitching forward. The room seemed to spin and fade away into darkness. When I looked into the mirror again, I had to grab the dresser with both hands for support. A dark wet spot was blooming from the center of my shirt. Frantic, I lifted it, and what I saw made me scream out loud.
    There was a gaping stab wound through my stomach, seeping blood onto my hands, the dresser, the carpet. My vision ran red with it. “Jo!” I yelled. “Aunt Jo!”
    “What is it?” She came bursting into the room, and everything came back into focus. The light returned, and my dizziness cleared. “Skye?” she asked, coming to me. “Are you okay?”
    “I—” I looked down at my hands, the carpet, my stomach. There was no wound, no blood. Everything was the way it had been. “It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
    She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
    “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “Yeah,” I said. I had to stop dwelling on what had happened. I was home now. It was time to move on. “I’m fine.”
    “Come downstairs,” she said. She looked so helpless, like she was running through a mental checklist of all the things she might have done to drive me away.