Possess

to the top, her feet met the soft cushy doormat. Phew.
    She half turned and waved a lank good-bye at Matt as she fumbled for her keys. She had been dreading this moment, dreading the idea of having to tell her family what had happened in the church that night, dreading the memories of her dad’s murder that would inevitably bubble to the surface.
    The door swung open before Bridget got her key in the lock. Her mother stood in the entryway, her eyes red and puffy. Bridget realized she wouldn’t have to explain anything.
    “Bridget!”
    “Mom.”
    Mrs. Liu pulled Bridget to her with a force so desperate in its need, so violent in its panic that it knocked the breath right out of her. “My baby girl. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    Bridget let her body sag into the embrace. Once again the release felt so good. She wanted to tell her mom everything, to relinquish control of her life, to let someone else make all her decisions. It would feel so wonderful. . . .
    “Annie?” Hugh Darlington’s voice made Bridget’s stomach drop. “Is she all right?”
    Her mom broke away. “Yes. Yes, Hugh.” Bridget’s guard was instantly back in place. “She’s just fine.”
    “Wonderful.” Hugh Darlington moved languidly out of the darkened living room into the light of the entryway. “We were worried about you, Bridget.”
    “Hugh came over to tell me what happened.”
    Bridget wanted to hate the big douchebag who always seemed to be in her house at the most inopportune moments, but she couldn’t. One look at her mom’s face told Bridget that the news of Peter’s murder, and the memories of her dad’s, had been broken to her kindly, thoughtfully. There had been tears, but they were gone. Bridget had been spared the worst of it and for that, she was thankful.
    “Monsignor Renault called to let me know what happened at St. Michael’s tonight.” Mr. Darlington stood behind her mom and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I came right over. I wanted Annie to hear the news from a friend.”
    Mr. Darlington gave Bridget a small smile, and Bridget surprised herself by smiling back. Monsignor must have called before he came and rescued her from the police questioning, which was really very sweet. He was looking out for her, just like Mr. Darlington—as much as she might not always like it—was looking out for her mom. It was a comforting thought, and Bridget felt a twinge of guilt about keeping the secret of Penemuel’s message from her mentor. She was being silly, influenced by the horror of Peter’s murder, and she vowed to call Monsignor in the morning and tell him everything.
    Mr. Darlington nodded. “I’ll leave you two alone, then.”
    Bridget stuck her hand out to Mr. Darlington. “Thank you. For coming over and all.”
    He looked at her outstretched hand for half a second but didn’t take it. Instead he leaned in and gave Mrs. Liu a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Annie.”
    That was rude. Did he hold a grudge because she’d punched his daughter in the face a few years ago?
    Mrs. Liu escorted Mr. Darlington to the door. “I appreciate tonight more than you know, Hugh.”
    He squeezed her mom’s hand. “I’m always here, whenever you need me.” His eyes shifted to Bridget, and he smiled. “Always.”
    Bridget was wide awake when Sammy tapped on her bedroom door.
    “Bridge?” He popped his head into her room. “Are you asleep?”
    “Yes.”
    Apparently Sammy hadn’t gotten the memo. He padded over to the edge of her bed. When Bridget made no move to pull the covers back for him, he yanked the duvet half off the bed.
    “Not tonight, Sammy. Please?”
    He started to climb in. “Nightmare.”
    She couldn’t deal with him tonight. “Can’t you go see Mom?”
    “Bridge?” His voice cracked.
    “Go back to bed.” Bridget rolled onto her side and pulled the covers up over her head.
    But she couldn’t block out the sound of Sammy’s sobs as he fled back to his room.
    Bridget squeezed her eyes shut until the little flecks of pink-and-blue lights stopped floating around the dark background of her eyelids and faded almost to nothingness. She shouldn’t feel guilty. She wasn’t going to feel guilty. There was no reason for her to feel guilty.
    Dammit.
    Bridget slid out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt off the floor, pulling it on against the chill of the house as she tiptoed down the hall to Sammy’s room.
    She didn’t knock, just eased the door open and slipped inside. Even in the darkness of