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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: DEATH'S COLD HAND
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MAGGIE HADN'T SPOKEN TO Paul Lahote for an entire week. Now, this was a decision she was confident in at first; after all, finding out that the boy who'd been lying to her just so happened to be her soulmate (and was far from happy about it, or so she thought) didn't exactly encourage Maggie to glue herself to his side, for 'protection' as he called it. But with each of the seven days that came and went, it got harder and harder to breathe through the gaping, empty feeling that had festered in her chest, like blood around an irritated wound.
It was safe to say she had underestimated the power of this whole imprinting thing, by a lot. Once she was aware of it, could feel it forming on her heart like a bruise, her whole perspective had shifted. She was left with no choice but to wonder if this was how Paul had been feeling; like part of her soul had been split from her body and swapped for half of his, like her whole purpose on this earth had changed. One person, who was so inconvenient in the grand scheme of things, had managed to hook, line and sinker Maggie Sullivan's heart and she hated it.
So she ignored him. Which, as it turned out, was definitely a stupid move with a vampire merely a hair's breadth away from catching her.
That fateful day in March, 2006, had started out like any other. Maggie, who was feeling overwhelmed lately, to say the least, had decided to schedule an additional appointment with her counsellor that Wren had dropped her off at on the way to one of her teachers meetings. For one painful hour, Maggie had sat in a stuffy office that used to be her safe space, really only going in circles as she tried to avoid the fact that the supernatural was very real and causing her a great amount of stress. Somehow, she didn't think Roisin, her overly observant therapist, would believe her if she even tried to dive into the truth.
Which lead to her deciding to walk home through the woods, just wanting a moment to clear her head. Wren wasn't answering her phone, neither was Zeke, and the rest of her family were off doing god only knew what, so really, she had no other option but the dirt track she hadn't stepped foot on for several months now.
Even then, it still felt like yesterday that Maggie Sullivan had braved the spot where Carson Burns died.
Nothing seemed that different, at least not at first glance. The rain had long since washed away the blood stains that previously marred the ground. Birds continued to chirp overhead, their calls a mere echo on the wind. But it wasn't the same, and no amount of lying to herself would ever convince Maggie otherwise. Every crunch of rock beneath her feet sounded like the shatter of bone beneath harsh fingertips. The birds were sending her a warning with every one of their shrieks, the scratch of branches like teeth bearing in her direction. The second Maggie Sullivan stepped on that path, she was trapped to its mercy, and boy did the memories have no remorse.
