They Think I’m Easy Prey—but My Words Manifest into Reality Chapter 07

They Think I’m Easy Prey—but My Words Manifest into Reality Chapter 07

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You can’t just storm in here! This is a trauma ward!”

My father planted himself in front of the doors, red-faced and bellowing.

The lead agent flipped open his badge and held it inches from my father’s nose.

“Sheriff Bennett. Narcotics.’

“About an hour ago, we hit a place called The Velvet. Private lounge over on the south side. It’s a hub for a new synthetic. Bath salts. Zombie dust. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Witnesses put your daughter there. A lot. And the venue’s own cameras show her handing over cash. She wasn’t just using. She was paying for the party. Hosting it.”

“We’re here for her. She’s under arrest.”

A silence heavier than a coffin lid fell over the hallway.

My father’s raised hand froze in midair. The fury in his eyes dissolved instantly into raw, naked

terror.

My mother’s jaw was hanging open. She stared at the agents as if they were speaking a foreign language she couldn’t comprehend.

Ryan was shaking his head violently from his wheelchair.

“No. No way. You’ve got the wrong girl. That’s not her.”

“My sister’s scared of her own shadow! She’s in bed by ten! She doesn’t do this stuff! She wouldn’t

even know how to find it!”

“It was her!” He spun around and jabbed a shaking finger at me. His eyes were wild. Bloodshot. “She did this! This backwoods psycho! She’s setting Vanessa up! She’s lying!”

Just then, the trauma bay doors swung open again.

The Chief of Emergency Medicine walked out. His face was a mask of grim fury and he was holding

a freshly printed toxicology report.

He walked right past the stunned Harrington family and handed the paper directly to Sheriff

Bennett.

“Sheriff. Good.”

“Ran her blood. She’s flooded with MDPV. Bath salts. Zombie dust. Whatever they’re calling it now.

Levels are through the roof.”

The Chief turned to face my parents, who had gone pale as corpses.

“This stuff fries the brain. Makes you paranoid. Hallucinating. You don’t feel pain. We see it all the

time. People cut themselves and don’t even know they’re doing it.”

“And long-term? Her immune system’s shot. Her veins are like wet paper. That little cut on her

arm? That’s why it went bad. Flesh-eating bacteria moved right in. And that’s why she’s bleeding

out internally right now. Her body’s got nothing left to fight with.”

“She’s not sick. She used herself up.”

Every word out of the doctor’s mouth was like a sledgehammer to the skull of the Harrington

family.

It was a perfect, airtight loop of logic. Backed by cold, hard science.

My mother’s legs finally gave out entirely. She sank to her knees on the floor.

She stared down at her hands, still wet with Vanessa’s blood, and a violent wave of nausea hit her. She turned away and retched onto the floor.

My father looked like he’d aged a decade in ten seconds. His entire world was crumbling around

him.

He braced himself against the wall, gasping for air, completely unable to form a coherent sentence.

Ryan’s fingernails were digging into the armrests of his wheelchair so hard that blood was welling up around the cuticles.

All he could see in his mind was that video. Vanessa’s face. Empty. Expressionless. Slashing her

own arm open without a flinch.

It wasn’t fear of losing their love. It wasn’t insecurity.

It was the dead-eyed numbness of a junkie who couldn’t feel anything anymore.

And for that. For that hollowed-out, lying, pathetic drug addict. He had smashed his own sister’s

Saint Christopher medal into pieces on the floor.

A poisonous snake of regret coiled around his heart and squeezed until he thought he might suffocate.

I leaned against the cold wall and watched the three of them. Three bodies with all the soul sucked

out of them.

I straightened up and, right in front of their horrified faces, walked directly over to Sheriff Bennett.

“Sheriff,” I said. My voice came out steady. “I need to report something.”

“Those three. They beat a girl. Beat her until she stopped moving. She’s in your ER right now. Fighting to stay alive.”

The Sheriff’s expression hardened. He reached for the radio on his shoulder to call for backup.

The Harringtons all snapped their heads toward me. Their faces were masks of pure horror.

My father reached out a trembling hand. “Luna, what are you doing?”

I looked him dead in the eyes and gave the Sheriff three names. Loud and clear.

“Ryan Harrington. Edward Harrington. Margaret Harrington.”