Free Blackwood by Gwenda Bond Page B

had heard voices talk about her. She deserved some intel of her own.
      Miranda hurried back to the guest room, crossing into the bathroom and starting the tap. She changed into the robe, dumped in the bath salts, and leaned against the sink to wait for the tub to fill.
      She thumbed through the music, putting in the earbuds. There were a lot of artists she'd never heard of, but several that she liked. The Black Keys, Neko Case, The Dead Weather. She sorted by favorites and turned up a playlist called North Carolina Stuff – The Rosebuds, The Bowerbirds, Ryan Adams. Maybe listening to it had been like a connection to home for him.
      No Blondie, but she approved of the bands she knew. She hit shuffle mode and play and learned something else about Phillips. He kept the volume cranked way too loud. Jumping at the blare, she dropped the iPod on the vanity. Retrieving it, she looked up into the mirror, expecting to see nothing of note. Just her own tired face. Frazzled hair. Dark circles. Etcetera.
      The strawberry-colored snake crawled along the top of her cheek toward her temple. Unmistakable. A birthmark, but not hers. Her father's.
      No one heard Miranda's scream.

8
    Dead Man
     
 
    Phillips shimmied inside carrying a plastic clothes basket filled with Miranda's things, while his mom held the door for him. The house was dark and quiet. Had Miranda gone to bed already? It was getting late, and she must be exhausted. A twinge of disappointment spiked through him. He dismissed it.
       You're just helping her. You don't need to say goodnight to her.
      But his mother must have read his mind – she was way too good at that – and she clucked, closing the door. "We have to take her things up regardless, just be quiet."
      The thought of seeing Miranda asleep made Phillips uneasy in a different way, but he followed his mom to the staircase. No more voices yet, but they could return at any moment. The sound of running water met them halfway up the steps. At the top, his mom looked over and said, "You wait out here."
      "What? Oh." Phillips stood in the hallway outside the guest room, balancing the basket. Waiting.
      He heard his mother say, "Oh, honey." The water turned off and an awful gasping keening sound like death rose up in its place. Miranda.
      He dropped the basket, rushing through the guest room to the bathroom. The water surged at the lip of the tub, sloshing onto the floor. Not full enough to completely overflow, so this hadn't been going on that long.
      This was Miranda in tears. He took one look at Miranda in a fuzzy blue robe big enough to swallow her, rocking back and forth on the floor, heaving like waves in the ocean, while his mother ineffectually patted her back and tried to lift her face, and he knew.
      This was heartbreak. Miranda, heartbroken right in front of him.
      He went down on his knees in front of her and joined his mother's tentative chorus of coos with words. "Miranda? We're here, what happened?" His mom shot him a confused expression, and he clarified, "Is this about your dad or… did something else happen?"
      His mom mouthed "oh," understanding, and getting more worried. She stood. "Phillips, you stay with her. I'll be right back. I'm going to get a glass of water and call your father to make sure nothing has… changed."
      Phillips put his hand on Miranda's shoulder and tried her name again, "Miranda? What is it? You can trust me."
      But if she heard a word he said she gave no sign of it.
      He shifted his hand and his fingers tangled in the cord of his earbuds. "Are those mine?" he asked. "Did you go in my room?"
      She rocked for another moment, then stopped and tipped her face up at him. Her green eyes were wide and bloodshot. In the years he'd been away, Miranda had become, well, beautiful.
      "Are you mad?" she said, through ragged breaths. "I just borrowed them."
      He needed to keep her talking. "Did you find anything interesting in my