My phone rings just as I reach for the lamp on the nightstand. The sound startles me, and I switch the light off, on, and then off again. My heart thumps a hopeful beat. No matter how tired I am, I want to talk to Malcolm more than anything. It must be him, calling to grumble about his mother.
The number is one I recognize, because I’ve seen it pop up on the screen several times this week. But it’s not Malcolm.
It’s Arianna. Calling me. At one thirty in the morning. And she wants to video chat. I decide to leave the light off.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she says the moment the connection goes through.
I want to say, You just called and woke me up, so of course I’m awake. Except that isn’t true. I cast my thoughts toward the entity. Did it keep me awake and alert on purpose? For this?
I
