CHAPTER 109
"Cooper Cornelius Daniels." Cooper froze at the threshold of his bedroom, fear rooting him to the spot. He'd barely slept a wink last night. What little sleep he had managed had been plagued by terrifyingly realistic nightmares: in one, a faceless shadow cornered him in his car, wrapping a plastic cord around his throat; in another, he was running through the field outside, chasing after a cat with a knife in his hand. But it was the third nightmare that had woken him abruptly, a scream caught in his throat: he'd been in his bedroom, standing almost exactly where he was right now, except his hands were slick with blood. Vincent was lying dead on the floor, his arm outstretched toward the window, as if he'd tried to escape. His throat was torn open. Calla had appeared in the doo
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