MELISSA
I awake to tied hands, dried blood on my chin, and my father’s laughter.
My father is still alive! I shot him, kicked him, and he’s well enough to laugh. Dizzy, head throbbing, every place he hit me is an aching bruise, and for a moment I wonder if he really is an evil spirit and simply can’t be killed.
I’m on the couch and Amelie and Marcel are still obediently huddled on the other end. Benny is seated in a chair next to me. My father is leering from across the room.
“I shot you,” I manage after a moment. “How the hell are you alive?”
He’s pale, bathed in sweat, with little spots of color on his cheeks and the end of his nose. He has a bottle in his hand—not a tumbler with one of those Japanese ice balls he likes so much, but a half-empty fifth with the cap missing. His tie a
