“It was just a nightmare, hon,” Aunt doesn’t even sound convincing anymore.

“They were never nightmares, Aunt. The ache and the pain and the tears were never nightmares. The blood, the screaming, and the whimpering were never freaking nightmares!”

“What on earth have you been through, pumpkin?” Uncle sounds defeated, completely and utterly worn out.

What have I been through?

They’re the ones who are supposed to tell me that.

“I’m asking for the last time, Aunt. Who the hell is Eli?”

“He was your brother,” Uncle says in a low voice.

I grip my backpack’s strap so tight, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. “W-Was?”

“He died in that lake you always have nightmares about.”

It’s as if someone took a knife and jammed it straight into my defective heart.

I’m bleeding and no one can stop it.

“H-how?”

Uncle’s eyes fill with sympathy. “He drowned, pumpkin. He was just seven at the time, a year older than you.”

No.

Eli can’t be dead. Eli has to be alive.

“You’re lying,” I shriek.

Uncle starts to stand up, about to comfort me no doubt, but I hold up a hand.

“No. Don’t even come close. I need to know why that happened.” I glare at Aunt who’s been watching her shoes and rocking back and forth. “Tell me, Aunt.”

Uncle nudges her. She flinches, but she doesn’t lift her head.

“I loved Abby. I really, really loved her. She was a shy girl who always took the shit our Da threw our way. He was a fucking lunatic when on the liquor, but he became worse after Mum’s death.” She continues rocking back and forth, appearing like a lost puppy instead of the alpha women I always knew her to be.

“Mum went to pick up Abby from her music class and they had an accident in which our mum died. Da took all his anger on us, especially Abby since she looked so much like Mum. He told her, a twelve-year-old at the time, that he wished she died instead of Mum.” Aunt meets my gaze with tears in her eyes. “Da was a cruel man, Elsie. He was vicious and unapproachable when he was drunk. I always spent most of my time outside, but Abby was there. She refused to leave his side even when he beat her, when he beat us. After I got my scholarship for Cambridge, I begged her to come with me, but she refused. I told her I’m never returning to Birmingham, to a place that killed me slowly and to a father who suffocated me. I told her that I might not see her again, but she didn’t change her mind.”

She swallows audibly as if summoning the courage to say the next words. “Then, a year later, she sent me wedding pictures with your father. She told me she was happy and she wanted me to be happy. Then…” She clears her throat. “She sent me pictures of her firstborn, Eli, then… of you.”

“And you still never came,” I ask.

“I had a trauma in Birmingham, Elsie. The moment I step into it, all I recall is Dad throwing an ashtray at my head because I hid his liquor.” She pulls the side of her ginger hair up to show me a faded scar. “I bled until I thought I was going to die. After I was discharged from the hospital, I packed my things and promised to never return to Birmingham again.”

“What do you know about my parents’ marriage?” I ask.

“Elsie…”

“Tell me, Aunt.”

“Abby was mentally unwell.” Aunt sighs, appearing lost in her own thoughts. “She suffered from depression and some manic episodes since our mother’s death. It became worse with Dad’s treatment of her. When she got married, she seemed like she was getting better. She smiled more and was slowly healing from Dad’s abuse. Ethan looked like he took care of her. He was the richest freaking tycoon in Birmingham at the time. He owned coal and steel factories and everyone feared him — Dad included. I was happy that he couldn’t hurt her anymore.”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Ethan? I thought my dad’s name was John.”

“We wanted to hide you from your father’s people,” Uncle says.

My father’s people? What is that supposed to mean? “Why would you want to hide me from them?”

“Because they want to take you away from us,” Aunt snarls.

“Blair,” Uncle soothes her.

“Tell me more,” I say.

“More what?” Aunt frowns.

“You said Ma was healing, but something wrong happened, didn’t it?”

“I told you, pumpkin.” Uncle appears pained. “Eli drowned.”

A sob catches in Aunt’s throat. “I don’t think Abby has ever been the same after that. You were six and he was seven. You were playing by the lake when he went in and never resurfaced again. Abby wrote me letters telling me that she holds you to sleep. She called Eli the one who shall not be named because now, she’d only focus on raising you.”

My heart beats so fast as if it’ll come out of my chest.

It all makes sense now.

The way I remember she held me like she wanted to squeeze the life out of me. The way she’d sing me that song in that haunting voice.

Why couldn’t I remember what happened with Eli?

How come he only visited me once in my dreams?

“What about my dad?” I ask. “Where was he?”

“He helped her.” Aunt sniffles and wipes her tears. “Or tried to, anyway. Now that I think about it, Eli’s death destroyed her just like Mum’s death destroyed my dad.”

Silence falls in the room short of my harsh breathing.

I should stop, process all the information I just gathered and then return with questions.

But now that I started, I can’t just stop.

I’m like an insatiable monster.

“How did I survive the fire, Aunt?”

“I really don’t know, Elsie.” She glimpses at Uncle and he takes her hand in his. “We were called for being your next of kin that day. We found you in the hospital, injured, and screaming. Sometimes, you’d hit me. Dr Khan said it’s because I remind you of your mother.”

“Injured?” I stare at them, incredulous. “I thought I needed the surgery because of my heart condition.”

“There was never a heart condition,” Uncle says.

“Jaxon!” Aunt shrieks.

“She needs to know everything we do, Blair.”

“W-what do you mean there was never a heart condition, Uncle?” My breathing deepens as if I’m an injured animal. “Then what about the scar? The doctor? The appointments?”

“Those are true, pumpkin. You did have heart surgery, but it’s not because of a heart condition.”

“Then because of what?”

“You were shot,” he says the word with pain. “It damaged your internal tissues and you developed a heart condition because of that.”

My feet falter and it takes all my strength to remain standing. “Who… who shot me?”

“We don’t know, Elsie.” Aunt sobs. “Even the police didn’t know. We were just happy you remained alive.”

“And how did Jonathan King come in the picture?”

Aunt wipes her cheeks. “He just showed up and told us he’d pay for your surgery and that we can pay him back later.”