Dead Radiance Read Online Free

and knew I wasn't going to get it.
    The living room's silence greeted me, while the kitchen simmered with cheerful chatter amidst the clinking of utensils. As I stepped inside the kitchen a second of peace reigned before Brody and Simon spoke over each other, asking how Joshua's brother was doing. Izzy smiled, waiting for her turn to question the life out of me.
    Ms. Custer stood at the sink, drying a dish that looked dry to begin with, her smile a faded copy of her usual toothy blessings.
    "Come on, kids, get to your chores. Boys, help Izzy set the table please. Use the good dinner service and be careful. Anyone break anything and they'll be scooping horse poop at McGregor's Farm for the whole of spring break."
    They groaned and flashed out the door, bickering comfortably as they worked.
    "It's dry, you know?" I lifted an eyebrow at the dish.
    She huffed, laid it on the table and proceeded to fill it with steaming mashed potatoes. The food should have assaulted my taste buds, but not a particle within me did any sort of dance at the prospect of eating. Not anymore. It'd been weeks since food had last satisfied me and I longed to eat the roast just for the sake of recalling the taste and sensations on my tongue. It would no doubt do no good. These days food equated to tasteless sludge.
    "When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" Ms. Custer's eyes narrowed, as if she possessed some kind of inner lie-detecting radar. She had no idea how long it had been and I didn't intend to tell her I survived on air and water these days. Just about anything could get a foster kid moved.
    "A proper meal you mean?" I received a curt nod and a further narrowing of her eyes. "Around the time Aimee Graham died."
    The truth was the last thing I'd intended but it slipped out of my mouth anyway. The queen of avoidance was also an awful, awful liar.
    Ms. Custer nodded. The skin around her eyes softened. "That was three weeks ago, young lady. How are you surviving?" I waited as she yelled for Izzy, who hauled the mashed potatoes to the dining table.
    "Not sure," I said. What was wrong with my mouth?
    Way to go, Bryn. A secret stash of smartass quips, a thousand snarky responses and you spew out the bald truth?
    "Are you eating anything at all?" Concern and fear swam back into her warm brown eyes.
    I shook my head. "Food tastes like sawdust. And makes me ill." I gripped the chair in front of me, needing the solid wood to ground me.
    "But you don't look like you've survived on nothing. Not skin and bones at all. You look fine." Ms. Custer spoke below her breath. Since she didn't seem to expect an answer, I bit my tongue. "Maybe you need to see a counselor?"
    My head shook a violent response while inside my mind I screamed, panicked. I drowned in memories.
    My mother's voice echoed in my head, harsh with pain. Her accusations. My fear when I figured out what I'd done by admitting I could see the glow.
    The visits to the psychiatrist who persisted in his treatment, delving deeper, searching for a reason for the visions. A reason that would match one of his textbook definitions. Even the quiet understanding of my father hadn't made it any better.
    "No!" The skin on my knuckles went taut as I gripped harder, terrified I'd lose control. The word barked out, harsher than I'd intended. "I'm sorry, Mom. It's just . . . I've had my fair share of counseling. If anything, they make things worse, not better."
    She paused and I just knew she wouldn't let the issue slide. But her next words surprised me. "That's okay, Bryn, honey." Her smile, like the soft pat on my shoulder, was gentle and sweet and enduring. "Did it go well today?" She reached out and gently touched my bandage.
    Ms. Custer had intended to come to the funeral but I'd asked her to stay home. Didn't want the kids exposed to more grief. And my sorrow craved solitude. I wasn't sure why, but I knew I'd shatter into a million shards of grief if my little family were with me.
    I just nodded. No sense