Sing Me Your Scars (Apex Voices Book 3) Read Free Page A

years before the influenza epidemic.
    “We should leave,” Sophie says.
    “Yes, we should run far away,” Lillian says.
    “And where would we go?” Molly asks.
    “Anywhere.”
    Therese laughs. “And who will fix us if we rot?”
    “Better that we rot away to nothing than remain here,” Sophie
says.
    The others start speaking over each other, denying her words. In
truth, I do not know what I want. When I head back inside, the voices outside
are still singing and those inside still arguing.
    §
    Days pass, then weeks. The stump remains rot free, but he
says nothing of it, only nods when he does his inspection.
    He spends his days in the town, ministering to the sick. I spend
mine in the library, reading of wars and dead men and politics. Rachael taught
me how to read; now Sophie helps when I find myself stuck on a word.
    §
    “Wake up.”
    His voice is rough, scented with whiskey.
    “Now?”
    “Yes, hurry.”
    “No, oh, no,” someone says as we approach the small operating
theater, but I cannot tell who it is.
    He tears away my chemise. Pushes me down on the table.
    “But there is nothing wrong,” I say.
    “Don’t let him do this,” Lillian screams. “Please, don’t let him
do this to me.”
    He lifts a blade. I grab his forearm, dig Lillian’s nails in hard
enough to make him wince.
    “Please, no.”
    He slaps me across the face with his free hand. The others are
shrieking, shouting. Lillian is begging, pleading, screaming for me to make him
stop. I grab his arm again and try to swing Therese’s legs off the table. He
slaps me twice more and presses a sharp-smelling cloth over my mouth and nose.
I hold my breath until my chest tightens; he pushes the cloth harder.
    I breathe in, and everything goes grey—
I’m sorry, Lillian. So
sorry.
—then black.
    §
    I wake in my bed, the sheets tucked neatly around me. The
others are weeping, and Lillian is gone. I choke back my tears because I don’t
wish to frighten the newcomer.
    “What has happened to me?” she asks. Her voice is small and
trembling.
    “What is your name?” I ask.
    “Anna,” she says.
    “Welcome to madness,” Sophie says, her voice strangely flat.
    “Hush,” Molly says.
    “Who is that? What is this? Please, I want to go home.”
    “I told you,” Sophie says, still in that strange, lifeless tone.
“We should have run away.”
    “Where am I?” Anna says. “How did I get here?”
    I try to explain, but nothing I say helps. Nothing can make it
right, and in the end, we are all weeping, even Sophie, and that frightens me
more than I could have imagined.
    §
    I don’t see him for several days. The music room remains
dark, the door to the operating theater locked. I retreat to the library, lose
myself in books, and pretend not to hear Anna cry. We have all tried to offer
support, but she rebuffs every attempt so there is nothing to do but wait.
Eventually, she will accept the way things are now, the way we’ve all been
forced into acceptance.
    There are no signs of rot along the new stitches. They’re uneven
both in length and spacing—not nearly as neat as the others—but they hold firm.
Anna’s hands are delicate with long slender fingers, the skin far paler than
Diana’s. The weight is wrong; they’re far too light, as if I’m wearing gloves
instead of hands.
    I miss Lillian so very much. I didn’t even have a chance to say
goodbye.
    §
    When he enters the library, I notice first his disheveled
clothes, then the red of his eyes. He tosses my book aside, drags me to the
music room, and shoves me toward the piano.
    “Tell her to play.”
    Everyone falls silent. Surely we have heard him wrong.
    “I don’t understand.”
    He steps close enough for me to smell the liquor. “Tell Anna to
play,” he says, squeezing each word out between clenched teeth.
    I sit down and thump on the keys, the notes painful enough to
make me grit my teeth. I poke and prod, but Anna is hiding the knowledge deep
inside, and I cannot pull it