The Son-in-law they never wanted

Slave runner

Alina's pov

I have no idea how long I lay beneath the planks of wood and heavy clay tiles of the crumpled breezeway.

Looking back, I realize I must have lost consciousness, if only for a few minutes.

All I can remember is something sharp hitting me on the head, and the next thing I knew, I’d opened my eyes to consummate blackness, and a feeling that I was being surpressed.

A favorite trick of some poltergeists is to sit on their victim’s chest while he or she is just waking, so that the poor soul feels he or she is being suppressed, but can’t see why.

I couldn’t see why, and for a second or two I thought I’d failed and that Hayley was still in this world, sitting on my chest, torturing me, getting her revenge for what I’d tried to do.

Then I thought, Maybe I’m dead.

I don’t know why. But it occurred to me. Maybe this was how being dead felt.

At first, anyway.

This must have been how it was for Heather when she woke up in her coffin.

She must have felt the same way I did: trappe