The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

dispatching them to the extra room that sat just off the living room. Blaire and her partner climbed into the bed, snuggling deeply into the scratchy comforter, both undisturbed by this mutual act to survive the night and both fell into a deep unconsciousness within minutes.
    “Holy mother!” Blaire spoke in a prickly whisper that was dry and matched the texture of the comforter, as she grabbed her forehead. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted her glass of water on the nightstand, which she gulped down in three deep swallows. Blaire caught a whiff of herself and frowned; she smelled as if she had just finished the graveyard shift in a gin mill.
    As she lifted herself further from the bed the unfamiliar room shifted to a tilt. She was dizzy and felt as if some grotesque load was creeping up into her throat toward her mouth. After a few moments she regained her balance and willed control over whatever was in her throat, forcing it back down. Light that was neither warm nor comforting crept into the bedroom through the blinds. Blaire grabbed her purse and found a small bottle of pills inside, wrestling with the top on the painkillers before tossing three into her mouth. For a moment they became lost in the invisible cotton that filled her jaws, and then she felt their gritty texture at the back of her throat refusing to go any further down. She gathered up a bucket of saliva and pushed them back hard, and they disappeared.
    Blaire looked around and realized Travis was gone. She reached over, sweeping her hand across the cool sheets on his side of the bed. She felt hollow and dehydrated as she pressed the covers back, placing her feet on the frigid floor like a vampire emerging from her coffin for the first time in many years.
    Lumbering toward the door, she observed a splotch of blood at the end of Travis’ side of the bed, and she immediately focused on the hushed whispers floating into the room from the living area.

CHAPTER FOUR
    S pecks of blood trailed toward the closed door. “Travis?” Blaire could barely make out her own inaudible whisper. She reached for the knob and pulled the door open swiftly.
    “Hey,” Travis said, quickly returning his attention to the leg he was nursing with bandages and some clear liquid.
    “Good morning,” Blaire responded, disoriented from her hangover.
    She was almost sickened by the perky composure of Petro and Soreena. Travis, on the other hand, appeared to have been run over by the same Mack truck that had mangled her, which gave her some comfort. Strong tea was brewing in the kitchen, and Blaire inhaled as much of the rousing aroma as her lungs would allow.
    “What happened to your leg?” Blaire sat down in the nearest chair.
    “I hit it on the edge of that bed.”
    “Again, I’m so sorry for that,” Soreena said.
    “Not your fault if I can’t watch where I’m going.” Travis worked on finishing up his expert bandaging.
    “How did you sleep?” Petro asked.
    “Like a rock,” Blaire’s voice was still dry.
    After a quick breakfast, they lumped into Petro’s truck and headed to the edge of town. Soreena stayed behind, seeing them off with a wave from the porch.
    The morning light’s honesty revealed the true state of Borslav. Rundown roads caused them to bounce violently in the cab of Petro’s truck. Buildings seemed to crumble before Blaire’s eyes. A dilapidated sign told her that what was once the Bank of Borslav was now just a heap of slouching bricks separated by rotting window frames.
    It wasn’t long before St. Sebastian came into view, frowning like a bitter, old, country widow as Petro’s truck bumped up the driveway. Blaire noticed another tell -tale feature of the old place; slumped on the side of the porch steps was a broken pogo stick, a tribute to the decay of fun and freedom. A severe jerk of the truck brought it to a stop in a location undesirably far from the front door. Petro’s focus never wavered from the building, and it was clear that he had no