Chapter 23

He stood, moved up to me, and applied a fingertip to one of my nipples, my abs, and then my navel. He drew the fingertip up and over my chest, then along the unharmed part of my neck, up to my chin. He leaned over me. His lips almost met mine, and he breathed on me, which smelled of marijuana.

Wide-eyed, sharing a glazed look with me, he rolled the fingertip up to my lips, dragged it over both, and whispered down to me, “Michael…Michael, so sweet and nice. Always with me. Mine.”

“Please,” I begged again. “Let me go. I’m not my uncle. I’ll never be my uncle. You know that. You have to know that. I’m not Michael Brewer. I’m not Michael…”

He dotted his fingertip against my nose, blinked, and whispered, “You silly. Of course, I know you’re not Michael Brewer. Do you take me for some kind of fool? How can you possibly be Michael Brewer when he’s dead?”