A chilling sense of déjà vu washed over me. These scenes overlapped perfectly with the nightmare of my previous life. The same obstruction. The same dismissive lines.
Forcing myself to breathe, I feigned resignation. Once their guard lowered, I retrieved my phone and typed a message under the cover of my sleeve.
Mom, where are you and Ethan right now?
Seconds later, a reply buzzed. I pressed the speaker to my ear, keeping the volume barely audible.
Ethan's voice, clear and bright, drifted through. "Mom, Grandma and I just got home! Grandma said she's making dumplings for me tonight. When are you coming back?"
Relief hit me so hard I nearly wept.
Thank God. The child inside the horse costume wasn't my son.
But the relief was short-lived. If Ethan was safe at my mother's house, then who was lying in the snow right now?
Through the window, I saw the horse costume swaying violently in the deep drifts. Muffled, desperate cries echoed from within.
"Let go of me! Let me out!"
Diana's son jumped up and down, his face flushed with cruel excitement. "Bury him! Bury him deep!"
The other children swarmed like locusts. They scooped up heavy chunks of snow, piling them onto the horse's back, packing it tight around the legs. The costume struggled, thrashing against the weight, but the movements grew weaker with every passing second.
Even if it wasn't my son, there was a human being inside that suit. My conscience wouldn't let me watch a murder.
"Make them stop! They're burying him alive!"
I bolted from the sofa, but the adults merely chuckled. The atmosphere remained terrifyingly casual.
Aunt Brenda sat in the armchair, cracking sunflower seeds. She spat out a shell and shrugged. "What's the worst that can happen? Kids are just playing. Didn't we all play rough in the snow when we were little?"
Cousin Linda poured a cup of steaming tea and slid it toward me. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes were cold. "Ethan isn't even crying for help, Sarah. Why are you so anxious? Let the boys have their fun."
Margaret walked over and patted my shoulder with heavy, authoritative hands. "Sarah, I'm not trying to lecture you, but boys need to be toughened up. Don't raise him to be so delicate. Look at Derek—he took plenty of falls when he was a child, and look how successful he is now."
Every word struck a nerve. Exactly what they had said in my past life. A script recited verbatim.