CHAPTER 76
1257 Words
Stop.
It was all she could hear. That f*****g laugh. She turned, lost in
the crowd now. Where had Rachel gone? She needed Rachel. She
needed to find her and get out of here. And where the hell had
Cooper gone?
She sucked in a lungful of cold air. Pain pierced the spot
just behind her eyes and she moaned, holding her head. She'd
dropped the keys. Cooper's keys.
She tried to turn, to find the keys, only to realize she was lying face
down in the gravel. When had she fallen down? And where were the
keys?
She wanted to open her eyes. But the pain drilling a hole into her
brain kept her locked in place. She took a deep breath and recoiled
at the smell of booze. In the distance, she heard laughter.
Nonononostop —
The party. That laugh .
She was on her feet again, trapped in the crowd, her bare arms
rubbing against other sweaty bodies. She whirled around,
overwhelmed by bright costumes and plastic vampire teeth and
red solo cups. Angry now, she shoved through the crowd, the
laughter following her. Haunting her.
Rachel. Where are you? I need —
Billowing black hair caught her eye, retreating up the grand
staircase. Up-up-up.
Calla darted into the kitchen. She nearly stumbled into a group of
freshmen as her vision tunneled, the edges of her sight going dark.
She caught herself against the kitchen counter. Grating laughter
made her look up. The retreating figure was almost gone now, that
black hair slipping around the corner and out of sight.
Calla took one step forward, and then another, her hand trailing
along the kitchen counter. Cool marble bit at her fingertips. She
looked down and saw a flash of silver. A rack of gleaming knives.
The ghost of that laughter taunted her.
She slipped one of the knives into her hand without a thought.
Without so much as a whisper. And then she headed for the
staircase.
NO.
Crying out, Calla lurched to her feet, stumbling into the present day
—and straight into Cooper's Mustang. Her hands shook as she
braced herself against the hood. Tears of pain streamed down her
face. She dry heaved, her stomach twisting.
Cooper will kill me if I throw up all over his car...wouldn't that be a
twist?
The thought grounded her. With a few deep, shaking breaths, she
managed to compose herself. She stared down at her hands, her
fingers splayed against the still-warm metal.
There's still time...
"Get your s**t together," she muttered, pushing away from the car.
She scanned the ground, looking for the keys.
Apparently, getting her s**t together meant crawling on her hands
and knees to retrieve the keys that had somehow found their way
under the car. She grunted as she stood, not bothering to brush
the gravel from her jeans. Her hands slick with blood—how deeply
had she cut herself on those damn keys, anyway?—she fumbled
with the car's lock, jamming the car key into the door with so much
force she feared she'd accidentally snapped it right off.
She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and then turned the
key gently to the side. The lock clicked and she released the breath
she'd been holding. Her nerves frayed, she slid into the driver's
seat and slammed the door behind her. The air in the car was cold
and still and quiet.
She was just glad it didn't smell like vodka.
No. She blinked, banishing the dark memories. She didn't want to
go up that staircase. Not yet.
She didn't want to see what happened at the top.
Her ragged breathing filled the car. Ignoring it, she jammed the key
in the ignition and the Mustang roared to life. It shook angrily, as if
protesting her presence.
"Definitely should've learned how to drive before this," Calla
muttered, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands. The jagged
cut on her right hand stung something fierce, but she focused her attention on the gear shift, throwing the car in reverse.
She managed to escape the parking lot without a scratch, though
she almost crashed into the line of mailboxes after reaching for
her phone—only to realize she'd shattered it to pieces and didn't, in
fact, have a phone anymore. Cursing, she slammed on the brakes.
The car screeched to a halt, right there in the middle of the road.
She let the engine idle while she punched the edge of the steering
wheel repeatedly. And then she cursed, grabbing a fistful of her
hair, ready to rip out every strand.
She didn't. Instead, she took a beat and sucked in her fifth or sixth
deep breath of the afternoon.
"Okay." Calla lifted her hands from her head and rolled her neck.
She eased her foot off the brakes, preparing to take a sharp left.
And then she hesitated.
Somewhere off Briar Lane, Vincent Townson was safe. No doubt
shut away in his room, burning a candle to try and block out the
smell of his father's beer—but safe.
Come to the place where it all started.
She hadn't given much thought to Cory's riddle, mostly because
she'd known the answer almost immediately. Tracy Smith's house.
That's where he would be, holding Cooper hostage while he waited
for her arrival.
She glanced to her right, staring down the road. In the distance,
she could make out the vague outline of downtown Greenwitch.
The tallest building—the local county bank—stood at just two
stories tall, the bright white dome piercing the orange sky.
And just beyond that bank? The police station.
I could end this now, she thought wildly, staring and staring at that
white dome. Tell them where to find Cory. He'll kill Cooper, but he
won't get away. Not if I give the police a head start. And Vincent...
Vincent would be safe. There would be no dark fate waiting for him
around the corner. Just the stress of his next test. His next big
game. ACT scores and college applications and whatever other
mundane things he wanted to do with his life.
The possessive part of her purred at the idea.
No one else alive knows my secret, she thought, staring down at her
bloody hand. The secret dies with him. But Rachel...
She'd almost forgotten why she'd sworn to save Cooper's
life in the first place. Why she'd made that deal with her neighbor
and thrown herself into this convoluted mess.
She'd sworn to take the one who'd taken Rachel from her. A life for
a life. A fair exchange. But that hadn't been the only promise she'd
made.
I'm not going to let you die, Cooper.
Sitting there in the dark theater, she'd promised him that much.
And not because of their deal. But because he knew who she was.
Whatever fire Vincent lit within her, whatever warmth
Rachel had brought to her otherwise bleak life—Cooper Daniels was the only one who'd ever known what she really was.
Was she really so willing to throw that away?
Calla stared at the orange sky, the setting sun lighting the treetops
on fire. The car was still freezing cold—she'd been too distracted
to turn the heat on—but she welcomed the discomfort. The cold.
The pain in her palm. The throbbing in her skull.
She welcomed it all.
After one agonizing moment—and then two—Calla sighed.
She'd made her decision.
- Writer
