The Dead List

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Her lip curled. “Doesn’t surprise me. Real classy considering no one knows where his ex-girlfriend is.”

  “Exactly,” I muttered, glancing over at the boys. A junior-year girl joined them, wrapping her arms around Mason’s. “What’s with you and Mason?”

  Linds’ shoulders fell and she sighed, staring at the fake snake. “I don’t know. He was all hot and heavy at Brock’s party and he called me a couple of days ago, but now… well, who knows?”

  “Remember? We’re supposed to be single and cool this year,” I reminded her.

  She grinned. “And how’s that working out for you?”

  “Still single.” But my stomach did a little flop because I knew she was talking about Jensen.

  “Uh-huh. But for how long?” Spinning on her heel at the sound of her name being called, she all but flounced away.

  Pulling my hair up in a messy bun, I got to work, concentrating solely on untangling the mess. There was something relaxing about the mind-numbing task. Time passed, my brain empty, as I worked out all the knots, discovering that I had ten spider webs.

  Covered in a thin layer of dust, I stood, brushing my hands across my rear. My gaze accidentally connected with Brock ‘s and he gave me a look that caused me to drop my hands off my butt.

  Gee, he was most definitely worried about Monica.

  Turning away from him in disgust, I came face to face with Ms. Reed and her perpetual smile. “We have ten spider webs,” I told her.

  “Great!” She immediately scribbled it down, then paused and looked at me. “Are you doing anything else right now?”

  I knew I should’ve said yes. “No.”

  “Can you go upstairs and measure the workbench up there?” Ms. Reed whipped a tape measure out of her back pocket. “We need to make sure it will fit our prop. It’s in the last bedroom I believe.”

  Dammit.

  Linds made a face behind her, and I resisted—barely—pitching the tape measure Ms. Reed shoved into my hands at Linds’ girl parts.

  “Sure,” I grumbled.

  “Sorry,” Linds whispered as I stalked past her.

  I shot her a death glare. “Your fault.”

  Passing Mason, who was now busy arranging the fake gourds and pumpkins into something truly repulsive, I approached the narrow staircase, having no idea where Brock disappeared off to.

  God only knew what was upstairs in this old house. Probably a long lost member of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family.

  Clutching the dusty handrail, I climbed the surprisingly sturdy steps. Dim light from the window at the top of the landing shown a faint glow down the long hall. Dust was heavy in the air, dancing in the rays coming from the dirty glass window. Flowered wallpaper peeled off the walls and was missing in some places. All of the doors—six of them—were closed, and there were two at the end of the hall.

  “Great,” I muttered. Ms. Reed hadn’t specified which bedroom and I really didn’t want to randomly open doors.

  It would kind of be like turning over rocks that God had put there for a reason.

  As I walked further down the hall, away from the only source of light, a chill of unease raced across my skin. There was just something creepy about virtually empty old houses.

  I ignored it, trying the door on the right first. Pushing it open, I then jumped back, swallowing a scream.

  “Holy shit.” I clenched the tape measure.

  A six and a half foot mummy was propped against the wall directly across from the door. Half of its papier-mâché face was crumbled away, caved in, and I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to look like that. Dust clung to its white wrappings, giving a frighteningly real look.

  Cursing again, I scanned the room for said workbench, but had no luck. I closed the door, spinning around, weary of what I’d find behind door number two.

  Hinges creaked as I inched the door open, the sound echoing in an unnatural way. Very little light entered the room, and in the thick shadows, I could make out shapes that vaguely resembled a bench. There were other forms, things propped against the wall, others covered in cloth. Most likely more leftover props.

  Feeling along the wall for a light switch, my hand sliced through a real cobweb. Squealing, within two seconds flat, I turned into a ninja as I flung the sticky material off my hand. Finally I found the switch and flipped it on.

  The overhead light burst on brightly, and for a few moments everything in the room became visible—fake coffins with their lids closed propped against the wall, a very badly made vampire, more mummies, mannequins covered in soiled sheets, and the workbench, which had another prop tossed on it.

  A flicker of white out of the corner of my eyes caught my attention. Air froze up in my lungs as I spun turn the mannequins or whatever the hell was under the sheets. Had one of them moved?

  My heart kicked against my ribs as I stared at the still sheets.

  Just your imagination, I told myself. Forcing air into my chest, I spun around and started toward the bench, clenching the measurer until my knuckles ached as I glanced around the room nervously.

  The overhead light blinked suddenly, erratically, and then the light dimmed to a yellow glow, the bulb probably minutes from burning out.

  Just my luck.

  Wanting to get this over with, I shuffled around the draped sheets crammed next to the workbench, my lip curling in disgust. I had no idea what was on the bench. The pitiful light didn’t reach this far across the room, and as thick as the shadows were around me, I’d be surprised if I could even read the measurements. I tugged out the measurer—

  Loose hairs at the nape of my neck stirred as icy fingers trailed across my skin.

  Gasping, I spun around, causing the sheets to flutter around me. Dust flew into the air, clogging it. I stepped back, bumping into the workbench. Blood pounded through me as I stared at the sheets, watching them settle back into place.

  I reached up and placed trembling fingers against the base of my neck. Cobwebs. Had to be cobwebs.

  Throat dry, I turned back to the workbench and concentrated on my task. I had no idea what was on the bench. Wrapped in a dark colored blanket, its slender, stuffing filled legs were bound together with coarse rope, as were its arms. My gaze drifted over the length of the prop. It wasn’t nearly as tall as the mummy, maybe a little over five and a half feet, around my height.

  A weird smell mixed with a musky scent radiated from the prop as I leaned over the bench, trying to measure its width, but the legs were in the way.

  “Christ.”

  Putting the tape measure down by the arms, I grabbed the legs, totally planning on rolling the whole thing right off the bench, but… the legs were heavy. Solid. I lifted them with a grunt, and the smell, the sickly sweet smell increased.

  Apprehension grew in the pit of my stomach, rising through me like smoke.

  At once, I found it hard to breathe as my gaze slowly traveled up the form again. My throat dried. The blanket had loosened at the top, barely folded together. I squinted as I stared into the gap. Something… something like dark hair curled around the edges of the blanket.

  Oh God…

  There was something else—something blood red and feathered in the center of the opening.

  I leaned forward, my brows knitting together as I reached out with one shaky hand. It’s just a prop. It’s fake. Totally fake. My fingers caught the edge of the blanket, and with my heart in my throat, I pulled the coarse material to the side.

  A scream rushed to my throat, slamming to a stop as horror seized me in its icy grip. Jerking back, I opened my mouth wide, but there was no sound. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t look away from what lie unmoving on the bench.

  Dull green eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Skin a ghastly shade of whitish-gray, all except the dark brown stain marring the corner of blue lips and the….

  Oh God…

  A head of a cardinal speared her lips, its small, feathered body disappearing into her grotesquely stretched mouth.

>   It wasn’t a dummy.

  The scream finally broke free, shattering the silence, and I didn’t stop screaming. I couldn’t.

  I’d found her—I’d found Vee Bartol.

  Chapter 11

  Police swarmed the old farmhouse and barn. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the medical examiner’s van had been parked there for a while and it seemed like forever ago that the officers pulled me away from Linds and Ms. Reed, stashing me in the back of a cruiser.

  People were questioned and then ordered off the property.

  Yellow tape went up.

  I’d given my statement to a trooper who appeared vaguely familiar and then to a deputy, who also appeared to be someone I felt like I should know. I’d heard enough to know this was being treated as a… as a homicide, which became apparent from the moment I’d seen her.

  About every ten minutes or so, an officer checked in on me. Someone had given me an unopened bottle of water. After taking one drink, it rested beside me, untouched.

  I remained in the back of the cruiser, and no matter how many deep breaths I took, I couldn’t get the scent of death out of my head. I pressed my hands across my face. Every so often, a tremor rocked me.

  Vee was dead.

  I hadn’t been close to her, but that hadn’t lessened the shock or the horror seizing up my insides in tight, icy grips. She had been killed, because there was no doubt in my mind that was what had happened, and then left there in the farmhouse to be found.

  “How are you hanging in there?”

  I looked up at the sound of the male voice. Dimly, my brain kicked on. “I know you.”

  “Yes.” He knelt in the open door, watching me with steady, serious dark eyes. “You do know me.”

  “You’re Deputy Shaw.” I blinked. Like he didn’t know who he was. “Sorry. My brain’s not working.”

  “It’s understandable.” He reached into the car, squeezing my shoulder. “Just hang in there. We’ve called your Mom to come get you. She’ll be here soon.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered as I leaned back against the seat, running my palms over my bent knees. Over his shoulder, my gaze found the coroner’s van, still sitting there. “Is she still…?”

  “We can’t move the… her until we’ve collected all the evidence.” He squeezed my shoulder again. “That’s probably not something you need to think about right now.”

  I nodded slowly. One image kept replaying over and over again in my head, more times than the others. “There was a bird—a cardinal—shoved in her—”

  “Now that’s something you really don’t want to think about, Ella.” His hand slid off as he rose. Bracing himself against the door jam, he dipped his head. “I know it’s hard.”

  I almost laughed, but stopped myself. If I started, I wasn’t sure I’d stop, and it would be the crazy kind of laughter. I glanced up at him, and it was like a memory unlocked itself from the depths of my mind. A bitter edged sensation of déjà vu slammed into me.

  “I remember,” I whispered, throat dry.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Remember what?”

  “You had me in the back of the cruiser last time.” I knew the moment he got what I was saying, because his eyes widened with understanding. “You waited with me until my parents showed up.”

  A moment passed. “I did. Hopefully we don’t have a third time.”

  He didn’t say anything else, but stood there like a silent sentry. How had I forgotten that was Deputy Shaw? Rattled by the realization, I sunk back against the seat. I had seriously blocked out most of the details surrounding that night. That’s what Dr. Oliver had said, and I really must of.

  My stomach twisted around the water I had drank, and I closed my eyes, counting until the nausea paced.

  It wasn’t too long after that before Mom showed up. She parked her car near mine and then raced over to the cruiser. Shaw stepped aside as I climbed out. My legs shook as I took a step toward her.

  Mom engulfed me in one of her huge hugs. “Oh, baby…”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling her familiar rose perfume. Tears clogged my throat as I clung to her.

  “You can go ahead and get her out of here,” Shaw said, shutting the car door behind us. “If we need anything else, we know where to find her.”

  “Thank you,” Mom said. She turned, keeping her arm tight around me. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Numbly, I let mom lead me into her Toyota. She stopped by my car, grabbed my bag out of it, and then locked it before joining me. Squeezing my hands into fists, I focused on them as Mom turned around and headed out of the makeshift parking lot.

  “Ella…?”

  I drew in a shaky breath. There was so much to be said, but there weren’t enough words in the world to describe the shock and horror of finding a body like that, but worst of all, it hadn’t been my first time coming face to face with a body.

  We didn’t talk during the short trip home, and when she pulled up in front of the house, she ended up parking where I normally would because her spot was taken.

  Slowly, I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door. Mom joined me, walking to the gate, opening it. I had a clear view of the front porch.

  Jensen was sitting on the steps, his hands resting on his bent knees, and he stood as we walked up the sidewalk. He didn’t say a word as he strolled toward us, his long-legged pace eating up the distance between us, and his pale blue eyes, almost gray, were fixed solely on me.

  There was something painfully familiar about all of this.

  But it didn’t stop me. My lower lip trembled as he walked past Mom and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. One hand traveled up my spine, fisting around my hair at the back of my neck. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”

  The thing was, I found a body. Again. And that was horrific, but nothing compared to what Vee had gone through, what her family would surely experience next. A shudder rocked through me as I dug my fingers into his sides. I don’t know how long we stood there, but I heard the door shut quietly behind Mom. We were alone, as alone as we could be standing in the middle of our sidewalk.

  Jensen guided me over to the steps, but when I went to sit beside him, he gently tugged me down into his lap, folding me into his embrace. There was a brief moment where I thought I should protest this intimacy, but I wanted to be close to him in this moment. I wanted to feel the warmth and stability. Inhaling his citrusy cologne and a scent that was uniquely his, I let it seep into every one of my senses. He trailed his hand up and down my spine in a continuous soothing slide, remaining quiet until I found my voice.

  “I touched it,” I whispered. “I touched her and I didn’t even realize that it was real, that she was—”

  “Shh,” murmured Jensen, his hand stilling as he held me closer, tighter. “There was no way you would’ve known that.”

  I turned my head, resting my cheek on his shoulder. “Who would do that to someone?”

  “A monster.”

  Taking several deep breaths, I loosened my grip on his shirt. “I don’t think… she was dead long.”

  His chin grazed my forehead. “What do you mean?”

  I swallowed hard. “She didn’t look like she had been dead long. I mean, she was missing for three weeks, but she didn’t look that way or… or smell like that—” I cut myself off with a sharp inhale. “I’m not an expert, but I know she wasn’t dead for three weeks.”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “God, I don’t even want to think it,” he admitted, voice rough. “That she could’ve been… held for that length of time and then murdered.”

  I didn’t want to think it either, because that took all of this to a whole new level of terrifying. It wouldn’t be a random thrill kill or anything like that. Not when someone was held for weeks and then killed. What could’ve been done to her during that time…?

  My stomach roiled.

  “And now Mon
ica is missing,” I said, a tremor coursing through me. “I don’t care what anyone says. With Vee… dead and Monica gone, it has to be related.”