The Dead List

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  the corner of my lip, and his breath was warm, tantalizing. “You better head up there before your mom kicks me out.”

  Mom would have a coronary if she came downstairs in the morning and saw us snuggled together. Then again, considering all that had happened, I wasn’t sure if she’d be that concerned about it.

  But I wasn’t willing to take that risk.

  I wanted Jensen here, and not just because I felt safer knowing he was nearby, but I hoped he was safer. If we were right about whoever was behind this having gone off his own pattern, and if I was right and it did have to do with Penn, then Jensen was in as much danger as I was.

  “Good night,” I said, kissing his cheek, but as I tried to stand, he held on. “What?”

  “Can I ask you for a favor and you won’t get mad at me?”

  “Depends.”

  He leaned back against the couch. “I want you to steer clear of Gavin.”

  My brows arched. “What?”

  “It’s not because of jealousy or any crap like that.”

  I stared at him. “If it’s not jealousy, then what is it? Wait. You don’t think he’s responsible for any of this.” I drew back, eyeing him. “We’ve known Gavin since we were kids, Jensen.”

  “I know, but…. Well, you trust me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I trust you,” he said, holding my hand and placing it against his chest. “But, I don’t trust anyone right now, because it seriously could be anyone at this point. And that scares the crap out of me—for you. Because it could be someone you trust.”

  Then

  Penn squared his shoulders and smiled—smiled wide. The glassiness of his eyes faded and I let out the breath I was holding. “It really isn’t a big deal, Ella.”

  He was lying. If it weren’t a big deal, his eyes wouldn’t be so shiny. Guilt was like a pool of churning acid in my stomach. I’d never really experienced that feeling before, not to this extreme. I didn’t like it.

  “Can you and Jensen just forget about it?” He stood from where he was perched on his bed and picked up a large, colorful book on birds. “Because he’s apologized like ten times since Monday.”

  I bit my lip, resisting the urge to squirm. “It’s because we do feel bad. And we really did plan on coming, but—”

  Penn held the book to his chest and closed his eyes. “I know. You guys feel sorry. That’s all that matters. And it’s not a big deal. It’s not like someone died because you didn’t come to my party.” He laughed as he opened his eyes. The shininess was completely gone. He smiled as he gave a lopsided shrug. “Everything is okay.”

  Chapter 19

  It could be anyone.

  Those words haunted me over the weekend, even though I spent most of it trying to do normal things after checking in with Linds’ parents. She still hadn’t woken up and there had been no change in her status.

  I didn’t know what I’d do if Linds didn’t wake up. It hurt, and it was too scary to even consider that. All I could do was tell myself that wouldn’t be the case. She would wake up, and she would be like Linds.

  Luckily, Mom hadn’t discussed other ‘arrangements’ yet. Not that I was totally against staying with my dad, but I didn’t want Mom to be alone.

  After checking in with his parents on Saturday morning, and then again on Sunday, Jensen had returned, and we’d spent the better part of the day curled up on the couch watching the DVDs of Supernatural he’d brought with him. But, even the Winchester brothers couldn’t distract me from the direction of my thoughts.

  It could be anyone.

  Jensen was right. Over the course of the day, I mentally went over the list of suspects. I ruled out any females, even though Ms. Reed had been the one to send me to the warehouse and upstairs at the farmhouse. I’d felt the attacker. It was a man or an extremely masculine woman with absolutely no chest to speak of.

  Seriously unlikely.

  I knew it couldn’t be Gavin. That would be like thinking it was Jensen. There was no way you could grow up with someone and not know they were hiding the fact they were a serial killer.

  At least I hoped so.

  So who did that leave? Brock? It just didn’t make sense for it to be him unless it had nothing to do with Penn or it was some kind of guilt driving him, but I had a strong feeling that this all somehow tied back to Penn.

  When we were halfway through season three of Supernatural, Mom ran out to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner and Jensen shifted. Somehow I ended up under him.

  “What are you doing?” I folded my hands together under my chest, attempting to behave.

  Resting his weight on the arm beside my head, he arched a brow at me. “You haven’t been paying attention to the TV at all.”

  He was too damn observant sometimes. “Yes, I have.”

  “Uh-huh. Your body literally has been tight as a bow this entire time. I’m afraid you’re going to snap in half. Talk to me.”

  My eyes met his and I sighed. “Why do you have to be so observant?”

  “I’m just that skilled.”

  A grin pulled at my lips and then disappeared. “I think we need to warn Mason.”

  Jensen didn’t respond.

  “I know you don’t think it has anything to do with Penn. Maybe it doesn’t,” I said. “But I’d feel better if we warned Mason. Maybe even Brock.”

  He sat up, pulling me into a sitting position along with him. “And it would make you feel better to… to warn them?”

  Brushing the hair out of my face, I nodded. “It would.”

  “Okay.” He smacked his hands down on his knees. “Okay. We can do it tomorrow at school. I can get Mason at—”

  I jumped at the sudden shrill ring of the house phone traveling from the kitchen. Jensen groaned. “It’s probably someone from one of the news stations.”

  They’d been calling all weekend, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they were camped out in front of my house. Teenagers getting attacked and murdered was big news. I got that, even understood the attention, but I didn’t understand what the reporters thought I could say to them. The police had informed me quite bluntly to keep my mouth shut and not talk to them. Not that I had any desire to mug it up for the camera.

  Frowning, I stood and hurried into the kitchen, expecting it to be yet another reporter than had gotten a hold of our home phone number. The damn thing never rang before all of this happened.

  Picking up the receiver, I cleared my throat. “Hello?”

  Silence greeted me.

  “Hello?” I turned, spying Jensen standing in the doorway. I shrugged when I raised my brows. “Anybody there? Look, if this is a reporter, I don’t have anything to say. Nothing at all.”

  Jensen frowned. “Just hang up.”

  Sounded like a good plan. I started to move the phone away from my ear when I heard it—a graveling whisper, barely audible over the sudden rush of static that raised the tiny hairs on my arms.

  “Murderer…”

  Ice drenched my veins as I froze. “What?”

  The click of the call disconnecting was like a gunshot in my ear. I stood there, eyes wide as Jensen crossed the distance between us. He took the phone out of my suddenly limp fingers.

  “Hello?” He scowled as he lowered the phone. “No one is there. Did someone say something?”

  “I don’t know.” I wrapped my arms around me. “I thought I heard someone say ‘murderer.’”

  A cold mask of anger slipped over Jensen’s face as he glanced down at the phone. He hit a button. “It says unknown caller. The number is probably blocked.”

  “I don’t know if I even heard it correctly.” I left the kitchen, brushing past Jensen. Stopping at the window, I parted the blinds. Like before, I couldn’t see the street, but I wondered if the police were out there.

  Murderer.

  I shivered as Jensen came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You’re not—” he started.

  �
�I know.” And I really did. All those years of carrying so much heavy guilt now seemed so pointless, and I wasn’t going to let someone else dump that on me again.

  #

  School on Monday morning sucked more than it normally did. It had rained all the way to school, and the halls of the building felt unnaturally cold, unwelcoming.

  Unwelcoming except for the crisis unit that seemed to be permanently parked in the school, which meant I spent most of third period meeting with grief counselors.

  A whole lot of awkward abounded.

  Cops were crawling over the school, both local and federal, and there were no more quick glimpses of them. There was no mistaking their presence. Media was camped outside, interviewing any student that got within grabbing distance of them. The attention, the whole atmosphere was surreal.

  After eating a quick lunch with Jensen and Heidi, I waited out in the hallway while Jensen finagled Mason away from the ever dwindling table he sat at. Brock was noticeably absent, something that had my stomach twisting.

  Was he skipping school?

  Or had he gone missing?

  I leaned against the wall beside the trophy case, wondering at what point in my life did I go from worrying if a kid didn’t show up for class if that meant something had happened to them?

  Jensen rounded the corner, walking beside a surprisingly mellow looking Mason. His blond hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, hands shoved deep into his ripped up jeans.

  He saw me and frowned. “What’s up?”

  I straightened, glancing at Jensen, who thrust a hand through his hair. I started to just put it out there, but it was Jensen who spoke.

  “Where’s Brock?” he asked.

  Mason shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t heard from him since Saturday. He was worried about the shit that happened with Linds and what the police thought. He’s probably hiding out at home.”

  I seriously hoped so. “What happened with Linds…I think you have to be careful.”

  He looked at me, and then his gaze flipped to Jensen. “I have to be careful?”

  “Yes.” I nodded just in case he didn’t understand the one word or something. Taking a deep breath, I decided to just get it over with. “Remember Penn?”

  Mason’s brows flew up. “That nerdy little kid that offed himself a few years back?”

  My hands curled into fists. “His name was Penn—”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Mason glanced behind him quickly, into the cafeteria. “What about him?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but everyone, with the exception of Linds, who has been attacked, had something to do with Penn.”

  He pulled his hands out of his pockets, brushing a strand of hair back from his face. “Yeah, like who?”

  “Like Vee, Wendy, and Monica all picked on Penn.” Jensen folded his arms. “So did Brock, and so did you.”

  A confused smile appeared on Mason’s face as he glanced back and forth at us. “So?”

  My brows rose. How many brain cells did this boy burn on a regular basis? “So? What we’re trying to say is we think the killer is going after people who picked on Penn. That means you and Brock… wherever he is… could be in danger.”

  Mason opened his mouth, looked at Jensen, who arched a brow at him, and then looked back at me. He laughed. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Jensen spun so quickly he was a blur. Slamming his hands into Mason’s shoulders, he pushed him into the wall. “You might want to rethink that statement.”

  My eyes widened. “Jensen!”

  “What?” Mason raised his hands. “That’s completely—”

  His hands curled into the front of Mason’s shirt. “I’m serious. Think very carefully about what you say.”

  “All I’m saying is that who thinks about that Penn kid?” Blood leeched from Mason’s face. “No one does anymore.”

  No one thinks about Penn anymore? God, the well of sadness that opened up in my chest was almost too much. I grabbed Jensen’s arm because it really looked like he was about to punch Mason.

  “Come on,” I said, shaking my head, done with this.

  Jensen slowly let go of Mason, and as he turned, dropping his arm around my shoulders, his eyes glittered.

  Mason pushed off the wall and backed off. “Look, I’m not trying to be ignorant. Just Penn? That’s crazy.”

  “Shut up, Mason.” Then to me, Jensen asked, “You okay?”

  I nodded. I did what I felt I needed to do, and I didn’t care if he thought I was a lunatic. I warned Mason, and now it was up to him to take it seriously. I really hoped he didn’t have to.

  #

  After the somewhat disastrous and somewhat embarrassing attempt at warning Mason, the school day ended with no more drama llama visitations, and Jensen and I headed to my house.

  “I don’t regret saying something,” I said as he pulled down the street.

  He glanced at me. “Well, I regret not punching him in the face.”

  My lips twitched. “Sorry. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “I’m sure I’ll get another opportunity,” he muttered, squinting at the windshield.

  I let out a low breath as we pulled to a stop in front of my house, behind my lonesome Jetta. Mom wasn’t home yet, wouldn’t be for several hours. When he turned off the engine, I didn’t move. At least there were no reporters hiding in the bushes.

  “Do you think he’s got Brock or…?” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

  Jensen sat back, clenching the keys in his hand. “Or Brock made a run for it because the police are on to him?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t know, but if it is him?” Jensen shook his head. “Besides the fact that is so messed up in so many different ways that I can’t even think about it right now, it might be a good thing. Because if it is him and he’s hit the road, then you’re safe.”

  “So are you.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “I’m not worried about me.”

  I frowned. “You should be. We all should be worried.”

  “I’m too worried about you to really give it a thought.”

  “While that’s sweet and all, I kind of want to punch you in the face.”

  Jensen laughed. “Wow.”

  “I don’t want you to do something careless and put yourself in danger.” I stretched over and kissed his cheek. “And I really don’t want to punch you in face, but if you do something dumb and get hurt, I’m going to, and you taught me how to punch. So it’ll hurt. Okay?”

  He chuckled again. “Okay. You ready to head in?”

  “Yep.” I reached back and grabbed my book bag. “You hungry?”

  “Always.”

  Climbing out, I waited for him to join me, and then we hurried down the walkway. The dark, fat clouds looked ready to burst at any given second. “I think we have some leftover pizza from last night.”

  “Perfect.”

  I took another step, and a fat drop of cold rain landed on my nose. “Crap.”