Deadgirl
Page 31
I went to the kitchen and made a sandwich, but mostly just to occupy my hands while I thought of the possibilities. I felt light. Elated. I went through the motions on cloud nine. It wasn’t until I turned around that I noticed someone had been standing in the hallway, watching me. I jerked a little.
“Daphne?”
Daphne nodded. Her face was grave.
“No ‘thank you?’” she whispered.
I cocked my head. I couldn’t help but feel a little creeped out. I could barely see her, lurking in the shadows of the darkened hallway. And the serious cast to her face—it looked unnatural on her. Scary, actually.
“What?”
She stepped forward, but the overhead glow actually made her grave features look more frightening. I took a small step backward, clutching the butter knife I’d been using to cut my sandwich. What the hell was going on?
“You’re not going to thank me?”
“For what?”
Daphne had something in her hand. She tossed it to me. I barely caught it, fumbling with the butter knife and either almost dropping it or stabbing my own face off. I turned the object around. A little silver touchscreen phone. Daphne’s new phone, that she had been raving about. The one her father had bought her.
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Dial your number,” she said.
I lifted the phone, so I could both dial and keep an eye on her at the same time. Some spark gleamed in her eye, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I dialed my number, and my phone began to buzz in my pocket.
“Okay, it works,” I said.
Daphne sighed and tossed her purple-streaked black hair out her face. I flipped it open to answer it.
The number. I knew it right away. The text messages…the ones telling me to run, telling me to get the hell away from Abraham.
I dropped my phone. It made a loud cracking noise, bounced once, and landed on its face.
“Oh, crap,” Daphne said, looking forlornly down at my fallen phone. “Butterfingers.”
I shook my head at her, feeling panic rising.
“What? It was you? How…do you know?”
Daphne smiled an unknowable, mysterious smile.
“We’ve all got secrets, honey,” Daphne said. She raised an eyebrow, walked forward, and plucked her phone out of my hand. I goggled at her as she folded her hands behind her back and gave me an impish grin.
I closed my mouth. I thought it might be scraping the floor soon.
“Are you…like me?”
Daphne shook her head.
“Are you…like Abraham?”
She made a yuck face. A hell-no face.
“Takes all kinds, Lucy,” she said. “You think you’re the only freak out there? I’ll tell you what I am. I’m your friend. Now let’s go upstairs and see if we can’t get a pillow fight started.”
She gave me another grin and bounced out of the kitchen with her hands behind her back. I stood, rooted to the spot, trying to regain control of my motor functions. My mind spun like a top, stuffed with more questions than I had time to think about. Daphne. I couldn’t believe it. Worse. I didn’t even understand it.
I looked down and touched my cross. I felt a little spark there, still left, and I took a deep breath and drained it away. My face split into a smile.
I can do this.
I can live.
B.C. Johnson
B.C. Johnson was born in 1985 in Southern California, and hasn't relocated since. He discovered a love for telling stories at seven-years-old, though those consisted of either fabricating expansive lies, or writing mostly plagiarized stories. Between then and now, he's worked a number of odd jobs, including machinist, lighting designer, demolitionist, sound mixer, receptionist, custodian, and museum events manager. He currently works live theater, as the guy calling cues or making the lights flash. He lives in Anaheim with his awesome fiancée, Gina, who may or may not be some kind of angel, and his half-Corgi, half-Jindo dog, Luna, (or Luna-Tuna, to her friends.) When he's not playing video games, drumming on every surface imaginable, or spending way too much time reading tvtropes.org, you may find him writing completely not-stolen (he promises) stories.
Deadgirl is his first novel.
Table of Contents
Deadgirl
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Interlude
Epilogue
B.C. Johnson