by Dan Rix
“Don’t be an ass,” I said, breaking into shivers all over again. “By the way, thanks for coming to get me. I just . . . I can’t be in my house right now.”
“So what am going to do with you?” he said, leaning forward to read street names. “It’s three in the morning on a Friday, and I know your parents don’t know you’re out with me.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, cradling my head in my hands. “Nothing matters anymore.”
“Not going to argue with that,” he said, scowling.
“I hate life, Emory.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m so sick of this,” I said. “I’m so sick of everything.”
“Except me, apparently.”
I peered sideways at him. “Why do you tolerate me? I’m depressing, and morbid, and I hate myself, and you’re cool and gorgeous and . . . and I’ve seen you when you’re happy and it’s amazing, and you light up everyone’s life . . .” I turned away, tears blurring my eyes, “but you’re not happy, and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
His eyes squinted as he considered this. “You’re right, you’re not happy,” he said. “You are depressed, and you do hate yourself—but you’re real, Leona.” He pulled up to a stop sign, and his eyes flicked to mine. “I look at everyone else, and I see this shiny exterior and this fake smile, but that’s it. There’s nothing in here.” He made a fist and thumped his chest. “But you . . . you don’t smile, and I like that. Because all that’s been stripped away. When you look at me, it’s just raw . . . and it’s powerful—and yeah, it’s really sad sometimes—but you’re the only person who looks at me like that. And when you do, I can’t look away from you.”
His words left me in a fog. I had nothing to say.
“And you’re gorgeous too, FYI.”
“Uh . . . okay.” My breath quivered in my lungs, and I felt weightless for the tiniest instant before I plunged back down into my abyss. I blushed and faced forward, my heart throbbing painfully. A whisper of envy unfurled in me. I wanted to be that girl—tortured, but beautiful. Forlorn, but loveable. But I wasn’t. I was unforgiveable.
By him, most of all.
“I want to know what it was,” he said softly. “I want to know what did this to you. I remember noticing you in the halls last year, you with your sophomore clique. I remember writing you off as a shallow airhead. You’re not that girl anymore.”
“I wish I still was,” I murmured.
“I don’t,” he said.
“You will.”
We lapsed into silence, and only then did I notice he was taking me up a steep windy road into the hills, downshifting around the curves. His wrists gleamed under the passing streetlights, hard planes like carved marble. My gaze climbed to his forearm, where the rolled-up sleeves of his collared shirt were stretched tight around knotted, sinewy muscle—his throwing arm. I wanted to touch his skin . . . feel if he was real. Or a temptation meant to drive me insane.
He caught me staring at him and raised an eyebrow, and I jerked my head forward and tucked my hair behind my ear, instantly self-conscious.
Santa Barbara flashed below us, all glittery and lit up, before vanishing behind a switchback.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Somewhere that’s not your house.”
“Good.”
Okay, but where were we going?
More importantly, what were we doing? Together. Driving into the hills at three in the morning?
“Are we, like . . . dating?” I said, fearing the answer even as a giddy flutter passed through me.
He shrugged. “I don’t really like to put a label on things.”
“No, no, no . . . nooooo,” I said, suddenly tensing up. “We can’t be dating.”
“Like I said, no labels.”
“Because if we were . . .” I warned.
“You would know. Just chill. You’re overthinking. You said you just wanted to just be with me, so let’s just be, alright?”
“Yeah, but not like that.”
He slowed the car down. “You want to go home?”
“No.”
“You want me to keep going?”
“No.”
“Alright. We’re going to stop in the middle of the road.” He stopped in the middle of the road. “And we’re just going to sit here.”
We sat there.
“Okay, you proved your point,” I said. “I’m a mess and I have no idea what I want. Are you happy? Now can we go?”
He smirked and we started up again. I rested my head against the glass and let my hair shield me from view, feeling dizzy and sick.
My sanity dangled over a precipice, and he was the only thing keeping me up. I could already feel myself slipping. At the same time, every second I spent with him twisted the knife a little deeper.
I killed his sister.
I still hadn’t told him.
I couldn’t tell him.
Emory pulled onto a dirt road, and the car bounced over potholes, the tires crunched on dirt and pebbles. He veered into the chaparral, and dry stalks blazed in his headlights before his bumper whacked them to the side. A cliff loomed ahead, and all at once the chaparral fell away, replaced by a panoramic view of the city lights.
His car pulled right up to the edge—and for a moment, I thought we would pitch over—before he shut off the engine. “It’s just a place we can talk,” he said, opening his door.
I climbed out too and stood next to him at the cliff edge, but the city’s beauty was lost on me. It might have dazzled another girl living another life, but not me. Not right now. The tall grass rustled nearby, and a dusty breeze lifted my hair and set me shivering.
“Can we get back in the car?” I said. “I can’t look at this right now.”
“Then close your eyes,” he said.
“It’s cold.”
“No, it’s not.”
“And I’m scared.”
“Of what? Field mice?”
I bristled at his comment. “I’m cold,” I said.
“Fine. Come on.” He put his hand on my lower back and guided me into the backseat of his convertible, then slid in after me, pulling the door shut behind him. As I shifted on the rear bench seat, my bare thighs stuck to the cold, cracked leather. His legs pressed against mine, and all at once, he was way too close, with nothing separating us. My heart gave a nervous thump, as if I’d never been with a boy before. But I didn’t pull away. Suddenly, all I wanted was to be close to him. Nothing else mattered.
I bit my lip and pushed back against him, letting my thigh slide against his. I felt his arm fall around my shoulders, and he kissed the top of my head, his lips brushing my scalp and lingering on my hair, drawing a shiver of pleasure down my spine. The heated spice of his cologne made me tipsy, and I looked up at him, breathing him in.
Lit up by the city lights, his hair glowed around him like a halo. I touched his jaw, mesmerized, and trailed my fingers along its length as I pulled him into a kiss. The smoky, minty taste of his mouth enveloped me like a drug, his lips demanding my single-minded focus. Bit by bit, everything else fell away. Before I knew it, he had scooped my legs up by the knees and pulled them over his lap, leaning into me to deepen the kiss. My fist tightened instinctively around his shirt, dragging him closer.
I ignored the tiny nagging at the back of my mind that said this was wrong. Right now, I didn’t care.
He pulled away from me before I was ready, leaving my lips feeling lonely and cold as a sharp ache spread through my chest. I clung to his shirt, afraid to let go.
He pushed his hand through his hair, his gaze tortured. “This . . . this feels irresponsible.”
“Why?” I breathed, hating the desperation in my voice.
“Because I need to know you’re okay. I need to know I’m not making this worse for you. But I am. I know I am.”
“Nuh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty. You’re perfect.”
He chuckled darkly. “Then you don’t know me.”
“Oh, really? Do you have a dark secret, Emory?” I teased. “Did you cheat on a spelling test in third grade? Did you accidentally step on a spider once when you were twelve? Please, you’re like the most pure, worthy person I know. I doubt you could hurt a fly without feeling remorse.”
His eyes flashed to mine. “What’s your dark secret, Leona?”
The question caught me off guard, and a shameful heat bloomed in my cheeks. I averted my eyes before he saw it, both needing and hating the reassurance of his arm around my back.
“Leona . . .” he said gently.
“You can have me,” I murmured. “All of me.”
I felt him peering down at me. “Be careful what you offer,” he said. “Because I will take it.”
I nodded, my throat dry. Too late for that.
Peeking at him, I glimpsed only concern in his gaze, zero judgment. Curled up in his arms, I felt safe for the first time. Maybe he would forgive me, after all. As he watched me, I kissed him again, shyly, just a peck on the lips. When he kissed me back—hesitantly at first, but then harder—an electric giddiness unfurled in my stomach, leaving my heart racing. I broke off and rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, craving everything about him. Then it just bubbled out.
“I love you,” I whispered.
The confession jolted my heart, and I clamped my mouth shut as my nerves became hyperalert to every uncomfortable shift of his body beneath mine.
“Yeah . . . that’s what I was afraid of,” he said.
My body tensed up, and I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did,” he said.
Chapter 14
My eyelids peeled open, unsticking painfully to reveal the alien landscape around me. From horizon to horizon, purple and bronze mountains jutted out of a sea of pink mist.
Dawn.
I tried to sit up, only to find an arm slung around my waist, pinning me down. I became aware of the sweaty heat all up and down my backside, and panic nipped at my mind. Emory. We’d fallen asleep spooning in the backseat of his car. I heaved the arm off me and shimmied away from him. He didn’t stir.
The bluish dawn gleamed off his jutting cheekbones and tinted his hair silver, casting him in an otherworldly shine, like an angel. He was so gorgeous it hurt, and my heart gave a funny quiver. Last night, I’d told him I loved him.
I bit my fingernails. Did I love him? Was that my ultimate punishment? To fall in love with him, so my guilt for his sister’s death could torture me forever? I deserved it.
I deserved this heartache.
And I deserved to be the prey of the monster inhabiting her body.
I deserved all of this.
Leaning over him, I kissed him on the cheek. Most likely it would be the last time I kissed him, but I didn’t linger. I’d already made up my mind. Quietly as I could, I unlatched the door and stepped out onto the cold dirt, still barefoot. The chilly morning air filled my lungs, heightened my senses. Despite last night, a calm washed over me. I didn’t deserve to feel stronger because of him, but I did. Last night I’d been a mess. Today I was ready.
I could beat her.
But this time would be different. This time, I would go to jail for killing Ashley Lacroix. Gladly.
I started back toward the road, driven by the all-consuming need to do my duty.
It was time to hunt a monster.
The sun had just risen by the time I rounded the corner onto my street and halted, my senses on full alert. A straight shot now. Between trees, I glimpsed a section of my roof peeking above the neighbor’s house. She could be anywhere—sitting on the curb, lurking in the garden, standing in the driveway.
Waiting.
She would be waiting.
I proceeded more cautiously, cutting into the neighbors’ lawns so she wouldn’t see me approach if she happened to be looking up the street.
Where did she go at night?
After she’d climbed out the window, had she gone to look for me somewhere else? Or had she hidden somewhere on my property to lie in wait? If so, had she seen me sprint out to Emory’s car?
She could have gone back inside after I’d left the house, which meant I’d have to recheck everything.
I darted out from behind a juniper bush, sprinted along the curb, and flattened myself against a palm tree. Peeking out, I saw the front bumper of my red Corolla, which was parked just up the street from my house. Getting close now. I ran around the car and knelt at the driver’s side door—locked, phew—then hurried around to my lot, edging along the hedge until the front lawn came into view.
Nothing out of the ordinary, not that I would have seen anything.
A nervous fear electrified my skin.
I took a few deep breaths to build up the courage, then took off sprinting toward the front door, making a beeline across the grass, right out in the open. The journey seemed to take ages—all the while I braced myself for an invisible attack—and by the time I slammed into the door, panting, my mind had descended into panic. I grabbed the latch, yanked it hard. Locked. No!
My palms slapped my pockets. Empty.
In my haste to leave the house last night, I’d forgotten my keys. Idiot.
The hidden key.
I lunged for the flagstone and hauled it up, but the key hadn’t been replaced. We had new locks. My panic built into sheer terror. I staggered to my feet and tore around to the back of the house, running for my life now. Wherever Ashley was hiding, she had surely seen me by now.
My fist wrenched the back door handle, but my sweaty hands slipped on the metal. Also locked. I peered behind me, growing desperate. I was a sitting duck. A rustle in the hedge yanked my gaze, and I froze. Just a bird.
My mom’s office . . . the cut screen! The same way Ashley got in. I hurled myself around to her window, where the flap of screen lifted in a gentle breeze. Reaching under it, I pushed the window all the way up, then kicked off the ground and scrambled clumsily inside, slamming the window shut behind me.
Inside . . . I was inside the house, but I still wasn’t safe. She could be in here with me. A weapon. I needed a weapon.
On my way into the hall, I caught the time on my mom’s glass clock—7:10 a.m. My parents would be up any minute. In the living room, I found what I was looking for.
The fireplace poker.
I hefted it and swung it around me, jabbed the pointy end into the corners. Nothing there. I darted back to my bedroom, probing the hall like a blind person. I paused in my doorway.
My keys sat on the bedside table next to my cell phone, right where I’d left them. My bedroom was as I left it. Or was it?
Fighting the urge to shudder, I stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me, then went around the room swinging the poker like a baseball bat. I stabbed it under the bed, thrust it into the closet, and skewered a suspicious-looking pile of laundry before I finally let out my breath.
Bedroom secure.
I dug out the contact lens case of dark matter and pocketed it. For later. Time to call Megan.
She answered on the fourth ring, in the middle of brushing her teeth it sounded like. “Hello?”
“We have to kill her,” I said.
The sound of spitting. “Say again?”
“Ashley. She came over to my house last night, and she’s acting creepy as fuck. That thing is not her, it’s using her body. And we have to kill it.”
“Uh-huh.”
&n
bsp; “Can I come over to your house?” I said, glancing behind me at the door. “It’s not safe here.”
“Don’t bring that thing over here,” said Megan.
“I’ll drive. She won’t be able to follow.”
“Oh, like she doesn’t know where I live.”
“Right, so it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “I’m coming over. We need to come up with a plan.”
“So we’re going to kill her again? This time on purpose? Isn’t that . . . isn’t that kind of messed up?” As she spoke, footsteps thumped up the hall and paused at my bedroom.
“Shh,” I hissed, clamping my hand over the speaker. My pulse jittered.
The floor outside my door creaked. Then silence.
“Leona?” called a voice.
Just my mom.
“I’m talking to Megan,” I said.
“Was that you making all that noise last night?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“What were you doing?” she said. “It sounded like a herd of buffalo.”
“Mom, on the phone!” I yelled.
“Fine,” she said, exasperated. “We’re going to talk about this later, Leona.” At last, her footsteps shuffled off.
I rolled my eyes and went back to my call with Megan. “I’m coming over,” I said.
“What about school?” she said.
“School? Why don’t we paint a bull’s-eye on my forehead while we’re at it. Does that sound good?”
“Okay, Leona’s upset.”
“I’ll see you in ten minutes. Bye.” I hung up and grabbed my car keys, tugging on my tennis shoes without socks.
My parents were eating in the kitchen. I waved the keys on my way out and announced, “I’m going to school.”
“Where’s your backpack—?”
The door shut behind me, and I hurried into the street, glancing behind me every few seconds. My thumb found the unlock button on the key fob, and the car clicked. I tugged open a handle and slid inside, quickly pulling the door shut behind me. No gaps. I hit the lock button twenty times in a panicky flurry.
