“Oh yeah!” Heather piped up. “I remember that! I felt so bad. There was blood everywhere and some girl got sick over it.”
“I saw it happen right in front of my eyes.” Mark said. “I swear to God, that kid’s back cracked in half.”
He paused for us to react. Which we did, horrified.
Mark continued, looking satisfied. “Took him to the hospital; stayed only two nights in a dead coma. He was back in school on Monday. Not a scratch on him. They said the Dumpster broke his fall ... load of crap, in my opinion. And nobody ever explained what he was doing on the roof to begin with.”
I raised my eyebrows, and a tingling feeling tickled my spine. “That is odd,” I murmured.
“Yup,” Mark said. He took a sip of his soda and leaned back in his chair, happy that he had finally convinced me that the Whelans were freaks.
“What was his name again? The boy who fell?” Heather asked, frowning. “I get them all confused.”
“Lucas,” Mark said. “Lucas Whelan.”
My heart stopped.
“What?” I spat, choking on my drink.
“His name was Lucas,” Mark repeated.
I felt my breath coming in ragged heaves. Lucas? Could this be the same Lucas that Courtney was dating? How many Lucases were there in Fort Collins? A hundred? A thousand? What were the odds that this Lucas Whelan with the superspeedy healing skills and the spooky family was the same grumpy, menacing guy from my humanities class? I knew deep down that it was definitely the same guy. But I had to be sure.
“What’s he look like?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
I didn’t fool Derek, though. Never could.
“Why?” he asked, turning to me.
“Oh, ah . . . nothing. It’s just that Courtney’s new boyfriend is named Lucas, so I was just wondering if it was the same guy.” I kept my voice nonchalant to try and play it off like it didn’t matter who Lucas was. But it did. I’d just invited him to go out into the woods with us this weekend. I had to do a project with Lucas for the rest of the semester. I had to be alone with him. Many times. And if this dude really was a psycho, I needed to know about it.
Mark’s tan eyes swept the room and a smile crept into the lines around his mouth. He inclined his head toward something in the distance and said, “Don’t gotta tell you. He just walked in.”
I whirled around and saw that Lucas was standing in the doorway of the restaurant. He was leaning casually against the doorframe wearing dark blue jeans and a white shirt topped off with a black leather jacket. He reminded me of Colin Farrell—brooding and dead sexy.
I turned away.
“That him?” Mark asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the guy.”
“Wait,” Derek said. He shifted in his seat and turned to face me full on. His eyes were crinkled up into angry little slits. “That’s the guy who was staring at you while he was kissing Courtney?”
I could actually feel the eyebrows rise around the table. I was definitely regretting texting Derek during my stat class to tell him about the incident. Way to blab, man.
“Yeah, that’s him,” I said at last.
Derek’s jaw clenched and he made to launch himself out of the booth.
I grabbed his arm. “Wait. What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna go kick his ass, what do you think?”
“Sit down and calm down.” I pulled him back into his seat. “Since when have you been violent?” Unless he was on the football field, Derek was usually a pretty easygoing dude.
“Since some random jerk-off practically sexually molested you.”
“Aw, come on,” I said, attempting to sound soothing and confident, two things which I definitely wasn’t. “He was probably just . . . I don’t know, staring off into the distance and I happened to be sitting there.”
I knew that was a lie. Derek seemed to know it too because his lips drew up into a snarl.
“Whatever,” he said. He shook my hand off of his arm and glowered at his plate.
“Told you that guy was a wackjob,” Mark said with a meaningful look.
As I sneered at him and then looked away, my eyes fell on the hulking form of Lucas Whelan. He was walking toward a table with a girl I didn’t know. I watched his face, set into an oddly attractive scowl, his eyes as dark as ever. They flickered to mine for just a moment, and in that moment, they were silver.
3
BREAKING POINT
I was in an awkward position. I was sitting in the middle of the Cache La Poudre River—on a kayak no less—squished between Derek, Heather, and a guide with too much aftershave. It was late afternoon so it should have been warm, but it wasn’t. It was freezing.
At least, I was freezing. Heather and Mark seemed to think this weather was perfect. They kept commenting on how warm it was and how there was no need to wear a jacket. Derek and I were popsicles. I found myself staring up at the sky, the color of ice, and praying for just a sliver of blue to shine through the clouds. Or even better, of yellow—the sun.
“So, Heather, you and Pete are in band together?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed. Her hair was tied up in a long ponytail that kept smacking me in the face whenever she turned her head. But I didn’t say anything; I didn’t want to embarrass her.
“Did you two meet in band?” I asked.
“Yes. We’ve been together since July. We came early for band camp.”
“Cool.”
“How long have you two known each other?” Heather asked. Derek jumped in before I could answer and said, “Me and Faith have been together since elementary school.”
I wrinkled my nose. He made it sound like we had been together since elementary school. Which we definitely hadn’t.
Heather turned and gave me a little smile. I returned it and tried to keep my eyes from watering when her hair smacked them again.
“You two are so cute,” Heather said.
I turned and glared at Derek, who grinned smugly. I wanted to punch him in the gut. But I didn’t. He might’ve thrown me overboard and that water looked glacial.
“We’re just friends,” I said to Heather.
“Oh,” Heather muttered. “Sorry, I just assumed . . .”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “We’ve known each other forever, so I can see how you’d get it confused. But we’re friends.”
I thought I heard Derek say something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. He was probably pissed, but whatever. I needed to set everything straight. He had to deal.
“What’s your major, Derek?” Heather asked.
“Oh—umm . . .” Derek sounded surprised at having been asked a question.
I hid a snicker as he worked up a response. Derek was majoring in computer engineering, which was basically code for nerd—something Derek wasn’t. He was only doing it because he liked to play video games, not because he actually knew anything about computers. Derek might have been a genius on the football field, but he was far from that when it came to academics.
“Computer engineering,” Derek finally answered.
With that I let out a snort, just to tease him.
“What?” Heather asked.
I snuck a glance at Derek in time to see him give me a sarcastic smile. “Faith thinks it’s nerdy,” he said.
“Well, come on, it is!” I defended myself. “You’re only doing it because you like to play video games, but I’m telling you, it’s not going to be like that.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I, unlike you, actually read the brochure when we went to Freshman Orientation.”
Derek grumbled something unintelligible.
“And you’re going to end up all gangly and pale with two-inchthick glasses,” I went on, mainly just bugging him now. “And then who will marry you?”
Derek had finally found his voice again.
“Yeah, well, at least I chose a major,” he shot. “Unlike some losers I
know.”
I made a face at him and he stuck his tongue out. He knew he’d hit my sore spot. After attending Freshman Orientation a week ago, I was feeling a ton of pressure to pick a major. The university made a big deal about staying on-track and setting goals so we could graduate in four years with our class. They even required us to choose a major in order to sign up for classes. I’d randomly picked liberal studies, but I was sure it wasn’t for me. I didn’t even know what liberal studies meant.
“What do you mean?” Heather piped up. “You don’t have a major, Faith?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I’m just kind of waiting to see what fits.”
“I’m a music ed. major,” she said.
“I’ll bet you make a great teacher.” I hoped I sounded kind rather than resentful. At orientation everybody had jumped to pick majors, leaving me feeling like the only one who didn’t know what they wanted to do.
“What do you think you want to major in?” Heather asked after a short silence.
I rubbed my fingers into my eyes and winced from the cold that spread from them. “I really have no clue.”
“Didn’t you have a favorite subject in high school or something?” I could hear the concern in her voice. The confusion. Like she was trying desperately to figure me out.
“I liked photography,” I said, trying to make my voice light. “But that was mainly because there was no homework.”
She laughed. “In any clubs?”
“Nope.”
Heather’s shoulders slumped a little.
I was being difficult on purpose, mostly because I was frustrated with myself for not having chosen a major. But that wasn’t Heather’s fault. I decided to throw her a bone.
“I was on the track team,” I said. “Cross-country.”
Heather straightened and I could hear renewed enthusiasm in her voice when she said, “Well, there you go! Maybe something with that?”
Derek sniggered behind me. “Major in running?”
“Exercise science is a major,” I said. “But it’s not something I’m all that passionate about. I just run because it makes me feel good.”
“There are other things you can do with exercise science besides running, though, right?” Heather asked.
“Well, yeah. But I don’t really like the idea of training juicedup body builders for the rest of my life or teaching war vets to walk. So depressing.”
“Yeah, I guess that would be sad,” Heather admitted. “Well, maybe something will just come into your life when you’re not expecting it.” She gave me a warm smile. I heard her nice words, but I couldn’t buy into it. Without a major, I felt lost.
She whipped back around and I shielded my face with my hands. I heard Derek laughing at me under his breath.
“What’s San Diego like?” Heather asked. “I’ve always wanted to go to California. Do you guys surf and stuff?”
I’d been getting that question a lot since coming to CSU. It was like everyone from California had to be a surfer who says radical and gnarly and smokes pot in the back of some love van.
“Nope,” Derek and I said at the same time.
“You do, too!” I said. “Derek surfs. He just sucks at it and he hates to suck at anything, so he pretends he doesn’t.”
Derek splashed some water at me and I shrieked.
“No yelling,” the guide said sternly.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and glared at Derek. He smiled his sweetest smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“San Diego is cool,” I said to Heather. “It’s a lot different than here, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll bet it’s nice and hot there,” she said wistfully.
“Too hot sometimes. But Colorado is like an ice bucket. I don’t know how you guys stand it.”
“It’s not so bad. Wait until you see the first snow . . .” She continued to ramble about taking us skiing later in the year, but I couldn’t concentrate.
I wanted to ask Heather what she thought about the murders in Denver. I heard people murmuring rumors before and after class, and Courtney never shut up about it. At first, I had written it off because Denver was miles away and the odds that the serial killer would trek all the way over to sleepy Fort Collins were remote. But all the hubbub over it was starting to leak into my brain. I was beginning to get worried. And scared. So much so that I brought it up to Derek a few times. He had just looked at me like I was losing it—which I probably was—so I let it drop.
But late a few nights ago, when the trees were scratching on my window like fingernails tapping the glass, I Googled the news reports on the murders. Unfortunately, I didn’t find out much. Just that all five were young college girls.
Like me.
To make matters worse there was no lead on the killer. He left no fingerprints, no shirt fibers, no footprints, nothing. And I knew they could find out a lot about a crime scene from just a tire print or an eyelash or something. I watched Forensic Files. I was informed. But I guess the killer watched that show too, because he was supercareful about not leaving anything behind.
Not only was I scared for myself, but I also felt bad for those innocent girls. There had to be a reason the killer chose them, and I wanted to know what it was.
Maybe Heather, having come from Fort Collins, knew something. But as I opened my mouth to ask her about it, Mark, Pete, and Ashley’s kayak came up next to ours.
“Hey, y’all!” Pete called. “We’re going back to shore, you wanna come?”
I closed my mouth shut and glanced at Derek. He looked ticked. Probably at me for telling Heather we were just friends. Well, tough, dude. We are just friends.
“You done?” I asked him.
His gaze stayed locked on mine. “Not even close.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back around.
“Yeah, let’s go in!” I called to Pete.
We started to paddle toward the dock, where a mass of ancient pine trees stood, shading a rental shack and some decrepit picnic tables. We’d driven out here at the crack of dawn and spent the morning hiking through the nature trails that snaked through the woods. Then we’d staked out a campsite and set up our tents so we wouldn’t have to do it later. I was glad for that now, since my arms were killing me from paddling.
The guide grabbed the dock and jumped on. He began roping the boat to the little metal stake as I threw my paddle down on the dock and started to unstick myself from the boat.
“You know,” Heather said, wrestling herself out of the boat as well, “we should all go out sometime.”
“Yeah, sure.” I launched myself onto the dock and jumped up and down a few times, trying to get the feeling back in my legs.
“No, really.” She clambered onto the dock after me and rubbed her hands over her thighs. “Me and Pete wanted to check out Zydeco’s. It’s this club that’s supposed to be fun.”
“That sounds fine.” I smiled and watched Derek leap out of the kayak in one nimble movement. Darn him and his athletic grace.
“Perfect, actually,” Derek said. He came up to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. I didn’t make him stop because the warmth felt so amazing. “We can all go. All four of us. Like a double date.”
I glared up at him for a second. Then I turned back around to see that Heather looked uncomfortable. I smiled at her again, but this time I could feel the tremendous effort it took to do so.
“Sounds perfect,” I ground out.
Late that night, everybody sat around a campfire the boys had built. It took them literally an hour to get it going, but I was so grateful when they finally accomplished it that I hugged all three of them and even kissed Derek on the cheek. He’d blushed, which I thought was adorable.
I sat next to him, huddled into his side and curled into a big quilt I’d brought from my dorm. It was an old one my mom had made with my grandmother. It was my favorite because it always smelled like my mom, even after I washed it.
Heather and Pete were sitting across fr
om us, intertwined like an intricate Boy Scout knot. Mark and Ashley seemed to be hitting it off. They sat next to each other and I thought I saw their hands clasp a couple times. I’d have to tell Ashley what a jerk Mark was, even if I only thought so because of his oily vibe. And because he’d said all those mean things about the Whelans.
But even though I didn’t like what Mark had said, I actually believed him. At least partly. I’d had to sit next to Lucas Whelan for three days last week and I could feel him raging beneath the surface of his calm exterior, prompting me to constantly ogle him like a total spaz. If he noticed, he never said. Actually, he never spoke to me at all.
Not that I wanted him to.
He was so grumpy the last time we talked, I wasn’t too eager to start up again. But after all that talk about his family, I wanted some kind of signal that he wasn’t as creepy and sinister as Mark had said he was. Unfortunately, I was more convinced than ever that there was something seriously wrong about him.
I was relieved when Courtney had told me she and Lucas weren’t coming with us to the La Poudre. Courtney said Lucas had some family thing, which made sense since apparently Lucas was some bizarre, silvery-eyed, mysterious party-having freak. His excuse didn’t really matter to me, just so long as I didn’t have to be around him and his manic vibe any longer than I had to.
After my stressful first week, I wanted to enjoy myself, and for the most part, I was. Mark and Pete had brought a bottle of Jack Daniel’s with them, and it was already half gone between the two of them and Derek. I hated the way Jack Daniel’s tasted, so I’d refused it along with Heather. Ashley, on the other hand, dove right in, so by midnight, everyone but Heather and me were drunk.
“Oh my gosh,” Ashley said, colliding with Mark. “Anybody know any ghost stories?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “That’s so lame, you guys.”
“No, no!” Ashley said. “You don’t understand, you don’t understand, Faith. These ghost stories are true. Like, so true they actually happened.”
Blood on the Moon Page 3
