The group disperses and moves on and I head to my first class of the morning. After enduring it and three others like it, a bell rings and my lunch period begins. I head directly to my locker and nearly collide with Sarah.
“Whoa!” I say and reach out, gently gripping her shoulders. “Hey. Hi. How are you?”
“Hi.” Her voice is as soft and sweet as the fragrance she wears. “I’m okay, well, as okay as I can be I guess.” Her gaze drops.
I hook my index finger under her chin and lift it so that her eyes meet mine. “I’m so so sorry.” I repeat how much I regret that she’s enduring such a painful loss.
“Me too.” Her voice quivers and I feel my heart clench. She raises her eyes and looks directly into mine. “Can we get out of here? Can we leave and, I don’t know, grab some lunch?”
I don’t need to be asked a second time. I’d run away with her in a heartbeat and never return if she’d agree to it, but lunch is good start I guess. “Sure. That would be great.” I nod and am sure I look like a fool. “Let’s go now. Let me put your books in my locker to save some time and we’ll take my car.”
“Okay, that sounds good.” A faint smile curves her perfect lips.
She hands over her books and I slip them into an empty slot between my binders and textbooks. I turn to her and nod toward the front doors. “Are you ready or do you need to go the bathroom or anything?” I cringe inwardly that I asked if she needed the restroom. Though it’s a valid question, I’m sure putting her on the spot and asking outright as a parent of a potty-training toddler would is not exactly what she’d want. “Sorry,” I mumble and feel my cheeks heat.
“For what?” Her nose crinkles cutely as she tilts her head to the side slightly.
“For the, you know, bathroom question.” I clear my throat then shove my hands into my pockets.
She regards me quizzically. “Seriously, Danny?” She arches a brow then leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “It’s okay. I use the bathroom. And for the record, I know you do too.” She leans back and nods, a wicked smile playing upon her lips. I am grateful for that smile. I know how hard it is for her. I know how difficult smiling is for her at this point.
I laugh aloud, unable to hold back despite the undeniable somberness that coats the entire school like a gummy layer of grime. “Guilty as charged.” I hold my hands in the air at chest height in mock surrender.
“I knew it! Ha, ha!” Her laugh sounds like a cartoon villain and I’m so happy to see her joking and laughing I want to scoop her up into my arms and hug her as hard as I can. “See, that story I read about everyone pooping is true!”
I pause for a beat, stunned that she just said “poop” even if referencing a children’s book. It’s hard to believe a girl as pretty and popular as she is said that to me. I snort then laugh again.
“What?” She shrugs and smirks then winks at me. I can’t help but wrap an arm around her shoulder and draw her near.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say between laughs.
We walk together, my arm draped over her shoulders, to the parking lot in front of the school. I open the passenger side door of the CRV and she slips into her seat. I move to the driver’s side and climb in. We leave the grounds of the school and head to the nearest fast food restaurant. Once there, we make our meal selection and find a booth in the far corner. As soon as we sit, I feel as though I need to say something to her about Jenny. I don’t want her to think I’m being disrespectful with all of my laughter and fooling around.
“Listen, Sarah, I’m sorry about before,” I start. She looks at my face, puzzled. “You know, the joking around and everything. I know you’re hurting, and it’s probably, I don’t know, wrong or inappropriate for me to be laughing and acting like an idiot.”
She chuckles softly. “You’re not an idiot.” She holds me with her gaze for several seconds before dropping it and concentrating on her french fries. “And laughing and joking around isn’t wrong or inappropriate. You’re trying to cheer me up. It’s sweet.” She looks up at me, her cheeks tinted a faint pink.
“Is it working? Have I cheered you up at all?” I ask the question and immediately regret doing so. The death of a best friend is not exactly a situation one can be easily livened from. Especially when it happened just days ago. “I’m sorry. That was really stupid of me,” I mumble, chastising myself aloud.
“Danny, stop. Stop being so worried about what you say to me and how you act around me. You’re doing great. Perfect actually. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” The word passes through my lips before I have a chance to halt it. And it comes as a question, a wide-eyed, dopey question. As if my brain couldn’t stop my heart from the explosion of romantic hope that just erupted from it.
Sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades to the small of my back as I await her response. “Well, yeah.” She looks at me through her lashes. “You are my boyfriend, right?” she lifts her chin and I am greeted by brilliant, pale-blue eyes.
For a moment, I forget where I am. The hum and whir of the self-serve soda station and the chatter all around us quiets. Time seems to stand still and all that I am and all that has happened ceases to exist. There’s only the two of us. Just Sarah and I. I swallow hard. “Yes, I am, I mean, if you want me to be I am.” I slobber all over what I’m trying to say, and any attempt at sounding smooth or cool crumbles. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” I clear my throat.
Sarah shakes her head and a silky, flaxen lock falls over her brow. Half of her mouth tilts upward in a lopsided grin I find adorable. “Danny, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” Her voice is playful, flirtatious even.
“I’d like that very much.” All teasing leaves my tone and I look directly into her eyes. In their frosty hue, I see light and laughter and happiness. I see the future. I see someone whose side I never want to leave. Someone I want to protect. Someone I love.
“Good because I feel the same way. I’m happy to be your girlfriend.” She doesn’t say anything further on the subject. Instead, she picks up her chicken sandwich with both hands and takes an impressive bite of it. I do the same and we sit together, eating in comfortable silence, until Sarah says, “Danny, have you figured out what’s happening here?” Her eyes pleads with me. I want to tell her all that I know, all that I suspect, and about Chris, but I know doing so would only put her at greater risk.
“I’m working on it.” My statement isn’t a total lie. I am, in fact, working on it.
“Good,” she replies earnestly. “I don’t want anyone else to die.” Her words resound with an aching sincerity I am all too familiar with. I don’t want anyone else to die either, especially since she is the next target.
“Are you staying home tonight?” My question serves two purposes. First, it steers the conversation away from future victims, and second, I need to know exactly where she’ll be so that if I need to get to her in a hurry, I can.
“Yeah, it’s a school night. Normally, Jenny would come over and we’d watch a movie but . . .” Her voice trails off and cracks, her grief evident.
“Your parents will be with you, right?” I ask out of double concern.
“No, they’re going to the movies,” she replies.
“You’re going?” I ask.
Sarah looks at me as if she’s just smelled an offensive odor. “No, are you kidding me?”
I shrug pathetically.
“I don’t make a point of hanging out with my parents. No thanks.” She shudders as if a shiver traced the length of her spine.
“Sorry I asked.” I hold my hands out in mock surrender again.
“No, Danny, I’m sorry.” She rakes a hand through the front of her hair. “I didn’t mean to be obnoxious.”
“You weren’t,” I assure her.
She continues eating. All the while, my worry intensifies. She will be alone tonight. Vulnerable and alone. I realize I’ll have to keep close to Chris and not let him out o
f my sight. I will not let him hurt her.
Sarah and I finish eating then head back to school. With a full belly, full heart and a head full of worries, I find solace knowing that I am confident who is responsible for the deaths in Patterson. Hopefully I’ll be able to stop him before he hurts anyone else, before he hurts Sarah.
Chapter 12
Worry sets up camp within me, festering like a sore until it chafes me to the brink of madness. I sit on my bed, a textbook and binder wide open. I should be reading a five-page passage and answering questions about it but concentration is eluding me. The sun has set. School let out about an hour ago and Sarah is home. As of now her parents have not left for the movie theater yet. But they will soon, and she will be left alone.
Too restless to sit still much less concentrate on homework, I stand and pace the floor. The thought of Sarah as prey rolls around my brain like an oversized burr, puncturing and abrading everything in its wake. And with each second that passes I become more and more convinced that if I don’t stop Chris, he’s going to kill her. Time is running out. I can feel it, hear the loud echo of a grain of sand dropping through an hourglass, but instead of being a soft, nearly silent sound, each crashes like thunder, signifying a countdown to extinction for the girl I love.
Gnashing my molars, my hands ball to fists and tighten so that my nails dig into my palms. Anxious and restless, I stalk about my room, watching the clock and waiting for seven thirty to come. That’s when I overheard Chris say he was going out. And shortly before that hour, I will arrive at his house and follow him wherever he goes.
I call and check on Sarah multiple times in the hours that pass. I call under the false pretense of homework confusion in every subject, not caring if I come across as a completely incompetent student. She fields my questions and I get confirmation that she’s safe, for the time being at least. When seven o’clock rolls around—a half hour earlier than the time I overheard Chris say he was leaving for his mysterious rendezvous—I grab my keys and rush out the door. I head straight to Chris’ street but park a block away from his house. Up until recently, I’d never tailed a person before. But seeing as how this is the second time in a week, I’m guessing I’ll get better and better at it. And since Sarah’s life is on the line, there isn’t any room for mistakes.
After a half hour of sitting in my car and staring so hard at Chris’ front door a hole should be drilled in it, he emerges. Looking all around as if sensing eyes on him, he scans the immediate vicinity. If he sees me, he doesn’t acknowledge as much and proceeds to his car. He pulls out of his driveway and into the street. I follow him, a single purpose pounding through my veins like the beat of a war drum.
The night is clear and the sky is a navy swath of diamond-crusted velvet and the moon is round and fat as I shadow Chris through the heart of town and past any roads that lead to Sarah’s house, a fact that I am relieved to note. Instead, he pulls into the long driveway of our school. Hesitating and watching as he directs his sleek sedan down the winding pathway, I turn off my headlights. I remain a safe distance from him so that I am unseen.
Few cars are in the lot, likely maintenance staff. I can’t understand why he’d be here, what his plan is. It doesn’t make sense.
I watch as he gets out of the car and opens the rear passenger side door. He grabs what looks like a blanket, pulling it out and clutching it to his chest. He looks all around. Worrying he’ll see me, or worse, senses me, I duck down in my seat. Still, I peek over the steering wheel and scrutinize his every move. His body language suggests stealth, it suggests that he’s up to something bad. The more I observe, the more unsettled I become. I won’t let him hurt anyone else. Least of all Sarah.
He turns after surveying the entire parking area. I sit up and lean forward, my eyes straining against the darkness. Slinking toward the tree line at the rear of the school, he makes his way toward the woods, the beam of his flashlight carving a pathway through the night.
I wait a few moments, my pulse drilling the base of my throat, and then exit my car. I don’t have a flashlight on me, just a flashlight app I recently downloaded for free after the embarrassing incident at the Hanson Mansion. I don’t use it though. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself, to be seen. I’m left to depend on instinct alone, to navigate a labyrinth of branches, vines and weeds and pursue who I believe is a monster released from the depths of hell and responsible for a series of murders in town.
Wandering through the woods and narrowly avoiding losing an eye to a low-hanging branch, I make several attempts to reach out with all my senses, to see if I can feel where Chris went. But the more I try, the less success I have. I do not see the light from his flashlight and I can barely see what’s in front of me.
Frustration mounts within me, building to a crescendo as each second ticks by and I neither see Chris nor feel the pull that guides me to what Luke refers to as the Dark Ones. I stop, aggravated and defeated simultaneously, and rest my hand on the rough bark of a tree. I contemplate turning back and waiting for Chris to exit when a female voice rings through the ether. Muffled at first, the sound is that of a struggle. Every hair on my body rises and quivers and adrenaline races through my veins like fire. Shoving off against the tree trunk, my legs twitch to life and I take off, not heeding the entanglement of foliage I’m contending with. Thin branches lash and whip at my face and I stumble over vines that slink along the wooded floor, but I do not stop. A girl’s life likely teeters in the balance.
Not bothering to slow, I rush headlong until I reach a clearing. Moonlight streams from overhead in silver ribbons and illuminates two shapes, Chris and a female I can’t identify. Both are on the ground and in states of undress, a blanket—the one I saw him retrieve from his car—beneath them, and both appear to be in the throes of passion. I take a step backward and am about to turn when a twig snaps under my foot. Chris and the mystery girl freeze then their heads whip around in my direction. The girl tugs her open shirt closed and glares into the trees, seemingly right at me. Shame burns my cheeks.
“What the heck? Perv!” the girl shouts, condemning me when I thought she was being attacked and despite the fact that she can’t see me, at least I think she can’t see me.
Chris springs to his feet and bounds toward me. Twisting and intent upon high-tailing it out of there, I try to run, but my feet are ensnared by low growth and I fall backward. Within seconds, Chris descends on me. “What’re you doing here? Why are you following me?” He grabs a fistful of my shirt and lifts my upper body off the ground.
“I’m not.” My attempt at denial is transparent. I’m a terrible liar. And I’m at a loss for words. I hadn’t planned out what I’d say if I were caught. I didn’t think there’d be any conversation at all, in fact, just battle.
“Did Tyler send you?” Chris’ grip on my shirt lessens before he releases me altogether and I fall back with a soft thump. “Please don’t tell him.”
“Tell him what?” I ask as I look over at the girl pulling on her pants. And when I do, I recognize her and the situation comes into focus. The girl is Debbie Murphy, Tyler’s girlfriend. And Tyler is supposedly Chris’ best friend. “Oh,” I say to let him know that his plea for my silence is understood.
“Yeah, I know.” Chis leans back and rakes a hand through his hair. “This is only the second time we did this.” He sighs heavily. “It would destroy him.”
“It’s the fourth, you liar!” Debbie is suddenly beside Chris. She slaps him on the arm lightly.
“Fourth, whatever.” Chris tosses one hand in the air. He slides a tender look Debbie’s way then casts a harder gaze at me. “What’re you doing here? I haven’t bothered you at all.”
A bitter laugh seeps from my lips. “Yeah! Haven’t bothered me at all! Right!” Chris looks puzzled. C’mon. You didn’t leave a note in my locker threatening Sarah?” It sounds more like a venomous statement than a question.
His features contort. “Threatening Sarah? Are you crazy?” Sincerity reg
isters in his tone and realization hits me. Chris didn’t write the note. He isn’t a monster. He’s a jerk, just a run of the mill jerk. I sense it now, feel it as plainly as I feel the cool wind on my face. I continue to study his features, however, as a strange look clouds his features. It borders concern.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
Chris shakes his head slowly. “You know I did see your friend go into your locker.” He gazes at the ground, his stare distant as he recalls the details. “I thought it was odd. He closed his and opened yours. He had his ear to the lock, like he was listening for clicks the way bank robbers do in movies.” He looks up at me, the moonlight drawing shadows beneath his eyes that age him. “I mean, he’s a weird dude, but seeing him do that,” he wets his lips, “that was weirder than usual. That’s why I noticed.” He shrugs. “I didn’t think to question him. I just assumed you gave him your combination.”
Chris’ words float around like nebulous puzzle pieces, refusing to gel straightaway. “What friend?”
“The big guy.” Chris lifts his arm so that his hand is above his head, signifying that the person to whom he refers is even taller than he is. “Tom. That big guy Tom. The one that crashed Tyler’s party with you.”
Awareness snakes through my veins like an icy channel. But I resist it. I refuse to acknowledge what I know to be true deep down in the depths of my core. “Did he see you?” I ask, still deluding myself that I can cling to the hope that it’s a prank he’s playing.
The Dark One Page 12
