“You scared me to death!” I take a deep breath to get rid of the last of my fear and lean against my desk, my heart still thudding like crazy. “How did you get in?”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyebrow twitches higher. Her eyes are manic, wide and dark, her pupils dilated in twin black pools. An emotion I can’t place flickers across her face, and my question changes from how she got in to why.
“Hurry,” she whispers. The match burns down to her fingertips, and she shakes it out. A silver curl of smoke stretches to the ceiling. “I want to show you something.”
This has to be about Josh. I bet the others are waiting at the house for us, and we’ll spend the night eating ice cream and complaining to one another about what jerks guys are. My fear flips into relief.
I grab my sneakers, then push my bedroom door open. Riley follows silently. Once in the hallway I hesitate, glancing at my mom’s door. I motion for Riley to keep quiet as we start down the stairs.
We hurry out of my house, stopping for Riley to grab a pair of gray sneakers she’d hidden behind the potted plant on our front porch. She slides them onto her bare feet without untying them first, and we head down the street.
The wind slices through the sleeves of my sweater and coaxes goose bumps from my skin. I press my lips together to keep my teeth from chattering and pull my sweater over my hands. Despite Riley’s bare legs, she doesn’t shiver.
I notice a shadow crouched on the porch steps as we near the abandoned house: Grace. She looks plainer than I’ve ever seen her, in a black T-shirt, jeans, and faded sneakers. The hood of her giraffe-print sweatshirt hides her hair.
“Hey, Grace,” I say as I pass her on the steps.
“Hey,” she echoes hollowly. Her eyes don’t quite focus, and she doesn’t acknowledge Riley at all. You’d think she was the one whose boyfriend just cheated on her.
“Is she okay?” I ask. Riley pushes the front door open, and the two of us slip inside.
“Grace? Probably just tired. Come on—it’s this way.”
I ease the door shut behind me and realize a doorknob has been added where there wasn’t one before. Riley notices my confusion and pulls a key out of the pocket of her jeans. “Can never be too careful,” she says, as if that answers everything.
We walk past the living room, where the sleeping bags are rolled and stacked next to the pillows in a corner. None of the tea lights are lit, and it makes this place feel emptier than before. I realize how alone we are out here, with nothing but dirt and the skeletons of half-built houses surrounding us. Wind rattles the plastic at the windows. I imagine it rolling over miles of empty land to press against this house, and suddenly it seems strong enough to rip off walls.
“We’re going to the basement,” Riley says, opening a door I thought was a closet. I peer down the stairs, but I can’t see past the concrete wall below. The rest of the basement is dark.
“What’s down there?”
“A surprise,” Riley says. The first step creaks beneath her bare foot. She takes me by the arm. “Don’t be scared.”
I start down the stairs with her, focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Cold air creeps in through the concrete walls and floor, holding a damp scent of dust and something I can’t place. I wrinkle my nose as we make our way down. It smells metallic, like pennies.
There’s a muffled whimper deep in the basement, like someone crying into a pillow. I freeze on the bottom step.
“Riley . . .” I still can’t see past the concrete wall, and I suddenly want to keep it that way. But Riley tugs on my arm, her fingernails pricking the skin on my wrist. My feet move forward on their own.
“It’s okay, Sof,” she says, and I let her lead me around the corner.
The blue oil lamp from upstairs sits on a table near the far wall, casting a wedge of flickering light over the concrete. Alexis crouches over the lamp, messing with a lever on the side. There’s a flicker of movement, like an arm reaching out of the shadows behind her. I jerk my head around to stare, praying it was just a trick of the light.
The lamp’s tiny flame dances higher, illuminating Brooklyn’s crumpled body. Duct tape winds around her mouth and cheeks, plastering her short, sweaty hair to her head. She’s tied to a wooden pillar in the middle of the room, her arms pressed against her sides, and her legs trapped beneath her.
Fear rises in my chest, but I push it back down. This is a joke. They must’ve set it up to mess with me. I laugh nervously, but then Brooklyn raises her head and shakes the matted hair from her eyes. Her gaze shifts to mine, and it’s like I’ve been plunged in cold water. The fear in Brooklyn’s eyes is real.
“Riley.” My voice is hoarse, a whisper. “What did you do?”
“What did I do?” Riley’s voice hits the concrete like a slap. Brooklyn jerks at the sound, but her red eyes stay fixed on me. “We talked about this, Sofia.” Riley crosses the room to Alexis and picks up a black backpack. She reaches inside and pulls out a butcher knife. Brooklyn breathes in through her nose with a shaky sob, and I throw a hand over my mouth.
“Shit! Riley, why do you have that?”
“I’m going to get the evil out of her.” Riley turns the knife to catch the glare of the lamp. I glance back at Brooklyn. The ropes rubbed the skin around her wrists raw, and her hair’s drenched with sweat, but otherwise she’s unhurt. She mostly just looks scared. I exhale. There’s still time to fix this.
“Riley, give me the knife,” I say, holding out my hand. The blade distorts my reflection, making my forehead too long, my eyes beady pricks of black. I look like a monster.
“Don’t be silly, Sofia.” Riley pulls the knife to her side and wraps her fingers around it possessively. “We talked about this. You said we’re in this together.”
Riley’s delusional. We talked about helping her, not kidnapping her. Brooklyn hasn’t taken her eyes off the knife. Her face twists in fear, crinkling the edges of the duct tape. I start to cross the basement, but Alexis steps in front of me, blocking my way.
“Let me through,” I demand. Alexis crosses her arms over her chest and glances at Riley over my shoulder. Brooklyn shifts on the concrete behind her. The ropes binding her wrists tighten with a groan as she moves. “Alexis, we have to untie her!”
“This is for her own good, Sofia.” Riley steps up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder to prevent me from moving any closer to Brooklyn. A chill spreads from the tips of my fingers to the small of my back. “Alexis, did you pack everything?” Riley shifts the backpack in her arms, grimacing under its weight.
“I think so.” Alexis watches Riley from beneath the veil of her own pale white-blond hair. I can’t tell if she’s as freaked out as I am, but it’s obvious she’s not going to do anything to stop this.
“What’s in there?” I ask, eyeing the backpack.
“Very important supplies.” Riley unzips the bag and removes jars of water and salt, three bottles of wine, and a heavy, leather-bound Bible. She sets the items on the floor and reaches into the bag again. I expect more knives, but Riley pulls out a wooden cross.
Suddenly something clicks. “This is an exorcism.”
“Lexie taught me how to perform one,” Riley says. She sets the knife down on the floor and picks up the bottle of wine, yanking out the cork.
“We’re going to draw the demon out of Brooklyn,” Alexis explains. “Most priests use holy water or a cross, sometimes blessed salt.”
I decide to skip over the “demon” comment and move to the most obvious flaw in their plan. “But none of us is a priest.”
“We don’t need to be,” Alexis says. “That’s what I was telling Riley. Anyone can perform an exorcism as long as they’re filled with the Holy Spirit. And the more true believers you have with you the stronger you are. With you and Grace, we have four.”
“Don’t be scared, Sof,” Riley says, taki
ng a drink of wine. “This’ll be fun.”
I nod woodenly. None of their supplies are too terrible, aside from the knife. Maybe they’ll just throw some water at Brooklyn and chant for a while. They probably only brought the knife to freak her out—punishment for screwing around with Josh. I breathe in deeply, trying to calm my nerves. This could still be okay.
But then I glance up, meeting Brooklyn’s red-rimmed eyes. Her shoulders rise and fall in silent sobs and sweat, and tears mingle with her eyeliner, sending thick black lines streaming down her face. This isn’t a prank. Riley didn’t say she wanted to punish Brooklyn—she said she wanted to save her, and for some reason that involves a knife and holding a girl prisoner in the basement.
“I can’t do this,” I say. I ease my foot off the floor and move it behind me, slowly backing toward the staircase. My legs are so numb I worry I might collapse. “I have to go.”
I turn and stumble toward the staircase without waiting for Riley to answer. When I reach the concrete wall, I break into a run, my shoes slipping against the steps. My brain is moving too quickly, telling me I’m overreacting, that nothing’s wrong. At the same time my palms start to sweat and my knees shake. My body wants to get as far away from here as possible.
Once I’m through the basement door, time speeds up. My heart pounds in my ears, making it impossible to think. I tear through the kitchen, moving so quickly I smack an arm against the doorframe and stumble into the hall, landing hard on my knees. Pain shoots up my legs. But I grit my teeth and push myself to my feet and run.
The shadows in the living room seem to reach for me as I race past. I glance outside when I get to the front door, but Grace isn’t on the porch anymore. I don’t stop to think about where she might’ve gone. My hands tremble so badly the doorknob rattles as I work the lock, but, finally, my fingers manage to twist the deadbolt. I turn the knob and pull.
The door doesn’t budge. I pull harder. The knob turns easily, but the door itself stays firmly shut. Finally, I glance up. There’s a lock screwed into the doorframe, held shut with a heavy, metal padlock.
“Shit.” My voice is barely a whisper, but it seems to boom around me. I think of what Riley said when I saw the new doorknob. Can never be too careful.
I stumble back down the hall, pulling open the first door I see. It’s a bedroom, with two windows on the far wall. I race across the room and feel for the edge of the window with my fingers. My hand brushes against metal. My heart sinks.
Nails line the window frame, sealing it shut. Some are driven deep into the wood, and some are long and crooked, jutting awkwardly out of the frame. A single bent nail lies on the sill, next to a wobbly sketch of a heart that someone etched into the wood.
For a long moment I just stare at the nails, trying to keep myself from hyperventilating or dissolving into tears. Riley isn’t crazy enough to lock us all in here, to nail the windows shut so we can’t leave. But even as this thought occurs to me, I know it’s exactly what she’s done. I’m trapped here with her—we all are.
My legs shake as I move backward. I start opening doors at random, desperately searching for an exit Riley might have missed. My breathing gets more ragged as I run from one empty room to another. I claw at the nails in the windowsills until my fingers bleed, but they don’t budge. Riley must’ve used a nail gun.
Finally I stumble into a bathroom. There’s only one window here, the kind you crank with a lever to open. There aren’t nails sticking out of the frame. I release a shaky, desperate sob.
I grip the lever with both hands. The plastic notch digs into my skin as I yank it around and around. The window jerks and starts, opening at an angle and letting cold air seep into the bathroom. Clouds hide the moon, leaving the night perfectly dark. Cicadas buzz in the grass.
I stop cranking once there’s a gap wide enough for me to climb through. The cicadas sound louder, but maybe that’s just because my heartbeat has slowed. I’m going to make it. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to call the cops. Wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I lean forward, knuckles white as I wrap my fingers around the sill.
A hand slaps the outside of the glass, slamming the window shut on my fingers.
Bright, hot pain rips through my hands. I cry out and try to pull away, but the window pins my fingers in place. The clouds move, bathing Riley in moonlight.
She studies me with those gray eyes, then leans into the window with her shoulder, pressing it against my fingers.
“Can’t let you leave now, Sof.” Riley moves away from the glass, and the window swings open. I snatch my hands away, my breathing ragged. Blood oozes around my knuckles and drips down my wrist, staining the sleeves of my cardigan.
“Clean yourself up,” Riley says. “We’re just getting started.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I drop to my knees on the cold bathroom floor and fumble for the roll of toilet paper next to the toilet, clumsily mopping up the blood dripping from my fingers. I open my hand, then close it again, testing. Nothing’s broken.
Someone pounds at the door. “Hurry up, Sof.” The wood muffles Riley’s voice. “We’re waiting.”
I take two deep breaths. My lungs burn and my head feels dizzy. It’s just Riley. Riley, who gossiped with me about boys while drinking red wine. Riley, who insisted I eat with her after finding that dead cat. She’s not crazy—she just snapped. The real Riley’s still in there.
Besides, I can’t stay in the bathroom forever. I lick my thumb and wipe the blood from my knuckles. Then I push the door open.
The moonlight from the bathroom window illuminates Riley’s narrow shoulders and long, skinny arms. She cocks her head, and her dark curls pool on one shoulder. She looks just like a doll.
“Go back to the basement,” she says. “I need to take care of that.”
She nods at the bathroom. She’s holding a nail gun. She pushes past me to nail the last remaining exit in this house shut.
“Riley, think about this,” I say. Riley turns. She doesn’t smile, but the creases around her eyes and mouth soften. She takes my hand, squeezing just above my wrist.
“I know you’re scared, Sofia,” she says. “I know that’s why you tried to run. But if you’re not with me, you’re against me.”
She tightens her grip, just enough to pinch the skin at my wrist. I cringe and pull my arm away.
“I’m with you,” I say, glancing down at the nail gun.
“Good,” Riley says. “Now go.”
Shadows stretch across the hallway, making it hard to see where I’m going. I find a light switch in the kitchen and flip it on and then off, but nothing happens. Cursing, I push the basement door open, gripping for the banister in the dark. I feel for the top step with the toe of my sneaker.
Grace peeks around the concrete wall, hovering at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you coming down?”
“Grace,” I say, relieved. Shadows hide her face, so I picture the hollow, unfocused expression she wore on the porch. Alexis will side with Riley no matter what, but Grace is different. She can’t think what’s going on down there is okay. “I think Riley . . .”
The basement door opens behind me, cutting me off. I turn.
Riley steps onto the staircase. Only the outline of her narrow body is visible in the dim light. She pulls the door shut, and something metallic thumps against the wood. I shift my eyes to the door, noticing a thick padlock attached to the frame.
“What is that?”
“Riley put it up,” Grace says.
“We don’t want anyone sneaking in on us,” Riley adds.
I blink against the darkness. She clicks the lock closed, then slips the key into her pocket. She’s not locking everyone else out; she’s locking us in.
“Hurry up, girls,” Riley says, starting down the stairs. “We have work to do.”
Grace shuffles farther into the basemen
t without a word. I follow, but every time I place my foot on a creaky step a new image flashes through my head: first the backpack filled with wine and holy water, then the windows nailed shut, and now the brand-new padlock attached to the door. It must’ve taken days to do all this, weeks maybe. I picture Riley nailing the upstairs window shut seconds before we all arrived at the house to drink wine and gossip about Josh, Riley stopping at the hardware store to buy a new padlock on the afternoon I walked to the tattoo parlor with Brooklyn. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Alexis is crouched next to Brooklyn, whispering. She glances up as the three of us approach and pushes her wispy hair behind one ear. She’s surrounded Brooklyn with flickering candles. She motions to the one she’s still holding.
“I read that demons are afraid of fire,” she says, blinking her wide eyes.
“Good plan, Lexie,” Riley coos. “It’s like we’re surrounding her with a circle of light, to pull her away from the darkness.”
Riley squeezes my shoulder. “Yeah, good thinking,” I add, and she beams at me.
Alexis puts the last candle down on the floor and stands. “We’re all here now. We should get started.”
She reaches for my hand while Riley takes the other one. Together with Grace we form a semicircle around Brooklyn. I don’t want to look at her, but I don’t have a choice, so I lift my eyes.
A sweaty strand of white-blond hair hangs over Brooklyn’s face, fluttering around her nose every time she exhales. Thick black eyeliner runs down her cheeks like tears. I tighten my grip on Riley’s hand. We just have to get through the exorcism. This could still be okay.
“We have to be right with God before we can begin,” Alexis explains. Brooklyn shifts her combat boot–covered foot. The sole screeches over the concrete floor. “If we want him to drive the demon away, we have to confess our own sins and ask for his forgiveness.”
An uneasy silence stretches between us, broken only by the flames licking the candlewicks. I’m not sure I want to know their sins.
“I guess I’ll go first,” Grace says, fumbling with her sweatshirt zipper. She stares at her sneakers while she speaks, like she’s telling her story to them instead of us. “I need a scholarship in order to afford a good college, so I have to get perfect grades. Calculus has been kicking my butt, though, and last week I stole some of my little brother’s Ritalin. He has ADD, and the pills are supposed to help him concentrate. I figured they’d be good for studying.”
The Merciless Page 7