My heart started to pound so hard it hurt. What was he doing?
He raised the bottle to his lips, still watching me, and I dropped my eyes for a split-second, embarrassment heating my cheeks.
He’d seen the whole episode with Trevor. Dammit.
I looked up again, seeing his light brown hair that was styled to look like he should be on the cover of a magazine, and his hazel eyes, that always looked like cider with flecks of spice. They seemed darker than they actually were, hidden in the shadows, but they pierced me under straight brows that slanted inward, making him look just as formidable as he was. His full lips held no hint of a smile, and his tall frame nearly consumed his chair.
He wore black pants with a black suit jacket, and his white shirt was open at the collar. No tie, because, as usual, he did what he wanted.
And that’s all anyone could ever go on with Michael. How he appeared. How he looked. I didn’t think his parents even knew what was happening behind those eyes.
I watched him rise out of his chair and drop the basketball into the seat, keeping his eyes on me as he walked over.
The closer he got, the taller his six feet four inches looked. Michael was lean but muscular, and he made me feel small. In many ways. He looked like he was walking straight for me, and my heart hammered in my chest as I narrowed my eyes, bracing myself.
But he didn’t stop.
The faint hint of his body wash hit me as he passed by, and I turned my head, my chest aching as he walked out the solarium doors without a word.
I folded my lips between my teeth, fighting the burn in my eyes.
One night, he’d noticed me. One night, three years ago, Michael saw something in me and liked it. And just when the fire was starting to kindle, ready to flare and burst apart in a flood of flames, it folded. It tucked its rage and heat away and contained it.
I shot off, heading back into the house, through the foyer, and out the front door, anger and frustration chewing at every nerve in my body as I headed to my car.
Other than that one night, he’d ignored me most of my life, and when he did speak to me, it was clipped.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and climbed into my car. I hoped I wouldn’t see him in Meridian City. I hoped we never crossed paths and I never had to hear about him.
I wondered if he even knew I was moving there. It didn’t matter, though. Even in the same house, I may as well be on a different planet than him.
Starting the car, 37 Stitches by Drowning Pool poured through the speakers, and I accelerated down the long driveway, pushing the clicker to open the gate. I sped out onto the road. My house was only a few minutes away and an easy walk I’d made many times in my life.
I forced deep breaths, trying to calm down. Twelve hours. Tomorrow I’d leave everything behind.
The high stone walls of the Crist estate ended, giving way to trees lining the road. And within less than a minute, the gas lamp posts of my home appeared, lighting the night. Veering left, I clicked another button on my visor and inched my Tesla through the gate, seeing the outside lamps cast a soft glow around the circular driveway with a large marble fountain sitting in the center.
Parking my car in front of the house, I hurried to my front door, just wanting to crawl in bed until it was tomorrow.
But then I glanced up, doing a double-take at seeing a candle burning in my bedroom window.
What?
I hadn’t been home since late this morning. And I certainly hadn’t left a candle burning. It was ivory-colored and sitting in a glass hurricane candleholder.
Walking to the front door, I unlocked it and stepped inside.
“Mom?” I called out.
She had texted earlier, saying she was going to bed, but it wasn’t unusual for her to have trouble sleeping. She might still be up.
The familiar scent of lilacs drifted through my nose from the fresh flowers she kept in the house, and I looked around the large foyer, the white marble floor appearing gray in the darkness.
I leaned against the stairs, looking up the flights into the three stories of eerie silence above. “Mom?” I called out again.
Rounding the white bannister, I jogged up the stairs to the second floor and turned left, my footsteps going silent as they fell on the ivory-and-blue rugs covering the hardwood floors.
Opening my mother’s door slowly, I crept in, seeing the room in near darkness except for the bathroom light she always left on. Walking over to her bed, I craned my neck, trying to see her face, which was turned toward the windows.
Her blonde hair lay across her pillow, and I reached out my hand, smoothing it away from her face.
The rise and fall of her body told me she was asleep, and I glanced to her nightstand, seeing the half-dozen pill bottles and wondering what she’d taken and how much.
I looked back down at her and frowned.
Doctors, in-home rehab, therapy… Over the years since my father’s death, nothing had worked. My mother just wanted to self-destruct with sorrow and depression.
Thankfully the Crists helped a lot, which was why I had my own room at their house. Not only was Mr. Crist the trustee for my father’s estate, handing everything until I graduated from college, but Mrs. Crist stepped in to be a second-mother.
I was immensely grateful for all their help and care over the years, but now… I was ready to take over. I was ready to stop having people take care of me.
Turning around, I left her room and quietly closed the door, heading for my own room two doors down.
Stepping in, I immediately spotted the candle burning by the window.
With my heart skipping a beat, I quickly glanced around the room, thankfully seeing no one else.
Had my mother lit it? She must have. Our housekeeper was off duty today, so no one else had been here.
Narrowing my eyes, I inched toward the window, and then my gaze fell, seeing a thin wooden crate sitting on the small round table next to the candle.
Unease set in. Had Trevor left me a present?
But it could’ve been my mother or Mrs. Crist, too, I guessed.
I removed the lid and set it aside, peeling away the straw and catching the sight of slate gray metal with ornate carvings.
My eyes rounded, and I immediately dived for the top of the crate, knowing what I was going to find. I curled my fingers around the handle and smiled, pulling out a heavy steel Damascus blade.
“Wow.”
I shook my head, unable to believe it. The dagger had a black grip with a bronze crossguard, and I tightened my hand around it, holding up the blade and looking at the lines and carvings.
Where the hell had this come from?
I’d loved daggers and swords ever since I started fencing at age eight. My father preached that the arts of a gentleman were not only timeless but necessary. Chess would teach me strategy, fencing would teach me human nature and self-preservation, and dancing would teach me my body. All necessary for a well-rounded person.
I gripped the hilt, remembering the first time he’d put a fencing foil in my hand. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I reached up, running a finger along the scar on my neck, suddenly feeling closer to him again.
Who had left it here?
Peering back into the box, I pulled out a small piece of paper with black writing. Licking my lips, I read the words silently. Beware the fury of a patient man.
“What?” I said to myself, pinching my eyebrows together in confusion.
What did that mean?
But then I glanced up, gasping as I dropped the blade and the note to the floor.
I stopped breathing, my heart trying to break through my chest.
Three men stood outside my house, side by side, staring up at me through the window.
“What the hell?” I breathed out, trying to figure out what was going on.
Was this a joke?
They stood completely motionless, and I felt a chill spread up my arms at how they just stared at
me.
What were they doing?
All three wore jeans and black combat boots, but as I stared into the black void of their eyes, I clenched my teeth together to keep my body from shaking.
The masks. The black hoodies and the masks.
I shook my head. No. It couldn’t be them. This was a joke.
The tallest stood on the left, wearing a slate-gray metallic-looking mask with claw marks deforming the right side of his face.
The one in the middle was shorter, looking up at me through his white-and-black mask with a red stripe running down the left side of his face, which was also ripped and gouged.
And the one on my right, whose completely black mask blended with his black hoodie, so that you couldn’t tell exactly where his eyes were, was the one who finally made my chest shake.
I backed up, away from the window and tried to catch my breath as I dashed for my phone. Pressing 1 on the landline, I waited for the security office, which sat only minutes down the road, to pick up.
“Mrs. Fane?” a man answered.
“Mr. Ferguson?” I breathed out, inching back over to my windows. “It’s Rika. Could you send a car up to—?”
But then I stopped, seeing that the driveway was now empty. They were gone.
What?
I darted my eyes left and then right, getting right up to the table and leaning over to see if they were near the house. Where the hell did they go?
I remained silent, listening for any sign of anyone around the house, but everything was still and quiet.
“Miss Fane?” Mr. Ferguson called. “Are you still there?”
I opened my mouth, stammering, “I…I thought I saw something…outside my windows.”
“We’re sending a car up now.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”And I hung up the phone, still staring out the window.
It couldn’t be them.
But those masks. They were the only ones who wore those masks.
Why would they come here? After three years, why would they come here?
Three Years Ago
“NOAH?” I FELL BACK, leaning against the wall next to my best friend’s locker as he retrieved a book between classes. “Do you have a date for Winterfest?”
He scrunched up his face. “That’s like two months away, Rika.”
“I know. I’m getting in while the getting’s good.”
He smiled, slamming his locker shut and leading the way down the hall. “So you’re asking me on a date then?” he teased in his cocky voice. “I knew you always wanted me.”
I rolled my eyes, following him, since my classroom was in the same direction. “Could you make this easier, please?”
But all I heard was his snort.
Winterfest was a dance like Sadie Hawkins. Girls ask guys, and I wanted to take the safe route by asking a friend.
Students scurried around us, rushing to their classes, and I held the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“Please?” I pleaded.
But he narrowed his eyes, looking worried. “Are you sure Trevor’s not going to kick my ass? Judging from the way he’s on you all the time, I’m surprised he hasn’t GPS’d you.”
That was a good point. Trevor would be mad I wasn’t asking him, but I only wanted friendship, and he wanted more. I didn’t want to lead him on.
I guessed I could chalk up my disinterest in Trevor to knowing him my entire life—he was too familiar, kind of like family—but I’d also known his older brother my entire life, and my feelings for him weren’t at all familial.
“Come on. Be a buddy,” I urged, nudging his shoulder. “I need you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He stopped at my next class, which was on the way to his, and spun around, pinning me with a hard look. “Rika, if you don’t want to ask Trevor, then ask someone else.”
I let out a sigh and averted my eyes, sick of this conversation.
“You’re asking me, because it’s safe,” he argued. “You’re beautiful, and any guy would be thrilled to go out with you.”
“Of course they would be.” I smiled sarcastically. “So say yes then.”
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at me.
Noah liked to draw conclusions about me. About why I never dated or why he thought I shied away from this or that, and as good of a friend as he was, I wished he’d stop already. I just didn’t feel comfortable.
I reached up, rubbing a nervous hand over my neck—over the pale, thin scar I got when I was thirteen.
In the car accident that killed my father.
I saw him watching me, and I dropped my hand, knowing what he was thinking.
The scar ran diagonally, about two inches long, on the left side of my neck, and although it had faded with time, I still felt like it was the first thing people noticed about me. There were always questions and pitiful expressions from family and friends, not to mention the jerk comments I got in junior high from girls laughing at me. After a while, it started to feel like an appendage, big and something I was always aware of.
“Rika,” he lowered his voice, his brown eyes gentle, “baby, you’re beautiful. Long blonde hair, legs that no guy in this school can ignore, and the prettiest blue eyes in town. You’re gorgeous.”
The one minute bell rang, and I shifted in my flats, gripping the strap of my bag tighter.
“And you’re my favorite person,” I retorted. “I want to go with you. Okay?”
He sighed, a defeated look crossing his face. I’d won, and I fought not to smile.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “It’s a date.” And then he spun around, heading for English 3.
I grinned, my nerves immediately relaxing. I was no doubt taking Noah away from a promising night with another girl, so I’d have to do something to make it up to him.
Walking into Pre-Calculus, I hooked my bag on the back of my chair in the front row and pulled out my book, setting it on the desk. My friend Claudia planted herself in the seat next to me, meeting my eyes and smiling, and I immediately sat down and started writing my name on the blank piece of paper that Mr. Fitzpatrick had set down on everyone’s desk. Friday classes always started with a pop quiz, so we knew the drill.
Students hurried into the room, the girls’ green and blue plaid skirts swaying, and most of the boys’ ties already loosened. It was nearly the end of the day.
“Did you hear the news?” someone said behind us, and I jerked my head around to see Gabrielle Owens leaning over her desktop.
“What news?” Claudia asked.
She lowered her voice to a whisper, excitement crossing her face. “They’re here,” she told us.
I glanced at Claudia and then back at Gabrielle, confused. “Who’s here?”
But then Mr. Fitzpatrick came in, booming in his large voice, “Take a seat everyone!”, and Claudia, Gabrielle, and I immediately faced the front of the room and straightened, ending our conversation.
“Please sit down, Mr. Dawson,” the teacher instructed to a student in the back as he came to stand behind his desk.
They’re here? I leaned back in my chair, trying to figure out what she meant. But then I looked up, spotting a girl jogging to the front of the room and handing Mr. Fitzpatrick a note.
“Thank you,” he responded, opening it up.
I watched him read it and saw his expression turn from relaxed to agitated, his lips pressing together and his eyebrows narrowing.
What was going on?
They’re here. What did that…?
But then my eyes widened and flutters hit my stomach.
THEY’RE HERE. I opened my mouth, sucking in a quick breath, fire and fever making my skin tingle. Butterflies filled my stomach, and I clenched my teeth, holding back the smile that wanted loose.
He’s here.
I raised my eyes slowly, looking at the clock and seeing that it was nearly two in the afternoon.
And it was October thirtieth, the night before Halloween.
Devil’s Night.
They were back. But why? They’d already graduated—more than a year ago, so why now?
“Please make sure you have your name on your paper,” Mr. Fitzpatrick instructed, an edge to his voice, “and solve the three problems on the board.” He switched on the projector, not wasting any time as the problems flashed on the Smartboard ahead of us.
“Turn it face down when you’re finished,” he called out. “You have ten minutes.”
I gripped the pencil, my entire body buzzing with nerves and anticipation as I tried to concentrate on the first problem dealing with quadratic functions.
But it was fucking hard. I glanced at the clock again. Any minute…
I bowed my head and forced myself to focus, my pencil digging into the wooden desk underneath as I blinked my eyes, bringing them into focus on my task. “Find the vertex of the parabola,” I whispered to myself.
I quickly worked through the problem, moving from one thing to the other, knowing that if I stopped for a second, I’d be distracted.
If the vertex of the parabola has coordinates…I kept going.
The graph of a quadratic function is a parabola, which opens up if…
And I kept working, finishing one, two, and moving through number three.
But then I heard soft music, and I instantly froze.
My pencil hovered over my work as the sound of a faint guitar riff drifted through the loudspeakers. It got louder and louder, and I stared at my paper, heat stirring inside my chest.
Whispers sounded around the room, followed by a few excited giggles, and then the soft beginning of the song over the speakers gave way to a violent onslaught of drums, guitars, and a fast, sharp, heart-pounding mania. I tightened my fingers around my pencil.
Slipknot’s The Devil In I blared through the classroom—and, I assumed, the rest of the school, as well.
“I told you!” Gabrielle burst out.
I popped my head up, watching as students raced out of their seats for the door.
“Are they really here?” someone damn-near squealed.
Everyone crowded around the classroom door, peering out the small window at the top, trying to catch a glimpse of them coming down the hallway. But I stayed in my seat, adrenaline rippling through my body.
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