Chapter 27
Sick Satisfaction
(Olivia)
I stare at the blood caked all over Mason’s hand, angry and concerned at the same time. I’m not sure what the black gunk is smeared in patches across his arms, but it’s pretty apparent Mason was out doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. I want to walk away, make him deal with his cut up hand on his own, but I just can’t do it.
“What happened?” I demand.
“Uh …” He looks down at his hand. I can tell he is choosing his words carefully, which only makes me madder.
“Where were you?” I snap.
Mason finally looks up at me. “Spying on the Sentinels.”
“What?”
How did he figure out where the Sentinels were in order to spy on them? Why didn’t he tell me? Why would he do something so stupid and risky? A dozen other questions start flying through my mind. They jumble and stick, keeping me from uttering a single one of them.
My hand rubs across my forehead slowly. The desire to walk away is compelling. I know he’d never be able to bandage up his hand on his own, and as angry as I am with him right now, I still can’t bear to leave him in pain.
Shoving him toward the stairs, I say, “You talk, I’ll bandage. And you better tell me everything.”
“I will,” Mason says quietly.
At the top of the stairs, we both freeze. Suddenly, I can’t stand the thought of being in the bathroom with him again. I could barely handle coming in here this morning on my own. I reach for the door handle, but I can’t do it, not with him standing next to me.
“Go down to the kitchen,” I command. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Mason nods wordlessly and makes a beeline for the stairs. My breath shudders out of me shakily, painfully. Determined to not be a wimp, I reach for the door knob. That’s as far as I get for a few minutes. I feel like an idiot. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to cry over Mason again. Fighting back every emotion, I shove the door open and dig through the cabinet desperately. I’m not even sure I got everything I need when I dart back down the stairs, but I don’t care.
When I round the corner to the kitchen Mason is standing at the sink trying to rinse off his injured hand. He winces as he gently rubs away the clotted blood around the cut. Not running over to him kills me. At the same time, seeing him in pain gives me a kind of sick satisfaction. I don’t help him.
As he finishes washing his hand, I open the kit and sort through the bottles and ointments I grabbed for some hydrogen peroxide and antibacterial cream. I’m so focused on not thinking about Mason, I jump when he sits down next to me. He doesn’t say a word as he lays his hand palm-down on a towel. I grimace at the cut running from his middle knuckle across his hand to just below where his thumb connects with his wrist. The flesh around the cut is red and swollen.
“How long ago did you cut this?” If it had just happened it wouldn’t look so agitated yet.
“About an hour ago,” Mason mumbles.
Staring at him angrily, I say, “Then why didn’t you come clean it up?”
“I couldn’t. I had to wait for the other Sentinels to show up.”
“What?” I demand. Then shaking my head, I hold up a hand. “Start from the beginning.”
The clippity-clop of Evie bounding down the stairs momentarily distracts us both. She skids to a stop just inside the kitchen door. Her eyes pop open wide at the scene before her. “What’s with all the bandages? Is Mason hurt?”
“Cut his hand,” I say curtly.
Evie plops down on the stool behind Mason. “How?”
“That’s what he was just about to tell me,” I snap.
Evie shuts her mouth and places a hand on Mason’s shoulder—once she finds it. She jabs him in the ear first, which almost makes me laugh.
I dump hydrogen peroxide over Mason’s cut, making him groan, and say, “Start talking.”
“After you were attacked in the park, I suspected the Sentinels were watching you more closely than we realized. They must have followed you to the park that night. I didn’t remember seeing any cars lurking around, so I wondered if they were using something else, a house maybe, or a camera somewhere.”
“So you decided to go hunt them down?” I ask.
Evie frowns. “Mason, that wasn’t safe. What if they spotted you, or felt you or whatever?”
“I kept my distance,” Mason argues. He glances down at his hand. The guilt in his expression warns me that he’s hiding something.
“Well, did you find them?” Evie asks.
Mason nods. “There was a car parked down the street. He was far enough away not to be noticeable right away, but he was definitely watching the house.” Mason pauses and takes a deep breath. “He wasn’t the only one, though.”
As I smear antibiotic ointment over Mason’s cut, my whole body tenses up. Whatever he’s about to say is not going to be good. I want to slap Mason every time I see him, but that still doesn’t mean I want to lose him.
“I messed around under the lookout car and pulled out some wires so it wouldn’t start. That’s how I cut up my hand,” Mason says gesturing at his now goo-covered hand. “I figured when he tried to start it he’d have to call someone when it didn’t work. Who better to call than another Sentinel.”
“Did it work?” Evie asks anxiously.
Mason nods slowly. “Yeah. Some other guy drove up and tried to help him. I have pictures, but that wasn’t what really freaked me out.” Mason flinches as I set a large piece of gauze over his cut. “Have either of you seen the Dewalts in a while?” Mason asks.
Evie and I both stare at him, confused by this sudden change in topics. We both shake our heads. I haven’t seen them in a few weeks. They’re fairly homebound because of their poor health, so it’s not like anyone would really notice if they weren’t seen for a few days at a time.
“I haven’t either,” Mason says looking pained. “When the first guy couldn’t fix the car, they called someone else… and he came out of the Dewalt’s house.”
“What?” I demand.
Mason nods. “I think they’re keeping tabs on us from the Dewalt’s house.”
“What happened to the Dewalts?” Evie asks. His pale skin looks a bit green.
“I don’t know,” Mason says, “but I’m afraid it might not be good.”
“We have to tell Mom and Dad.”
Evie nods. “Maybe Mom can call their daughter and ask her if they’re alright. Say we hadn’t seen them in a little while and were worried.
“That’s a good idea,” I say. Walking over and knocking on their door is out of the question, even for Mom or Dad. A phone call could at least give us an idea whether or not they’re alive still. I don’t know them very well, but it makes me sick to think they might have been hurt by these disgusting Sentinels.
Looking up at Mason, I ask, “You said you had pictures. Where are they?”
Now Mason is the one who looks green. “I, uh… check my phone, but I’m not sure if they’re on there yet.”
“Yet?” Evie asks. Her forehead wrinkles, because that makes no sense at all. If he took pictures, why wouldn’t they be on there already?
Evie holds out her hand for Mason’s phone. He won’t look at her as he hands it over. I watch, suspicious, as she taps through several screens in search of pictures. “There’s nothing here,” she complains.
The sudden buzzing of the phone nearly makes her drop it. The bizarre thing is, it keeps buzzing, and buzzing, and buzzing. Mason’s head drops to his chest. “Check the text messages,” he mumbles.
Still confused, Evie taps again. I don’t understand why her face screws up in disgust. She looks ready to either throw the phone or hit Mason. She does neither, although depending on what she says, I may not have stopped her from doing the latter.
“Texts from Robin,” Evie says with a sour expression. “They’re pictures of t
he Sentinels you were watching, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah,” Mason says.
From Robin? The tape I was holding snaps down on Mason’s hand painfully. He hisses, but doesn’t say anything. I yank my hands away from him and hold my hand out for the phone. Evie hands it over dutifully. I don’t look at Mason as I flip through the pictures.
The blue sedan isn’t the same one we saw watching the house that first time. The guy sitting in it means nothing to me. His average brown hair and eyes match his rather average physique and looks. He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, which I suppose is the point. I keep jabbing at the pictures, moving on to the next one.
The next guy who shows up in another car is only slightly more memorable. His dark hair is cut stylishly and his blue eyes are something that would catch a girl’s eye. Other than that, I don’t think I’d remember him five minutes after I saw him. His car doesn’t look familiar either. That makes me a little sick, because it means there are more of these creeps somewhere.
When I scroll down to the next picture, I gasp and drop the phone on the counter. The blond hair and green eyes staring up at me knock the breath right out of my body. Flashbacks of the night I was attacked skitter through my mind. I wouldn’t have even needed to see the scar to know it was him. I don’t realize Evie and Mason are crowding around me until Evie reaches in and snatches the phone up off the counter.
“No way!” she shrieks. “I know this guy!”
“You do?” Mason and I both demand.
Evie nods frantically. “He was here last week. He fixed the dishwasher. Remember it wasn’t draining and Mom called the repair place? This is the guy that showed up to fix it!”
“Are you sure?” Mason asks.
“Positive,” Evie says, still shaking her head. “He gave me the willies, and that scar isn’t something you forget.”
She drops the phone like it’s contagious when I hold out my hand for it. I set the phone down in front of Mason. “That’s the guy that attacked me in the park.”
Mason looks up at me, his face ashen. He doesn’t question me. His head falls into his hands. “That’s the guy that came out of the Dewalt’s house,” he says. The agony dripping off each word makes my hands shake. “He’s over there right now.”
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