The way Sarah did.
The mental correction makes my hands clench into fists.
“No school?” Chloe tries.
“It’s Saturday.”
“Oh. Right.” A floorboard creeks and I picture her there, hovering in the doorway shifting from foot to foot as she hunts for something else to say. “I forgot.”
I sigh and toss the covers back. “What am I supposed to do?”
“What?” Chloe shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my cover is gone. The person that shielded me best is no longer an option. Am I supposed to mourn and wail publicly? How long until I can find someone else to act as a blind?”
Chloe’s face tightens up as though she doesn’t understand. “You want to replace Sarah?”
“I have to if I want to hunt. How long is it appropriate before I can make a new best friend?”
Chloe is looking at me as though she’s never seen me before. “Nic, Sarah just died last night. She’s not even in the ground yet.” She says it in such a way that it’s as though she’s explaining the reality of the situation to me for the first time.
“Right, so after the funeral then.” I sigh and flop back onto the bed.
Her head starts going back and forth. “You aren’t this cold, Nic. Not even you could be so heartless.”
There’s a dry burn behind my eyes, as though the sockets have turned to sandpaper. “You know what I am.”
Nicneven. Aiden’s voice echoes in my thoughts.
Chloe huffs out a breath. “Right, well. I was going to stay home in case....
” She trails off.
In case what? I want to talk? In case I totally lose the shit I’m clinging to by a thread of fraying sanity?
“But since you’re fine, I’ll just go into the office.” Her voice comes out dry and raspy.
“See you later.” I pull the covers up over my head and wait.
There’s a long silence. It’s the watchfulness of a predator. No, not a predator, a parent animal, one worrying over the well-being of its offspring. A pregnant pause.
Then, mercifully, her footsteps retreat down the hall. Thirty seconds later the front door opens and then shuts with a good amount of force.
I throw the covers back but don’t bother getting up. What’s the point? I have nowhere to be, no one to hunt. It’s expected that I mope and grieve and pull away from the rest of the world like a normal teenager would after her best friend dies.
Dies. It sounds so final. How come I’ve never thought of that before? Of death as being final? I’ve always seen it as getting rid of a problem, like setting out ant traps in the spring. I’ve seen their little corpses, all stuck in the gluey bait, writhing. Did Sarah writhe when her POS car wrapped around a fallen tree?
No. Addy made a point to tell me that Sarah had died instantly. Her neck broken, her spinal cord severed. No suffering, no understanding that the end is closing in, like my victims. Just here one second and gone the next.
Gone. My stomach turns over. It doesn’t feel right, that Sarah who loved to dance and fuck and eat like there is no tomorrow is just...no more.
And yet here I am. So full of nothing, consuming oxygen one breath at a time.
I roll over, look back at the clock. Fourteen hours, that’s how long ago it had happened. What had she been doing, racing back here in the middle of that storm? Didn’t she have enough sense to wait it out? She’d been near enough that the aunts had heard the sirens, had gone to investigate what had happened.
Had seen her body being pried from the wreckage.
Why didn’t she answer her phone when I’d called? Had it been off or just out of reach?
“What the hell were you thinking, you stupid slag?” I mutter. Probably drinking. I got on her ass about the drinking and driving more than once, told her it was stupid, that she’d kill someone, never dreaming my words would be so prophetic.
Tired of the same useless thoughts that’ve been taking up space in my fuzzy brain for hours, I force my legs to swing over the side of the bed, my feet to hold up my weight as they hit the chill floor. The cold is a small bite of discomfort and I welcome it. Anything to help keep me grounded.
I shuffle to the bathroom and use the facilities by rote. I don’t meet my eyes in the mirror as I wash my hands, then head to the kitchen.
The coffee maker is off, but it must be only just, because steam seeps skyward like a dragon lying in wait. I pour the dregs of the pot into a mug. Though I usually take it with cream and sugar, I can’t be bothered to retrieve either. The brew is strong. I swallow it one gulp after the next, dreading the last one because I don’t know what comes next.
My phone rings, not Hamster Dance, thank fuck. No, it’s the generic ringtone for people that don’t call me on a regular basis. Someone, not me, bothered to charge it and it sits coiled by the electrical umbilicus that gives it life.
I unplug the phone and turn it face side up. The number is local, but unfamiliar. Maybe a wrong number? I could ignore the call, but then I’d need to find something else to occupy my mind. Better to roll the dice.
“What?” My vocal cords are stiff. The word comes out sounding thin and reedy. I clear my throat and try again.
“Nic?” The male voice on the other end is hesitant, as though afraid he’s disturbing me.
“Glen?” I ask even though I’m sure.
“Yeah. Did you hear?”
Another swallow before I manage to burp up a, “Yeah.”
“I can’t believe it,” Glen says.
My lip has curled up in an involuntary sneer. “So, what? I’m supposed to cry on your shoulder? Or do you plan on crying on mine, maybe coping a feel while you’re at it?”
“I...I...I...,” he stutters.
“Spit it out,” I growl.
“I was just wondering if you heard if they found her stepfather.”
Everything stops. I hang onto the silence as though it’s a solid thing. One deep breath, another and then a third, slow on the exhale. Glen, probably out of some dormant sense of self-preservation holds his tongue.
“Her stepfather is missing? Since when?”
“Last night. I just happened to be looking out my window—”
“You were spying on her,” I supply.
He doesn’t deny it. “And I saw Sarah run out of her house and get in her car. Joe was right behind her. He tried to get in the car after her, but she’d locked herself in.”
There’s a roaring in my ears. “What happened next?”
“She took off. I think she might have run over his foot, because he was limping when he went for his truck.”
“He drove off after her? Like he was chasing her?”
“I don’t know. He just left after her.”
“Was her mother’s car there?”
“No. She was working last night. She works every Friday night.”
Meaning Sarah had been alone with her predatory stepfather. “And he’s still not back.” I prod Glen, wanting to make sure I get all the information.
“I’m looking at her house right now. Her mom’s there and her older sister. No sign of his pickup.”
For the first time in my life, I want to kiss someone and wish it wouldn’t be his undoing. “Thanks Glen. I have to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
I hang up without speaking the answer out loud. I close my eyes, imagining the scene Peeping Glen had witnessed. Sarah tearing ass out into the night. Had he hit her? Or had his attention turned sexual? Whatever it was, Sarah had been hell bent on escaping him.
And she had. Permanently.
My throat closes until I can barely breathe. I suck in a sharp lungful of oxygen and then another. Once I am sure I won’t pass out, I head to the bathroom, turn on the hot water and step beneath the spray. I need to spend the rest of the afternoon primping.
After all, a girl should always look her best when she goes out for a night on the town.
A Dish Best Served Cold
I don
’t bother to notify the aunts when I exit the house at sunset, leaving my phone behind so they have no way to track me and interfere. My plan is to let the night take me where it will. I don’t want to waste time arguing. Like Aiden said, better to ask forgiveness than beg permission.
The nagging thought that I should have done this months ago, offed the bastard despite Chloe and Addy’s warnings, and then Sarah would still be alive, chases me into the truck.
Cool. I need to be cool about this hunt, as together as any other. I must be especially careful since my quarry knows my face. I can’t give him the chance to go to ground with the knowledge that he’s being hunted.
There are several dive bars in the high country. I don’t bother heading to the one where Sarah’s mother slings cheap whiskey and dollar drafts. Joe won’t go there, too many people know him. I wonder if he feels guilty, or if he’s even heard about her death. He could be passed out on a bathroom floor somewhere, drowning in his own vomit. Or he could have lost control of his vehicle in the storm, slammed into a telephone pole. I might be too late.
Hell, maybe Aiden’s Wild Hunt absconded with his pervert ass.
It doesn’t matter. Those thoughts get shoved aside because they don’t help me. Instead, I smile and imagine there’s a prickling sensation along the back of his neck, that gooseflesh ripples on his arms because somewhere deep down his body recognizes the feeling of being stalked. Hunted.
And soon to be caught.
My approach needs to be different, too. I can’t lure him out, not when he knows me as Sarah’s friend. No, I need to follow him, catch him alone and then do my thing. I won’t take his license and I’ll leave the body where it falls. If anyone asks where I was tonight I’ll say out driving, lost in my grief. The aunts will know, but by then it’ll be too late.
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I cruise the parking lot of the first watering hole. No sign of the rusted-out pick up. The tension mounts as I check out two more places without spotting my quarry.
If I were a drunk pervert that’d just chased an emotionally distraught teenager I had been abusing for years to her death, what seedy rock would I slither under?
The fourth bar is the scabbiest of them all, half the letters are broken in the neon sign so what should read Schmitty’s Bar and Grill instead advertises Shitty BanG. The dirt lot is all cracked red clay, beer bottles and cigarette butts. Surprising that the storm didn’t wash more of the garbage away. Then again, this might just be from today’s clientele. There, parked under a sickly-looking pine is the red POS truck I’ve been hunting.
Having memorized the plate months ago, just in case, I am confident it’s the correct vehicle. I swing into the far side of the lot and back in. There are no streetlights, so once I shut off the engine, the truck is cloaked in shadow. It fits in here much better than I do. With my blonde hair and sixteen-year-old body, I will stick out like a sore thumb in the Shitty BanG.
Frustration gnaws at me. I want to do something, now.
Why didn’t you do something before? Sarah’s ghost whispers inside my mind. Why didn’t you save me?
I swallow, shake my head. She isn’t here, isn’t with me on this hunt. It’s only me and my prey.
But the question nags. I wanted to take him out, recognized the threat he posed to her all along. Maybe not a mortal threat, but I’d seen the way his gaze followed her, had seen the bruises she tried to cover. It isn’t like I’ve never defied my aunts. My journal is proof of that. So why didn’t I act sooner?
“It doesn’t matter.” I speak the words out loud to chase away the ghosts. “I’m acting now. And you can’t stay in there forever.” I clench my hands on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, and then relax them. This is all I can do, to go on from this moment and do my best. The past is set, but the future remains fluid, a river that is free to cut a new path. Loosing a breath, I settle in to wait.
Shitty BanG patrons arrive, the lot filling with cars and trucks, SUV’s and motorcycles. Plenty of bodies in all shapes and sizes pass into the dive but none leave. With the engine off, the cab of the truck grows cold. There’s a blanket in the backseat and I tuck under it, the weight comforting. After I warm sufficiently, I toss it aside. I can’t get too comfortable and risk falling asleep. I might miss him. After tonight Chloe and Addy will have me on lockdown. It needs to happen tonight.
My mind wanders, but I am not alarmed. Part of the lie-in-wait method of hunting involves focus. Just like when I drive and let my gaze flick to the rearview or the clock on occasion, so it comes back sharper to the road ahead. To mindlessly stare out is to lose the sharp edge needed. I allow my focus to shift to another time and place. There is no controlling the memory. I let it wash over me.
I think back to the first real conversation I had with Sarah. I knew who she was of course, just like I knew names and faces of the other students at school. But it wasn’t until partway through ninth grade that I really met the girl who was destined to be my best friend.
We are in the cafeteria, another lunch period winding down. Group discussions aren’t my thing, so I sit by myself, trying to figure out how to fit in better when she plops down into the seat next to me, uninvited, shining an apple with the hem of her shirt and exposing her toned midriff. “Did you ever wonder what kind of sex made certain people?”
For a moment I’m unsure if she’s talking to me, as it sounds like she’s in the middle of a conversation. But there’s no one else within striking distance. “What?”
“Look at Steve Smith over there. See?” Sarah points to a hulking football player with a distinct Cro-Magnon brow ridge. “I’m betting angry, I caught you looking at my sister’s ass sex went into that mix.”
I stare at Sarah as though seeing her for the first time. “Yeah?”
She nods, takes a bite of the apple and chews. “I’ve got this whole theory about it. Now take Harris Winslow,” she does a chin jerk and despite myself I can’t help but follow her sightline to the boy with the perfectly parted hair and well pressed pants. “Every fiber of his being practically screams missionary position, lights off, pajama tops still on.”
“And what about you?” I eye her tight ripped jeans, and spaghetti strap black tank that shows more bra strap than it hides, the nose piercing, the sleeve of tattoos on her left arm that looked like a tangle of vines. If anyone is the least likely person to have a theory of any kind, it’s the girl sitting in front of me. “What sort of sex made you?”
Her lips quirk up in a lazy smile. “Wild drunken orgy of course. Possibly a few hallucinogenics mixed in to spice things up.”
Her grin is infectious, and I smile back. “On the ground?”
“Writhing in the mud like animals. My mom probably wasted out of her skull but taking it like a champ in every orifice. You know, her typical Friday night.” Another bite of the apple with an accompanying eyebrow waggle.
I choke on my water.
She expels a laugh like air escaping a balloon. “Gotcha.”
“You paint quite the mental picture.”
“It’s a gift.” She polishes off the apple and chucks the core toward the large trash can, nearly pelting one of the mathletes in the head. The girl glares in our direction and without turning, Sarah gives her the one fingered salute while asking me, “So, you wanna hang out after school?”
“Do I have a choice?”
She shrugs but because I’m watching for it, I see the brief flash of hurt. She looks away, makes to stand. “Whatever.”
“You can come to my place.” The words escape before I even think them through. I should give Addy and Chloe a heads up, since I’ve never had a friend over before.
“Whatever,” she says again, but this time the tone is different, lighter almost...relieved.
My mind jerks back to the present when the bar door opens and a lone figure stumbles out. The reason Sarah was relieved to have somewhere to go other than home. He staggers around the corner, not heading for his truck, bu
t instead for the trees.
My pulse races. Now, do it now. The voice isn’t Sarah’s, but it doesn’t seem to be mine, either. I make sure the interior light in the cab is switched off before slipping out the door and around the corner.
He is loud up ahead of me, crashing with little grace, causing enough of a racket that there is no way he can hear my silent footfalls. I stalk him, the sequence so different than my usual hunting, but at the same time the familiar feeling tears through me like a bolt of lightning down my spine.
One quick kiss, one moment of contact. Maybe I’ll whisper for Sarah just as the light leaves his eyes. So that he knows. I don’t allow myself to think about who will find him, who will tell Sarah’s mother that she lost both her daughter and her husband in the same weekend. I have no room for doubt on this hunt. I need to be swifter than thought, stealthy as a shadow.
I need it done.
There, about twenty feet ahead of me, he stops. His back is to me. Without bothering to glance around, he unzips his fly and then the unmistakable sound of liquid on leaves, accompanied by his relieved groan. The back of his neck gleams in the moonlight and I prepare to dash forward and strike, quick as a snake.
A hand wraps around my waist, hauling me back into the darkness.
WHOEVER HOLDS ME IS strong, but not smart, since no hand covers my mouth. Not that it matters. I don’t scream. Screaming would draw attention, the last thing I want. Instead I fight. Kicking, thrashing, aiming for sensitive places. My elbow rams into a rock-hard midsection until pain ricochets through my funny bone. It’s like bashing my elbow against a concrete wall. Tears well in my eyes but my foot stomps on a booted instep. My captor doesn’t cry out, doesn’t release me. Doesn’t so much as flinch. Sweat coats my body when I am dragged around the corner of the building, away from my truck, from my prey, from all eyes. It’s a silent fight for survival.
The reek of the Dumpster and the decay of leaves combine with rancid fryer grease fill my nose as I suck in air. “Who are you?” I hiss.
“Is it she?” The words come from the left, from the direction of the tree line and address my captor. “The one we seek?”
The Goodnight Kiss Page 7