The pain in his eyes is unmistakable. “Because I work for them. Daniel hired me to monitor the group. He said he wanted peer information on the relaxation techniques.”
“Relaxation techniques,” I deadpan, my lungs shriveling with each breath.
“He fed me a bunch of crap about subliminal messaging and meditation, but he never—I didn’t—hell, it doesn’t even matter. He sold this whole thing. He sold it to the school board as a big community service project, and he sold it to me as my only way out of this shit-hole town and I bought it, Chloe. I bought it hook, line, and fucking sinker.”
The pieces are sliding together. Clicking into place. Sitting across from him for that first math test. Blake’s comments in the bathroom. “I’m the boyfriend, remember?”
Blake. Blake who kissed me—I can’t. I can’t go there.
I shake my head, my tears hot and slick trailing down my face. How could I miss this? How?
All of the texting makes sense...tonight before he tossed our phones. Before that, even. “You were texting Daniel tonight?”
“Yes. I had no idea he could be capable of something like this, but I know it has to be him, that son of a bitch.”
I shake my head, not wanting to hear any of this. Not one more word.
“I needed money for college,” Adam says miserably. “I didn’t—no one told me about the drugs. No one told me about any of this.”
I shove open the door, and his hand curls gently over my arm.
“Chloe, please.”
“Let me go!” I jerk my arm free and fling the door wide.
“Chloe, I’m telling you this because I’m in love with you! I’ve been in love with you since the second you pulled that fire alarm, maybe since all the way back in the fourth grade.”
“Stop! Just stop!” I bite back a sob and step into the cold quiet of the evening. It’s too much. And too little. And it’s all way, way too late.
“Wait—”
“Stay away from me, Adam. I mean it.”
I slam the door and drag in a frigid breath of November air. I sprint for the nearest yard and somehow vault myself over the chain-link fence, ignoring the sound of Adam calling after me.
Through the yard, past the next fence. I don’t stop. I don’t think. I just run.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I will go home. I will go home and talk to my parents, and we will go to the police and everything will be okay. Except when I round the corner to my street, my house is completely dark. No porch lights. No lamps inside. Not even the pale blue flicker of a television.
Saturday night. Date night. They’re probably at dinner or at a movie or somewhere else. And that’s just too damn bad. This is an emergency.
I immediately remember my cell phone shattering on the street. My psychologist in a pool of blood.
What if he comes after my parents? What if I get them involved and they end up like Dr. Kirkpatrick? The idea sends bile rising in my throat. God, what the hell am I going to do?
The cold has sharp teeth tonight, biting through my puffy coat and turning my jeans into sheets of ice against my legs. I can’t stay out here forever. But where do I go?
Inside, my house is strangely quiet, which makes me jumpy and nervous. I scan my mother’s note on the table and the plate she left for me in the fridge. Dinner and a movie. They’ll be home by midnight.
I stare long and hard at the phone on the kitchen wall, but in the end, I walk away. I can’t lose them. If knowing this puts them in danger, then they can’t know. But I can’t stay here. I can’t sit in this kitchen surrounded by takeout menus and used coffee cups and pretend that my entire world isn’t falling apart. And that my almost-boyfriend isn’t one of the people responsible.
I need help.
Maggie.
I try her phone, and it goes straight to voice mail. Did they shut down her phone? Oh God, are they tracking her too?
I try her home number, and it rings busy. My stomach plummets to my knees. I envision Maggie slumped over like Dr. Kirkpatrick. No! No, she has to be all right. She has to.
The clock in the living room chimes six o’clock, and I cringe. One hour ago I had answers. Answers and a boyfriend and a best friend who was safe. Sixty minutes should not have enough power to change all of that.
I stumble back into the night, desperate to find Mags. To make sure she’s all right.
Snow is falling, thick white flakes that cling to my hair and coat. Christmas lights shine from the windows in my neighbors’ houses, mocking me with their message of peace.
I cut through the Campbells’ backyard, my eyes scanning the brightly lit windows for signs of life. I jog to the back steps, steps that have seen me through skinned knees and late night truth or dare sessions. This place is full of goodness. Every step I take crosses the shadow of a game once played, a ball once thrown. It is the closest thing I have to sacred ground.
I climb the familiar stairs with my heart thundering behind my ribs. I should go around front, but I can’t. My feet feel like lead weights. I have nothing else in me.
I knock hard on the door, banging and ringing the little bell next to the handle. I even call Maggie’s name, but the windows stay empty and the knob won’t twist beneath my fingers.
I’m alone. I don’t know where anyone is or if they’re okay, and it’s cold. It’s so terribly cold.
A sob tears out of me, and I cross my arms over my chest. I’m no better off than Julien now. If I go to the police, they will see a lunatic. The poor, crazy girl with big stories and a ruined future.
The panic that’s been buzzing along my skin for the last hour seizes me like an iron fist, squeezing hard around my chest. It hurts to breathe. Hurts like blades are slipping between my ribs. I try to remember Dr. Kirkpatrick’s words, but all I can think of is the blood on her desk. So much blood.
My arms and legs go numb, and my vision blurs. I feel myself falling, hands flailing at empty air before I hit the steps hard.
The mix of pain and fear takes me like the tide, rolling me under and pulling me out to sea. My eyes drift closed, and I can’t even fight that. I can’t fight anything anymore.
***
“Chloe!”
My name, in stereo, drags me back. Two voices: one high, one low. They are shouting back and forth to each other, words bouncing between them so quickly I can’t pull them apart. They make no sense to me—only noise.
I feel my body lift, the ruthlessly cold concrete giving way to something warm. And then I’m moving. Being carried, I think. The air changes. I feel it happen, the cruel wind giving way to stillness. I feel the heat at once, seeping into my clothes, melting the snow on my face and hair.
“T-tell me she’s b-breathing.”
Maggie. I turn my face toward her but can’t seem to manage to open my eyes. She’s not the one carrying me though. She’s not strong enough.
“She’s breathing,” Adam says.
Adam. Adam’s carrying me. I take a breath of cinnamon and soap and leather. And then I open my eyes.
“Oh, thank G-god,” Mags says. I hear her sniffle.
Adam doesn’t say anything. He just tips his head skyward and breathes hard. The fragile flesh beneath his eyes is so dark it looks bruised. I know that I should be mad at him, but it hurts me to see him like this.
I touch his face without even realizing I moved. He looks down at me, anguish etched in every feature.
“I did this to you,” he says.
His words lance through my middle, bringing tears to my eyes. I bite my lip and turn away from his face, but somehow I move tighter against his chest too. I don’t know why.
I think I might hate him.
And I know I love him.
I don’t even know which is worse anymore.
Maggie looms into view, eyes puffy and red. “You s-scared me half to d-death.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice is stronger than I thought it would be. My mind, though, is still reeling. “How are you here?”
“I live here,” Maggie deadpans.
“And I was convincingly desperate,” Adam adds.
Maggie nods in agreement, but it seems impossible. She all but commanded me not to trust him. Now they’re all buddy-buddy?