Final Girls(99)

“But you kept at it,” I say. “You called my mother.”

Tina doesn’t sound surprised that I know this. “Yeah, once I realized Lisa wasn’t going to do it. Then she kicked me out.”

“Because she found out who you really are,” I say, all this talking giving me strength. Energy stirs within my body. My hands are lighter. So are my legs. I can speak without thinking about it.

“She found my driver’s license. Did some digging.”

“Is that why you killed her?”

Tina pounds the steering wheel so hard the whole car shudders. “I didn’t kill her, Quincy! I liked her, for God’s sake. I felt like shit when she learned the truth.”

“But you came to me anyway.”

“I almost didn’t. It didn’t seem like the best idea.” A laugh bursts out of her, inappropriate and thick with irony. “Turns out I was right.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Information.”

“About what?”

“Joe Hannen,” Tina says.

The name is a lightning strike, zapping me awake. My eyes flicker open, pink-orange light catching in my lashes. Sunset. A strip of dying light crosses over the dashboard, collecting and reflecting off something Tina has placed there.

A knife. The one from my kitchen.

“Go ahead and try to grab it,” Tina warns. “I guarantee I’m faster.”

I lift my gaze from the knife to the windshield above it, dirty with wiper streaks and splotches left by wet leaves. Through the grime, I see trees, a gravel drive, a run-down cabin with cracked windows flanking a moss-flecked door.

“No,” I say, clenching my eyes shut again. “No, no, no.”

I keep saying it, hoping enough repetitions will make it not true. That it’s just a nightmare I’ll soon wake from.

But it’s no nightmare. It’s real. I know it as soon as I re-open my eyes.

Tina has brought me back to Pine Cottage.





CHAPTER 39


Time hasn’t been kind to the place, which sags under the weight of decay and neglect. It looks less like a building than something foul that’s emerged from the forest floor. A fungus. A poison. Leaves blanket the roof and surround the fieldstone chimney, which rises jaggedly, like a rotten tooth. The cabin’s exterior, weathered to a dull gray, is pockmarked with moss and dying plant sprouts that curl from nooks in the wood. Although the sign still hangs over the door, one of its nails has rusted away, slanting the words.

“I’m not going in there!” Hysteria colors my every word, which pop out in panicked squeaks. “You can’t make me go in there!”

“You don’t have to,” Tina says, much calmer than I. “Just tell me the truth.”

“I already told you what I know!”

She turns to me, elbow resting on the steering wheel. “Quinn, no one believes you can’t remember anything. I read that transcript. Those cops think you’re lying.”

“Coop believes me,” I say.

“Only because he wanted to fuck you.”

“Please believe me when I say I don’t remember anything,” I beg. “I swear to God, I don’t.”

Tina shakes her head and sighs. Opening her door, she says, “Then I guess we’re going in.”

My body starts to buzz. Adrenaline churns my blood. I see the knife on the dashboard and lunge for it. Tina does, too, snatching it away from my springing hand.

She’s right. She is faster.

I go for the keys next, aiming for the plastic key fob. Again, Tina beats me to it. Yanking the keys from the ignition, she carries them and the knife out of the car.

“I’m coming back in a second,” she says. “Don’t try to run. You won’t get far.”

She heads off to the cabin, leaving me alone in the car, scrambling to come up with a plan. I jam my thumb into the buckle at my hip and the seatbelt recoils with a snap. I then search my pockets for my phone.

It’s gone.

Tina took it.

But I have another. The memory of it is a whirling dervish in my drug-addled brain. I shove my hand into my shirt, fingers fumbling for the stolen phone still secured under a bra strap.

Through the windshield, I watch Tina at the cabin’s front door. She stands directly beneath the crooked Pine Cottage sign, trying to get inside by jiggling the doorknob. When that doesn’t work, she throws her body against the door, leading with her shoulder.

I check the phone’s battery level. It’s blinking red. There’s also barely any signal. A single bar appears and disappears in quick intervals. I estimate there’s enough juice and signal for one call.

I hope.

Calling 911 isn’t an option. Tina will hear me talking. She might take the phone away. Or worse. I can’t risk that, even if I suspect that worse part is going to arrive eventually anyway.

That leaves texting. Which leaves only Coop. Because I’m not using my phone, I know he won’t recognize the number. That might work to my advantage, considering what happened last night.

I look to the cabin again and see Tina still shoving herself against the door. Now’s my only chance.

I text Coop quickly, fingers skating across the quickly dying phone.

its quinn sams holding me hostage at pine cottage help me The phone beeps when I hit send, confirming the text is on its way. It’s followed by another, sharper beep. The phone’s screen goes black in my hand, the battery giving up the ghost. I shove it into my pocket.