Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(59)

I stood frozen, listening to the din of male voices coming from inside the house. Slowly, carefully, I inched my heels closer. The rough brick at my back pulled on the fabric of my hoodie. Finally, I was perched beneath the sill with the light cascading over me so that it cast a long, precarious shadow on the lawn. I turned and raised up on my toes until my nose was even with the window ledge and I could look inside. I didn’t even dare breathe for fear of drawing attention.

Four boys sat around a table off the kitchen, each with a fan of cards in hand. Blue, black, and red chips scattered across the center of the table. Beer glasses sweat beaded droplets onto the wood laminate. I dropped back down and skittered away from the light so that my shadow disappeared and blended into the shaded grass. I felt half predator and half prey crouched in enemy territory. Above me a chair shrieked across the floor. I bit my fist and tried to go as motionless as the dead. I counted out seconds in my head.

One … Two …

Seconds passed. Footsteps, then the chair screeched again. No one came to look out the window. I let out the breath I was holding. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t the window or the walls of the house separating me from them. It was one more night. That was all I had to wait.

Keeping my back hunched, I moved swiftly back to the safety of the house’s side where Lena waited, eyes wide and glowing like a feline’s. I wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pulled her farther away from the open kitchen window.

“They’re playing poker,” I said. “Circus Master and Lucky Strike—I mean Tate and Alex, plus two other boys.”

“Jessup?” she asked. I shook my head. She chewed a hangnail and glanced again over her shoulder. “Should we come back tomorrow then?”

I shook my head again. “No. We can do it now.”

“But—” Her protest was a hiss in the dark.

I was already skirting the side of the house, looking for my way in. I tried nudging open the first window. It stuck in place. Moving briskly, I shuffled over to the second bedroom window. Locked, too. I grunted in frustration as I tried to pry the two ends apart. Nothing. I considered breaking the glass, but couldn’t trust that the boys inside wouldn’t hear. In fact, I couldn’t even trust that those four boys were the only ones in the house.

I rounded back to the bathroom window. The opening was a little higher than the rest—presumably for privacy. I stood on my tiptoes and pushed the glass. It lifted with a rusty shudder.

I could smell Lena’s fruity lotion near me. “Give me a hand up?” I asked, staring up into the fluorescent light.

She hesitated. “I’m not a cheerleader like—” She stopped herself. “Okay, sure, I can try.” She laced her fingers together. I put my foot in the makeshift hold and used my grip on the sill to hoist my chest through the open window. From there, I shimmied through the gaping mouth and used the side of a bathtub to catch myself from face planting into the moldy tile. I popped my face over the ledge and stared out at Lena. Her lines were murky in the dark of night. One second, I mouthed.

The bathroom was a small, narrow room with a stained shower curtain and a puddled floor. My ears strained for any signs of life nearby, but all I could make out was the distant clink of poker chips and voices coming from the kitchen.

I poked my head out from the bathroom and glanced down either side of the hall before choosing left. The bottom of my boots stuck slightly to the floor and I wondered about the last time anyone had bothered cleaning it. At the first bedroom I pressed my ear to the door. When I heard nothing coming from the other side, I pushed it open. The hinges made a long groan that sent goose bumps prickling up the knobs of my spine. I pulled the door closed behind me and flicked the lock.

Crossing the room, I unlatched the window and slid it open. “Lena?” I stuck my head out.

Her voice was close and quiet, sticking near to the brick wall of the house. “Here.”

I reached out a hand. Her milky skin stood out in the darkness. Her skin pressed against mine and I helped her into the room. Our shoulders touched as we took in our surroundings.

A twin bed, rumpled pillow shoved between the wall and mattress. Stuffed dresser. Fancy speakers. Desk. Bookshelves, the bottom rows of which were stacked with Maxim magazines. I thumbed through some of the papers on the desk, searching for a name. Lena found it first.

“Wallet,” she called softly from her spot near the dresser. I came to stand next to her. She slid out a license. My instinctive response was a grimace when I saw the picture of Alex. The one that I called Lucky Strike.

Sure enough a carton of cigarettes was stashed on his nightstand.

Like a surgical assistant, she handed me the envelope with the flash drive and Alex’s name on it. I balanced the featherweight of it between my hands. It didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough.

Send a message. Get him to the location. And then I could make good on everything. One more night.

The smell of his cigarette breath hot on my neck as he held me in place lingered in my memory. He enjoyed my pain and I’ll enjoy his. Fair was fair. I shook the can of spray paint and, above his bed, I sprayed angry orange letters: Peekaboo. I see you. The envelope dropped on his pillow, complete with the flash drive inside and the scratchy message I’d scrawled that told him to meet me at midnight sharp tomorrow. Or else.

I turned to Lena, who was staring at the violent letters scrawled and dripping down the wall. Her mouth hung open. “I can’t … believe … you did that,” she said just before her mouth stretched into a bemused grin. “Crazy. Totally off the wall, crazy.”