Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(71)

“It’s a regular Disneyland,” I replied.

My father frowned. His face was exhausted, but I could still spot our resemblance. “I’m afraid they’re only giving us a short time together so early … in your treatment. So we’ll have to get right down to the reason they allowed us to talk in the first place.”

My father reached underneath his seat and slid out a manila envelope. From it, he pulled a stack of papers and pushed them across the table, spinning the stack around so that the pages would face me right side up.

My mother reached across the table and laid her hand over the stack. “First, your lawyer assures us that this is the scariest part. After this, it’ll be our turn to start piecing together a case, Cassidy, and I can promise you we’ve hired the best. They believe your actions, given the circumstances, were completely justifiable.”

“Mom’s right. The lawyers said it’s not too much to expect very little, if any, hard time. There are precedents for things like this. Battered wife syndrome. Self-defense. That sort. Really, your mom’s becoming quite the expert.”

My mother retracted her hand and sat back. “So … just keep that in mind.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear and pulled the papers closer. A tremor of impatience passed through me as I felt them focusing on all the wrong things.

My father shifted in his chair and it made a loud screech. “Sorry,” he said nervously. “It’s just that it does seem bad at the moment. Facing four charges of first-degree murder. And—” He coughed into his fist. “And the case of assault with intent to maim, kill, or dismember.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Four charges of murder?”

My father’s chin dropped. “Yes, I’m afraid one of the other boys died at the hospital … after. It’s all in there.” He waved at the papers. “Alex … McClung.”

I sucked in a sharp take of air and dug my fingernails into my palms. I teetered on the verge of losing it. So Tate had survived. Tate Guffrey was still breathing. I jiggled my leg in the stirrup.

“Only four?” I said, unable to mask the strain tugging at my vocal cords. “That’s all?”

My parents jerked and snatched each other’s hands again. It was so annoying how they did that.

“Cassidy, we know it’s a lot to take in. But yes, that’s all the information we have now,” said my mother.

No, that’s not what I meant, I wanted to say.

“The lawyers say you’ll testify, though, that you were frightened of them after the assault. That you didn’t mean to hurt them but you had no other recourse.” Wrong. They had it all wrong. I saw my knuckles turn white. “They think this will play well with the jury.” Their voices sounded distorted like they were coming out of a faraway megaphone. What was wrong with them? How could any of this matter to them? I went still. “You’re a star student. Homecoming queen. Captain of the Oilerettes. Paisley and Ava have both been over to ask about you, by the way.” I felt my back rising and falling, seething like a cornered animal. “They’re very concerned.”

I waited for them to finish. My eyes bored into my mother’s forehead. Then I swiped my hand across the table, and papers and puzzle pieces flew. “I am none of those things,” I screamed, leaning forward and pressing my chest into the table.

“Cassidy, please,” my father murmured. “We’re all stressed here. If you just say—”

I scratched the wood table. Saliva gathered at the corners of my mouth. “For the last time, my name … is not … Cassidy.”

“Cassidy, honey.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.

“My name’s not Cassidy!” I pounded my fist and the remaining puzzle pieces jumped. “My name’s not Cassidy. My name’s not Cassidy!” My shrieks filled the hushed room where other visitors’ heads swiveled to watch. “My name’s not Cassidy!” A young girl nearby squished her hands to her ears. “Not Cassidy!”

The woman that was my mother slumped into the man that was my father. An openmouthed o of alarm was pinned to his lips.

“Do you hear me?” I screamed at them with such force that they pulled back like I’d literally blown them there. “Do you hear what I’m saying? I’m not Cassidy! Stop calling me that!”

Out of nowhere orderlies arrived on either side of me, strapping my arms to the chair, unlocking the brakes, wheeling me backward.

“Marcy,” I muttered. “My name, I told you, is Marcy.”





AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dear Reader,

This book is about one character’s fictionalized response to an assault. There are as many ways to react to the aftermath of sexual assault and survivor trauma as there are victims. Although this is a horror novel, the true horror is that the inciting incidents contained in these pages are not far off from true-life events that are happening across high school and college campuses right now.

For support or for more information, please visit the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network at www.rainn.org or call their hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE.

Sincerely,

Chandler Baker





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

SITTING DOWN TO write this book, I felt lucky to be able to return to the world of Hollow Pines. Thank you to the team at Feiwel and Friends who made it possible: Holly West and Jean Feiwel, you both pushed me to take this story in a difficult but more personal direction. Holly, you’ve been the champion of these books. Thank you for loving Cassidy, Marcy, and Lena along with me. Molly Brouillette and Kallam McKay, I appreciate your hard work in helping these books reach their audience. Veronica Ambrose and Melinda Ackell, you keep me from making embarrassing mistakes within these pages for which I’m particularly grateful. And Rich Deas, thank you for having a vision and for creating gorgeous books.