The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(34)

Need company? Josh wrote. I think of what Brooklyn said—that this is where they used to go together.

Yeah, come to the house, I type, praying he’ll remember which house is the right one. I press send, but before I can see whether the text goes through, the screen goes black.

“Sof?” Riley calls.

“Coming.” I stick the cell phone in the backpack and pull the bag over one shoulder. Riley and the others are halfway up the stairs now. I slip past them and help Riley with Brooklyn’s shoulders. Relief washes over her face as I take on some of the weight.

“Maybe Grace can get the door?” I say. Riley nods.

“The key is in my side pocket.”

Grace slips her hand into Riley’s pocket and removes the key. She unlocks the dead bolt and pushes the door open. I focus on the text message and the possibility that Josh might be on his way now.

He’s coming, I think. One way or another, we’re getting out of here.

I breathe deeply, trying to get a better grip on Brooklyn’s torso by repositioning my arms beneath her shoulder. My back aches from hunching over, and pain shoots up my calves as we shuffle across the living room and into the main hall, where a shadowy staircase leads to the second floor.

Grace helps Alexis by taking one of Brooklyn’s legs, but still it’s a struggle as we half pull, half carry her up the stairs. Blue veins run along Brooklyn’s closed eyelids, and her skin is pale as milk. If I didn’t feel her breath on the back of my arm, I’d worry she was already dead.

We pause on the staircase landing to catch our breath. Long fingers of moonlight reach through the arched window next to us and stretch over the polished wood floor. Gasping, Riley leans against the wall, holding a hand over her chest. I glance out the window next to her, hoping to see Josh’s car driving toward the house. But the street is empty.

“Come on,” she says, readjusting Brooklyn’s weight. “We’re almost there.”

The second floor is less developed than the first. Cloudy plastic hangs from the ceiling, blocking off sections of unfinished wall. A paint can sits next to one of the bedroom doors, surrounded by a few empty Bud Light bottles.

The master bedroom is directly across from the staircase. Moonlight pours through the windows as we slide Brooklyn across the dark gray tile floors, leaving behind bloody smudges. It’s past midnight. Soon, the moon will dip behind the far hills and the whole house will grow even darker than it is now.

The bathroom is huge. White marble stretches out across one wall, and the largest Jacuzzi tub I’ve ever seen is tucked in the corner, beneath a window covered in cloudy plastic. A thin film of dust coats the porcelain double sink.

When she reaches the tub, Riley sets Brooklyn down and leans against the counter, panting. I let go of her shoulder, too, and try to set her down gently on the tile. Brooklyn groans and curls into a fetal position. Slow, shaky breaths escape her mouth.

“Sof, you have the holy water, right?” Riley leans over the tub and turns on the faucet. Nothing happens. She swears under her breath and turns the faucet off and then on again, but nothing comes out.

“Maybe we can just sprinkle Brooklyn with holy water, or . . .” I start. A churning, gurgling sound echoes below the tub, cutting me off. Thick brown water spurts from the faucet. Riley squeals and plugs the drain.

“Perfect,” she says, watching the dirty brown water fill the tub.

Grace makes a face and covers her nose with her hand. “Gross.”

“All things are made pure in the eyes of God,” Alexis says. She stares down at the muddy brown water and giggles again. “Dirty, dirty, dirty,” she whispers.

Her voice makes my skin crawl. Grace cringes as the tub fills and finally turns away—unable to watch.

On the floor, Brooklyn releases a low moan. Riley kneels next to her and pushes a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead.

“Hush, now,” she says. “This will all be over soon.”

Brooklyn presses her lips together and nods. Even I can’t help but be comforted by Riley’s words. This will all be over soon. Alexis leans past Riley and shuts off the faucet.

“Tub’s full,” she says. “Do you need help lifting her?”

Riley’s eyes shift to me. “The holy water?”

“Oh, right.” I pull open the backpack and dig out the now half-full bottle of holy water. I hand it to Riley, and she pours a few drops into the dirty brown sludge. She sets the bottle on the counter, then hauls Brooklyn up by the shoulders. Alexis grabs Brooklyn’s arms to hold her steady.

“I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Riley says, and shoves her face-first into the bathtub. Water drips down the side of the tub.

I hold my breath as Brooklyn struggles in the tub. I remember my own baptism, and my lungs burn all over again.

“Let her up,” I say. “That’s enough.”

But Riley tightens her grip, shoving Brooklyn farther below the water. “Just a few more seconds,” she says.

Brooklyn pushes against Riley’s hand, but Riley grits her teeth and holds her down. Bubbles float to the surface of the murky water. I push past Grace and kneel next to the bathtub.

“Riley, stop.” I grab Riley by the arm, but she pushes me away. Alexis snickers when I stumble to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Grace offers me her hand, but I ignore her, crawling back over to Riley. Brooklyn’s not moving. The water’s up to her shoulders now, and Brooklyn’s bent so far over the tub that her knees no longer touch the floor. She doesn’t struggle.