The Merciless (The Merciless #1)(55)

“Get inside. Lock all the doors and call the police.” Her voice is quiet, but there’s steel behind her words. She’s Sergeant Nina Flores now, medical technician for the armed forces, and this is just another fallen soldier. She rolls up her sleeves and starts down the porch steps. “I’ll get her . . . I’ll get it down.”

I hesitate. I don’t want to leave my mother outside alone. Brooklyn could be lurking behind a bush or parked car.

“Sofia, now!” Mom’s tone leaves no room for argument. I cast one last look at Grace’s broken body, then race back inside and stumble upstairs for my cell phone. My hands are sweating when I reach my bedroom, and I mess up the three-digit number twice and have to start over.

Finally, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a robotic voice asks on the other end of the line.

“I . . .” I swallow. “My friend’s been . . .” I don’t know what to say. Mutilated? Tortured? Skinned? I swallow. “My friend’s been killed. Please come.”

I give them my address, then hang up the phone. For a long moment I stare down at it, stunned. Riley was right. The reality of that hits me, and I almost can’t breathe. She was right all along—Brooklyn’s possessed. She killed Mr. Willis. And now she’s killed Grace. If my mother hadn’t come along, she would have killed me.

Maybe she should have killed me. Maybe I deserve that.

“Diablo.”

I freeze, shocked to hear my grandmother’s voice for the first time in years.

Diablo—devil.

I walk to my bedroom door, my cell phone clenched in my hand. The thick carpet in the hallway muffles my footsteps, and the red-tinted lamp from Grandmother’s bedroom casts the only light. A violent, hacking cough rattles behind her door. It sounds like death.

I ease one foot into the hallway, searching the shadows around me for the outline of a body. I can’t blink without picturing Brooklyn holding that pocketknife, Brooklyn dipping her finger into the pool of Grace’s blood—then licking it off. Your fault, my brain whispers to me. Your fault.

I push the images and accusations away. The shadows seem to move around me, but I know it’s just my imagination. Brooklyn isn’t here.

Grandmother’s face looks like a melting candle. Her skin droops so badly that it’s difficult to pick out her features. Her rosary beads click against her table. She releases a rough, raw-sounding cough.

“Grandmother?” I hover near her door, almost afraid to go inside. Grandmother inhales. The sound is like a crumpling paper bag. She moves her thumb along the row of beads.

“Are you okay?”

Grandmother turns her head very slowly. The rosary beads shake in her fragile, trembling hands.

“Diablo,” she whispers. A shiver creeps down my spine. She hasn’t spoken since her stroke. The doctors weren’t even sure she could speak anymore.

She focuses her cloudy eyes on me. It’s like she’s looking through me.

“Diablo,” she says.

“It was an accident,” I hiss.

“Diablo,” Grandmother says, like a prayer.

“It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident, just like last time.” The words rush out of my mouth before I can think about them.

“Diablo!”

I look past Grandmother, to the Virgin statuette on her windowsill. It glows white in the red-tinted room. Grandmother used to tell me confession absolved you of guilt. By admitting our sins before God, we are no longer held responsible for them. God takes the blame from us. He makes us pure again.

More than anything in the world right now, I want to be pure. My dream echoes through my head. I hear the roaring train race down the tracks, and Karen’s distant voice. Why can’t you tell the truth?

I drop to my knees next to Grandmother’s bed and fold my hands in prayer.

“Blessed Mary, mother of God,” I whisper. “Forgive me for I have sinned.”

I close my eyes, and I’m at the party with Karen, humiliated and crying.

? ? ?

I stagger when I push my way out of the party and reach the porch. I almost expect the other kids to chase after me, throwing more Q-tips. But they don’t. They’re probably too drunk.

I’m not entirely sure where to go next. I don’t want to go home—it’d be too humiliating seeing my mom and grandmother after this. Tears prick my eyes and spill onto my cheeks.

Then the high-pitched sound of the train horn blares through the night, followed by the distant roar of an engine. I stumble down the porch steps and into the backyard. It’s dark, but the train’s headlight flickers through the trees. I start to run.

The sound calms me. It’s so loud, so all encompassing that I can’t think of anything else. I step out of the trees and into the clearing just before the train tracks. Adrenaline fills my blood, making me reckless. The laugher and the Q-tips are far away now, almost like they happened to someone else. Like they were a dream.

The train’s headlight shines through the trees as it curves around. Without thinking, I step onto the tracks. They shudder and quake beneath my sneakers. I close my eyes, and the world fades away. It’s just me, the shaking earth, and the thunderous noise.

“Sofia!” My eyes snap open, and I turn to see Karen stumble through the trees. She’s still holding her beer. As she runs toward me, the foamy liquid sloshes over the side and spills to the ground. “What are you doing?”