Twisted by Hannah Jayne(49)

“He left the theater, like, three times,” Laney said.

“Probably to go run and film himself saying that he loved the movie because it was ‘based on actual events.’”

“‘Inspired by,’” Bex corrected. “And I didn’t think it was that bad.”

A sly smile spread across Laney’s face. “Like you even saw the movie! Your eyes were glazed over the whole time in Trevor-loves-me-land.”

“Oh, let her be in love. We all could be serial-killer fodder in five minutes.”

The jovial conversation immediately died. Bex wondered if Laney and Chelsea were thinking about Darla. All she could think about was her father, the screaming headlines, the talking heads on the news.

“Um, we should get to the car,” Bex mumbled.

“Ladies…” A beat-up convertible BMW nearly ran over the girls’ feet as the driver slowed to leer.

“Screw you!” Laney yelled to his taillights.

“Do guys think that actually works?” Bex asked, thankful for the subject change. “Like, how many girls climb into a complete stranger’s car?”

“I don’t know,” Chelsea said, squinting in the direction the car had gone. “If he was cute…”

“Chels! That guy was, like, a hundred.”

“And he doesn’t seem all that picky.” Bex pointed to where the BMW had pulled to the curb, another group of high school girls drifting toward the passenger-side door and giggling.

“I didn’t mean that guy. And besides, if those girls get in that car, they deserve whatever they get. Herpes, scabies, whatever.”

Bex looked away, briefly wondering if the women who had gotten into her father’s car deserved what they got. The thought immediately made her blood run cold. No one deserves that kind of death! she screamed in her head. But then, that horrible voice: They deserved it. You know they did. You think like he does. His blood is yours…

Bex tried to shake the voices from her head.

Chelsea touched her arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just spaced for a minute there.”

“Guys?” Laney had stopped in front of them, pointing at her car. It was the only one left on that side of the lot, and it was covered in paper.

“Lane! Someone left you, like, a thousand love letters!” Chelsea started toward the car, but Bex hung back, certain the pages weren’t left for Laney.

“What is this?” Chelsea asked, peeling a paper from the windshield.

Bex pulled one out as well. They were slighter bigger than standard size, and when she leaned into the light to read one, her heart stopped. She held her breath as she stared at the others, hoping they weren’t the same—but each one bore the same headline, the same inch-high, bold, red letters: MISSING. Under each heading there was a full-color picture.

“Oh my God.” Laney pulled one from the windshield, squinting at the photo. “Who is this? Bex, do you know who Melanie Harris is?”

“Or”—Chelsea snatched a poster from the roof—“Amanda Perkins?” She pulled another one. “Kelly Hughes? Who are these people? Why did someone plaster these all over your car?”

Chelsea and Laney were plucking off the sheets, uncovering new photos—Amy Eickler, Katrina Wendt, Isabel Doctoro.

Bex knew them all.

They were all her father’s victims.

“Oh no,” Chelsea said, her voice shaking. “This one is just a little girl.” She plucked off more of the pages to show a new smattering of posters below. They were all the same picture, all the same girl.

“Who is she? What’s her name?” Laney asked.

“Beth Anne Reimer,” Bex said, her voice a choked whisper.

? ? ?

Chelsea and Laney removed most of the posters. Bex tried to help, but her hands were shaking and her brain couldn’t seem to command her arms to do anything but flail around uselessly.

“Jeez, Bex, you’re white as a ghost. It’s okay. It’s probably just some stupid prank,” Chelsea said, rubbing her palms over Bex’s arms.

Laney frowned at the last of the fliers. “Some kind of disgustingly morbid prank. Get in, the car is mostly clear.”

Bex nodded, unable to pick the proper words from the ones that drove through her head. Who? And why? When her cell phone chirped, she dropped it twice before swiping to answer.

“Hey, Trevor.”

“So? Did you get it?”

Bex pressed her palm to her forehead, liking the cool feel against her hot skin. “Did I get what?”

“I left you something outside the theater. You couldn’t have missed it.”

Bex frowned. She felt her throat as it closed tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe. She felt like she was already crying, but her eyes stayed dry and she was statue still.

“You did this?” Her voice was a faint whisper.

“You did this?” Beth Anne couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Gran swelled with all the pride her ninety-eight-pound body could muster and dangled a key ring, two keys jangling together at the end. “You’re sixteen, Beth Anne. Did you think I’d forgotten?”

“No.” Beth Anne shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d forget but I-I… We can’t afford this, Gran.”