Twisted by Hannah Jayne(73)

Schuster put out his hands. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that. I don’t even know Chelsea or Lauren. Bex, who are they?”

“Shut up! You killed Dr. Gold too, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

“Bex, you’re wrong.”

“Chelsea told me about you.” Bex spit out the words, each one viler than the last. “She said she was dating a detective. Danny. Daniel Schuster.”

“Bex, that’s not me.”

“Aren’t you Daniel Schuster? Detective?”

“Yes, but—”

“You did it! He told me!” She pointed to the screen, frozen on IMHIM’s log-in screen. “And you were the one on the site!”

“Bex, stop. Look.” Detective Schuster unholstered his gun and laid it on the desk in front of him, then held his hands up. “I’m not armed. We can sit down and talk.”

She wagged her head, pressing her phone to her ear. “My dad will explain everything. You ruined my life, Schuster. You took away my dad, and now you’re going to pay for it!”

“No, Bex, no.” He held his hands in the air.

Bex could hear her father’s phone ringing. It was loud, almost as if it was in stereo. She pulled the phone from her ear and the ring still sounded. She took a few steps toward the door, and the ring grew louder, reverberating through the hall. Schuster kept his hands up and took several steps back while Bex followed the sound. It was coming from a garbage can outside of the classroom—right by the entrance to D hall.

She peered into the mouth of the can, her breath hitching, each ring sucking that much more air out of the room as she saw her name flash across the screen. Bethy.





Thirty-Seven


Bex snatched the phone from the can and whirled on Schuster. “What did you do to him?”

“Look at the phone, Bex.” Schuster’s voice was steady, even.

“How do you have his phone?” Her voice cracked.

“He tossed it. Your father. Your father is the Wife Collector.” There was something soft, apologetic in his voice. “He was manipulating you the whole time.”

Bex shook her head, disbelieving. Schuster was the Wife Collector.

He gently took the phone from her hand, flicking it on. He held it out to her, but Bex refused to look.

“Those are the calls he made to you. That’s your number.”

“No.”

“He used you to get to her.”

Bex shook her head again, a new round of tears pooling in front of her eyes. “No. He came back for me.”

“He didn’t, Bex.”

She was about to respond when a primitive, pulse-stopping scream cut through the air.

Chelsea.

She took off running in the direction of her friend’s screams, running until her thighs ached.

She would save Chelsea.

She wouldn’t let another girl die.

“He’s just a man.”

Bex burst down the D hall just as her father was dragging Chelsea out of a classroom. She was screaming and kicking, striking out like a wet cat. Bex’s father had his hands on Chelsea’s neck as he slammed her up against one of the lockers, the thunking sound of her head against metal immediately stopping her shrieks. She went limp and he swiped his arms around her, sweeping her feet from under her.

“Leave her alone!”

Bex’s father’s head turned. “Oh, Bethy, this isn’t what it looks like. You don’t understand. It was Schuster. I had to get her away—”

Bex didn’t hear what he had to say. Her eyes were locked on the keychain hanging from his pocket. A tiny, slick silver bird twirled at the end of a lanyard, its pink, jeweled eyes catching the dim light.

Tourmalines.

Dr. Gold’s bracelet.

Chelsea whimpered. “Bex, please.”

Bex was pummeled by a memory.

Another girl with white-blond hair. She swept Beth Anne up and Beth Anne laughed, loving the tinkling sound of the woman’s laughter. Her mother’s laughter.

Then he came in. A black cloud in their sunshiny kitchen, with heavy black boots that left ugly scrapes across the white linoleum floor.

Beth Anne was pulled against her mother’s chest, where she was comforted by her mother’s soft, steady heartbeat and her fresh milk smell before she was wrenched away, yanked by an arm and roughly shoved into a dining table chair. She heard the slap of palm against skin, and when she looked up, her father was cradling his cheek, the dumbfounded look on his face slowly simmering to white-hot anger.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Bex snapped back to reality, rage surging through her.

“Let her go.”

A slow smile spread across Bex’s father’s face, his lips quirking up maniacally, making her blood run cold.

“Stay out of this, Bethy.”

She took a step forward. “I remember now.”

“Bex, stay back.” Detective Schuster was a hairbreadth behind but Bex shrugged him off, knowing that he had a gun trained on her father. She didn’t care.

“I was there that day in the kitchen.”

The grin that had looked so evil and so full of confidence faltered for a split second.

“Get out of here,” he spat.