Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake #4)(31)

Vee lets out a whoop and turns back toward me. Throws her arms out and collapses against me. She’s sweaty and gasping, and I feel every inch of her. “Holy shit,” she says. “You are fast.”

“When I need to be,” I say. My urge to yell at her melts away. “Vee, you really need to stop taking that shit. Do you even know what it was?”

“That’s half the fun,” Vee says, a rough purr in the back of her throat, and I feel that vibrate inside me. Heat blooms deep. “Want to know what the other half is?”

“No,” I lie.

“You’re no fun, Lanta Proctor,” she says, and before I can think about it, before I can even start to number off why this is a terrible idea, we’re kissing, and oh my God. I forget about why I shouldn’t be here and that Vee is a bad idea walking, because this kiss is the best I’ve ever had, and I just want more.

Vee pulls back with a gasp and says, “What the hell was that?” And I think she’s joking until I hear it too. I’d been so surprised and focused that I didn’t hear the rustling under the tree, and the moan. Or maybe I thought we were making that noise. But we weren’t.

My eyes have adjusted to the dark now, and I see Vee’s face clearly, and beyond her, someone else lying on the ground. A pale stretch of legs.

I fumble for my phone and key on the light. It illuminates everything with brutal detail. It glistens on the pale skin of a girl’s thigh, blonde hair tangled in tree roots. She’s crumpled like a broken doll.

My heart races so hard it hurts. For a few seconds I freeze, and then I squeeze in behind the boulders and crouch down next to her. She isn’t dead. She’s moaning.

Vee says from behind me, “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with her? Don’t touch her!”

“She’s alive,” I say. The girl’s facedown, shrouded in her loose blonde hair, and I can’t tell who she is, but I don’t want to move her either. I’m shaking with the fear boiling inside, but at the same time, I need to see what’s wrong with her. Something is. I freeze when my light catches a red streak of blood on a thick piece of rock lying next to her. There’s blood in her hair. Oh God.

“We should go,” Vee says. “Right now! Come on, Lanta!” She sounds panicked.

“I can’t just leave her!” What’s happened to her? Did she just fall down? Or did someone take that rock and bash her in the head? I can’t think straight, and I don’t want to make the wrong choice here.

I lift my phone and start pressing numbers.

“What the hell you doin’?” Vee’s voice is sharp. Angry. “Lanta! Oh hell no, you ain’t callin’ the cops!” Her accent’s getting stronger.

I don’t answer her. I dial.

“Norton 911, what’s your emergency?” asks a voice that sounds about as lazy as summer on the lake. Smooth and calm and weirdly reassuring.

“There’s a girl here. I think . . . she’s hurt.” I turn to Vee. She gives me a cold look. Then she’s gone, heading for the path down the cliff. Taking her chances, I guess. I’m shattered. I’ve gone from the best kiss I’ve ever had to being left behind so fast, and it crashes in on me that I’m all alone.

Again. I feel short of breath now, and I’m trembling. I stand up and look around, and for a second the lure of that pathway seems so strong. I turn away from it, and look out toward the lake.

I can see my house, a pretty little beacon in the darkness lit by security lamps on the corners. I think about Mom, asleep in her bed. Trusting me to do the right thing. The 911 lady is telling me I need to check the girl to see where she’s hurt. I don’t want to, but I know I have to. I’m all she’s got. I try a couple of times before I can swallow my fear and actually do it. I carefully touch her head, and I can’t find anything but blood. “I don’t know where she’s hurt,” I tell the lady on the phone. “She’s lying facedown.”

“Okay, I need you to roll her on her side, gently. I’m here with you.” The operator sounds warm and calm, and that gives me the strength to put the phone down and press the speaker function. I don’t want to do this, some part of me wails. But I carefully roll the girl over. From this side I see that the whole left of her head looks . . . wrong. Flattened. Her sleek blonde hair is matted down in one spot, and part of her scalp is hanging loose. Oh God. I have to fight not to scuttle backward, and I squeeze my eyes tight shut but I can’t not see it, it’s right there like it’s been branded into my eyelids. I want to throw up. Scream. But the lady on the phone is talking to me, and I cling to that hard. “Yeah,” I say, though I don’t really know what she’s just said. “Uh, her head’s injured. I think—I think she’s hit it on a rock or something. It looks real bad.”

It takes me a second to realize that I know the girl. She’s Candy Clark, one of the popular kids. A senior, I think; she just turned eighteen. She has on glittery eye shadow. Just like I do. And that hurts. I feel tears running down my cheeks—shock, I think. I’m shivering in the chilly wind, but when I touch Candy she feels even colder. I take off the jacket I’m wearing and put it over her, in case that helps.

Vee left. She just left me here.

The voice on the phone tells me to stay calm, she’s sending an ambulance and the police and that I should keep monitoring Candy’s pulse. I try. But my fingers feel cold, and I’m not really sure if I’m feeling her pulse at all, or just imagining it. I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.