Don't Look Back(71)

One of you lived. One of you died.

Pacing the length of my bedroom well into the late hours, I was a nervous, sweaty mess by the time I slid between the covers, pulling them over my head like a child. There, in the safety and isolation of my blanket cocoon, I reasoned things out.

Cassie had been murdered. Skull crushed before she was sent over the cliff. Or maybe on the way down. Either way, she’d been pushed. There was little to no evidence supporting that she’d jumped. It was obvious the police didn’t believe it was a suicide. No water in the lungs. One of two things happened: I’d hit her with something and then pushed her and then somehow fallen off the cliff myself, or there had been another person there who was responsible for everything. Hit Cassie with something, pushed her off the cliff, and then did the same to me—or at least tried. Or she could’ve hit her head on the way down.

One of you lived. One of you died.

I somehow felt closer to Cassie than I ever had before. We were still joined by the secret of that night, a memory I couldn’t reach.

At some point I dozed off, and I dreamed of the cliff, of Cassie and a third person who kept staying out of my direct line of sight, hiding his or her identity from me. I woke up, my skin sticky with cold sweat and the covers twisted around my hips. Tears clung to my lashes.

Minutes passed, and I kept my eyes squeezed shut. I tried counting to one hundred, but I only made it to twenty before tiny bumps spread across my skin. A shiver of awareness alerted me to something unnatural in the room.

My breath slowly leaked out of my lips as my muscles locked up. Someone was in the room with me. Every cell in my body knew this. Too afraid to open my eyes, I remained perfectly still.

An icy breath moved over my brow, down my cheek.

I swallowed, and my eyes popped open against my will and a scream came tearing out of my throat. I wasn’t alone.





Chapter twenty





Swathed in darkness, he leaned over me. All I could see was his chest, but I could feel his breath. I couldn’t move, couldn’t stop screaming as he pulled away. Get up! Hit him! Get away! My brain kept spewing out commands, but my body wouldn’t obey. He was still there, a cold hand moving along my neck, over my pounding pulse. “Samantha,” he said roughly, voice somewhat familiar. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Then the lights turned on, blinding me in their startling intensity, and I could move. I jackknifed up, my mouth open, bloodcurdling sounds still coming from me. Arms were suddenly around me, and my shrieks pitched even higher.

“Shh, Sam, it’s okay. Everything is okay. Shh, it’s all right.” I struggled to recognize the voice and the arms around me. All I kept seeing was the man above me, his cold breath and the chilly fingers above my pulse. I couldn’t stop shaking, no matter how soothing the words being whispered in my ear were.

More voices finally broke through—my dad—Mom. It was Scott holding me, trying to snap me out of it.

“What’s going on?” Dad demanded, a black pistol in his hand.

Mom sat beside Scott, placing a hand on my back. “Samantha, baby, talk to us.”

It took several tries to form a coherent sentence. “He was in my bedroom, standing over me! I woke up, and he was there.”

“Who?” Scott asked, pulling back so that his eyes met mine. “Who, Sam?”

Dad rushed to the bedroom windows, fiddling with the locks while I focused on my brother’s face.

“I don’t know, but it was him. It was him.”

His brows knitted as he glanced over my shoulder. “Was it Del?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom snapped, patting my back. “He wouldn’t come in here and scare her like that.”

I twisted out of Scott’s arms. “I couldn’t see his face, but he must’ve gone out the windows or something.”

His face pale, my dad lowered the pistol. “Oh, Samantha...”

“What?” My voice pitched. “He was in here! He was standing over my bed, touching me.”

Mom stood, pulling the knot on her silk robe tighter. Her eyes met my father’s. “There’s no more waiting, Steven. She needs to see a doctor.”

I sat back, fingers digging into my comforter. What were they talking about? Who cared about a damn doctor? There had been a man in my bedroom.

“She’s fine. She just had a nightmare.” Scott rushed to my defense. “There’s no reason to bring out the straightjacket.”

“What?” I shrieked. Straitjacket? My pulse sped up.

“Scott,” Mom said, sighing, “go to your room.”

He ignored her.

Dad sat down on the other side, catching my hand in his free one. “Baby, the windows and the balcony door are locked from the inside. The alarm is set. It didn’t go off.”

“No. No! There was someone in my room.” I pulled my hand free, scooting back from him. “You have to believe me. I was awake. He was standing over me.”

He shook his head. A sad, tired look pierced his eyes. “There wasn’t anyone in your room. You were dreaming or—”

“Or I’m seeing things? Like the guy in the backseat?” I yelled. Terror dissipated, replaced by rage. “Is that what you think?”

Mom wiped at her face. It was the first time I’d seen her cry, but the tears only infuriated me. “You’ve had a stressful night, sweetie. We’re not judging you, but you need—”