One of Those Faces (94)

“This isn’t a good idea,” I wheezed when our lips separated.

He threw his jacket to the floor before straddling me on the bed. In one swift movement, he ensnared both of my wrists in his hands. “Why? This is why you came to my office, isn’t it? You wanted to play with me again?” It was impossible to discern if it was anger or desire in his eyes. I wasn’t sure which one I’d rather see.

“No, I’m sorry.”

With his free hand, he used a finger to wipe the blood from my lip. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I-I will.”

He released my wrists and left the bed. “Fine,” he said coldly. He turned and walked out the door without another word, then slammed it behind him.

I scrambled to the door and locked it before turning off the light. I crouched at the window, peering through the blinds. He was sitting in his car, his lighter flashing as he lit a cigarette. I crawled back to my bed and collapsed onto the wet blankets, kicking my boots off. My breathing calmed back to normal as I heard his car start and the sound of the engine faded down the road.

I lay down on the dry side of the bed and unlocked my phone. The top message thread was from an unsaved number, but it wasn’t marked unread. I clicked the thread.

Unknown (2:35 a.m.): Who’s this?

It had been sent from an out-of-town area code. I was sure it was her. My heart raced. I searched for the saved news links in my phone. Once I found the articles about Holly and Sarah, I sent them in a text.

Can we meet somewhere? Today? I responded, my hands shaking as I rested the phone on my knee.

Unknown (2:38 a.m.): Nero’s Coffee Bar at 8:30.





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE


My entire body was quaking when I opened my eyes hours later, standing in front of the bathroom mirror. It was cracked all the way down the middle, shards underneath in a red pool.

Blood streamed down my hand and into the water running from the faucet and into the sink.

I fell against the wall with a gasp, blood dripping from my fingers onto the white tile floor. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. A gash on my knuckles stung as I clawed at the blood with my nails, but it was everywhere.

I tugged my shirt off. It was soaked in blood that had smeared onto my face and hair as I’d pulled it over my head. My jeans were plastered to my thighs, red stains on my pale skin as I wriggled out of them and staggered into the shower. The water hit my body and burned into the aches and scrapes from last night. The cuts on my knees stung where they had cracked on the sidewalk when Wilder had pulled me from the car. My swollen lip throbbed. The thin slices on my hands burned.

As I closed my eyes, an image flashed through my mind. My hands cutting and slicing into Jenny, the glint of glass as I reared my fist back and plunged into flesh.

Flesh ripping.

Blood gurgling.

It couldn’t be real. It was just another dream.

But there was so much blood. Far more than I’d ever seen before when I’d hurt myself during night terrors. Red swirls gathered around my feet, circling into the drain. Finally the water ran clear. I stepped out, my hands latching on to my used clothes and piling them into the tub. I closed the shower curtain and quickly pulled on a fresh shirt and leggings.

I didn’t have time to deal with this right now. I had to meet Jenny.



Although the rain was gone, the chill in the wind bit through my thin clothing all the way to the train to downtown. When I arrived in front of the coffee shop, I lowered my hood and smoothed down my hair the best I could.

“What can I get for you?” The barista’s eyes drifted to the scratches on my hands.

“A red-eye, please.” The only solution for this type of headache was coffee with a shot of espresso. I paid and brought my mug to the table by the window, facing out to the street and river.

I took a gulp of the coffee and checked my phone.

8:26 a.m.

I leaned my head against the column beside me and took another sip.

8:45 a.m.

I nervously peered out the window. The sun was lightly glimmering in the river ahead.

9:34 a.m.

I scooped up my bag and pushed out onto the street, bumping into a few early bird joggers speeding past as I started down the sidewalk toward her building. I looked at each face passing by, hoping to catch her on the way to the café.

As I neared the building, I caught the door as a woman pushed a stroller into the lobby. I bypassed the elevator and instead jogged up the stairwell. My knees throbbed and ached as I reached the ninth floor. It wasn’t until I was standing on her mat that I realized the door wasn’t completely closed.

I swallowed. With sweaty palms, I opened the door. Music played quietly nearby. It was “Clair de lune” by Debussy on piano. I stepped into the kitchen and looked around the corner into the dark living room. In the bedroom beyond, a light was on. With a deep breath and clenched fists, I stepped slowly toward the light. Before I turned the corner, I glanced around the living room once more. No one in sight. As I entered the bedroom, I immediately saw her on the floor. Her arms and legs were twisted in unnatural positions, and she lay staring at the ceiling, her eyes cold and unblinking, blood caked around her chest and pooled all around her in a gruesome halo.

I cried out and fell to the floor beside her, my hands trembling as I reached toward her. Dried blood was crusted along the skin of her forehead. A fly landed on her mouth, which gaped open as if she were screaming. I laid a finger to her neck and pulled away. She was like ice. And so still. She was wearing the same blue dress from the last night I’d seen her, but it was now covered in blood, and her heels were beside the bed.