The Speed of Light: A Novel(35)

My stomach calls to me again—Feed me, oh cruel master—threatening to gnaw away at my insides if I don’t soon succumb to its demands.

Fuel your body, Nikki had advised.

You mean with pizza and wine?

She didn’t find that response funny.

With the cupcakes safely stashed away, I’m confident I can make a healthier choice. All that stands between me and leftover chicken and veggies is a lingering chill, so I dig through my closet for a sweatshirt but come up with only short sleeves. My eyes flit to the heaping hamper, where I flung my workout clothes. Damn. Laundry day tomorrow, for sure.

Out in the living room, I scan with narrowed eyes until I spy a gray lump sticking out from under a throw pillow on the recliner. Bingo—score one for being a slob.

But when I pull it out, a goofy smile spreads across my face. It’s Connor’s sweatshirt, deep gray, with a purple Minnesota Vikings mascot head in the middle. I dart my eyes side to side as if someone will see me, then slip it on over my head. It’s big and warm and blankets me in its safe, comforting embrace. I pull the neck up over my nose and inhale, hoping to catch a leftover trace of his musky cologne.

When my phone rings, I jump as if I’ve been busted creeping outside his window. A deep breath calms me for a moment, and I pull out my phone. My brow furrows at the name on the screen as I answer the call. “Emmett?”

“Heya, Mone.”

“What’s wrong?”

He snorts. “Why do you always assume something’s wrong?”

“Because you have on numerous occasions informed me that phones are for texting, not calling.”

“Touché.”

“So?”

He sighs. “Now, promise you won’t get mad . . .”

“I can’t promise anything until you tell me what’s going on.”

He sighs. “I’m in Sioux Falls.”

My eyes narrow. “Are Mom and Dad with you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Emmett. It’s a yes-or-no question.”

“Okay, then, no. They’re not.”

Worry has turned to all-out alarm. “Do they know where you are?”

Pause. “Uh . . . not exactly.”

“Emmett.”

“Okay, that time it was true. They didn’t know when I left, but I texted them when I stopped for gas in Watertown.”

I ease down onto my plush green armchair, a hand-me-down from my parents, as my brain tries to process. “Em, did you run away?”

He snorts again. “Mone, I’m seventeen. I’m pretty sure I could legally live on my own if I wanted to.”

“Then just tell me what’s going on!” I yell the words louder than I intend to, dangerously close to flipping out.

“I’ll tell you in about a minute.”

“Emmett, I—”

A knock on my door cuts me off. I stare at the door, down at my phone, then back at the door. “Oh, for God’s sake.” I hit “End,” march over to the door, and whip it open.

My brother stands on the other side, head bowed, smile apologetic. “Surprise,” he murmurs.





PART FIVE

TREPIDATION





Monday, December 6, 9:56 a.m.

The lilting murmurs draw me forward like the Pied Piper’s haunting melody. My entire body buzzes—I don’t know if this is right or wrong, but some primal part of me needs to find out.

I motion for Hayley to hold the door, then crawl up the carpeted stairs, crouched like an animal, unsure whether I’m predator or prey.

All I have to do is get to the landing halfway up, where the staircase turns sharply and continues up the opposite way. I can peek around it, keeping most of myself hidden. If I see anything suspicious, we’ll retreat. I can do this—I can stay safe.

Safe. I shudder.

At the landing, time seems to stand still as I hold my breath and peer around the corner, scanning frantically for danger above. At the top of the stairs, the doorway leading into the upstairs hallway is ajar, as if something is holding it open.

Oh God. It’s a person. A human being is wedged in the doorway.

Sickness rises in my stomach—a man is lying there, hand outstretched as if reaching for help.

Covered in blood.

I puff out a terrified breath and pitch backward, stumbling down the stairs, where Hayley, thank God, is still holding the door open. I push her back into the hallway, easing the door closed so he doesn’t hear it slam—because I know he’s up there now.

The shooter is up there.

“What?” Hayley whispers, eyes wild. “What did you see?”

“Someone else . . . another . . .” I can’t say the word, can’t erase the vision in my head, another death. How many more will there be?

I need to find Nikki. I need to make sure this isn’t her fate.

Without warning a wave of dizziness hits, and I sway, gripping the wall for support. I take deep breaths, reciting prayers, even though my mind is as jumbled and chaotic as the nightmarish scene around us. I have to stay strong. I have to find her.

When my head clears, I turn to Hayley, and she’s trembling, fear etched on her face. I place my hand gently on her arm. “Go.” I point back down the corridor, where a door leads into the Student Union. “It should be clear that way. You can get out—just be careful.”