Fierce(75)

No, not might. The question is when.

“She has bruises all over her body,” he says, and I’m ripped away from my thoughts.

“I thought you said she OD’ed? Bruises don’t come with that, do they?”

“They can, but this isn’t drug related. Look at the marks,” he says, pointing at her neck.

“No thanks, I’d rather stay here if you don’t mind.”

“Nobody would shoot heroin straight into their neck. Plus, these are really weird marks. They go all the way around her neck, centering on her esophagus. And they’re on her wrists, too,” he says, holding up her arm like a doll.

God, I feel sick to my stomach.

“Stop messing with her, please,” I say, holding my hand in front of my mouth. “You’re making me want to throw up.”

“Sorry,” he says. “But that’s the least of my worries right now. This should be a concern to everyone.”

“Why?”

“Because this wasn’t accidental. She was drugged with a dose far beyond normal.”

“Are you saying …” I can’t speak. My vocal cords are clamped shut.

“Someone forced his hand on her. It killed her.”

I shake my head. No. I can’t believe this. This can’t be true.

Someone couldn’t have murdered her.





Chapter 24


With Bad Comes Good



I’m staring at the carpet, oblivious to the people passing me. My mind is astray, memories of that day repeating over and over in my head. Scarlet’s contorted face. Her limp body. The puddle of goo drizzling from her mouth. The syringe. It’s just too much to deal with.

And I feel bad for feeling only half as much as all the other people who are here. I don’t even know what to feel.

Her friends are consoling each other, crying on each other’s shoulders. One of them is staring at a photograph standing on a pretty decorated cabinet, uttering words I can’t hear from so far away. I don’t even want to hear them.

As if talking to her photograph is going to make her magically come alive. As if it makes up for what some bastard did to her.

Misery. That’s all this room is.

I never imagined the dorm lounge could turn into the perfect room for a funeral reception.

It’s morbid, really. Knowing what went on here. Parties, drugs, probably some fucking, too. This couch I’m sitting on disgusts me, but I have nowhere else to go. Evie’s not here. She couldn’t take it. She really got close to Scarlet, which I didn’t see before. All those times they were studying must’ve opened her eyes.

And now it’s too late.

Well, at least she liked the girl. I don’t really know what to do, and every second I wonder what I’m doing here. I feel guilty for not crying, but I just can’t. I don’t feel anything. Just emptiness, hollowness.

Terror.

It sucks the life out of me like a light bulb blowing up, darkening the room. Too many horrific things are happening all at once, and they’re all connected. It’s terrifying the shit out of me.

Suddenly, I feel the need to run out and never look back. But it would be silly to do that. I have to be here. Somehow it feels like an obligation, my duty.

But spending one more minute on this couch will kill me.

Where else can I go? I don’t want to stand alone, looking like a goofball. It’s too crowded, and I feel uncomfortable just looking for an empty spot.

And I certainly don’t want to stand next to Brody.

He’s been here forever. Attended the funeral and everything. Most students weren’t allowed on the premises, but he was her boyfriend, so they made an exception for him. I’m surprised they even knew.

Still, it irks me to look at him. The expression on his face has been completely blank the entire day. So bland, so emotionless. I haven’t seen him cry. Not even once. He’s just standing there in his corner, staring at the carpet just like me. It’s like he doesn’t feel anything.

Or he’s just too shocked to register it all.

When he looks at me, I turn my head, hoping he won’t come my way. I don’t want to talk to him right now. I’m still chicken-shit, sometimes. I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway. I don’t want to be rude, but nothing I said would make her come back to life, so why bother? And it’s not like I can help him with his grief. No one can.

I look around, desperate to get out of here, but knowing I can’t. I could really use Hunter now to back me up and help me get through this day, but I haven’t seen him since yesterday. Not since it happened.

He stormed out yesterday, cursing under his breath, and told me he had to talk to Jaret. I figured it had something to do with the suspicion of murder, but to me it just sounded so far-fetched. I’m not sure I can trust his crime-investigation skills. I think we should wait for the real police investigation to be over before drawing conclusions, but Hunter just went ahead and started a whole operation himself, I think. I have no idea what he’s doing, but I know it’s nothing good. The fact alone that he immediately ran away after finding her bothers me the most.