The Dead List (25 page)

He stared at me a moment and then squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn. That does not help.”

“Help with what?”

“Not getting you naked.”

Unable to suppress my grin, I rolled off him and he groaned. “Sorry?”

“Uh-huh.” He threw an arm over his eyes. “Did I tell you you’re beautiful in the morning?”

I smiled then. “No.”

“You are.” He shifted his arm, opening one eye. “The best thing ever to see first thing in the morning.” Then he sat up. Leaning over, he kissed my forehead. “I better get going.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, caught up in the swelling-chest thing. I knew that feeling had a name. A four letter word. Something I’d felt for Jensen for a long time, even when I wanted to hate him.

Jensen rose fluidly and I followed him to the window. He stopped there, turning to me. His voice was low, grin wicked. “You know, I’m sure I can hang out for a few more minutes. Like if you’re going to shower, I can help.”

“Oh no.” I smacked his chest. “I do not need that kind of help.”

He straightened, putting his hands on my hips. “I think you lie. I think you want that kind of help.”

My cheeks burned, because, yeah, I sort of did. “You better go.”

Jensen chuckled before he dipped his head, kissing me. Kissing me like it was the first time and the last time. My heart was going crazy in my chest by the time he broke away and climbed back out my window.

And it didn’t slow down.

Not when he showed up to take me to school or when he folded his hand around mine as we walked inside. He seemed oblivious to the questioning stares. Some were confused, as if they couldn’t figure out what he was doing with me. Others just openly gawked.

Linds was waiting for me at the locker, her head tilting to the side as we drew closer. Her gaze dropped from my face to our hands and then back to my face again.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

Jensen grinned. “Miss what?”

“There had to be a newsletter that I haven’t subscribed to.” She pinned me with a look. “Because you two are holding hands.”

Who knew holding hands was such a big deal?

Across from Linds, Wendy and Brock were standing together. Whatever conversation they were having with one another had grinded to a halt. I shifted, uncomfortable with the extra attention. I started to pull my hand free, but Jensen wasn’t having that.

“That we are,” Jensen said.

Linds’ eyes widened to the size of mini spaceships. Beyond her, Wendy jabbed her elbow into Brock’s side, who was now joined by Mason. We were getting an audience.

My cheeks heated, and my tongue tied around the simple words that explained what Jensen and I were, but apparently he was more of a show than tell kind of guy.

His knuckles brushed under my chin, tipping my head back to meet his lips. The kiss was not quick or chaste, and really not school appropriate. Not when my lips parted, and he took that kiss to a whole new level.

Wendy’s inhale was like a crack of thunder, and I knew I should pull away from Jensen. Kissing like this was not something we should be doing at the given moment, but the taste and feel of him had this wonderful ability of making the world disappear around us.

“Holy crap,” Linds said, her voice an excited whisper.

My face was flaming as Jensen pulled back. “Does that answer your question?” he said.

“That and then some,” she replied, grinning at me.

I had the wild notion to laugh, and I didn’t know why, but my lips curled up as I turned, my gaze colliding with a pair of dark eyes.

Gavin.

He was staring at Jensen and I—at me—like one or both of us had walked up to him and punched him in the gonads. His face was pale, the shadows under his eyes darker. His expression tightened, and then he wheeled around, stalking off in the opposite direction.

#

Linds hounded me for details on Jensen and me the moment I walked into art class. She was convinced that we’d been having this torrid, secret love affair, and that did sound more interesting than the truth.

Mrs. Reed, our art teacher extraordinaire, was making a bee line straight for our side of the classroom, her hands smoothing over her paint covered smock. I tried to make myself as small as possible. At the beginning of every class, she sent two students to the storage rooms to grab the paintings we were working on, and I was feeling incredibly lazy.

Her gaze landed on Wendy. “You and Mason can go grab the paintings, please.”

Wendy’s breath huffed out. “I’m not feeling well. Can someone else do it? Please,” she whined.

I rolled my eyes.

“Ella? Mason?” she said, planting her hands on her full hips. “Your turn. You know the drill.”

Dammit.

Linds wrinkled her nose. “Lucky you.”

There was nothing ‘lucky’ about the way she said that, and Mason cut her a look. “I heard that.”

She smiled sweetly. “And I don’t care.”

Eyes wide and lips pursed, I stood and headed for the door before I got caught up in their royal rumble. Mason ended up in front of me, smacking the door open and letting it swing back. I caught it before it knocked me on my butt.

“Thanks,” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder, blond hair swinging. “Sorry,” he grumbled, and I thought he might’ve sounded a little sorry.

We headed back toward the drama class, where the entrance to the storage rooms and the backstage of the theatre were. Knowing my luck, half the paintings would still be wet.

“So you and Jensen hooking up or something?” he asked, punching open the door.

I frowned at his back. Hooking up in guy lingo could mean a lot of things. “We’re dating.”

“Dating?” He actually held the door for me this time. “That’s interesting.”

My brows furrowed as I walked behind him, heading down the narrow hall. It smelled like mold and turpentine back here. “Why’s that interesting?”

He shrugged as he thrust a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. He just doesn’t date girls, you know. He hooks up with them. That’s about it.”

I resisted the urge to tell Mason that was not the case with us, but the lengthy explanation would be wasted on the brain cells he’d smoke away later.

He headed into the storage room, walking past the easels and stacks of paintings marked with earlier class periods. “I think it just took everyone by surprise. ‘Cuz didn’t he like invite you to the eighth grade dance or some bullshit like that and then stood you up?”

“Wow,” I said, staring at him as I came to a complete stop. “Way to just throw that out there.”

“Sorry.” This time he didn’t sound sorry. He sounded smug. “I mean, it’s just weird.”

It was weird. I got that. It was also probably why Gavin was so shocked that I was even friends with Jensen after that, but I knew the truth now.

Sighing as those ugly memories still managed to resurface, I tucked my hair back behind my ear. That was in the past, and Jensen was different now. I was different.

Except no matter how much I told myself that, my chest felt heavy. It didn’t take a lot to remember how I felt, how heartbroken I’d been. I always thought it was a nice, hefty dose of karma.

The sound of footfalls intruded, which was weird, because Mason had stopped and I wasn’t walking. I looked over my shoulder, frowning as I scanned the room. Tubes and cans of paint were stacked waist high among the paintings, props from the plays, and costumes.

A wicked sense of deja vu hit me upside the head. My skin crawled like a hundred ants had descended on me, their little legs digging into my flesh. It was the same feeling I had in the farmhouse, right before I’d found Vee’s body.

Chills skated down my arms as I stared at the costumes hanging from wire racks, half expecting them to jump out at me. Nothing was out of place. Nothing happened, but the sensation of being watched gave me the creepy crawlies.

“Here we go,” Mason announced, finding the stacks of paintings from our class. I turned, finding him staring at me like I needed to be patted on my head. Of course, someone was watching me. Mason.
Dumbass
. “I can probably get most of these. I just…
Holy shit
!”

I gaped as he jumped back from the paintings, his hands rising up like he had a fleet of cops pointing guns at him. “What?”

He shook his head, pointing.

I followed his gaze and felt the floor under my feet move a little. The paintings… Oh my God, all of them were destroyed, the canvases slashed open with something jagged and sharp. Red paint had been splattered across them, like a gruesome crime scene. But that wasn’t the most messed up thing.

Oh no. Not at all.

I stepped back, my eyes following the row of paintings. Placed side by side, they spelled out two words.

You’re next
.

No one knew who or how the paintings got destroyed, only that it shook up an already nervous student body.

The staff claimed it was a prank yet again-a stupid, misguided prank from someone who had absolutely no class. That could be possible. After all, how could it be something else-someone with truly nefarious intentions? Because if the same person responsible for the attacks did it, how would they have known who would go pick up the paintings?

Anyone could’ve picked them up, reading the ‘You’re Next’ message sprawled across them in red paint, so it couldn’t have been left there for just one person.

The thing was anyone could get into the storage room. Hell, they really didn’t even need to be a student. The door was rarely locked, and the doors to the outside were only locked when after school activities ended. Prank or not, it was doubtful the staff would ever find who was responsible for the disturbing display.

Like the clown mask in my locker, and the dead bird in Wendy’s bag, it was something that went cold and unexplained but the police were at the school almost every day. We saw them sometimes when we were in the halls, them heading into the administrative offices, and sometimes we caught glimpses of their cruisers in the parking lot.

But it wasn’t just the local or state boys that showed up sporadically. There were a few in suits that I imagined were on the federal level, and my suspicions were confirmed when I was pulled out of the class one afternoon and interviewed all over again.

F.B.I

Wow.

But that wasn’t the only people to descend on our small time. So did the media. News stations from the surrounding cities and states popped in, and I watched the evening news whenever I could, but nothing they said was new.

Over the course of the next week or so, the night Jensen climbed in through my bedroom window was rinsed and repeated. He would climb up the tree and through the window, and he would always kiss me as he locked the door and turned off the lights before pulling me into bed.

All except on Wednesdays.

Jensen used the front door then.

With him, I didn’t need to use the prescription sleeping pills. The script was still on my desk unfilled. And some evenings, he’d leave when Mom popped her head into the living room, and then return thirty or so minutes later.

Jensen and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, something I had stopped fantasizing about ages ago, but we were.

Not everyone was happy about our together-ness. Gavin hadn’t spoken to me since the night I had Dr. Oliver’s appointment. He sat clear across from me in English and didn’t return any of my calls or texts. And that hurt something fierce.

I didn’t get it. He’d been dating Vee and I hadn’t freaked out on him when I found out. When I explained this to Linds when she was at my house one evening, she looked at me like I was half stupid.

“It’s pretty obvious,” she said, kicking her legs out to the side, stretching. “You didn’t freak out because you see him as a friend, and honey, he doesn’t see you that way. That’s why he’s freaking.”

I wanted to deny it, but as time passed, and Gavin made no attempt at talking to me, it was really obvious and it sucked.

And then there was the stuff I did my best not to dwell on. It was heading into the second week since Monica disappeared, and there had been no leads in her disappearance or who killed Vee. Obviously Gavin wasn’t a suspect. Not that anyone at school had determined that on their own, but common sense said that the police would’ve arrested him by now if they had any evidence pointing in his direction.

Thingshadn’t returned to normal, though. Not that I expected them to. Candlelight vigils were held in Vee’s memory and for Monica. Halls were subdued as the month of September slowly crept by.

Would the killer ever be found? Had he or she left town? Would Monica ever resurface, alive or dead? No one had those answers and it seemed as if no news was just as frightening.

But on Friday morning something happened that proved that news was worse than no news. It started as whispers in second period, like a virus that was slow to spread. At the end of third period, Jensen was waiting for me out in the hall. I knew immediately that something was up.

His class was downstairs.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Jensen took my hand, glancing around as he led me to the alcove with a view of the football field. “You haven’t heard?”

Knots formed in my stomach. “Heard what?”

A muscle thrummed along his jaw. “People are saying that Wendy didn’t come home from school yesterday.”

“Oh no,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. “It’s not just a rumor?”

“No. Mr. Vicks confirmed it in last class, asking that if anyone might have information about her whereabouts, to please come forward.” He squeezed my hand. “She’s gone and…”

“And so is Monica, just like Vee.” I shuddered.

Jensen tugged me toward his chest, and I wrapped my arms around his him. This wasn’t over, not that I truly believed it for one second, but this was a brutal slap in the face to everyone.

The warning bell drove us apart, and I went to my next class in a daze. By the end of the day, the news had broken wide open. Another girl missing.

Another girl who had picked on Penn.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I stood in front of my locker. This didn’t have anything to do with Penn. It couldn’t.