Authors: Tess Sharpe
FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)
“Seriously, this is creepy. What are we doing here?”
MIna leaves the keys in my car so the lights will stay on. I get out,
shutting the door as Mina props herself up on the hood. Her hair is
illuminated by the headlights. She looks unearthly, almost glowing,
and I’m struck by it for a moment, half-forgetting that I’ve asked a
question.
“I told you, it’s for the
Beacon
.”
“Mina, the only people who come out here are tweekers and cou-
ples who don’t mind screwing in a backseat.”
I skirt the edge of the cliff . The drop down is an endless gape of
darkness. My leg’s stiff from being in the car. I stretch it out, nearly
overbalance.
“It’ll just take a few minutes. Get away from the edge, Soph.”
“I’m feet away from the edge.” Okay, maybe only about a foot, but
still, plenty. “What is so important about this story? Amber’s going to
be pissed that we’re late.”
“I’ll tell you later. Aft er I fi gure . . . Aft er I write it. Seriously, get
away from there. I just got you back from your aunt; I’m not gonna let
you fall off a cliff . Come over here.”
She snaps her fi ngers and I stick my tongue out, but walk away
from the edge so I’m closer to the car. “You should at least entertain
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me until your Deep Throat or whoever shows up.”
“I’m so proud of you for that reference.” Mina places a hand against
her chest dramatically, wiping away pretend tears with the other.
I kick dirt at her and she squeals, scrambling farther up the hood
until she’s pressed up against the windshield. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” she
says solemnly. “But you have to promise not to breathe a word.” She
looks to her left , then her right, before leaning forward and hissing:
“Alien takeover is imminent.”
“Oh no! The little green men are coming!” I fake a gasp, and she
beams at me for playing along.
I hear the crunch of footsteps before she does, in that last brief
moment when everything is still okay.
Mina’s sitting on the hood, so her back’s to him. I’m facing him,
and at fi rst, it’s too dark to see something’s wrong.
Then he steps into the beam of the headlights, and I realize two
things in quick succession: the person—a man—coming toward us is
wearing a ski mask.
And he has a gun pointed at Mina.
“Mina.” I choke on her name. I have no air; it’s all been sucked out
of my lungs. I grab her arm, drag her off the hood of the car.
We have to get away, but I can’t run—I won’t be fast enough. He’ll
get me. She needs to leave me behind. She needs to run and not look
back, but I don’t know how to tell her this; I’ve forgotten how to speak.
I almost fall as her shoulders knock into mine. Our hands grasp as
her mouth drops into an
O
, her eyes fi xed on the man as he advances
on us.
This is happening. This is actually happening.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
He stops just a few feet away, saying nothing. But he points to me
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and gestures with the gun, his meaning clear:
Get away from her.
Mina’s nails dig into my skin. My leg shakes, I lean against her
and she takes some of my weight.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Mina whispers between
quick, staccato breaths.
“There’s cash in our purses.” I falter over the words. “Keys are in
the car. Just take it. Please.”
He stabs the gun at me again, quick and angry.
When I don’t move, he strides forward. He seems impossibly huge
in that moment, coming toward us. Terror seizes me so quickly, so
harshly, so unlike anything I’ve ever known, that if I could, I’d shrivel
beneath the weight of it. Mina whimpers and we stumble back, still
clinging to each other, but he’s too fast. I’ve been so distracted by the
gun that I don’t see what he has in his other hand before it’s too late.
The rebar connects with my bad leg, smacking the twisted bone.
I yell, a wretched cut off sound, and I collapse belly-fi rst onto the dirt.
My fi ngers scrabble at the ground, dig in. I need to get up. . . . I need . . .
“Sophie!” Mina starts toward me, and then she screams as the
rebar swings into my line of sight and glances off my forehead. My
vision blurs, my skin splits open. Pain, white-hot, stabs through my
skull, wetness trickles down my face, and the last thing I see, hear,
feel, is him raising that gun, speaking muffl
ed words behind a mask,
then the sound of two shots, fi red one aft er the other, and a warm
splatter: her blood. It’s her blood on my arm.
Then there’s nothing. No shooter. No blood. No Mina.
Just dark.
59
NOW (JUNE)
My eyes are heavy. It takes a huge effort to open them. I
blink, trying to focus on the gray blur in front of me.
Upholstery.
We’re driving.
Adam’s driving. Speeding down the twisting road that
goes around the lake.
Adam killed Mina.
And he’s going to kill me.
I have to stay awake. I blink rapidly, struggling to sit up.
Everything tilts crazily, making me dizzy, but maybe if I
get upright, I won’t feel like puking.
I can do this. I’m a drug addict. I’m supposed to be good
at this. I just have to fi ght the high. This is nothing.
It has to be nothing. I have to think—I need to get out
alive. They’ll never know it was him, they’ll never catch
him, if I don’t.
“Come
on
,” says Adam angrily.
Breathing quietly, I sneak a peek at the front seat. Sweat’s
pouring off his forehead as he punches Send over and over
on his phone. No one’s answering, and the third time, he
fi nally leaves a voice mail: “I need you to come, okay? Just
no questions. Meet me at Pioneer Rock. Now. Please.”
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Who’s he talking to? Who’s going to come? Matt. They’re
in it together.
I swing my legs so my feet touch down on the fl oor mat.
I’m starting to feel less dizzy now that I know I’m messed
up—whatever he dosed me with is starting to lose its edge
already. I didn’t drink enough.
Adam’s focused on the road, and I scoot until I’m sitting
up, close to the door. I can’t tell how far we’ve gone from
the beach; the lake is miles long, nestled in hundreds of
acres of dense forest.
They could dump my body anywhere. No one would
fi nd it.
How long had it been? Surely Rachel’s missed me by now.
He turns a curve too sharply, and the car jerks, tires
skidding against the road, throwing me hard against the
car door. We pass a sign that says PIONEER ROCK VISTA POINT
(3 MILES).
Shit. We’re already on the other side of the lake.
I can’t jump out. The door’s unlocked, but he’s going too
fast. I’d be dead the second I hit the road—but my phone’s
still in my pocket. I can feel it, and I slide my butt down
until it edges out, falling behind my back.
“What are you doing?” Adam snaps, and I freeze, our
eyes meeting in the rearview mirror. I can feel nausea ris-
ing in the back of my throat, and I push it down. My eyes
skitter to the door, then back to the mirror.
“Don’t even think about it,” Adam says. He raises the
hand that isn’t clutching the wheel. The hand that’s holding
the gun. “Sit still,” he commands.
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297
I sag against the backseat, nudging my phone to the side
with my hip.
He lowers the hand holding the gun to his lap, the other
hand on the wheel. His attention is only half on the road,
but it’s better than nothing.
I inch my bound hands to the side, brushing against the
cell phone screen. It brightens, and I sigh in relief, unlock-
ing it with a swipe, one eye still on Adam. My shoulder
keeps knocking into the window because he’s taking the
turns so fast.
I swipe the screen again, selecting the last person I
texted: Trev.
Adam’s phone rings. My fi ngers skitter across my cell’s
screen. He startles, swears, and then grabs his phone.
“Why weren’t you answering?” he yells into the phone. He
fl inches. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just—” He stops,
listens. He’s completely focused on the conversation.
I seize the opportunity; it’s the only one I’ll get. I tap it
out, awkward with tied hands:
addam pionerock 911
. I press
Send and return my hands to my lap.
“You have to come!” Adam pleads into the phone. “Just
meet me at the rock. I need your help.”
If I lean to the right, I can see the gun resting in his lap,
just lying there. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way right now.”
He pauses, his gaze skittering to me in the backseat. “I’ll
explain then.”
He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat,
his free hand going back to the gun. The car speeds up,
winding down the mountain road. We’re almost to Pioneer
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Rock. I can see the light from the ranger’s station across the
lake out the back window.
“You know this is crazy,” I tell him. “You took my car.
People at the party are going to notice both of us are gone.
Kyle sent you to watch me; he’ll notice.”
“Do you really think Kyle sent me after you?” Adam
says. “Come on, Sophie. You’re smarter than that. Now,
you’re gonna tell me who’s been helping you. I know about
Trev. What’s the redhead’s name? Did you mix her and Kyle
up in this? And the reporter? What did you say to him?”
I have to breathe deeply to keep from panicking. Remind
myself that Trev is probably still with the cops. That Rachel
and Kyle are safe in a crowd of people.
It’s just me who’s dead.
“What are you gonna do, Adam? Kill all of them, too?” I
ask shakily. “You aren’t thinking this through. You thought
it through before. I know you did. You were prepared last
time. You brought the rebar and the pills so you wouldn’t
have to kill me. That was smart. It worked, didn’t it? But
you’re not ready this time, so why don’t you just think for
a second?”
“Shut up.” Adam wipes fresh sweat off his face with a
shaking hand. But soon as he touches the gun again, his fi n-
gers steady, like the feel of it comforts him. “You’re gonna
tell me everything you know. About Jackie. About Mina.
And about who knows what you know. I’ll make you.”
There’s no reasoning with him. He’s going to kill me no
matter what.
We round a curve, passing by another sign: PIONEER ROCK
VISTA POINT (1 MILE).
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299
I can’t waste another second—I need a plan. Now.
If I can’t calm him down, I might as well make him
angry. Make him lose control, slip up. I need a window of
opportunity.
“I’m not telling you shit,” I say, with a lot more strength
than I’ve got. “You’re a fucking murderer, and so is your
brother. Your whole family—there’s something wrong with
you.”
In profi le, I can see Adam’s pretty-boy face twist, the
mean gleam in his eyes a stark contrast. His hand tightens
on the gun. “Fuck you,” he growls between gritted teeth.
“You don’t know shit about my family. We look out for each
other. We rely on each other. We’d kill for each other. That’s
what family does.”
It fi lls me, the anger, trampling every other feeling in its
power. He took away the most important person in my life
and he’s sitting there with a gun, ready to kill me, lecturing
me about
family
. I want to throw myself at him. I want him
writhing on the ground, want him to feel what she felt. I
want him bleeding while I watch and laugh and refuse to
call the ambulance until it’s too late.
I want him dead. Even if I have to do it myself.
The idea surges through me, giving me strength, and I
push up on my knees on the back seat and lurch forward,
clumsy with the drug and adrenaline. I manage to loop my
bound arms around his neck; the edge of the zip tie bites
into his windpipe, and I pull back with all the force I’ve got.
The cut-off gasp he makes, stifl ed instantly by the zip tie