Part 7 (1/2)

”Leave him alone, Jimmy!”

”This pitiful son of a b.i.t.c.h? Maybe I should gut him. Finish him off. You were supposed to die out there, you know. You and your little b.i.t.c.h boyfriend.” Jimmy blew a huff of smoke into Fletcher's face, and his lips thinned as he grinned s.a.d.i.s.tically.

Fletcher just stared straight ahead as if he wasn't seeing Jimmy.

”Fletch-” she started.

Blue-and-white lights cut through the darkness and Jimmy let go of Fletcher's s.h.i.+rt, shoving him backward. Avery grabbed Fletcher's arm to support him, and they both started to run. Avery could hear his breath straining as he kept pace with her, his weight balanced against her shoulder until her house came into view. They doubled over in her driveway.

Adrenaline crashed through Avery's system and she blinked, her throat tightening. ”Oh my G.o.d, that guy is a psychopath.” She could feel tears forming. ”I'm so sorry, Fletcher.”

Fletcher stood in front of her, his eyes hard and dark. ”He said I was supposed to die out there.” His voice was little more than a hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”What do you think-”

Avery stepped backward, her lower lip trembling. ”Fletcher.” She gestured at his chest, unable to push the words past her lips.

He looked to where she was pointing. There was a starburst of wrinkles on the cotton where Jimmy's fist had been. In the center, like the stamen of some hideous flower, was a smear of blood. Fletcher didn't raise his head again before turning on his heel and walking into the night.

I shoulda killed him. I shoulda killed him. The words swirled around in his head. The faster he walked, the more the night air broke over his face. His hands were fisted so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms.

The metallic waft of the blood on his s.h.i.+rt a.s.saulted him, and he felt something noxious roiling in his gut. That smell...

A thick, dense forest of pine trees surrounded him. Somewhere, a river flowed. He could hear it. He should have been able to smell it too-the fresh, mossy scent of the water, let alone the heady, sharp scent of the pine needles that cus.h.i.+oned his step. But the dull, metallic stench of the blood overtook all of his senses.

”Adam?” Fletcher called. There was no response. His voice came out shaky and weak. ”Adam, dude, where are you?”

There was a rustle from somewhere behind Fletcher. It wasn't big enough to be a bear, but was too large to be a squirrel. It was like his body knew the sound before his mind did. He tensed. Every inch of his body sensed danger in the most primitive way. Sweat burned his eyes and poured down the back of his s.h.i.+rt.

It was coming for him. He needed to run. He needed to get away.

A branch shook. A twig snapped. Someone took another step through the foliage. But Fletcher was frozen. It was as if he had been turned into a statue. He thought his head was going to explode or his heart would blow through his chest. He wanted to growl, to roar, to make himself big and terrifying and impa.s.sable.

”Adam...” His voice was a mere whisper now, strained with tears and terror. ”G.o.d, Adam. Man, where the f.u.c.k are you?”

Then the smell of blood grew stronger. He looked down. Fresh droplets fanned across the toes of his sneakers. Another drop fell and a fresh wave of nausea crashed over him. He looked up, trying to locate where the drop came from. Branches stretched above him, but that was all. He looked down at his shoes again as another drop fell at the edge of his vision, burning a trail down his cheek.

Fletcher retched. Through his daze, he had made it home. Kneeling in front of the toilet, he felt his whole body convulse. He was pretty sure he'd already thrown up every bit of food he'd ever eaten in his life.

”Fletch, honey, is that you?”

His mother clicked on the bathroom light, and Fletcher pinched his eyes shut at the harsh fluorescent glare. She put her hand on his back, then immediately pulled it away. ”You're sweating. Honey, are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

Fletcher flushed the toilet as his mother arranged a wet washcloth on the back of his neck.

”Do you need more pain medication? Or is the pain medication making you sick?”

His head was still swimming with images of Jimmy. He pushed the pads of his fingers against his temples and rubbed small circles, trying to quell his headache.

”I don't know, Mom. The pain meds make me feel crazy.” He shrugged and pushed himself up from the bathroom floor. ”I think I'm okay though. Maybe it was just something I ate.” He gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek. ”Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

He started down the hall, but his mother stopped him. ”Fletcher, if there was something wrong-something wrong again-you would tell me, right?” Her smile was weak but her eyes were hopeful. ”We can talk about things, you know.”

Anger swelled in his chest and his headache thumped like a ba.s.s drum. ”I'm fine, Ma. It's probably just something I ate. I'm going back to sleep.” He pushed the washcloth back into her hand, strode into his room, and shut the door.

Avery snuck back into her house completely undetected. If she were a normal teenager, this would be a triumph, but she was Avery Templeton, daughter of the chief of police and lifelong do-gooder, so it troubled her that her father's snores didn't s.h.i.+ft in the slightest.

So did what had just happened with Jimmy Jerold.

She tried to scrunch her eyes shut and fall asleep counting sheep or listening to music on her iPhone, but with the tension thrumming through her body, every sheep or song dissolved into the terrifying snarl on Jimmy Jerold's face...and the expressionless look on Fletcher's. She wasn't sure which disturbed her more-the fact that she likely had stood toe-to-toe with Adam's killer or the stony, unaffected way her friend had reacted. A line she had read in cla.s.s swam in the back of her mind: ”...Sometimes, in an effort to protect itself, the brain turns off certain functions, particularly in the light of trauma or a trigger.”

Avery started to breathe harder. Fletcher might not remember that Jimmy was there on the hike that day, but maybe his brain did. Maybe his body did but he had been frozen in fear.

She sat bolt upright and made a beeline for her father's bed.

”Dad,” she whispered, gently poking his shoulder. ”Dad.”

It took little more than a heavy breath to wake her father, who was on his feet in the amount of time it took for most people to blink. Instinctively he reached for the gun belt but stopped when he thunked into Avery.

”Avery? Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

She nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed. ”Maybe. Yeah, I mean, not really.” She gnawed her bottom lip. ”Dad, Fletcher came by. He and I snuck out tonight.”

Her father sucked in a heavy breath. One eyebrow was arched and Avery could tell that he was pressing his lips so as not to interrupt her story. But he was not happy.

”I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.”

”Avery, you broke a house rule and you broke a city law. Is this you just coming clean?”

”No, Dad, that's not the point.”

”No, Avery, I think that very much is the point.”

Avery groaned. ”Dad! Just listen to me. I'm sorry about sneaking out and you can punish me, but something happened.”

Suddenly, Chief Templeton's dad face was replaced by his cop face: hard, penetrating eyes, slightly c.o.c.ked head. ”Tell me.”

”We weren't doing anything. Fletcher had been cooped up and just needed to get out of the house so he came by here. We walked out to the old diamond-”

The chief pinched the bridge of his nose. ”The point, sweetheart.”

”We ran into Jimmy Jerold.” Avery was more terrified than she had been when Jimmy was actually in front of her. ”He was watching us. He came out of the bushes and started calling Fletch a f.a.ggot.”

”I'm sorry, Avy, but-”