“She was at Cross Hills Asylum,” Dominic says, easing back and resting his arm on the back of my chair.
My eyes widen. “Shouldn’t there be some records or something from her time there?”
Tucking a strand of hair away behind my ear, he says, “You’d make a good detective.”
The tips of my ears burn, and when I lift my gaze, Gwen smirks at me from across the table.
“Uh, guys,” Lily says, her big, tear-filled eyes flicking up from the phone in her trembling hand. “It’s Brittany.”
Heart racing, I glance at Dominic, then shift in my seat to face Lily.
“She’s dead.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
DOMINIC
The vicar droneson and on in the small church. A week has passed since the news of Brittany’s death.
They ruled it a heart attack.
Fuck that. We all know it wasn’t her heart that gave out. There’s something far more sinister going on. Something that’s waiting and watching.
Despite the endless summer heat, it’s cold in the church. It’s an old structure with worn pews and an ethereal feel, probably from the centuries of devotion and reverence absorbed by the stones.
Camryn is scratching the inside of her arm, but when I try to reach for her, she pulls away. She’s been distant since Brittany’s death, blaming herself for the events that have occurred since the séance.
I’m fed up with her fucking resistance, so I grab her wrist and yank up the long sleeve of her dress, mindful not to let her mom notice. What is she doing wearing a long-sleeve dress in this warm heat?
She tries to pull away, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen the abused skin she tries to hide. There’s blood under her nails, too.
I lean in and whisper against the shell of her ear, “What the hell are you doing?”
“None of your business.”
I clench my jaw, straightening up. Camryn stares straight ahead at the coffin decorated with more flowers than the local florist stocks. It even smells of lilies in here—a faint urine scent.
“Everything about you is my business,” I sneer near her ear. “Don’t make me punish you.”
She whips her head around and glares at me. “Our friend is dead, Dominic. Can you be serious for once?”
Fucking brat.
It takes everything in me not to clamp my hand over her mouth in public to stop her lips from moving. When she spits daggers at me with her eyes like she is now, I want nothing more than to choke the life out of her until she’s so fucking aroused, there’s a wet patch on the pew. Now that would show that fucking god of hers, or devil, who she really worships.
“You’ve been pushing me away this week,” I whisper, ignoring the death glare a middle-aged balding man throws over his shoulder. Fuck him.
Camryn continues staring straight ahead, her jaw set in a firm line.
“I don’t fucking like it.”
“Tough shit,” she snarls, finally giving me her damning eyes.
Her mom squeezes her hand on her other side, and I reluctantly drop this conversation for now. My knee jiggles. I stare at the back of Aron’s head. We haven’t seen much of him this week, but it doesn’t matter. I still don’t want him anywhere near Camryn.
Given a chance, he’d be in her panties in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He’s like a puppy with a bone in her presence.
Seated beside him, Gwen looks over her shoulder and smiles at me weakly, tears glistening in her eyes as she glances at her friend.
