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I crane my head, trying to see into the kitchen without exposing myself.
It’s empty.
Well, except for the girl on the kitchen island, of course. My skin prickles with unease as I step closer, this time craning to peer out of the glass door.
Red is heading toward the lake, bucket swinging at his side. My heart gives a hard thump of relief, but as if he senses someone’s eyes on him, he suddenly spins around, staring right at me.
I fall back, swallowing down a cry of surprise as I press my back to the wall.
JesusfuckingChrist.
Charlotte watches me from a few feet away, her face pale as cream. I hold up a hand to tell her I’m okay, that we’re okay, but it’s shaking so much I drop it to my side. I force myself to peer out again, and see Red on his way to the lake again.
I beckon Charlotte over, and as she reaches me, I slap my hand over her eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say you can.”
“But I’ll fall,” she whispers in a rush.
“I won’t let you.”
Her throat moves as she swallows, then she gives me a small nod.
“Whatever you do, Charlotte, don’t look. Promise me you’ll keep your eyes closed.”
Tears glimmer in her lashes. “What is it?”
Thank God. If she doesn’t know what’s inside the kitchen it means she wasn’t witness to the butchering of Red’s last victim.
“Trust me,” I murmur, rubbing my thumb over her bottom lip. “I won’t let you fall.”
She nods again, and then squeezes her eyes shut.
Taking her by the hand, I steel myself as I step into the kitchen.
She can’t see, but that doesn’t mean she can’t smell. And there’s really nothing quite like the smell of a body. Not just the blood, but everything else. Bowels, bladder, the primordial soup our organs swim in, the juices they themselves contain. It’s revoltingly sweet and so, so bitter.
Charlotte retches, clapping a hand over her mouth to soften the sound.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, squeezing her hand as I lead her to the glass door. “We’re okay.”
15
CHARLOTTE
Arrow licks me awake. My eyes and I stare at the skeletal fingers of bare branches high above as they grasp the inky winter sky. The only light is a red glow cast from the dying embers of the campfire.
“Hey, girl,” I mumble, trying to pat Arrow and instead getting another wet lick. “Okay, okay.”
I struggle into a sit, the cold sliding through the gap in the sheets and Fyre’s jacket before I can wrench the two halves closed. I’ve been positioned so my feet are almost touching the ring of stones packed around the fire. Judging from how cold they feel, I’d probably have lost them to frostbite if that hadn’t been the case.
“Gideon?” I glance around, but it’s only me and Arrow beside the fire. I hurriedly cast my mind back, searching through a drugged haze for what little I can remember.
The lake house.
Red.
