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“Hey, Nic,” I sigh, knowing I sound as tired as I feel. “Where are you?”
“Where am I? Where the fuck are you?!”she screeches into my ear. “You disappeared and then someone found a body—I thought you were dead, Bailey!”
I have to make a decision.Now.Otherwise, I’ll be hiding lies or making up stories later, unless I can cement the details here and now of what I plan to tell people.
“I almost was,” I tell her, letting my voice wobble. It hurts a little to lie to her. She’s been my best friend for years. But on the other hand… Phoenix’s face flashes through my brain, and the brush of his lips in my memory is perfection. As is the ghost of Rory’s touch that I can conjure up, and his teeth on my ear, and—Fuck.
There’s a hickey on my throat. I can feel it there, and know that if it’s not already incredibly visible, it will be soon. Which means I’ll have to lie about it, to both Nic and whoever else I have to talk to. “Somehow, I got lost in the slaughterhouse. The barn,” I explain, before she prompts me to. “Also seriously,where are you?”
“Near the police cars.” I look around, but don’t see any police cars. “On the other side of the ambulance. Come over here. They’ll want to talk to you since you were in there, too.”
Yeah, and thankfully, at least, I have some idea of what I’m going to say piecing itself together inside my skull. “Okay,” I agree without a fight. “Okay, I’m coming over there.” At least this means I don’t have to say it all right now. I can tell her when I tell the police. Hopefully.
I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket, wishing I could do something to cover the mark on my throat. I also wish that Phoenix was in my contacts, or that I had any way to get ahold of him. But as it is, he’ll have to find out on his own.
The two cop cars are exactly where Nic told me they would be. As I approach, my fingers flex then clench into loose fists against my hoodie sleeves, and I hear what sounds like cracking, high sobs.
Sure enough, when I look over at two female detectives talking to someone, I see Ava’s face screwed up in misery, cheeks dirty and tearstained as she explains her side of the night’s events to the police.
I expect a surge of sympathy, or at least something close to it. I expectsomethingto happen when I look at her. Empathy isn’t my strong suit, but surely,even I’m not so bad as to feel nothing for Ava nearly losing Evan.
And yet here I am, wishing he was dead, so I wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of making up stories about what happened after I ran out of the barn. God, what iswrongwith me? I should be thrilled that he’s alive. All life is precious and…whatever.
But I’m not.
And I’m too tired to feel particularly bad about it tonight. Before I can look away, however, Ava’s eyes find mine, somehow knowing exactly where I am. She stares at me with that hopeless look, and I just don’t know what to say, or how to respond.
So I start walking again until I find Nic and Nolan speaking softly to a male cop that nods and takes notes. That seems like the place to be, and I trudge over to them, my feet dragging in the grass until finally Nic looks up, her eyes wide.
“Bailey!” she gasps, breaking away and slamming into me with her arms going to my shoulders in a hug. I wince, too sore and worn out for this, but hug her back awkwardly, anyway. “Holyshit, Bailey. I really thought you were dead.”
“Yeah, same,” I admit, glancing at the cop who I know is listening. “But maybe hug me a little less? I’m really, really exhausted.”
“Sorry,sorry.” She pulls away and looks me over, her gaze critical. “You’re filthy,” she informs me, and I look down to see what she sees, in the light from the cars, the ambulance, and the lampposts thatField of Nightmareshas littered around the place.
I’m a mess. My palms hurt, aching in the background like a constant, thrumming sensation in my mind. The knees of my leggings are ripped, though thankfully my skin isn’t bloody or raw. My hoodie isn’t much better. Dirt is streaked across it, and I’m sure my hair and face are just as bad.
Thankfully, she doesn’t look too hard at the mark on my neck barely covered by my hoodie. But before I can open my mouth to say something or ask to speak to the office, a familiar voice from behind me makes my teeth clench.
“Do you have a minute to talk, Miss Scott?” I would know Detective Angleson’s cold tone anywhere, and I have to fight to suppress the shudder it urges from my body.
Fuck. This night really is getting as bad as possible.
“Yes,” I say tiredly, pivoting to look at the blonde detective. Her hair is up in its scary smooth ponytail again, and I let my shoulders sag in exhaustion. I’m too tired to protest. Too tired to do more thanexistand I want her to know it. “Whatever you want. Then I just want to go home.”
She looks me over and nods, glancing around until she spots an empty picnic table. “Let’s go sit. You look like you need to.”
I’d be a lot happier going home, but I follow her with another nod, falling onto my side of the picnic table with a long sigh. “This night is awful,” I say, letting my voice carry my exhaustion. It’s not hard to play the part. My brain supplies me with all the expressions I’m sure I need. Of the mannerisms, attitudes, and even tone of voice I’ve heard in others. Sure, I may not be able to instinctively and naturally pick up on the moods of my friends or, hell, anyone. But I’ve been alive long enough with a brain that works weird to pick out little details that I can apply to myself in this situation.
“You were in the barn with your friends, right? I hear they couldn’t find you.” It’s not a very subtle hint to tell her what happened, but I take a deep breath and press my hands to the table, eyes finding hers.
Andthe people behind her. Near the large fire that still roars in its pit, Rory and Phoenix have reappeared, both looking shocked as they talk to an officer who writes down whatever they say.
I know they’ll be able to cover for each other. After all, that’s the joy of there being twoof them in this. And the point of that detail, if I had to guess. Especially since when they do kill, they wear the exact same outfits.
“We went in together. It was only the three of us in our group. Just a weird timing between people being there and at the corn maze, you know?” She nods even though it’s not a real question, a pen in her hand that she uses to jot down sloppy notes on a small notepad in front of her. “Some huge guy got between us. Did his little show and tried to scare me for long enough that when he moved, I couldn’t see them. I didn’t seeanyone.” This part is easy, for the sheer fact that it’s not a lie.
Not yet, anyway.
