“Of course I’m afraid of you!” I shout. “You killed Melody! You did something to Gideon. And for all I know, he’s dead too!”
“What are you talking about?” Peter’s brow is furrowed, his mouth open, but I’m not falling for it.
I keep pressing my back farther into the door, even though the handle stabs me. “She worked at the diner. You go there twice a week. Don’t pretend like you never spoke to her. Flirted with her.”
“Of course I talked to her. That makes me a killer?”
“Explain this,” I snap, lifting the notebook from the pile on the floor. I hold it before him with shaky fingers.
Peter’s face reddens and his eyes fall. “I was going to return it. I only read a couple pages. I’m sorry.” He pushes the hair off his forehead, but it sticks. “I found it a few weeks ago at the diner, and I should’ve given it back to you right away. But I really liked you, and you didn’t know I existed. I thought I could watch some of the movies you wrote about and we’d have something to talk about.” His head slumps. “But then I was too embarrassed to return it.”
“You did something to Gideon,” I repeat. I feel around again for my phone, keeping my eyes on him.
“That’s crazy.”
“I’m not crazy. Stay back!” I flinch. My elbow smacks the glove compartment, sending a volt of pain up my arm.
“Cass, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would I do something to Gideon?” My heart is pounding. My phone is still lost within the backpack. Or he must have taken it when I wasn’t paying attention. I fumble with the seat belt latch again, my eyes still glued on his.
“I don’t know. Because he was getting between us. Because he was helping me look into Melody’s murder. Because I told him about your threats!” Where is Gideon when I need him? Finally releasing my seat belt, I search frantically for some way to distract Peter.
“Cass, I have no idea where any of this is coming from.” Peter’s eyes are stuck to the steering wheel.
“Prove it then. Call him! I want him to tell me he’s sick!” I move my hand back against the door.
“He won’t answer my call.”
“Just do it!” I scream. Peter hesitates, and then gives a long sigh before scrolling—or pretending to scroll—for Gideon’s number.
I don’t waste a second. While his eyes are on the screen, I fling open the car door. I run in the direction of my house, straight through the forest. I can see my back gate, but a familiar sound, though faint and muffled, halts me in my tracks.
It’s the theme song from Rosemary’s Baby. Gideon’s ringtone. The notes have never sounded as eerie as they do drifting toward me through the dark woods. I follow the sound of the music, hearing the snapping of sticks and the crunching of leaves as Peter pursues me.
The phone has been discarded or dropped several feet from my backyard. Partially buried beneath the earth, its screen still glows blue after the music stops. I dig it up, turning to face Peter as I back away from him, carefully.
“Cass. Please stop running from me.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Make it easier for you?” My shoulder brushes against the sharp edge of a branch and I recoil.
“I don’t know how the phone got there. I haven’t been anywhere near here.”
Gideon’s screen is cracked, but the phone still works. I scroll through the messages. Our conversation from this morning is the last thing on it, but he never responded to my text. A tremor snakes its way up my core.
Why is Gideon’s phone in the woods? Did Peter bring him here this morning when they were supposed to have tutoring? It would explain why Gideon never turned up at my house. My mind is a tornado of confusion, with terrifying images of Gideon lying helpless, or lifeless, at the forefront.
Shaking my head, I step back onto something white and fluffy strewn about the dirt. I take another step, and it’s like walking on the clouds. I must be dreaming, or dead.
“Please don’t come any closer,” I whisper as Peter steps toward me, leaves crackling beneath his feet. Between his looming figure and the shadows of the evergreens that block out the morning light, I am trapped.
As my vision darkens, a thunderous crash followed by a deep cry echoes through the woods. I meet Peter’s eyes—I’ve never seen those eyes so big—and immediately know.
I’m wrong.
But I’m not dreaming.
I’m not dead.
And I’m not crazy.
30
Peter and I sprint toward the sounds, which become fainter with every step through the mossy, leaf-ridden ground. We near the log, where I’m certain Gideon is hurt, or worse.
We hear voices—or a voice—as we near the log, and this time, though still obscured beneath the sounds of rushing water, there is no mistaking it. The same voice from that day with Melody. The voice that haunts my dreams.
It hits me in the gut, knocking me off balance. No.
When we stop, Peter pulls my face before his, mouthing, “What’s going on?”
Breathe. I whisper into his ear, “It’s Asher. The killer. And he has Gideon.”
I peek out from behind the tree, stifling a cry as I glimpse Gideon’s figure slumped over the log, swathed in the ethereal glow that spills through the treetops. His lifeless face is hidden beneath matted hair and dripping blood. I steady myself against the tree trunk. I’m light-headed, incapable of processing the stillness in Gideon’s always-active body.
Asher stands behind the log, facing our direction. He hovers over Gideon, who suddenly manages to hold himself upright, but just barely. One of his eyes is swollen shut. His hands are bound behind his back, and his feet are tied together with thick rope.
Over Gideon’s head, Asher dangles something that glimmers under the rays of light.
Melody Davenport’s necklace.
“Is this what you were looking for?” Asher snarls. He clutches the golden chain in his fist and stashes it into his pocket. “I really didn’t want to do this, Gideon, but you follow every idiotic command my sister gives you like a lost puppy.” He makes his way toward a black canvas bag resting on the ground beside the log. A blood-coated metal wrench pokes out through the zipper. I fight back nausea.
Something else is half-concealed in the bag. Shiny ringlets of hair dangle over the side and I can make out one glassy blue eye. The rest of the face is covered by the doll’s upturned dress, leaving its soft, torn belly exposed. More of the cloudlike material has spilled from its bowels and is scattered across the forest floor.