Other than when he’d initially told her about Luke’s death, Alex didn’t cry. Most of the time he just sat there, his jaw tense, his eyes faraway. Gemma stayed with him until very late on Friday and all day Saturday.
Late Saturday afternoon, his head was in her lap, and she was rubbing his back when he whispered, “I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes, I see it.”
“What?” Gemma asked. “What do you see?”
Other than telling her that he’d found the bodies, Alex actually hadn’t said much about it. He refused to tell her any details, instead simply shaking his head whenever she pressed him for more information. Gemma didn’t even know how Luke had died or what had happened to him.
“I can’t.” His voice was tight. “I can’t even put it into words. It was most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.”
Alex looked up at her then, his eyes searching her face. Brushing the hair back from her face, he forced a thin smile.
“You don’t need to know,” he told her. “You don’t need to have that image burned in your mind. You are far too sweet to have to deal with something that awful.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he insisted. “And that’s part of the reason why I…” He licked his lips and stared into her eyes. “It’s why I’m falling for you.”
Gemma leaned over and kissed him then, partially to keep herself from crying. It was what she’d wanted, what she’d been hoping for, but … she couldn’t have it now. She didn’t deserve it.
The evil that had traumatized Alex like this—Gemma was a part of that. Maybe not completely yet, but she was becoming a monster.
A few times, she had thought of telling Harper or Alex about the sirens. Before she’d found out that was what she was, Gemma had been on the brink of telling Harper about the strange things going on with her.
Now, with the murders and knowing that she was somehow connected to them, Gemma could never tell Harper or Alex or her father.
But there was one person she might be able to talk to, one person whose grasp on reality had become so tenuous, she would never doubt Gemma’s story—her mother.
*
“How are things going with Alex?” Harper asked as she drove them both to see their mother on Sunday morning.
“Do you mean in our relationship, or how he’s holding up in general?” Gemma asked. She was slouched low in the passenger seat, staring through her dark sunglasses out the window.
“Um, both.” Harper glanced over at her, as if surprised that her sister had said that much.
They’d barely spoken on the entire twenty-minute ride to Briar Ridge, despite Harper’s many attempts at conversation. Now that they were almost to the group home, Gemma started to respond with whole sentences.
“Good, considering. On both counts.” Gemma tugged at her ears, trying to alleviate the watersong. It only seemed to get louder, no matter what she tried, and it was maddening.
“Well, I’m glad that you came with me to see Mom today,” Harper said. “I know it was hard for you to break away from Alex, but Mom loves to see you.”
“About that.” Gemma turned to her sister as they pulled in front of the group home. “I want to see Mom by myself today.”
“What do you mean?” Harper turned off the car and narrowed her eyes at Gemma.
“I need to talk to her by myself.”
“Why? About what?”
“If I wanted to tell you about it, I wouldn’t need to see Mom alone,” Gemma pointed out.
“Well…” Harper sighed and looked out the front window. “Why did you wait until now to tell me that? Why didn’t you just come here by yourself?”
“My car’s broken, and I knew you’d never let me go anywhere by myself,” Gemma said. “At least not in your car. I’m actually a little surprised you let me walk over to Alex’s house by myself.”
“Don’t do that.” Harper shook her head. “Don’t make me sound like the bad guy. You’re the one who has been running around doing God knows what with those awful girls! It’s your fault we don’t trust you.”
“Harper.” Gemma groaned and hit her head on the back of the car seat. “I never said it wasn’t my fault.”
“You’re acting totally bananas lately,” Harper went on, as if she hadn’t heard a thing that Gemma had said. “And there’s a serial killer on the loose on top of everything. What else am I supposed to do? Just let you run wild?”
“God! You’re not my mom, Harper!” Gemma snapped.
“And she is?” Harper pointed to the group home next to them.
Gemma looked at her like she was an idiot. “Um, yeah, she is.”
“Maybe she was, and through no fault of her own, she had to give that up. But who’s been raising you the past nine years? Who helps you with your homework? Who worries sick about you all night when you don’t come home, and then takes care of you when you’re hungover and beat up?” Harper demanded.