The house was darkening. The gray of the sky was being edged out by an inky, all-encompassing blackness that seemed to weigh on Sawyer’s chest. She crossed the hall to her own room and flopped down onto her bed, feeling the weight of the day—the days, actually—pulling on her limbs. Everything ached. She pressed her palms against her eyes then blinked up at the ceiling, letting the tears roll over her cheeks, drip onto the bedspread. She squinted then, seeing the tinge of red.
When she rolled over onto her stomach, every aching muscle in her body pricked with a primal fear. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and she launched herself from the bed, backing up so rapidly that she thunked against her desk, sending a shower of jewelry and pens clattering to the ground.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wall above her bed, from the gashes of red paint she had grown to despise—from the words I see everything scrawled above her headboard.
FIFTEEN
Bile rose in Sawyer’s throat.
She dashed across the hall and kicked at the bathroom door, yanking on the knob and using the heel of her hand. “Tara, Tara, get out here! We have to get out of here right now!”
Sawyer was sobbing openly now, looking back toward her room as if the words would come to life and follow her.
“Tara!” She kicked at the door again and finally pressed her ear against it, praying to hear the sound of the water softening, the tap turning off, Tara coming to her rescue. But the shower remained a thunderous rain. Sawyer stepped back to kick open the door and stopped, astonished, when her feet sunk into the carpet.
It was soaked.
“Oh my God. Tara!”
Sawyer shouldered the door, hard. She heard the splinter of the wood frame and hit it once more, sending the thing vaulting open and her tumbling into the bathroom. She slid on the tile floor, a sheen of water making the entire room slick.
The first thing Sawyer saw was Tara’s bare feet, resting one on top of the other. They were kicked against the glass shower door, a rivulet of shower water pouring out underneath them.
“Oh no.” Sawyer gripped the sink and made her way to the shower, where Tara was slumped. Her naked body was crumpled on the tile floor, her blond hair floating on a quarter inch of water. Her cheeks were pink and flushed, her shoulder and pregnant belly a deep red where the water was pelting her.
Sawyer’s tears were steady now and she felt herself gasp—and smile—when she saw the light rise and fall of Tara’s chest.
“Oh, thank God!”
She really did feel relief, her tears turning to joy, when she turned off the tap and snatched a towel from the rack. She laid it gently over Tara’s body, covering her. She tapped her cheeks lightly, then harder. “Tara? Tara!”
Tara’s head lolled listlessly, her mouth hanging slack. “Oh please, Tara, wake up!”
Sawyer sloshed through the water and snatched the phone from the nightstand next to her father’s bed. She dialed 911 and took huge, gasping breaths of air, then stopped when she realized the line was completely dead.
“No, no, no!”
She was going for her cell phone when she detected motion out of the corner of her eye. A car was coming down the street toward the house, coasting along the slick blacktop. As it got closer, Sawyer’s heart began to pound.
It was a police car.
She began to back away from the window when she realized that Stephen Haas was driving it. It was only then that Sawyer noticed the car pulled up tight against the house.
“Oh God, Chloe.”
She ran downstairs and snatched the door open, throwing her arms around Chloe as she stood on the porch. “Get inside.”
“Sawyer, the police—”
Sawyer slammed the door hard. “Where’s your cell phone? We have to call 911.”
“But the police are right—”
“No!” Again tears stung Sawyer’s eyes. “I don’t trust him! He’s coming for me. Call 911 and get an ambulance.”
Chloe gripped Sawyer’s shoulders. “What is going on?”
Sawyer wagged her head, her breath caught in a plastic bubble that refused to burst. Her skin felt tight; her forehead seemed to shrink against her brain. She doubled over, rubbing her eyes with her fists.
“I think it’s Stephen. He’s Logan’s brother. I think he’s after me—I think he killed Kevin and Maggie or he’s covering up for Logan.”
“But why?”
Snot and tears rolled down Sawyer’s chin. “I don’t know.”
Chloe’s eyes were wide when Sawyer straightened up again. Her mouth dropped into a little o of surprise; there was warm concern in her eyes. Her grip on Sawyer’s shoulders tightened, and Chloe stepped around her, nudging Sawyer back into the house, shutting the door solidly behind her. Sawyer heard the lock tumble into place.
“Sawyer, you’re about to hyperventilate.”
“You don’t understand, Chloe. We have to get out of here! Logan—Stephen—he knows where I live! He’ll be back, and we have to save Tara—”
Sawyer was crying hard, big hiccupping sobs that wracked her shoulders and made the ache in her chest that much greater.
Chloe pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed, pressing it to her ear. Sawyer listened to Chloe give her address, speaking slowly, asking Sawyer if Tara was still breathing.