My eyes scan the boy, trying to make sense of what’s happening, to piece together the images, but my mind can’t rationalize what it sees—simply can’t process the horror. Fear chokes me, tightening around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. Kinsey tugs on my sleeve, but I’m frozen. Unable to move.
Too late, the pieces begin to drop into place—camouflage, greasepaint on his face, and guns…lots of them, in the boy’s hands and hanging from straps on his arms. Everything around me slows to a stop as my heart thunders in my chest, reaching a pace so rapid, it can’t possibly be sustainable. A bizarre lightheadedness separates my mind from my body, surely a protective instinct to keep my psyche from fracturing. It’s as if I’m watching the scene play out as a casual observer. Life is merely a movie on a screen.
The boy circles around the car and raises a large, black weapon, lining it up with his eye—at us. Kinsey’s voice breaks through the fog, hysterical and sobbing. “Britton, run!”
Kinsey grabs my hand, pulling me up the steps of the school. I twist my body to run, but not before locking eyes with the boy. They’re dead, cold, shut down—the eyes of a killer. Adrenaline propels me up the stairs and through the doors, where we burst through into an empty hall.
“In here,” Kinsey cries.
I follow her into the main office where only a few staff members remain. We dive under the long front counter just as popping sounds split the silence, cracking the air like fireworks.
Then the screaming begins.
Kinsey wraps her arms around me, using my shoulder to stifle her sobs. I hold her tight, clinging to the faint threads of reality as they loosen in front of me.
Will school be canceled Monday? I nearly laugh out loud at the thought. A single long thread works its way free.
More screams fill the small office. Another thread pulls loose, allowing more of my mind to slip away.
I cover my ears with my hands, vaguely aware of Kinsey clinging to me. The fabric of my world unravels to one single thought.
Survive.
I stare into her damp, silver eyes, seeing my own fear reflected back at me. And when black boots scuff across the floor and stop next to us, I know without a doubt I’m about to die.
Keller
My eyes are blurry as I attempt to focus. Fuck, my head is killing me. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes and adjusting to the dark room, I realize I’m in Logan’s guest room with Rory sleeping next to me on one side, another naked girl I don’t recognize on the other.
Despite the headache and general all-around shitty feeling, I smile. Yesterday was fucking epic. When word spread that Logan’s parents were gone, a bunch of our friends showed up to party. And man, did we party.
I slide out of the bed without disturbing either of the girls and grab my shorts. After tugging them on, I use the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The satisfied look on my face is enough to bring a smile to my lips. I used both of those girls until my dick ran dry and I collapsed in exhaustion.
Wetting my hands, I run them through my dark, matted hair, letting it stick up randomly on top of my head. I make sure my keys are in my pocket and shove my shoes on my feet, headed for the front door. People are passed out all over the living room in different states of undress. I have to carefully step around them to get out of here.
The glow of the clock in the kitchen says 5:45 a.m. Fuck, it’s earlier than I thought, but I don’t want to be here when everyone wakes up. Listening to people bitch about hangovers and dealing with clingy girls are not my things. Fucking and fun? Those are my things. The next morning? Hell no.
I start my car and pull out of the driveway before lowering the top on the Shelby. Going slow so I don’t get pulled over, I travel the deserted early morning streets of our affluent suburb at a leisurely pace. When I get home, I drive around back, turn the car off, and pull a joint out of my wallet. Lighting up the blunt, I sit back in my seat, taking several long drags. Chemical bliss floods my system, relaxing me enough to go inside and deal with my parents.
Fuck, I hate this house. The only thing that makes it worth coming home to every day is my sister Kinsey, and half the time, even knowing she’s inside isn’t enough to make me want to leave the safety of my car.
I pray my mom isn’t already high, then giggle at the hypocrisy, pulling another long drag from the joint. Me having to get high in order to deal with my prescription drug abusing, alcoholic mother? I snort in sick, twisted delight.
Later, when I look back on this moment, I realize it sucked that I never saw the police car parked out front or noticed the thirty-seven missed calls on my phone. Maybe I wouldn’t have smoked that joint. Maybe I would have been better prepared for the worst moment of my life. Maybe I wouldn’t have laughed like a hyena when I found out I was a killer.
But that’s exactly what I am.
2
Killer
Darkness. And pain. Definitely pain. A dull, throbbing, nauseating pain that radiates from my head all the way down my entire body to my toes. A long, violent tremor shakes me, stripping away the last vestiges of unconsciousness and thrusting me into the horrors of being awake to live another day.