“Your doll had on blue panties,” Lucas says. He takes two steps and lands right in front of me, so close I have to look up to see him. “And Mr. Walker was checking you out back there, so I showed Jude. Look, I know this sucks, but does he watch you in class? Give you good grades? Special attention?”
There’s a funny buzzing in my ears, like I’ve got a mouthful of hornets. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. “I don’t…no. I mean, I do all right in class but nothing noteworthy. And I don’t even think I own blue underwear. When did you guys even talk about this?”
“We didn’t. But after he showed me, I thought we should ask. Maybe the color doesn’t matter,” Jude says. “Do you have an outfit like this? A shirt/skirt combo he might love? Or maybe you just laugh at his bad jokes. It wouldn’t take much for a guy like that.”
I flinch because I do laugh at his jokes. Everyone else rolls their eyes, and I feel bad, so I—
Someone’s sharp breath cuts my thoughts short. I look around, but it wasn’t someone else. It was me. My hands are going tingly. I’m breathing too fast.
“Sera.” Lucas’s hands drop, feather-light, onto my shoulders. Tears are filling me up, blurring my vision and drowning out anything I might say.
“Just breathe,” Lucas says with a sigh. “It’s all right.”
“The hell it is,” Jude says.
Lucas’s grip tightens on my shoulders, and I can see his jaw clench when he turns to Jude. “No, but freaking out won’t help, right?”
“No.” I square my shoulders and pull my crap together. “It won’t.”
“So, what do we do?” Jude asks.
I turn to him. “You could run. You and Emily and Lucas. You guys could go because if our guess about the dolls is right, he’s not after you. If this is just about me, you could get away.”
“And in this plan, you’d stay here with Mr. Manson?” Lucas asks.
“You could try to send help,” I say because I have to pretend I’m brave. I can fall apart when they’re gone and safe.
“We’re not leaving you,” Jude says, surprising me. “We stand a better shot together.”
“And we’re not leaving you,” Lucas repeats. Hurt flashes over his features. He’s surprised I’d think he’d consider it.
“Look at us,” Jude says. “Living all that happy, dreamy teamwork stuff.”
The joke bolsters me. “OK, then we leave when he falls asleep. Together, right?”
“We need to do it closer to dawn,” Jude says, searching the trees with a frown. “No damn way am I wandering the woods at night.”
“It’s a fair point. We’re getting closer to where there might be cliffs,” Lucas says. “Mr. Walker mentioned drop-offs and a rim trail in this area. So, daylight?”
“A little before,” I say. “We should bring most of the water, but we have to leave some for Mr. Walker. Some food too. All we have is a hunch here. He could be entirely innocent.”
“He’s a homophobic survival junkie,” Jude says. “I bet he has a stockpile of rations and weapons in his basement. Entirely innocent is probably a stretch.”
“I hear that,” Lucas agrees.
“That doesn’t mean he’s a killer. We’re not judge and jury, OK? We’re leaving him water and food, and that’s that.”
Jude opens his mouth, but Lucas shoots him a look and speaks first. “Fine. Whatever you need to do. But no one breathes a word to him. We’ll head north hard and fast. Mr. Walker said a day’s hike.”
“What about Emily?” I ask. “She’s taking care of him. How will we tell her? Will she even come with us?”
“She’ll come,” Jude says.
“But she’s doing everything for Mr. Walker. She’s practically a nurse out here.”
“She’s stronger than you think, and she’s a survivor. She’ll come,” he says. “I’ll go back and find a way to talk to her.”
We move to follow him, but he shakes his head. “Wait a bit. I’ll try to convince him that you two really are out here pawing at each other and that we’re not plotting against him.”
His laugh follows him through the trees, but when it fades, the forest seems too loud and too quiet at the same time. Crickets hum, and that same rasping cry—barn owl, I guess—tears through the quiet. It’s farther away this time but no less haunting.
I close my eyes, and an image of the doll forms in my mind. The hair, sticky red, and then the panties beneath the skirt, the ones I didn’t see. I wipe my hands down my jeans and jerk back with a hiss. The left one is screaming. I hold it up, and suddenly, I remember something.
“I don’t wear skirts,” I say, hope catching in my throat.
Lucas chews on the corner of his lip, like he’s biting back an argument.
“I wear dresses,” I say. “I hate skirts, but I own a ton of dresses because they’re easy and lightweight and—”
“Hot as hell.”
Warmth curls up through my chest as he smirks. I look down because he’d know. I wore every last one I own around him.
“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were saying. Dresses?”