The couple sped away with an irritated squeak of their wheels. Bex slumped against Laney’s car, her palm pressed against her jackhammering heart.
“I’m going to die,” she mumbled to herself. “Whether or not my dad comes around, I’m going to give myself a heart attack and die.”
“What about your dad and your heart attack?”
Chelsea was standing behind Bex, hands on hips, shopping bag slung around one thin wrist. “And why are you talking to yourself?”
If it were physically possible for Bex to jump out of her skin, she would have. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“You were taking forever so we got you this.” Laney held out a bag to Bex, the T-shirt she had decided on wrapped in tissue paper inside. She rolled up onto her toes and waved, calling, “See ya, Mr. Pierson!” Then, to Bex, “Were you not supposed to go out or something?”
Bex looked dumbfounded, staring in the direction Laney was waving. “Did you see Michael?”
Laney frowned. “Didn’t you? You were talking about your dad giving you a heart attack, and he was right there.” She pointed. “He was looking right at you.”
Again Bex looked. There was a vacated parking space and a pair of taillights disappearing down the garage driveway.
When Bex let herself into the house after Laney dropped her off, Denise and Michael were sitting on the couch watching television.
“Did you get something good?” Denise asked.
Michael turned and smiled, ready to inspect Bex’s shopping spoils.
Bex held up the shirt Laney and Chelsea bought for her, a feeling of unease overwhelming her. “I’m sorry if I just stared at you in the parking lot, Michael. I…guess I didn’t recognize you.”
Denise’s eyebrows rose when Michael turned to Bex. “Which parking lot?”
“At the mall just now. Laney saw you.”
Michael and Denise shared a look, and Michael’s eyebrows knitted together. “Wasn’t me.”
“We’ve been here all afternoon.”
Michael gestured toward the TV. “Denise has me fully enthralled with this home decorating network. Apparently, I’m supposed to be taking notes on something called ‘tinning.’” He stood up and patted Bex’s shoulder conspiratorially. “Maybe it was my super-lucky doppelg?nger that you saw. Enjoying his non-house-remodeling freedom.”
Denise hopped up after him. “It’s adding an antique tin ceiling and you’ll love it!”
Bex blinked, watching them go. Were Michael and Denise lying, or was Laney just mistaken?
“My God,” she mumbled, pressing her palms against her temples and making little circles. “I’ve got to stop freaking out over every little thing.”
Of course Laney was mistaken. She and Chelsea had only met Michael once.
Bex glanced down at the bag in her hand, at the coffee table where Denise’s red and black pom-poms were discarded. She wanted nothing more than to skip the game and crawl into her bed and pull the covers up over her head. “If I could wake up sometime around senior year of college, that’d be excellent.”
Sighing, Bex climbed the stairs to her room, glancing at her laptop tucked silently under her bed. She thrummed her fingernails over the closed lid, curiosity pulling at her.
GAMECREATOR is probably some crazed fanboy, she reasoned. He’s not my dad. He’s not. And the memory? Just happened to fit. All little kids played games. All dads said stupid things like, “I invented the game.” It was nothing.
She glanced again at her cell phone. Not a single missed message or call from Detective Schuster.
But still that little voice inside Bex’s head said, What if?
She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and touched the trackpad, and the screen flicked to life.
She navigated her way to the fan site, no longer shuddering when the page pulled up, no longer flinching at the macabre pictures. Her Forum inbox was bulging with a series of post replies and private message requests, but not one from GAMECREATOR.
Bex slammed her laptop shut, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.
Twenty-Nine
The closer Trevor and Bex got to campus, the more thoughts of Detective Schuster, her father, and anything Wife Collector related faded away. With each stoplight, the energy of Kill Devil Hills High seemed to pulse and throb more.
“Oh my gosh,” she said as they reached the school. “Is the whole school here?”
“Try the whole town,” Trevor said as he smoothly coasted the car into the lot. “There’s not a lot to do around here if you haven’t noticed. Ooh, spot.”
Trevor continued to chatter, but Bex was focused on the crowd streaming by the car. They made a fairly solid red-and-black mob, girls with Red Devil pitchforks on their cheeks and ribbons in their hair, guys with football jerseys and faces painted red and black.
“I can’t believe that everyone gets so into it.”
He gestured toward her shirt. “Looks like you got a little school spirit too.”
Bex could feel her cheeks redden. “I had to go out and buy it today.”
“Good choice. Anyway”—Trevor shrugged—“football is life.”