“?Vamos!” he barks at the driver, sending the tires squealing. Tess is crumpled on the ground, grabbing her arm and crying in pain.
“Somebody call nine-one-one,” I yell behind me as Luke and a group of teachers and students finally reach the parking lot. I run to her side and tear off the blindfold. She throws her arms around me, pulling my body closer to hers, her damp tears transferring onto my skin.
“Thank you,” Tess cries into my shoulder. I position her on the ground, tear off my jacket, and tie a tight knot around her arm to stop the bleeding.
“You’re going to be okay,” I say and wipe her dark hair out of her eyes. I can already hear the sirens in the distance. “Help is coming.”
“He called me Reagan,” Tess says, grasping her bloody hands in mine. “Why did he keep calling me Reagan?”
I swear my heart pauses midbeat. By now, dozens of teachers and classmates have crowded around us and are shouting panicked questions. What happened? Who did this? Are you okay?
Every muscle in my body is buzzing. I stand up and look her up and down: same long, dark hair, same olive complexion, same gray T-shirt and same dark jeans. We could normally pass as sisters but today … we could pass for twins.
They came for me.
The sirens grow louder as I push my way out of the crowd and dial home. Please pick up, please pick up, my mind begs with each ring.
“Hello?” my mom answers after the third ring.
“Mom, get in the panic room right now,” I yell into the phone as I run across the parking lot.
“Reagan, calm down for—” she answers, her voice tight.
“Just listen to me. Grab Dad and get in the panic room immediately!” I am now screaming into the phone, my breath heavy from running.
“What’s going—” she begins to say but I cut her off.
“There’s no time to explain. You’re not safe, someone is—” But before I can finish my sentence, the sound of shattering glass fills my ears.
“Reagan!” she screams but her voice already sounds muffled and far away.
“Mom!” I shriek, but the line goes dead. “Mom!” I scream one more time before I shove the phone back into my pocket.
I’m running faster than I ever have in my life but it feels like I’m wading through quicksand. Every step I take feels like I’m sinking further into the soft earth. But I keep pushing and running and breathing and begging. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.
“I’m coming, Mom. I’m coming.”
SEVENTEEN
I place my hand, caked with blood, on the metal doorknob. It’s black and gold and made to look antique even though the house is only a decade old. The metal is cold and soothes my fiery grip. I hold it there for one second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Contemplating what I’m going to do once I get inside. Wondering what kind of scene I’ll find. I close my eyes. An image of our foyer flashes behind my eyelids. Blood is splashed on the white walls and bodies lie at the foot of the stairs. I shake my head and open my eyes before my brain shows me who the bodies belong to. Stop thinking like that, you psycho, I scold myself. Pull yourself together.
A rush of dread fills every inch of my body as I turn the knob, my finger wrapped around the trigger of the pistol. Part of me expects the door to be locked, but it’s open. The foyer walls are still white. There are no bodies on the ground. I blow the air out through my lips and take a silent step inside, my arms outstretched and my gun pointed in front of me, ready to shoot.
I close the door as quietly as I can, but the click of the bolt brushing against metal fills the room. I stand in the foyer and listen. For footsteps, voices, fighting or screaming or gunshots. But I hear nothing.
The dining room and living room are untouched. The light from the kitchen pours from the doorway and streams down the hallway. I try to control the sound of my breath, the strike of my feet as I sidestep down the dim hallway, my back against the wall, gun pulled against my chest. I listen again. I’m straining to hear something, anything. The refrigerator kicks on in the kitchen. It hums and hums and hums and stops. I take a few more steps toward the kitchen, but Dad’s half-open office door stops me.