LYING SEASON (BOOK #4 IN THE EXPERIMENT IN TERROR SERIES)

“The map, Perry,” he said, tapping it with his hand. “Need to exit on Chesterman Road.”

 

I sighed at his evasiveness and looked at where we were and where we needed to go. “It’s the third exit coming up.”

 

I got that Dex didn’t like to get into any situations that made him feel vulnerable, so I wasn’t surprised when he switched the subject. I was surprised at the subject matter though.

 

“So how did your date go the other night?” he asked without a hint of jealousy. A hint of jealousy would have been nice.

 

“With Brock?”

 

He snorted. “Yes, Brock. What a fucking name. Of course Brock, have you been on dates with other guys or something?”

 

“No,” I answered shortly, not appreciating how incredulous he sounded. “Just Brock.”

 

“And how did it go?”

 

“It went well,” I said while trying to figure just how much to tell him. I could make the date seem like more than it was, or I could be honest. I knew which way would give me the much-coveted upper hand.

 

“Did you fuck him?”

 

My mouth dropped open. I edged my body away from him an inch and gave him a look. His vulgarity took me by surprise for once.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

He shrugged and kept his eyes on the road, scanning the sides for exit signs. “I’m just asking.”

 

“Well…God, Dex. That’s really none of your business if I did. Or didn’t.”

 

“Friends talk about all sorts of things.”

 

“I don’t ask you about your sex life.”

 

He looked at me quickly and wiggled one brow, his specialty. “You could. I’d tell you.”

 

I knew he would. I scrunched up my nose and turned my attention to the road we were pulling onto, Chesterman. “No thanks.”

 

“I mean, I figured if you could hear us boning last night, it makes it an open conversation topic.”

 

I couldn’t hear them “boning” last night, I was too busy flipping out because of a dead, mutilated girl in his living room. I think I got off easy in the end.

 

I slowly shook my head, unable to say anything but “Dex. Just…shut up.”

 

That lazy shrug again. “Fine. Just making conversation. Sorry your date didn’t work out.”

 

“Didn’t work out?” I jeered. “Look, just because I didn’t sleep with him-”

 

“Ah, so you held out! Good girl.”

 

“Just because I didn’t sleep with him,” I repeated to myself, ignoring him, “doesn’t mean the date didn’t work out. I’m seeing him again next week. And probably again after that.”

 

OK, I wasn’t sure about that, but I had to say it anyway. It was worth it to see the flinch across his brow, creating momentary broodiness. He was shocked, if only for a moment. Shocked and speechless. And the upper hand was mine.

 

“Yeah,” I added. “So, again, shut up.”

 

He chewed on that for a few beats more. Then he said, “That’s…good. I guess you deserve to have some fun too.”

 

“Yeah,” I said sternly. I attempted to stare him down, which was hard to do when his eyes were on the rainy, dark road ahead. “I do. I deserve to have a lot of fun.”

 

I wanted to add in an extra bit about taking Rebecca up on her offer about Bradley since Dex seemed to have such a problem with that idea, but I decided that would probably make me look like too much of a slut.

 

Things were a tad awkward, so I reached for his iPod and started scanning through his gigantic playlist, looking for anything other than The Beatles.

 

“Wait, what are you putting on? You can’t turn off The Beatles.”

 

“We’re in Seattle. It’s dark and rainy and I’m pissed off. Can’t we listen to Screaming Trees, Soundgarden, Melvins, anything local?”

 

“Why are you pissed off?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned and surprised. Sometimes I wondered if Dex actually had any recollection of 90% of the conversations he was involved with.

 

I sighed but didn’t answer him and flicked Soundgarden on. We rode in silence for the next ten minutes as Chris Cornell’s wail drowned out conversation. Unfortunately ,the music, combined with the spooky atmosphere and our task at hand, turned me into a little panicky puss by the time we drove up the long, winding driveway lined with rain-laden fir trees that seemed too heavy to stand up straight. We were at Riverside, the mental house of horrors. The sign at the gate said, “Your well being is our well doing.” Worst slogan ever.

 

Dex pulled the car up into a visitor’s parking spot in front of a massive, overwhelming brick building that looked extra dense and strangely menacing in the dark. It didn’t help that the fluorescent hall lights that shone from all three stories flickered on and off like the light fixtures all had dying bugs in them. Moths, flies, wasps…wasps in blood. Wasps on Dex. Their hard yellow bodies covering him from head to toe.

 

The image filled my head and I quickly, instinctively, pressed my palm into my forehead. I caught what I was doing and picked up on the strange air in the car. I took my hand away and slowly turned my head to look at Dex. He was leaning against the steering wheel, eyes wide, watching me.

 

“We’re here…” he eked out slowly in a quasi-Poltergeist voice.

 

I gave him a small smile, knowing the question that was to follow. “Just got a sudden headache.”

 

“Oh sure you did,” he said in weird mix of good-natured sarcasm. “You know they have pills in there for that.”

 

I looked again at the building as the rain continued to fall, echoing off the roof of the car. I bet they did have pills in there for that. For everything that ailed us.

 

Which reminded me…see, I had something planned for tonight. Something that Dex didn’t – and wouldn’t – know about. It would only happen if the circumstances were right but a single feel into the very bottom contents of my bag told me everything was ready. It was a plan that made me feel a bit sick, but it was still a plan.

 

 

 

 

Karina Halle's books