I also couldn’t help but notice that Messerschmidt, Darcy Gray, Todd Flick, and Becca Wright were all trying hard to pretend that they hadn’t just watched what had passed between Jill and myself.
Chapter 21
Jill
“TRISTEN, I DON’T THINK I want to do this,” I whispered, touching his sleeve in a weak attempt to stop his hand and an even weaker attempt to reassure myself that I wasn’t alone in the pitch-black parking lot behind the school. My other arm squeezed tighter around the box I’d taken after sneaking again into Dad’s office.
“Just be patient, Jill,” he said. “It’s fine.”
As Tristen picked the lock, I stole a look over my shoulder. My dad had been stabbed to death in a lonely parking lot, and his killer had never been caught . . .
“One more moment,” Tristen said, jiggling the lock. “I’ve almost got it.”
And before I could object again, he drew up to his full six-foot-something height, tugged on the lock, and we were in.
Or not quite in, because I didn’t move.
I stood rooted to the ground behind Tristen—the inky silhouette of Tristen, who held open the door with one long arm, waiting for me to walk past him into even more profound darkness.
If we went inside that empty school, what would happen? We would pick another lock and enter Mr. Messerschmidt’s room, where we’d break into the stores of chemicals, too. Two doors would close behind me. Behind us.
No one knew where I was or who I was with.
“Jill.” Tristen’s voice was low, deep, inviting . . . and tinged with a hint of warning. I knew what he meant just with that single word. You promised. We made a bargain. But Tristen had confided that nightmare to me, too. This thing inside of me attempts to kill a girl . . . Relishes the slaughter.
“I don’t dream of you,” Tristen said softly, like he’d read my thoughts. “I swear, Jill, you’re safe with me.”
I stayed stuck to the spot, throat tight. “Who . . . who is it, Tristen? The girl?”
“No one,” he whispered, still holding the door. “A girl I was with briefly over the summer. Not you. Just come inside.”
He meant to reassure me, but the reminder made me even less willing to join him. Over the summer . . . “No, Tristen.” I backed away, clutching the box. “I don’t want to.”
Then I turned and ran all the way home, leaving him standing alone in the dark doorway without the documents he hoped could save him.
Chapter 22
Jill
IT STARTED TO RAIN while I was running home, and after I locked the door behind me, I went straight to my room. Straight to my mirror, actually. Standing in front of my full-length reflection, I stared at my face; my wet, bedraggled hair; and my shivering body, thinking about Tristen, who I’d left waiting at an open door.
Tristen . . . And Becca.
Becca had mentioned seeing Tristen over the summer, knew “his type” of girl, and had been salivating to tell me some story about him.
As I studied myself in the mirror, I could practically see my friend’s reflection standing shoulder-to-shoulder with mine, and I envied everything about her. Her thick hair, her gleaming white teeth, and her full lips, always red and glossy. There was a good chance that Tristen had kissed Becca’s lips, or wanted to kiss them, not by accident in a graveyard but on purpose. Because he’d wanted her.
By comparison everything about me seemed dull and washed out. My ordinary brown hair, limp from the rain. My eyes like two greenish mud puddles. My pale lips. I was too thin, too. Almost as skinny as my mom. And why had I ever bought the ugly, white collared shirt I wore? Just like its wearer, the blouse had no style.
I was pretty sure that Tristen dreamed of Becca. Yes, they were bad dreams. But that night I envied my friend for inspiring even nightmares. Would anybody ever dream about me, bad or good?
Downstairs, I heard my mom open the back door, home from the hospital, and I snapped off the light, plunging my reflection into darkness. I was supposed to be in bed already. Taking off my boring shirt, I pulled on a T-shirt and sweats that were even more shapeless, slid the metal box under the bed, and crawled between my blankets, pulling them to my chin.
How did people like Becca literally shine?
I curled up, pretending to sleep and listening for Mom’s footsteps on the stairs.
But Mom didn’t come upstairs, and after about fifteen minutes of complete silence I started wondering what in the world had happened to her. I didn’t even hear her making tea or the sound of the TV. Tossing off the covers, I went to the top of the stairs and listened more closely, getting nervous. “Mom?” I called down.
There was no answer, so I crept downstairs and went into the living room.
And as soon as I saw Mom crumpled on the floor, face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking violently, I knew. That cliff I’d feared she’d been sliding toward . . .
She’d fallen off completely.
Chapter 23
Tristen
I SAT ALONE in the living room of the rented house I shared with my father—on the rare occasions that he was home—eating cold pizza and listening to the rain on the roof, wondering if Jill had gotten caught in the storm as she’d run home.
I knew that I should have chased after her and insisted on giving her a ride, but I’d been frustrated as she’d darted away. Angered at her fear of breaking a small rule. Angered at her fear of me.
I’d tried to reassure her that I meant her no harm. Even a monster couldn’t hurt someone as gentle, as timid, as Jill Jekel. On the contrary, she sparked in even me a profound desire to protect. At times I found it almost impossible not to reach out and
