Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Now that I’ve started talking, I can’t seem to stop. It’s almost like I’m catching up with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time.
“I got another one of those messages yesterday. I haven’t told Colt about it yet,” I whisper. Even though I know there’s no chance of him getting out of the car and hearing me, I still feel like I have to be careful. “Whoever is sending them keeps telling me they know what I did and threatening to go to the cops, but I don’t know why they would. Even if the explosion was deliberate, it’s not like I was there. Neither was Colt. We had nothing to do with it.”
Closing my eyes again, I can feel the heat from the explosive blast that rocked the ground under us and sent a fireball into the air. “I still believe James set the whole thing off. I wish you could tell me whether or not I’m right,” I confess in a rush of words and emotion. “I wish I knew for sure, either way. It just seems funny to me that he came home that day after you accessed all that information, and suddenly the house went up in flames. I mean, if I were a monster like him, and I had all that incriminating evidence stored on my cloud, what would stop me from doing whatever it took to protect myself?”
“He probably figured he would escape. Or maybe…” I pause, shivering now as the breeze feels colder. “Maybe he figured it was too late to save himself and didn’t want to face what would happen once the truth came out. I guess that makes more sense than anything else. Even though, really, none of it makes sense at all,” I conclude. If it did make sense, I’d have to worry about myself, because James Alistair was a demented monster whose mental processes are not something I want to understand.
Once I’m finished checking in with Mom, I visit Nix’s grave and perform the same ritual, placing the flowers in front of his headstone. His grave is cleaner than Mom’s, free of any weeds or leaves. I’m sure I’m not the only one who visits. It’s never easy to lose somebody, but it’s especially grim for people our age. You don’t expect to lose a classmate at nineteen, especially not in such tragic circumstances.
“Your mom woke up. Can you believe it?” Tears fill my eyes as I position the flowers and lower myself to one knee, my hand resting on top of the headstone. The dates etched there are heartbreaking. Nineteen years of life. That’s all he got. He had so much more to give the world. Without his dad poisoning him, he could’ve been something great. He could’ve been his own man, built his own life.
My heart is so full it clogs my throat with emotion. I have to look away from those tragic dates marking his short life, my gaze lifting to the trees farther out.
Where something moves.
An icy finger of dread runs up my spine, freezing me in place as though ice is spreading through my body. I know I’m not imagining it. Something is definitely out there—something big. Is there wildlife in this area? My eyes dart left, then right, but I’m alone here. Except for whatever that is in the trees. A bear? No, that doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.
A person? Why would they be hiding? Because without a word spoken, I know that’s what they’re doing. They’re hiding back there. Watching.
The last message I received flashes in my mind like a warning: Watch your back.
Are they really following me? Whoever they are?
A scream builds in my chest, fueled by rage and fear, growing and clawing its way to my throat. I want to shout at them: Who the hell do you think you are?
But instead of screaming, I yelp when a horn blares behind me. Colt. My head snaps around just in time to see him scowling and tapping the horn again.
I whirl back toward the trees, but the figure is gone. Nothing but deep shadows now. There’s no point in telling Colt about my fears, since I can’t give him yet another thing to worry about when there’s so much on his mind. He has no idea about the anonymous emails and texts I’ve been getting—the longer I go without telling him about them, the harder it is to come up with a reason why I’ve kept them a secret.
Somehow, I walk slowly and steadily back to the car, even as every nerve in my body screams at me to run. I need to let them know they’re not important. Let them know I don’t care.
They can’t see how I’m trembling inside.
3
NIX
That was close. For a second, I thought for sure she recognized me.