Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I needed time to think without fear of attack.
Blood bloomed in a clogging viscosity of scent and she screamed again.
About to vomit from my own actions, I used the opportunity to pull her arms tightly behind her back. When I used my belt to lock her arms together, I did so with a tightness that meant she had no movement at all. It probably wasn’t safe for the long term and the belt wasn’t fully secure, but with the settlement in the distance, it only had to last a short time.
That was when I felt the scrap of tape that clung to one of her ragged nails, and remembered her habit of tearing at her nails. Apparently the resulting edges had been sharp enough to slowly, stealthily cut through tape.
Hauling her upright, I slammed her back against the seat. Only then did I realize that she was still belted in. Figured. My belt locked me in, while hers had allowed her to stretch out enough to get to Darcie.
“Nae-nae,” she began.
“Shut up.” My jawbones crunched. “Just shut up.”
Summer sunshine and peach blossoms.
Bea was so close, my knee pushing into her thigh. It would be so easy to turn, bury my face in her hair, pretend none of this was happening. Like I’d been pretending for a year that I wasn’t going blind. I was an expert at pretending. But I did that tonight and more people would die.
Crawling back into the driver’s seat before I surrendered to my need to cradle Bea, just hold her and listen to her breathe, feel her heart beat, I finally threw on the interior light, then looked at Darcie. She was breathing like an asthmatic, a fine whistle sounding as she attempted to suck in air, her eyes bloodshot. “It won’t be long until we get to the settlement,” I told her. “Conserve your strength.”
I had to start the engine again—the Land Cruiser had jolted to a halt when I jumped into the back seat without putting it into neutral. Pure luck I’d already pulled the parking brake or we’d have rolled backward and down into the ravine.
Above the renewed roar of the engine came a voice from the back seat that had a new roughness to it, as if Grace had damaged her throat when she screamed. “No, don’t conserve your strength, Darceline.” A sinuous kindness to her tone. “I think Luna wants to know what you did to her Bee-bee. Will you tell her? Or shall I?”
50
Itwisted, putting myself in a position where I could see both their faces.
One an effective stranger, the other one of my oldest friends.
Grace, her eyes bloody and teary, was staring at the back of Darcie’s head with a rage that should’ve been impossible given that they, too, were strangers. Darcie, meanwhile, had started to breathe in a different way. Faster, shallower.
“She’s insane,” she finally managed to rasp out. “Don’t listen to her.”
But I shook my head with slow deliberation. “No.” Putting the vehicle in neutral, I pulled the parking brake I’d only just released. “We’ll stay here as long as it takes to uncover the truth. Because that’s Bea next to Grace, Darcie.”
“No, it can’t be,” Darcie insisted on another hard-won breath. “I’m hurt bad, Luna.”
I looked at the growing stain on the white of the towel, nodded. “You’re bleeding again.” Probably from having struggled against Grace. “You need help.”
But I didn’t move the vehicle, didn’t head to the settlement and the assistance there. “So you better talk fast.” I almost didn’t recognize my own voice, it was so flat and callous. “Why does Grace want to kill you?”
“I told you!” A small coughing fit that I waited out, and that Grace didn’t interrupt. “She’s psychotic.”
I locked eyes with Grace. “Are you psychotic, Grace?”
Grace turned to look at Bea with the tenderest expression I’d ever seen on her face. When she glanced back at me, her eyes were wet and her voice a whisper. “ ‘Nae-nae, my fierce Nae-nae, she always loved me best. She never hurt me, never wanted anything from me except that I be me. I wish I’d told her about my wonky brain. I wanted to, was getting ready to, and now it’s too late.’ ”
Grace’s smile was sad, a portrait of aged grief. “That’s what your Bea said to me. She told me other things, too, like about the black-and-white photo shoot in the studio with the piano. You can ask her yourself when she wakes up.”
A million tears built up in my head until the pressure pulsed and pounded and threatened to crush me. “How—” I swallowed hard. “How do you know about the photo shoot?”
“Aaron!” Darcie cried out. “Obviously Aaron told her that. Bea must’ve told him and he told Grace! That woman is not Bea! She’s dead! I can show you the death certificate!”