Thirty-Five

THIRTY-FIVE

The cliff is to my left. Jin is to my right. I run in Jin's direction and then swerve hard, praying I've laid it out properly in my mind so Lori won't see him.

The midges buzz around me, getting in my hair, my nose, my mouth. I slit my eyes and run. The house should be there. I'm aiming for the west side—

There! A light inside. That's the breakfast nook. Veer more. Keep running.

Keep running? I'm not twenty anymore. Not even thirty. I'm a middle-aged woman with CF whose scarred lungs mean she gets winded while fast walking. My lungs burn like I swallowed molten lava, and my brain screams that I can't keep going, but I bear down and run with everything I have.

The house. I see the house immediately to my right. Then the corner of it. I race around that corner. Around the next one. Then I'm in the front yard.

Where's Lori? I have no idea. Blood pounds too loudly in my ears for me to hear her footfalls, and my lungs hurt so bad I can't focus on anything else. I just run.

There's the front porch. Keep going. The driveway is right there, my car a light-colored shape just visible through the bugs. Hit the key fob.

The alarm should chirp. It doesn't.

I hit it again.

Silence.

I see the back end of the car as I run around it. A Michigan license plate with a rental sticker.

Cirillo's rental.

Where the hell is my car?

I hit the button again and listen for the chirp. Nothing. I look around wildly, my eyes searching for my car through the bugs, my ears straining for some sound of Lori over the whining and buzzing.

Where the fuck is my car? If Jin's here, my car must be, too.

Patrice and Lori killed Brodie and attacked Jin, and they sure as hell didn't move my car afterward.

Wait! I lift my key fob. It has an alarm, right? If I press this red button—

A distant wail sounds. I shut it off immediately—that's a siren call for Lori to find me. But I know which direction to run, and I take off.

Down the drive. Along the road. My car is out here somewhere.

Did Jin leave it down the road on purpose? Hide it and sneak back?

I push the thought away. Right now, Jin is not my concern.

Just get to my damned car. My lungs rattle with each breath, and I know I can't go much farther. Where the hell is my car?

I hit the unlock button again, and I think I hear the car chirp. I keep running, tapping the fob periodically to guide me through the bugs. I'm going downhill now. Why is the car so far—

I nearly collide with the back end. It's stopped right in the middle of the road, the hood facing the other way.

I hit the button again, as if the damn door won't already be open from the dozen other times.

"Ms. Laughton?" a voice calls from the mass of swirling bugs.

It's a trick.

Do not stop. Do not even slow down. Get in—

Through the bugs, a figure appears. It's too solid to be Anton. Too stooped to be Lori.

It's Mrs. Kilmer. "Oh, thank goodness it's you. I can't see a thing with these bugs." As she walks closer, she waves a hand in front of her face. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Get in the car," I say, reaching for the driver's-door handle.

She stops short. "What?"

Oh, right. This poor woman doesn't know I'm running from my young housemate, now possessed by the murderous ghosts of her relatives. I swallow the hiccuping laugh bubbling up in my throat.

Don't snap at her. Don't bark orders. She has no idea what…

No idea what happened to her son.

My insides clench, pain ripping through me, sympathetic agony for what this poor woman is going to discover.

I shove it back and say, "Please get in the car, Mrs. Kilmer. There's been an accident at the house." That wild laugh threatens again. An accident? That's one way of putting it. Horrific double murder is another. "Please get in the car. I'll explain as I drive you home."

"Oh. All right. Thank you. Something is really wrong with these bugs. I've never seen—"

"Mrs. Kilmer? Ma'am?" I'm overly polite as I struggle to keep my voice steady. "It's my CF. I can't breathe with these bugs. We need to get in the car now."

Her eyes widen and she murmurs, "Oh, of course."

"Nic!" Anton's voice sounds right beside me, as if he's shouting in my ear.

I jump and look around wildly, but he could be standing a few feet from me and I wouldn't see him through the bugs.

He's warning me to move faster, that the longer I stand here talking to Mrs. Kilmer, the more time I'm giving Lori to find me.

I yank open the driver's door. Mrs. Kilmer turns to go around to the passenger side. Then she stops, and her eyes go even wider, her mouth opening in an O of surprise.

Anton shouts something, words indistinct and garbled but frantic.

Mrs. Kilmer staggers forward, and I release the door to grab her. There's a wet, ripping sound, and her body convulses, head thrown back, mouth open.

Something flashes silver amid the swarming fog of bugs.

The pruning shears.

The shears ram into Mrs. Kilmer's back again, the tips appearing. Then the blades start to open, and Mrs. Kilmer screams, a raw, animal sound.

I let go of Mrs. Kilmer and punch my fist into the swirling bugs. My hand strikes flesh. I grab the steak knife from my pocket, and I lunge at the figure lost in that swarm of bugs. I stab and stab again.

I feel the knife make contact. I can't hear anything over Mrs. Kilmer's screams, but the blade comes back bloody and I keep stabbing, moving toward whatever—whoever—I am stabbing, and that's when I realize I cannot see who I'm stabbing.

I don't care. I am stabbing whoever just rammed pruning shears into an innocent woman and opened them. I keep stabbing until I see Lori's face twisted in pain and rage.

"Can't get out, can you?" I say as I yank the steak knife back again. "You're trapped in there, and I hope this—"

"Nic?" It's a small voice, as if coming from deep within. A soft sob follows. "Nicola?"

I hesitate.

"Nic?" Tears brim in her eyes, and I don't see Lori anymore. I see Shania.

I stay where I am, knife raised, blood dripping. I search Shania's gaze for a sign that this is a trick to make me stop. I don't see it.

So what am I going to do now?

They're in there. Patrice and Lori. I know they are, and they aren't going anywhere.

I can't save Shania.

Shania had been ready to watch me die. She'd set me up from the start. She threw Anton's ashes into the trash, and I want her to pay for that.

But that makes it worse, doesn't it? I want her to pay, and so if I slam this blade between her ribs, is that why? Not to save my life or to protect Jin, but to make Shania pay?

"Nic…" Anton's voice whispers from somewhere behind Shania, who's doubled over, sobbing and retching as she clutches her bloodied chest.

"I don't know what to do," I whisper to Anton.

He appears then, as clearly as I've ever seen him, his face drawn in a sad smile.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

My own tears rise. "No advice?"

That sad smile quirks at the corners. "Did you ever take my advice? Anyone's? You'll do what you need to do, and it'll be the right thing."

My eyes fill. "I miss you."

His mouth opens—and Shania lunges at me, howling as she smashes both fists into my chest, pushing me back. I raise the knife, but she just keeps coming, face contorted with rage.

"We aren't going to stop, Janica." It's Patrice now, snarling. "I will kill you. I swear I will."

I slash the knife. It catches her outstretched hand, but she only shoves me again, harder. Then something flickers behind her eyes. A flash of horror from Shania, quickly replaced by Lori's death's-head grin.

"We aren't stopping, girl," Lori says. "We will kill you. We will kill your friend back at the house. We will kill anyone who comes to find you."

Another blow, this one slamming me into the car. My foot hits Mrs. Kilmer's outstretched hand, and when I look down, Lori grabs for my knife hand, but it's a half-assed swipe, as if she's not actually trying to grab it.

Because she's not.

In that moment, the world seems to creak to a halt. The blood stops pounding in my ears. My adrenaline ebbs. Even my breath returns, clear and even.

I understand what Patrice and Lori are doing… and I lift my hands over my head.

"I'm sorry, Shania," I say. "If you're in there, and you can hear me, I truly am sorry. You thought I was responsible for what happened to your sister. I understand, and I forgive you. I only hope you can forgive me for this."

I draw back the hand with the knife, and victory flares in Lori's eyes. She sees the end coming. She sees freedom coming. The freedom to bide her time and return when she can, called forth by another family member with this darkness weaving through them.

"I'm sorry, Shania," I whisper. "I really am."

I plow my hand into her stomach. Lori throws back her head, her agonized scream almost ecstatic. With the pain comes freedom. A knife in her gut—

I see the moment where she realizes the truth. Where her head whips up, eyes widening, gaze going to the knife in my left hand… while my right punches her stomach a second time.

Lori falls backward, and I pounce on her. I jam the knife into my back pocket and flip Lori over and then pin her like Cirillo did to me. She fights like a wild thing, all gnashing teeth and howls of rage. She wants me to kill Shania. Kill her host. If I do, I release her. I release Lori, and I release Patrice.

This is the horrific thing I am doing to Shania, and it might even be worse than killing her. No, it is worse. I am sentencing her to the fate of her aunt and her sister.

"I am sorry, Shania. Truly and utterly sorry—"

"Nic!"

This time, Anton's shout has me whirling, knowing it's a warning and—

Tires roar on pavement. A car is speeding up the road, and the driver can't see us with the bugs.

I grab Shania and roll as fast as I can. Brakes scream. Tires appear right where my head had been. A door squeaks open.

"Nicola!"

That voice. That wonderful voice.

I'm sorry, Anton, I adore you, but this is the voice I want to hear right now.

Keith appears, his face frantic. He sees me pinning Shania down.

"Call the police," I say.

He hovers there. I open my mouth to start explaining, but before I can utter another word, my brother—my wonderful brother—nods and pulls out his phone and makes the call.