Chapter 39

Alice

Once the thought hits me, it's like I can't shake it, a boot wedged into a crack, flooding light onto the sliver of thought that's been crouching in the dark.

Maybe he did kill them. Maybe Mom stole that gun from Maya to protect herself from him. Maybe he found it, took the gun, and shot her and Ella, hid their bodies, then killed himself.

The horrible truth: it's been there all along. I've just been fighting it.

I think of my dad that night, bent over something crumpled on the ground. The expression on his face when he saw me was so fierce, so ... angry , so ... sad?

Except why kill Ella and not me? He could've come after me. I had a head injury, a broken arm. I didn't get far. He could've found me. I would've come to him if he'd called. But he didn't.

That shout: Did he want to kill me? Or warn me?

I think of Mom, her head bent close to Mel's at the Christmas party, her eyes gazing across the room at my dad.

Had Mel known?

I need to ask her. I twist my door open but hesitate. It's late. Mel will be asleep now, tucked up with her lavender face mask and her earplugs.

But no, I hear someone moving around downstairs. I slip into the hallway and peer over the banister.

Downstairs, Mel is fully dressed, winter layers on. She glances over her shoulder, like she's worried someone might be watching, then bends and ties her boots. A second later, she slips out the front door. Something nags at me, a thought, subtle and slippery. It darts into my mind, then disappears.

I glance at my phone. It's late.

I shiver, thinking of That Night. The witching hour.

Nothing good ever happens after midnight.

I should leave Mel to her nightly wanderings. I should go to bed.

But I don't listen to myself. Instead, I grab my coat and hat, shove my feet into my boots, propelling myself downstairs and out the back door. The icy air slices through me like a razor, sobering me up, wiping away some of the effects of the Ativan. I grab my bike from the side shed. By the time I get out front, Mel's car is already pulling away.

The snow stretches around me like a perfect white canvas. I get on my bike, forcing my leaden feet to move. That nagging thought still pokes at me, harder now but still blurry.

I lose Mel almost immediately around a bend in the road, but it doesn't matter.

Mel's been tracking me on my phone since my little episode in Killer's Grove. But I track her, too.

I stop on the icy shoulder and drag out my phone. I open the Find My Friends app and tap Mel's name.

Somehow, I'm not surprised by what I see.