My heart slams against my chest.
The shadow moves toward me but remains in my room, far enough from the hall light that I can't make out who it is. But the tall, slender figure is definitely a person. And it's not Dad.
Ohmigod, maybe there are robberies in this neighborhood. And here I am, dripping on the floor, in my shorts and sports bra.
Run!
I drop the towels and take off for the stairs. I'm barely on the third step when the figure grabs my shoulder to yank me back. I lean forward and gravity takes hold.
That falling sensation fills my belly, and I reach out to brace myself, but it's no use. I roll down the stairs and land in a heap at the bottom. I uncurl myself like a cat and glance upstairs.
The intruder has followed me down, just on the second to last step, and still in the shadows. I can just make out black pants and hoodie, but his face is hiding under that hood, and even with the crackling lightning, I can't make out the details. I get the feeling I know this person though, and that makes my pulse race faster.
I scramble to my feet. Everything tilts for a second but soon rights itself back up. There's no time for dizziness or aches and pains. I turn to the door, even though I know I won't make it.
Once again, he grabs my shoulder and pushes me away, shoving me into the wall.
Stay on your feet. Stay alert. Stay alive.
I repeat the words as I stumble into Dad's office. I race for the desk, as if its barrier will prevent my death. Like a child hiding under a blanket. This is why people get killed in horror movies. There's no common sense when you're panicked and running for your life.
My brain isn't total mush because I angle Dad's lamp toward the door, so when my own, personal Buffalo Bill enters I see his face.
Except it's not a he.
It's Bridget.
What the…?
She must realize I know it's her because she smiles. Her mouth may appear friendly, but her eyes are wide and dazed. "Why are you running from me? I'm not going to hurt you."
"Why are you breaking into my house? Why were you in my room?"
She holds up a key. "I'm not breaking in, silly. Although I didn't need to use my key since the door was wide open. I told your Dad I'd stop by and check in on you."
That's right. She's the realtor. She'd have a key. She could walk in and out of any property she leases. There's a thread of logic in there. But it doesn't fit well either, like a bent puzzle piece. Now that I know he's seeing the chief, Dad has no connection to Bridget. Why would he ask her to look in on me and not the Abbotts or even Gabi?
"He didn't mention that."
"I spoke with him just before he left."
That's possible, especially if it was an afterthought and he saw her on his way out. Maybe she came by to ask how things were going. But why did she try to grab me twice? I ask her.
"I figured I'd scared you by how fast you ran and didn't want you to hurt yourself. Are you okay? That must've been some fall."
I don't respond, just stare at her.
She steps closer, and my blood practically cements, like a statue.
"Um, did he tell you where he was going?" I ask. If she knows, then I can relax…and add another item to my biggest embarrassments list.
She cocks her head. "Of course. He went to see Olivia. You do know they've been sneaking around, right?" There's something mischievous about the way she says that last line, like she wants to hurt me.
I nod. Did Dad lie to me? "He told you that? I didn't know you were so close."
"We bonded when he rented this place."
She pushes the hoodie off her head and shakes out her hair, like an actress on a shampoo commercial.
My spine stiffens. I narrow my eyes. "Why are you dressed like that? Where are your red pumps and fancy clothes?"
She giggles, and it sounds as fake as her acrylic nails. "Laundry day."
Yeah, right. There's no way Bridget would be caught dead in jeans and a hoodie, especially drab, black ones. No, she's lying.
My entire body shifts to red alert again. I need to leave, but she's blocking the only way out.
I glance down at the desk. I need a weapon, but all I see is another paper mess. Dad's gonna wish he was neater if I end up dead.
She steps closer, tentative ones because she knows I want to flee.
I inch to my right, closer to the lamp. Maybe if she's close enough I can use it, but I don't want her that close. I need to get out of here.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"I told you…"
"No. Stop. We both know you aren't here to check up on me for my dad. He's with the reporter, not the chief."
Her left eye twitches. "What reporter?"
I jut out my chin. "The one who interviewed Cameron." I glance at his picture on Dad's bulletin board, his smiling, blue eyes and shiny, blonde hair.
"What for?" Bridget asks.
I stare at her, making sure she isn't closer. She glances at Cameron's photo too, and the corner of her mouth droops. Just for a second. But it's long enough for me to realize.
"You're a cougar." That's what Kinley said.
"What?" Her tone is snappy, and I realize I'm making the same mistake movie heroines make—confessing what they know to the crazed, sociopath, just minutes before the final showdown.
"Nothing."
But it's not nothing. Bridget was seeing Cameron. He gave her the charm. Then she killed him, Linzy witnessed it, and Bridget killed Linzy. It was Bridget's car I saw when I spied on Linzy, and it was her car that hit me last night. It has to be. There's no other reason she's here.
Wait. Why is she here if she already has the charm?
I take a step around the desk. "I should be resting. My father will be home soon."
She steps in front of me, and I catch a strong whiff of her perfume. The same one I smelled on Dad the other day. Or I thought it was on him. The lipstick on his collar must've been the chief's, but the perfume?
Ohmigod!
That's the missing piece from last night. When she wrenched the charm from my hand, I smelled her perfume.
I must show something on my face because she narrows her eyes. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't played 'I Spy' and followed that little bitch around."
So she admits it. Sorta. I guess Linzy and I had more in common than I knew.
I ransack my memories, trying to find all the pieces that don't fit neatly. Instead of my smelling the perfume on Dad, it must've been in the area. She must've been in the area. Which means she was hiding in the garage? No, Dad was just there. Oh crap. She must've been in the basement.
Chills race one another down my back and arms.
The night with the wind gusts, that was Linzy, but what about the fallen chair, the swaying safety chain on the back door? The night Linzy disappeared I heard footsteps on the stairs. I thought it was Dad. Was it? And Linzy swore she didn't tear up the house after Shayla and I got back from seeing April. Was that all Bridget? But doing what?
I mentally gasp. She's been trying to find the charm.
"This isn't your first time sneaking in, is it?" I ask.
Without warning, she shoves me hard.
I stumble back and fall onto Dad's desk.
Before I get a chance to stand back up, she rushes me. I slap her, but it doesn't stop her.
She wraps her hands around my neck and squeezes.
Oh God, this is how she killed Linzy. I don't want to die.
I flail my arms around, trying to reach the lamp, but it's just beyond my grip.
"You stupid children always get in the way."
My vision goes in and out of focus. I pull at her fingers, trying to pry them off. My chest tightens. I try to breathe through my nose, but it's difficult.
A groan sounds behind her, and suddenly she's lifted off me.
I'm lightheaded and gravity wins. As I crumble to the floor, I swipe Dad's paper with me. I take big, chest-rising breaths and cough and sputter.
Crashing sounds explode around me. A low growl mixed with a high-pitched scream adds to the commotion.
What's happening?
I focus on the room and see Linzy on her blue, magic blanket ride on Bridget's back.
Bridget is more determined to get free than Eli, thrashing and knocking into everything.
Linzy won't be able to hold on forever. I crawl toward the back of the desk, suddenly wishing we had a landline. Upstairs is too far away, and, after last night, Dad most likely has his on him.
Another crash sounds. I flinch but don't turn around.
Suddenly Bridget grabs my ankle and drags me toward her.
I dig my stubbly finger nails into the throw rug, but it does little good. Then I notice Dad's letter opener amongst the papers. I wrap a firm grip around its handle and turn, sitting up in the process.
Bridget lunges for me.
I push the pointy blade into her stomach.
Her eyes widen, and she looks down.
I do too and pull the blade out. Thick, dark blood oozes from a hole in her hoodie.
She cups her side, trying to stop the bleeding.
I stagger to my feet and head to the door, but the world keeps tilting. Gravity wins again, and I fall to my knees. I close my eyes. I just need a minute. That's all.
Tingling threads of electricity crawl through my hand and up my arm.
I look over.
Linzy is beside me, holding my hand.