22

Jeremy

Saturday: 11:08 PM

“Fuck,” Bobby Pendell muttered.

“I’m coming for you, Bobby. Just hold on.” Gabe had already swung into action, readying herself to crawl under the low pews.

“No!” Bobby hissed. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

First his feet emerged from under the pews, and a moment later, a dust-covered, flannel-shirted Bobby Pendell stood smiling, dangling an invisible object from his two fingers.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Brittany’s ghost brighten from a shimmer to a smudge.

“Interesting, Bobby,” I said, squinting and peering closer.

“It’s a hair, shithead,” he said. I smiled. The sound of his impatience signaled that Bobby Pendell was in control. And that maybe Agent Reston’s creepy claims were working—that the drug she’d injected him with had held him back from the brink without shutting down his freaky third eye.

Marisa scrunched up her face. “That’s a pretty long hair. Like a girl hair. The victim?”

Bobby turned to her, still dangling the long hair from his fingers. “No. Brittany had short black hair. This belongs to her attacker. A female with long hair stuck under the same kind of black knit cap and bandana as your attacker.”

“Weird,” said Gabe. “Are you sure the hair isn’t from another victim?”

Bobby smiled grimly and cut me a look that told me there was a lot more behind that statement. “Couldn’t be surer.”

I supplied the plastic bag from my pocket and he dropped it in. I returned the bag to my coat pocket.

“How do you know, Bobby?” Gabe asked pensively. “Why are you suddenly able to control this when yesterday you were—you were falling apart?”

Bobby put his arms around Gabe and drew her into a kiss. Marisa flashed me a questioning look, but I only shrugged.

“Because, baby,” he said, “practice makes perfect, right?”

Marisa and I held hands, but did not follow suit with the face-sucking. Ever since I’d gotten here, there’d been very little spark between us and I couldn’t help but feel just a bit envious. Here was Bobby Pendell, not even eighteen, staring death in the eye and tonguing his girl right in the middle of a church. “Ah, youth,” I said.

Gabe wrenched herself free, her expression far from lusting. In fact, she looked like she could spit flame with her next breath. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Bobby,” she said. “Do you think we just waltzed out the door and skipped to the orientation? Marisa called my phone and I left it under the couch on speaker. We heard everything. Every. Damn. Thing.”

“Foiled again,” I said. Bobby cut me a malevolent look. I understood it now. I was the only person among us who did not terrify him.

“Apologize, Bobby,” she said fiercely. “You promised you’d never lie to me. I gave you the chance to fess up—but you didn’t.”

“I, uh.” Bobby rubbed at his scalp with a palm.

“He only wanted to keep you from worrying, Gabe,” I said. “It may be boneheaded, but that’s the way he is.”

Bobby glared at me like he was about to launch himself at me again. Gabe scowled at him and shook her head. “Okay. Short version, you need the help of the anti-psycho drug Agent Reston shot you up or the visions will eat your brain.”

“That’s, um, well…” Bobby looked at me for support. Clearly, he lacked the tools to keep from stuffing his other foot in his mouth. Since I only had one foot at my disposal, he figured I was his guy.

“Well put, Gabe,” I said. “I warned him you’d tear him limb from limb if he tried to protect you.” I turned to Bobby. “I don’t know about you, but I’m more scared of Gabriella Sorensen when she’s pissed than some blind, impeccably coiffed FBI agent.”

Bobby Pendell looked like he might have turned three shades of green. But it was kind of tough to tell in the dim light.

Gabe’s expression softened. “When are you going to learn, Bobby, that I am not made of eggshell china? Stop trying to be a hero. We are all in this together.” She flashed me a mildly hostile look. “At least some of us are.”

“Sometimes, I mean, most of the time—I want to kick him in the face, but don’t shit on Glass,” Bobby blurted. “He’s…he’s my f-f— He’s my friend.”

“Cue the heartwarming music,” I said.

“Leave it to you to spoil any moment,” Marisa said coldly, releasing my hand.

I shivered. Something told me that while my fledgling friendship with Bobby Pendell was warming, there was an ill wind blowing through my relationship with Marisa Perez.

My stump began to throb inside of Veronica.

And the thing I wanted badly at that moment, more than I wanted anything—was a drink.