He was wearing a suit without a tie, and though his thick, peppery graying hair and square jaw seemed slightly familiar, something about him gave Bex the chills. She immediately stepped away.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to her shoes.
“That’s okay.”
The sound of his voice burned through her ears, searing its way to her brain. It was gruff but smooth and deep—and shot ice water through her veins. She didn’t know why, but adrenaline ricocheted through her and she started to run.
“Hey,” the man said, following behind her. “Wait!”
Bex ran toward the parking lot, toward Trevor’s red Mustang with its motor running. She slammed her hands over her ears as the man kept calling out to her and pressed her palms tighter so that when he said her name, she wasn’t sure if he said “Bex” or “Beth.” She vaulted into the front seat of Trevor’s car, slamming the door hard.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said breathlessly. “Please.”
• • •
The following morning, a small box sat beside Bex’s cereal bowl when she came downstairs.
“What’s this?”
Denise smiled. “Your new cell phone came.”
Michael swiped his tablet and, without looking up, said, “I thought you’d be glued to that thing already.”
Bex just looked at the box, phone nestled inside. It had the same number as her old, toilet-logged one, which meant that whomever that Raleigh area code number belonged to—and anyone else who had her number—could still find her. She poked at her cereal, the flakes turning into warm lumps of mush in the milk.
“I’m kind of a technophobe, I guess.”
“Maybe you could teach Michael,” Denise said, snatching the tablet from his hand and laying it on the table. “Make sure you turn it on today. We both have meetings, so we’re not sure who’ll be able to pick you up or when we’ll be home, okay?”
Bex nodded, her throat bone dry.
A message was waiting on her phone the second she turned it on. She stared at the text message icon, a little green smiley face. The more she stared at it, the more the face seemed to turn sinister, daring her to look. She slid the little face over, and the machine-gun fire of her heart died down. The message was from Chelsea: Get together at my place tonight. Low key. 7pm.
“Everything okay, Bex?” Denise asked.
“Yeah, just Chelsea inviting me to her place tonight at seven. Is that okay?”
“Okay by me as long as you’re home by eleven. Are you going to go with Trevor?”
“I can ask—” But Bex was cut off by the pinging of her phone. She glanced down at the face, another wave of relief flooding over her. “Trevor just asked if he could take me.”
“Good deal,” Michael said, inching his tablet back in front of him.
• • •
The school day passed uneventfully even though Bex’s nerves were on a constant hum. She got hit with a basketball in PE and shattered her beaker in biology and was sure that she was being watched at every turn. When Trevor pressed his fingertips to her shoulders in the lunchroom, she jumped, dropping her tray on the floor.
When the final bell rang, Bex was still looking over her shoulder. She went to the front horseshoe to wait for Michael or Denise and stopped dead in her tracks.
The girl from the funeral was standing in front of the school. She started when she saw Bex and raised a hand to wave.
Bex didn’t wave back. Instead, she ducked back into the crowd of kids, winding her way toward the student parking lot where she ran into Trevor. He grinned when he saw her and enveloped her in a hug.
“I was just going to text you. Need a ride?”
Bex looked back over her shoulder, sure she would see the girl standing statue still while the world pulsed along right beside her.
“Actually, yeah. That would be great.” Bex set Denise a quick “got a ride” text and slid into the passenger seat of Trevor’s car. She slouched down, just in case.
• • •
“Are you sure you’re all right? Because I could come in and hang out with you,” Trevor said, his car idling in Bex’s driveway.
She wanted to say, “Yes, please stay.” She wanted to curl into his arms and be a regular girl with a regular boyfriend who held her hand and made out with her on the couch. She wanted to only worry about them getting caught, her lipstick smudging, or whether or not she was kissing him right. She didn’t want to think about the boogeyman, out there lurking in swaths of gray fog.
“I’m fine,” she said with what she hoped was a confident smile. “Really.” She pecked Trevor’s cheek, and despite her fear, a rush of pleasure raced through her, making her rapid heartbeat enjoyable for once. “And I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll be back here around seven. With bells on.” He waggled his eyebrows, but then the smile dropped from his lips while his cheeks went red. “Oh my God, I don’t even know why I said that. I don’t even know what that means.”
Bex giggled, allowing herself to sink into the fantasy of snuggling with Trevor at a regular high school party, someplace with a twinkly lit backyard garden and low music. It didn’t matter that Chelsea, Laney, and five dozen other kids would be there. It didn’t matter that the music would be blaring—something loud with a thudding bass since everyone was crazy about Death to Sea Monkeys here—and kids would be screaming and squealing as they bumped around in someone’s living room.
“Can’t wait,” she said simply.
Bex whiled away the hours by alternately doing her homework and rummaging through the pantry looking for something to eat. She knew she should be hungry because it was near dinnertime, but every time she thought about food, the butterflies soared in her stomach and she knew she couldn’t eat. Trevor was going to pick her up in an hour, and they were going to be at a party, together.
Just like a regular couple.
Her cell phone pinged with a text from Michael: Wrping up here. Be home in about an hr.
Bex texted back.
Chelseas party is 2nite! Might leave b4 u get home.
Michael: Almost 4got. Be safe. No blankets, no booze, 11:30 curfew. Dad’s rules.
Dad’s rules.
Bex was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Did Michael really think of himself as her dad? His rules were lame—very dad like—but Bex loved that someone was looking out for her. She was still grinning when she heard the doorbell ring. She went to answer it, glancing at her phone to see that Trevor was more than an hour early. She shook off her nerves and glanced through the peephole, thinking if she saw him before he saw her, she would have the opportunity to wipe the puppy-love grin from her face.
But the porch was dark.
Bex flipped the light switch and looked again but nothing happened. The bulb must have burned out, she decided, as she steeled herself with a nice, not maniacal, smile.
“Hey, Trev, you’re—”
The bulb from the porch light rolled across the welcome mat.
“Did you take that bulb out—?” But Bex couldn’t finish her sentence. She felt the crushing weight of a hand on her chest, fisting over her shirt as she stumbled backward. The man from the funeral, from the phone call, forced his way into the house, slamming the door and whirling Bex around in one fell swoop. She heard the slam of the door at the same moment his hand clamped over her mouth.
“Don’t scream. Just listen to me, Beth Anne.”