4. Myles
MYLES
I’m rushing up the back stairs of Boone House when my phone rings, the sound loud and shrill as it echoes off the concrete walls of the stairwell.
There are only a handful of people who call me instead of texting, and I’m not in the mood to talk to any of them. Instead of ignoring the call and putting my phone on silent like I want to, I pull it out of my pocket and check the caller ID.
It’s my mom, and the last of my good mood fades as the call ends. Keeping an eye on my screen, I hurry up the last of the stairs as a bunch of texts come in one after the other.
Mom : where are you?
Mom : you don’t have class now
Mom : and it’s not dinner time
Instead of answering the texts, I quickly unlock my door and call her as soon as I’m inside my room and sitting on my bed.
“Myles?” she asks, answering after half of a ring.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, keeping my tone even and casual.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I had my headphones on and didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“Oh, okay. But try to be more observant in the future,” she says, the relief in her voice overshadowed by her obvious displeasure. “And don’t spend all your time at your computer. Have a life, make friends. Enjoy college like a normal person.”
“I was studying,” I say, the lie slipping out so easily. “Been doing a lot of that with exams starting next week.”
“Good, good,” she says distractedly.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
I’m close with my parents, and I love them, but we’re not a talking family. We don’t call each other just to chat or shoot the shit, so if she’s calling, there’s a reason.
“I need to talk to you about your school break.”
“What about it?” I ask, my heart dropping into my stomach.
“There’s been a change of plans.”
“Oh?” I say in a flat voice.
“Yes,” she continues. At least now she sounds somewhat alert and like she’s paying attention to me. “The Mancinis invited your father and me to spend the new year at their villa. You remember the Mancinis, right? They have a daughter Lily’s age and a son just a bit younger than Cam.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say dryly. I have no idea who the Mancinis are, and I really don’t care that they have kids my brother and sister’s ages.
But it’s better to just say I do than have my mom go off on a twenty-minute tangent telling me everything about them and all the reasons we should worship the ground they walk on.
“But what does that have to do with me and my school break?”
“The issue is that we won’t be home for New Year, or the last week of your break. We’ve already arranged things with your brother and sister’s school so they can go back early, and we just got word from your school admin that you can go back to Silvercrest at the same time.”
“Why would I have to go back to school early because you’re going to Italy? I’m an adult. I can stay at the house by myself for my break.”
“Yes, of course you are,” she says quickly. “But remember how we’ve been talking about remodeling parts of the main floor?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly.
“We’ve got everything set up so it’ll happen when we’re away, so staying at the house isn’t an option.”
“I don’t care if there are workers around,” I tell her. “Especially not if they’re only working on the main floor. They won’t bother me, and I’ll just stay out of their way.”
“It’s not safe,” she says firmly. “There will be too many people around, too many opportunities for something to happen. I want you and your brother and sister safe at school while we’re out of the country.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her tone softening. “But we can’t be too careful after what happened. You understand, right?”
I get where she’s coming from, and I know she’s not doing this to be a bitch or ruin my life or anything like that, but that doesn’t mean I agree with her or her overprotective ways.
But arguing with my mom is pointless. She’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, and once she digs her heels in, it pretty much takes an act of god to get her to change her mind.
“Yeah,” I say, barely managing to control my tone. “I get it.”
“I knew you would,” she says brightly. “You’ve always been the easiest of the kids. I swear I never would have had three if I had to worry about you like I do your brother and sister,” she adds with a chuckle.
I force out a laugh. She’s been saying shit like this to me for years, and she still doesn’t understand that it’s not the compliment she thinks it is.
Being the quiet kid means I didn’t get in trouble growing up like my more wayward and chaotic siblings constantly do. But it also means I’ve spent most of my life being ignored because I was the well-behaved one they never had to worry about.
Until they did have to worry, and now that’s all they do.
“I have to go,” she says, sounding distracted again. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Okay. Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
The line goes dead, and I toss my phone back onto my desk.
Just fucking perfect. The last thing I want is to come back to school a week early, but it’s not like I have a choice.
I might be an adult, but between my parents’ overprotectiveness and the tight control Silvercrest keeps over its students, I have zero power or autonomy, and I won’t until I graduate and am finally out on my own.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up again, and that now familiar feeling of being watched settles over me.
I haven’t seen anyone or anything suspicious since my run last week, and I still don’t even know if I saw what I think I did. It could have been a figment of my imagination or even just an optical illusion my brain interpreted as a person.
Even if someone was in the woods, it’s possible they were just going for a walk or getting high or doing something completely unrelated to me.
If they were walking or just being in the woods, I probably startled them, and that’s why they hid.
If they were up to something less than legal, then obviously they’d hide from me.
I almost had myself convinced it was all in my head, but then I got that email last night, and it’s like my paranoia has been launched into hyperdrive.
Jacob Fisher is dead. The police report was real, and so was the autopsy report I found. I also know for sure that the man he was working for is dead since he was a high-profile figure and it was all over the news, but that damn email proved that this nightmare isn’t over.
Another prickle of unease dances up my spine, and I instinctively look around.
Obviously my room is empty, but that feeling of being watched is getting stronger.
Slowly, I stand and go to my window. I’m on the third floor, and my window faces the woods.
There’s literally nothing around me except trees, rocks, and dirt, but I still can’t shake the sensation that someone is out there watching me.
I could close my curtains, but for some reason, I don’t want to.
Closing them feels like I’m giving in to my fear, but there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want to give whoever might be out there the satisfaction of shutting them out if they are watching.
It’s stupid and reckless, but how I react to this situation is one of the few things in my life I still have any control over.
Not giving in to my fear and choosing to not live like a hermit in the dark is the only form of rebellion I have right now, so I’m running with it. I’ll probably regret my choice later, but maybe I won’t.
A memory of that dark figure in the woods hits out of nowhere, and so does the little rush of excitement I felt not only in that moment but every time I think about it.
The fear and panic were real, and so was the intense sense of dread, but under it was something I’m not sure I want to even acknowledge, let alone unpack.
Running away from that figure, whether they were a real or perceived threat, was thrilling in a way I didn’t even know was possible, and the adrenaline and dopamine hit it gave me was a rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I have no clue why.
I’m not the type who likes to be scared.
I don’t like horror movies, I hate being jump-scared, and pranks are the bane of my existence, especially after growing up with two siblings who loved to team up to fuck with me because they knew how much I hated it.
But for some reason, the thought that I was literally running for my life and away from someone who might want to hurt me wasn’t just exciting. It was exhilarating.
Shaking my head, I turn away from my window and go to my computer. I’ve got enough going on right now that worrying about a weird reaction to being scared isn’t high on my priority list.
I’m still dealing with the hacker who invaded my system, I’m still trying to find that original video file, and now I have to worry about more blackmailers coming out of the woodwork on top of the stress of just trying to survive at this school and get out as unnoticed and unscathed as possible.
The only change I’ve made in case someone really is watching me through my window is that I’ve shifted my desk so my computer screens aren’t visible from it. They don’t need to see what I’m working on, but if they want to watch me walk around and hang out and even sleep, that’s a them issue.
Once I’m at my computer, I launch another search for the video file that could ruin my life, then head over to my dresser. I have a few hours before the program finishes, and I’ve been feeling restless all day. The best way to fix that is to go for a run.
Ignoring that ever-present feeling that I’m being watched, I strip off my clothes and pull on my running gear. I’m in full view of the window, and that gives me a little thrill.
I don’t know why not giving in to my fear is such a rush, but it feels like I’m giving whoever might be out there the proverbial middle finger every time I choose to stick to my routines or move about my room with the curtains open.