CHAPTER 14 TERRIBLE TRUTHS #2
“What about her?” Mom asks.
Noah’s brows push together in concern. “If these people are coming after us, after people who know what we are, that includes my mom.”
Panic floods my mom’s expression. Her frame goes rigid. “Call her.”
Noah pulls out his phone and calls his mom. A moment later he hangs up. “She’s not answering.”
My mom opens and closes her hands as she stares down at the floor. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay. I just need to think.”
“We have to get to Dad and we have to check on Miss Cliff,” I say. “We’re going to go upstairs. We’ll go check on Noah’s mom. Then we find Dad. Sound like a plan?”
My mom nods and I think she’s happy someone else is making decisions right now. All of this has shaken her and she’s not alone. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind at any moment as I watch my deceased mom and my recently deceased boyfriend walking and talking together.
“Should we call the police?” Noah asks.
“And tell them what?” my mom asks. “Baby, I think they would lock us up just for wasting their time. They won’t believe us.”
“So we’re on our own?” I ask. “Nobody can help us?”
“We have to figure this out,” my mom says. “Just us.”
We move the second prep table and supply chest away from the door.
Noah palms a heavy glass vase that normally holds fresh flowers and my mom balls up her fists.
I don’t think any of us can withstand another attack and I damn sure am not tryna fight a knife-wielding man with a vase and my bare fists.
“If that dude with the knife is still out there, we are not prepared to fight him,” I say. “Did you see the size of his knife?”
Noah huffs and grasps the vase tighter. “I’ll knock him out.”
“I’m sure he’s gone but we’re being cautious,” my mom says.
“If he can’t really hurt us, why are we so worried?” Noah asks.
Mom hesitates and then glances back at me. “He can’t hurt us, but he can injure our physical bodies. You saw what the knife did. Injuries mean more maintenance and more maintenance means it’s harder to look alive. We don’t want that.”
Noah nods and I grip his arm as Mom slowly opens the door and peers into the hallway. I try to crane my neck to look out, too, but accidentally bump into her, forcing her to step out into the hall.
“We’re gonna die,” Noah says.
Mom shakes her head. “We can’t.”
“I can,” I say.
Noah’s face is suddenly serious again. “Over my dead body.”
“Literally,” I say.
My mom squeezes my arm and gives me a stiff smile as she signals for us to follow her.
We trail her cautiously down the hall. I feel like my senses are on ten.
All the little noises that are usually comforting to me are making my skin crawl now—the knocking of the old pipes, the flush of air in the vents.
The hall lights cast eerie shadows, creating an ominous atmosphere that only compounds my fear.
Noah, though trying hard to maintain a brave facade, can’t entirely conceal the worry etched across his face.
We make our way upstairs, my mom in the lead, me and Noah following close behind, his hand resting gently on my back.
A sweep of the first floor turns up nothing and once we’ve checked the upper floor, me and Noah lock everything up while my mom changes her clothes.
A few moments later she comes back downstairs, dressed in a black sweatsuit and a pair of sneakers.
I almost never see her dressed so casually and I have to stop myself from giving her a hard time about it.
We have way bigger things to worry about right now including the fact that she and Noah are basically reanimated corpses. I grab a coat and shrug into it.
Noah runs downstairs and grabs the coat he left in the prep room. When he returns to the first floor, my heart leaps into my throat. He’s wearing the black coat with a fur-lined hood.
“That was you at the waterfall,” I say. “You were following me?”
My mom shoots Noah a dagger of a glance and his eyes grow wide.
“I’m sorry!” he says. “Don’t be mad!”
“You were supposed to lie low,” my mom says. “That’s how it works when you’re trying to convince people you’re dead.”
“I know,” Noah says. “I know, but I—I couldn’t stand being away from Meka. I just wanted to see her.”
“You were stalking me?” I ask.
“Yes,” Noah says with zero hesitation. “And I don’t regret it because if I hadn’t been watching you, that guy in the old lady store on the Commons would have got both of you.”
“That was you too?” I ask.
“What do you mean ‘old lady store’?” my mom asks, her brows arching clear up to her hairline.
“Sorry,” Noah says to my mom again, before turning to me. “Sorry.”
“Old lady?” my mom asks again.
“Mom,” I say. “I don’t think it’s the right time for that question.”
She presses her mouth into a tight line. “Fine.”
Mom grabs her keys and we head out the back door and pile into her car. The evening air is biting and I rub my hands together furiously as my mom starts the car. The AC is blasting.
“I’m gonna get frostbite in here,” I say.
“Sorry,” Mom says as she dials down the cold air. “It’s better this way. Fresh mortuary wax tends to run in the heat.”
She holds up her hand and wiggles her newly repaired finger.