Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
SUMMER
A full week goes by and nothing. It’s now early October, and with no additional evidence, the media has treated Cali’s disappearance as a missing person’s case, not a murder. Nothing to indicate a resurgence of Shadowface, other than the blistered X on my thigh and the giant hole he left in my heart. I haven’t found any new information about the Order or who’s involved—nothing to help me piece this all together. Part of me thinks everyone in this town is in on the dirty secret, and I’m nothing but a puppet.
Like everyone is watching me and the silence is mocking me.
My days start and end in a haze. I wake up, go to class, read, study, repeat. He doesn’t text; he doesn’t indicate he’s watching me or even exists at all.
I try my hardest to forget him by burying myself in my other classes, wishing my dark feelings for him will go away, but they don’t.
If anything, they’ve festered and grown. Shifted and transformed into something I can’t explain. He fills every empty part of me, eating me from the inside out, to the point I can barely focus on anything else. And I seem to have a lot of empty parts these days.
I hang out with Dani and Misty here and there, but I mainly avoid them. Misty and I can’t seem to find our footing, and that’s partly due to me being so rude to her. The distance between me and Dani is widening while I watch her and Misty’s friendship grow stronger, and I’m unsure how to fix it.
It’s Wednesday, and I head into psychology with my usual tingly anticipation as I head up the wooden stairs to where Dani and Misty are sitting in our usual place at the back of the lecture hall. Dani waves at me but frowns as someone takes the seat next to her, and mouths, I’m sorry, as I’m left in the dust.
I wave at her to let her know everything’s fine. I spot a couple of seats in a row near the front—just one row away from where Lincoln usually sits. I take one of the seats, and Lincoln enters my field of vision, rocking me to my core.
He gracefully enters the lecture hall, looking exceptionally attractive, and settles into his usual chair before adjusting his glasses. He sits in a relaxed and confident manner, with his arms crossed over his tight black shirt, his muscles flexed and his jaw clenched.
He still acts as if we don’t know each other. He acts like I’m invisible, even though I’m certain we almost shared a kiss in his office and his eyes looked nearly possessed when I left. Like they literally changed color.
Right now he seems so normal and composed, and I have no choice but to question if what I saw was real.
Except, what is real are these feelings burying themselves deep into my heart, and I wonder if I’m the one becoming obsessed with him.
This town is making me insane.
Dr. Garcia follows him in, giving him a small smile before heading up to the stage to start today’s lecture.
I finished my extra credit paper during the weekend instead of going out, and my eyes lit up this morning when I saw he returned it with a grade of a B- and a note: Much better. Come see me during my office hours when you get a chance.
My little dark heart picked up a notch, so desperate for interaction with him. Any interaction, since SF has gone icy cold since he maimed my thigh and I told him to leave me alone. I plan on visiting him this Friday. It’s time to find out why he’s pretending to be someone else and why he lied about meeting me before.
An enormous shadow looms beside me, pulling my attention, and Grant slinks into the spot next to mine.
My stomach roils.
“Hey, sexy girl,” he says, loud and obnoxious, which captures Lincoln’s attention. Only a twitch of his head, but I saw it.
A reaction.
My skin crawls at the sound of Grant’s voice, and Grant’s arm finds the back of my chair, forcing me to sit closer to him. The scent of his cheap cologne isn’t appealing to me and makes me want to gag.
I turn and smile, snapping on the charm, knowing I have Lincoln’s full attention. “Hey, Grant.”
“So, I was thinking,” he says, moving his arm down, his hand slinking over my shoulder. “I want to take you out. Just me and you.”
Lincoln’s head twitches again, and a satisfying twinge hits my stomach at his clear reaction to Grant’s voice.
I imagine that sexy, terrifying flicker flowing through his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say smiling, speaking as sexy as I can, crossing my legs and pressing out my chest as if Lincoln has eyes on the back of his head and can see how good I look.
“Yeah, sexy. We could catch a movie, and I can take you to dinner.” Bile hits my throat as his hand finds my thigh. “I want to get to know you a bit more.” He’s basically chewing on my ear at this point.
I’ve seen Grant around school getting to know other girls, too. I want nothing to do with him.
I remember those final threats from SF at the rave, but since SF doesn’t seem to give a shit, I don’t see how he has any right to threaten anyone I choose to go out with.
I smile sweetly. “I’d love to.”
Grant is distracted, staring down at my boobs, and Lincoln’s head finally turns to face me. My breath gets caught in my throat as translucent eyes stare back at me—they weren’t the eyes Lincoln walked in with and are similar to whatever I saw inside him in the office.
His jaw flexes as he beholds me, his mouth twitching to a small but cocky smirk, almost boyish. And while I’m melting inside, I give him nothing. No emotion, no smile, no outward expression of how terrifying he looks right now—or how sexy he is. Or how he’s not looking or acting the way Lincoln usually does.
My lungs seize as I stare back at Lincoln, who is observing me and not even trying to hide it.
Lincoln’s eyes flash, and he fixes me a psychotic blank stare, and for a moment, it’s like we are the only two people in the room. In a flash, they are normal again, and I wonder if anyone else in this room noticed.
Lincoln turns back and faces Dr. Garcia as if that didn’t happen, and the lights dim. Grant, thank god, didn’t see the intense interaction.
I’ll confront him when I see him next. Whoever this monster is inside of Lincoln needs to come out and talk to me.
Dr. Garcia’s heels click over the marble stage in the bundle of fury that she is, and I shift my attention to her. She has managed to remain, thus far, an afterthought in my mind, but I am growing suspicious of her.
She must have known what my father was. She knew him too well not to have known anything.
What are your dirty secrets, Talia Garcia?
My mother hated her. Jealous whenever my father mentioned her, which is likely why he never brought her around much.
She’s just an old woman now, grasping on her final days, but I’ve seen photos of her in her youth. She was a dark beauty, with onyx hair to her lower back that covered the entirety of her slight frame. Everything about her reminds me of midnight. She certainly looked like someone who might worship a dark deity.
Her research is less refined.
Fear. Anger. Loathing .
My father had the fear covered in spades. So does that leave her with anger or loathing?
Do you loathe yourself, Dr. Garcia?
Grant squeezes my arm, and I smile back at him but shift over slightly and focus diligently on taking notes for class.
Week five of the semester, and we’re finally done learning about biological psychology. And I found the material dry as hell. I didn’t sign up to learn about the anatomy of the brain, nor do I care that it’s the unifying function. I’m loving this week’s topic on developmental psychology—the nurture.
I want to understand the phenomenon that is the human mind. What are the factors that drive someone to commit murder? I don’t believe that is something you are born with. If my father was a monster, that doesn’t automatically mean I am one, too.
After class, I head to the campus pool to let off some steam and swim some laps alone. When I head to the locker room to change, I can’t hide the scar SF gave me, and a few girls stare at the red and blistery mark on the edge of my swimsuit line.
They whisper, giggle, and stare. “That’s a mark of the Order,” one of them whispers. I guess people understand more about the lore than I give them credit for.
“She’s gonna die,” the other one says too casually. “The rumor is, they mark the ones they kill.”
I turn and look them straight in the eye. “I cut myself,” I spit out at them. “No one did this to me. And your bathing suit is way too fucking small for you.” I move toward the shower, hearing gasps in my wake.