Chapter 40
Sadie
Iturn.
Before my mouth can form a question, Professor Worthington drives his fist hard into my stomach. The impact is crushing, bending me in half and stealing my breath.
Pain spills from my stomach through my body. Stars explode against blackness in my vision and my chest burns.
While I struggle to breathe, panic rocketing through me, Worthington picks me up off the ground. He hooks his hands under my armpits and he drags me, my boots scrabbling uselessly against the grimy tiles.
Once inside the room, he throws me in a heap on the floor. My body collides with a cold, solid pile of something. Worthington locks the door, pulling a blind over the glass panel.
As I choke on a desperate breath, I push myself up using the thing beside me. He clicks on a lamp, spreading pale green light through the dank room.
Nausea fills me as I realize I’m leaning on a man.
No, not a man. A body.
He’s cold and gray-skinned and his eyes are glassy.
It’s Chuck Fairchild’s body.
I drag myself away in terror, but even then it’s like I can still feel his pallid flesh.
Shaking all over, I lift my gaze to the killer who’s been tormenting me since I came to Darkbloom.
Professor Patrick Worthington, respected academic and writer.
“It’s you,” I rasp. “You’re insane.”
Insanity seems like the most logical explanation. Why else would he kill Hannah, Parker, and the world’s friendliest student advisor?
Is this fun for him? A sick hobby?
The shock leaves me reeling as much as the physical pain. Professor Worthington is my teacher. I liked him, I trusted him, I cared about his opinion.
Crawling further away from Chuck’s body, I grasp the chipped leg of a chair for balance. My stomach still hurts too much to stand up.
“Would it reassure you to believe I’m insane?” Worthington tuts. “I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark on my motivations, Sadie. Dig deeper.”
He folds his arms and glares down at me like he really expects an answer.
I’m horrified and amazed by the change in his demeanor. His very aura is different. The man before me has empty eyes, square shoulders, and moves with chilling purpose.
Professor Worthington was wearing a costume all along. I just realized too late. No longer adopting the timid slouch of a stuffy professor, he seems to have physically grown.
He prowls around the office, flicking on lamps, as if he wants an excellent view of whatever he’s about to do to me.
My head thumping, I take in the rest of the room. Faded posters on the wall, battered leather furniture, and a table holding two half-empty teacups and numerous egg cartons. In the back, there’s a low, unmade bed.
I see nothing within reach I could use as a weapon, which is probably intentional on his part. After all, he already murdered one person in here today. He must’ve taken Chuck Fairchild by surprise too.
White foam drips from Chuck’s mouth and a deep gash marks his forehead.
Worthington steps toward me, making me scramble to the side. His foot slams down on my ankle, and a searing pain shoots up my leg.
Crying out, I tug my ankle from under his shoe. Though he lets me, his face lights up with cruel humor.
“With your wings, you’re like a broken bird.” His English accent is stronger now, with a distinct mocking edge. “I’ve had such fun playing with you.”
As long as we’re talking, Worthington’s not killing me, so I resolve to keep the conversation going until I can make a move.
“You were in the forest,” I say, fighting nausea. “You killed Parker. And Hannah.”
He tilts his head. “She got cold feet. She wanted to confide in someone about our dalliance. I couldn’t lose everything because of her, could I? Her father would’ve seen me ruined. My wife would’ve never forgiven me.”
Revulsion ripples through me. “You were sleeping with her?”
“We were lovers,” he says emphatically.
“You took advantage of her.”
“She took advantage of me. Of my lust.” His nostrils expand with outrage, as if he truly believes what he says. “She was a speedy little nymph, I can tell you.”
Parker’s final, anguished words in the forest echo in my head. “Her brother was on to you though. He was going to expose you.”
My strength returns in fractions, my breathing evening out.
“Yes.” He waves a hand. “Collateral damage.”
“Collateral damage? Is that what I am too?”
My phone sits heavy in my pocket like a talisman of hope.
I pray Lucan’s tracking me. Please, please be monitoring my whereabouts. The app would lead him straight to my phone.
Staring at the door, I will him to break it down. He would stop Worthington and enable his cousins to rest in peace.
But Lucan doesn’t come, because I pushed him away and made him promise to leave me alone.
Well, here I am, all alone.
If I could run, maybe I’d have enough time to call the police or campus security.
“You’re more than collateral damage,” says Worthington. “You remind me of Hannah. A pretty gem. A tempting sweet to sample.”
“And Chuck Fairchild?”
His lip curls at Chuck’s body. “He was always so pesky, getting chummy with the students. Anytime, anywhere, he told them. Meddlesome bastard. Hannah was distraught. She was on her way to the rowing sheds to tell Chuck everything.” Worthington smiles.
“Thankfully, I caught up with her first. The whole business was quite thrilling, I have to say.”
“K-killing her?”
I can’t believe my ears. He’s worse than any animal.
“It makes one feel like a god.” His smile fades. “I thought I was home free, but with Parker’s death, Chuck started asking me too many pointed questions. Alas, he made the same mistake as Parker: seeking proof before making accusations that might ruin my life. Honorable, but ultimately fatal.”
“Lucan will find out who you are,” I say, anger bubbling in me.
How dare Worthington snuff out a young woman’s life to save his own disgusting neck?
And Parker too, for grieving his sister and wanting justice. Chuck, for supporting his students.
The professor’s laughter is cold and mean. “But Lucan hasn’t yet, has he? I hope he’s the one to find you though. His poor little pet, slain right here at Darkbloom on his watch.”
“You’re revolting.”
He continues like I didn’t speak. “It’s a genuine shame. You had such a bright future. All the really killable girls do.”
Dread hollows out my stomach.
I’m going to die here tonight unless I act fast. Even calling the police or campus security won’t be enough now. He’ll break my neck long before they arrive.
I need to stop Worthington myself.
He moves behind his desk to rummage in a drawer. Humming to himself, he pulls the drawer out further and pushes things around, as if he can’t find what he’s looking for.
My blood rushes like a river and my fingers twitch.
This is my opportunity.
Keeping my eyes on Worthington, I fumble in my pocket for my phone.
While he sifts through metal tools, apparently luxuriating over a choice, I tap the phone screen to light it up.
As I hoped, he notices.
His eyes burn into me like black tunnels. Like Russell’s when he was drunk and out to hurt someone.
With a pair of pliers in hand, Worthington rounds the desk. “You think you can outsmart me that easily? Silly little bitch. Who do you think you’re dealing with?”
My chest heaves as I steel myself for what comes next. All the rage I felt for Russell simmers inside, fueling me.
With a triumphant grunt, he snatches the phone out of my hand. “No one’s coming to save you, Sadie. I have you all to myself and I’m going to enjoy every moment. Maybe I’ll write a poem about the art I make of you.”
He smashes my phone against the tiled floor, blanking the screen.
I don’t care though, because the distraction worked. I’m already pulling myself to my feet, my hand darting into my other pocket for the stun gun Lucan gave me.
A deadly crackle fills the air as I press the trigger. Diving for Worthington, I aim the weapon at his torso. The searing-blue electrified barbs connect with his ribs, where I hold them.
His limbs lock up and his eyes lose focus. I feel his muscles spasm beneath my knuckles and hear his teeth grind, but he doesn’t fall to the ground like I thought he would.
With my other hand, I reach into his jacket pocket where I saw him put his ring of keys.
He regains a measure of sense just as I grab the keys, jerking his body away from me. The connection between him and the electrified barbs breaks.
As he wheels around, his arm slices up and hits mine. The stun gun sails from my hand, landing somewhere in the depths of his ancient furniture.
He grunts and snarls, forcing his jerky limbs to move.
Oh god. Time to go.
My entire body shakes as I insert the key into the lock and turn, but it jams.
Wrong key.
“Come on,” I say, pleading.
I line up another key, my hands slick with sweat, as Worthington lunges toward me.