19. Mallory
MALLORY
The front door shut behind me, and I slid the lock into place, not because Maddox told me to but because it was an ingrained habit. He might believe he was dangerous, but on the evil scale, I ranked him on the lower end.
Kicking my boots off in the entryway, I was dying to get this dress off, and that was when I noticed I was still wearing his hoodie.
Despite my mixed feelings about him, I was secretly glad he hadn’t asked for it back.
There was something so comfortable about a worn, oversized sweatshirt. His scent clung to the material.
I padded down the hallway toward the kitchen for a drink of water before I headed to my room, but when I reached the archway, I froze, going stiff.
A knife sat on the counter.
And the blade looked…wet, a red substance coating the steel.
A dozen emotions ricocheted inside me. My head shook. I didn’t want to believe it was blood. I didn’t want to believe it happened again.
No.
No, no, no.
The plea echoed in my ears as I stood paralyzed in place, my phone sliding out of my fingers to hit the floor with a thud.
My brain scrambled to catch up with what my eyes were seeing, fighting against the evidence, searching desperately for another explanation.
The night replayed in pieces. I tried to remember if the Volvo had been in the driveway when Maddox dropped me off.
Had it?
I honestly couldn’t remember. I hadn’t been paying attention to anything but him. He had that annoying effect on me.
Panic clawed up my throat chokingly.
What if she’d hurt someone?
What if it was him, the guy Mom had been seeing?
My breath caught halfway into my lungs, refusing to go any deeper.
I was inching my way toward another panic attack.
As if one tonight hadn’t been enough. I pictured her faceless boyfriend on our kitchen floor, blood creeping across the white tile in dark rivulets, my mom standing over him with that calm, terrifying focus she got when she was already too far gone to stop.
Bending down, I scooped up my phone, and, slowly, like I was wading into deep water, I moved into the kitchen. My eyes kept dashing to the floor near the other side of the island, waiting to see shoes, a foot, or a hand reaching out from behind the counter.
Nothing.
Just silence and the hum of the refrigerator blending with my breathing.
I swallowed hard as I took another step. And another. The closer I got, the more something felt…off. Wrong in a way I couldn’t quite articulate. The red wasn’t glossy like fresh blood. It didn’t have the wet sheen. This was thicker and almost matte, crumbling where it had dried.
I reached for the knife with fingers trembling, but it was clear it wasn’t blood. Thank fucking God. I picked it up carefully, turning it left and right, trying to figure out what it was. “Mom?” I called.
No answer.
I squinted at the knife, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then, before overthinking it, before common sense could kick in and stop me, I did the dumbest, most instinctive thing possible.
I lifted it to my tongue and took a careful lick, avoiding the sharp edge.
It was sweet, and my shoulders sagged in relief as I identified the substance. Gel icing, but definitely unmistakably not blood.
“You’re home.”
I yelped at the sudden voice and dropped the knife.
It clattered against the counter, sending little red flecks across the white surface in a splatter.
Whirling around, I spotted Mom standing in the doorway, an apologetic smile curving her lips.
She was still dressed for her date, her hair slightly mussed, but no blood on her clothes or hands.
“Jesus, Mom,” I breathed, pressing one hand to my chest. “You can’t just…appear like that.”
She took in my face, and her smile softened into concern. “Sorry, how else am I supposed to appear? I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”
I looked from her to the counter, to the knife with its incriminating red smears, to the flecks of what was very clearly cake scattered across the tile.
“I thought you—” I stopped myself, because I didn’t actually want to finish that sentence out loud.
Didn’t want to put those words into the universe.
I thought you killed him.
Her gaze followed mine, tracking my line of sight, and she laughed. “Oh, that. Do you want some cake? I brought home the leftovers from the restaurant. It’s red velvet.”
“You used a combat knife,” I said slowly, each word carefully enunciated, “to cut cake.”
She shrugged like this was completely normal behavior. “It was the cleanest blade in the drawer. Everything else was in the dishwasher.”
“That is the most unhinged sentence you’ve said all week.”
“Low bar,” she teased, moving to the counter and starting to gather the red-speckled mess with a paper towel, wiping up the glaze. “Relax, Malibu. No bodies tonight. Just dessert.”
I leaned against the counter, suddenly aware of how wound up I’d been. “You have no idea what my brain just did to me.”
“I can imagine,” she said, giving me a look, noticing I was wearing someone else’s hoodie. “Rough night?”
I hesitated, my fingers finding the necklace at my throat. It was still there, still recording everything. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Anything I should know?” she asked, pulling out a white cake box.
Part of me wanted to open up and tell her everything, unload all the stuff I’d been keeping bottled up, but another part knew that telling her would mean watching her slip into that other version of herself.
I shook my head. “No, nothing groundbreaking. And before you ask, I had no use for the condoms you snuck in my purse.”
She snorted and handed me a fork from the drawer. “Better safe than sorry. Eat some cake. It always makes me feel better.”
I took the fork and stabbed a generous bite of deep red cake, eating it right out of the white box.
Mom clicked the remote, and the small TV under the kitchen cabinet flared to life. She took a bite of the red sponge as the nightly news anchor’s voice came through the speakers.
“—and in local news tonight, police are searching for eighteen-year-old Sienna Michaels, who was last seen leaving a friend’s house late Tuesday evening. Authorities say this is the first disappearance in several months, but they’re concerned the pattern may be starting again.”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth, a bite of cake balanced precariously on the tines.
Again?
Holy shit.
The screen shifted to a yearbook photo of a girl with straightened sunny-blonde hair, a bright smile, and sky-blue eyes. She looked like so many other girls at school, but the difference was that their face wasn’t plastered on the evening news.
A ticker scrolled along the bottom in insistent yellow letters, a hotline to contact if anyone had information on her disappearance.
I snuck a glance at Mom.
She no longer leaned over the counter. Her spine had gone straight, and her deep blue eyes hardened. The easy, teasing curve of her mouth was gone, lips pressing into a thin line.
This was bad.
Really bad.
I’d been stupidly hoping Mom wouldn’t hear about the missing girls. That whatever rot lived under this town’s pretty surface, whatever darkness festered beneath the carefully maintained lawns and historic buildings, would keep itself hidden.
But this?
This was a spark in a room full of gasoline.
Once Mom got something in her head, she was like a dog with a bone. Relentless. Unstoppable.
“It looks like our kidnapper has returned to Elmwood,” the anchor said. “Police are urging parents to be vigilant—”
Mom muted the TV with a forceful jab of her thumb against the remote. She stood there with her arms folded across her chest, creating a barrier, eyes still fixed on the frozen image of the girl’s face.
I knew that look.
I set my fork down. “Mom…”
“I’m fine. Finish your cake. I’m going to shower and get to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”
My stomach sank as I watched her leave. I didn’t have an appetite. In fact, all I just wanted was to get out of these clothes and hop into bed myself.
I quickly put the cake away and went to my room. Stripping off my clothes, I slipped Maddox’s hoodie back on before crawling into bed, but I couldn’t get the picture of the missing girl out of my head. I needed to talk to Paisley.
Shit!
Paisley!
I’d completely forgotten about her. I grabbed my phone, noticing I had about a dozen missed messages. She’d been worried, and guilt pressed into my stomach. My fingers tapped over the keys hurriedly.
Me:
Sorry! They took my phone at the door.
Maddox drove me home a few minutes ago. Long story.
Let me know that you’re okay.
I waited impatiently for her to text me back, worried now after hearing she had tried to get into Raven Night to check on me. I couldn’t go to bed until I knew she was safe.
My phone buzzed.
Paisley:
Oh, thank God.
I was about to call 911.
I didn’t want you to think I abandoned you.
I had so much to tell her, including about the missing girl, assuming she hadn’t already heard, but before we could meet up, I needed to look through the footage on the SD card. There was one particular event I didn’t want anyone else to see. Including Paisley.
Did you hear about the missing girl?
What?!?! No.
It was on the news tonight.
I can’t believe it.
Her name is Sienna Michaels.
Are you shitting me?
She graduated last year from Public.
It’s happening again.