Chapter 7 Reverie #3
Even in the darkness, the light pollution offers enough of a visual to tread through the trees without face-planting, though my feet snag on a twig or two as we venture deeper.
The crunch of leaves, grass, and branches prick at my nerves, and with each step, my body tightens further with the instinct to start swinging and kicking.
Just as the palpitations in my chest reach stroke levels, we stop. In the distance, lights from Craig’s house glimmer, and the faint noise of their partying filters into the night air.
I glance around, not understanding what I’m supposed to be looking at until Stacy shifts to the side.
“Oh, fuck. Off,” I hiss, taking a step back and bumping into a girl behind me. She grabs my biceps while Stacy holds tight to my hand, but I’m prepared to deck both of the cunts to get free.
A grave.
He dug a fucking grave.
I’ll wear the fake blood and the date of his mother’s death, but I will not allow them to bury me alive. I’d rather die fighting them than die inhaling six feet of dirt.
“Let me go,” I snap, my voice wobbly as I roughly rip my hand free from Stacy’s. It takes an extra second to fully dislodge it, but at this point, my adrenaline has taken over, and she has no fucking choice.
Irritated, she growls in response, but the sharp ringing in my ears muffles it. Panic and adrenaline set every one of my senses on high alert. My vision, my smell, even my taste have all sharpened.
The girl’s grip on my arms tighten as I attempt to wriggle out of her hold next, and the others crowd in further. My fists ball, my knuckles straining against the delicate skin over them. I’m milliseconds from swinging my way out of their barrier when Stacy pipes up.
“You aren’t going to die.” She speaks as if I’m stupid, judgment and annoyance evident in her tone. “None of us would go to prison over you, Reverie. You’ve ruined enough lives. Don’t think you’ll ruin ours, too.”
Her assurances do little to ease the terror pumping through my system.
Does she expect me to just take her word for it?
Logically, I understand what she’s saying, but also, what sane person would lie in a grave surrounded by people who might not be willing to kill them, per se, but who certainly want to see them dead?
When I shake my head, instinctively backing away and into the girl behind me again, Stacy exhales a heavy breath, as if I’m being unreasonable.
“Help me get her in there. Hold her arms down.”
“No!” I screech, and just as I swing out an arm, the girl behind me crushes me in a bear hold, trapping my arms beneath hers.
That doesn’t deter me from fighting—kicking my feet, thrashing my body, and even throwing my head back. She sees it coming, though, angling herself to the side and dodging the broken nose.
However, I do stomp on her foot, earning a growl and a kick back right in the ankle, but I hardly feel the pain and keep thrashing. I manage to catch one girl’s hand with my foot, causing her to hiss and shake it out, and another girl comes within a centimeter of getting her teeth knocked in.
Hands grab at several parts of my body before I can do any more damage. Despite how hard I fight and dig my heels into the ground, they finally send me flying into the hole after another minute.
I land awkwardly on my side, my shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the impact. I cry out, agony lancing through my body in brutal waves.
“Fucking cunts,” I hiss, a hefty dose of murderous rage swirling into the mix.
With a pained groan, I roll onto my back and find the girls circled around the grave, staring down at me. I can’t see most of their expressions beyond the shadows, but the ones I do glimpse are perfectly blank masks, not even the slightest hint of regret or sympathy.
They’re quiet as I pant through my terror, fury, and pain.
For now, I keep still. They’re not trying to bury me, so until that happens, I decide to preserve the little energy I have left.
If this is the worst of it, fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut and wait until they walk the fuck away.
I’d rather take their creepy staring than dirt flying into my face.
A branch snaps, and the sound of leaves crunching grows louder, ratcheting my heartbeat up another notch.
My mind is too frazzled to think properly, so for several beats, I’m panicking over who’s coming and what’s happening.
Until he steps into view.
There he is, standing in the moonlight like its glow is only familiar with him.
Dread stares down at me from the foot of the grave—except the shadows cut across his face just right, preventing me from seeing his expression. I can only feel the energy radiating from him.
He’s as cold as the frigid air, as hard as the dirt beneath me, as unforgiving as the pain still steadily coursing through me.
Silently, he crouches down and rests his elbows on his spread knees while he balances on the balls of his feet. The moonlight shifts, slicing across his face dramatically, unveiling one of his eyes, his scarred brow, a hint of his nose ring, and half his lips.
It’s enough to reveal his stoic expression, black insidious waves rolling off him.
I force a laugh from my throat, the sound almost deranged. “Why don’t you join me, Kellan? It’s so much warmer down here, being closer to hell.”
He cocks his head almost curiously, revealing a little more of his face.
But he stays silent.
The girls all bend, each grabbing a handful of dirt. Before I can process what’s happening, one girl tosses the dirt over my body. I flinch, closing my eyes as specks fly into my face.
“Rest in peace, Lily,” she says quietly.
I freeze, and an ice-cold chill skirts down my spine.
I can’t see well enough to confirm, but I assume the date written across the girl’s chest is when Lily went missing.
I bite my lip hard, desperately trying to school my expression, even if it feels like I’m dying inside.
This is beyond cruel. It’s evil. Twisted. Sick.
And it hurts so fucking bad.
Because even though I didn’t kill these women, my hands aren’t free of their blood, either.
Another girl throws a handful of dirt, and I turn my head away as more flies into my face, tears threatening to slip free.
“Rest in peace, Georgia.”
Hearing her name feels like a blade slicing across my heart. My chin trembles, and I don’t know if I can keep the tears contained this time.
In a circle, each girl takes a turn throwing dirt onto me, speaking the name of whoever’s date they wrote across their chest. By the fourth, I cover my face with my hands, both to protect me from the dirt and to cover the tears streaming down my face.
“Rest in peace, Johanna.”
“Rest in peace, Rebecca.”
Eleanor.
Jolene.
Sandra.
Margaret.
Macy.
Savannah.
Amanda.
Olivia.
I’m trembling, crying, downright spiraling by the time they’ve finished. My lungs burn from the effort of keeping my sobs silent, but my pride still clings. I can’t let them see me break down fully.
I don’t know how much time passes before I hear leaves and twigs crunching beneath shuffling feet.
I’m terrified they’re going to do something else, so I gather enough strength to shove down the remaining tears.
I can’t do much about the tracks they’ve left down my cheeks, but at least he didn’t see them fall.
I inhale a deep, shuddering breath and exhale slowly. Then, I smooth out my expression and toss my hands from my face to fling the dirt piled atop away. When I open my eyes, only Dread remains, still in the same position.
Seeing him reignites the rage burning in my stomach.
I hate him.
I hate him so fucking much.
And sometimes, I wish I could be like my father, if only to remove him from my life—permanently.
I scowl, and it takes several attempts to swallow before I trust myself enough to speak.
“God, you really are dreadful,” I spit.
He gathers dirt in his hand before propping his arm back on his knee, his posture casual as he studies me quietly.
I’m almost convinced he won’t answer—until he does, his voice devoid of emotion.
“My darling, it is you who is dreadful.”
He tosses the dirt, and I flinch away once again. When I look back at him, he murmurs, “Rest in peace, Mom.”
Then, he stands and walks away.