Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lilac
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I tap the green button and hold it to my ear. The pale moon creeps between the heavy drapes. I glance at the other side of the bed—Irvin isn’t there.
I hear Lyrical sobbing uncontrollably. “L-Lilac.”
My heart leaps like a frog in my chest, and I toss my legs over the side of the bed. I furrow my brow and rub my eyes.
“Hey, Lyri—”
“W-W-Winter’s been attacked.”
Cold sweat beads on my forehead. I leap from the bed and toss on a sweater with the school logo and matching sweatpants.
“What? How?!”
“S-someone hit her head with an object. K-Keanu found her passed out in a pool of her own blood. He rushed her to the ER.”
I rush downstairs to the foyer, and grab the car keys from the fishbowl. “I’m on my way.”
Irvin strides inside, stops, concern etched on his face. He yanks me into his arms.
“What’s wrong, my princess?”
Tears tickle down my cheeks. I remove his hands from my arms and head to the door.
“Winter was in an accident. I have to get to the hospital.”
He holds my hand. “I’ll drive you.”
My throat tightens. I tap my foot on the floorboard. Who would hurt Winter? Was it the killer? Why are they targeting people who are part of the American Billionaire Club? What if Winter dies? I yank my hair until my scalp aches.
“What happens if she doesn’t make it?” I blurt out.
Irvin squeezes my hand tight, bringing my palm to his mouth, then planting soft kisses on my wrist.
“Let’s not think about that,” he soothes.
We ride in eerie silence, the rain beating heavily on the windshield.
Once we arrive at the lobby, Keanu paces the white tiles, thrusting his fingers through his fire-truck-red hair.
I rush up to him. He turns around, wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight. Irvin glares between us, so I step back quickly.
Keanu blinks rapidly, his lips trembling. He looks like he’s aged several years in mere moments.
Lyrical hugs me tightly next. Jameson and Snow lean against the white wall. Her parents hold each other. I’ve never met her parents, so I stride to them, introducing myself.
“We’ve heard so many wonderful things about you,” her mother says, hugging me. “It’s finally nice to meet you. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Did the doctor say what’s wrong?” I bite my bottom lip.
“She has a brain injury. Her brain is swelling against her skull. She’s in a coma,” Keanu sneers, punching the wall and leaving a gigantic hole.
The staff glance at him but continue their work.
“I told her not to be on campus at night. I told her not to be alone. And with the killings on campus, she needed to b—” He yanks his hair. “Fuck! I should have been there with my ice petal!”
Jameson pats Keanu on the back. “Walk with me, Keanu. You need to calm down. She’s going to be okay.”
“How do we know that? I don’t need you to feed me false hope, Jameson.”
“Walk with us, K,” Snow adds.
Keanu follows them toward the entrance.
“Can we see her?” I ask.
Irvin wraps his arms around my waist, resting his head atop mine. In this moment, his comfort means everything. The warmth of his body is inviting.
“You can go see her,” her mother says. “She’s in room 104.”
I walk as fast as my feet will carry me.
My eyes sting from tears, and my chest aches.
Tubes down her throat and a bandage wrapped around her head, her face is swollen like a balloon.
Hearing about what happened is one thing, but seeing it makes me want to smash something.
How could someone do this to my sweet friend?
Winter is kind, loving, and gentle. She didn’t deserve this.
I pull up a chair next to her, kiss her forehead, then flop down and intertwine my fingers with hers.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I love you, and I’m here for you, Winter.”
I quickly wipe tears from my eyes, trying to fight them back, but the pain is unbearable. I squeeze her hand—she doesn’t squeeze back.
I should have been there with her.
The nurse comes inside, checks the machines, and exits. The eerie sound of the monitors continues to hum. My heart pounds in my ears.
Tears race down my cheeks.
“I hope you pull through. You need to pull through. For me. For Keanu. For your parents. We love you. I’m sorry this happened. I hope the board members catch the killer.”
My phone buzzes with a message. I read it.
Unknown message: YOU’RE NEXT, BITCH!!!
My heart hammers. I drop the phone and read the message again. I jump up. Bolt into the hallway. Scan the nursing station. The conversation at the nursing station is too loud, too sharp, but muffled. The killer is here, I know it.
It wasn’t a coincidence that I received this message while visiting Winter. I stride to the lobby—I only see Irvin. Everyone else must have left. I bolt outside, scanning the parking lot. The killer must be here.
Irvin catches up to me, grabbing my arm. I sink to the concrete ground, wrapping my arms around my legs, rocking back and forth.
Someone is after me. I know it. He’s watching me. He’s the one who put the locket on my pillow. I’m not imagining it. He’s fucking with me.
“Princess.” His nickname is gentle, filled with warmth. He removes fine strands of hair from my face.
“Someone sent me a text message saying I’m next.”
I hand him my phone. He types in my passcode. I don’t know how he knew it, but I don’t care right now.
“Princess, there isn’t a message from anyone.”
I snatch the phone back and open the messages. The last message is from Irvin.
“I saw it. I swear, Irvin.”
Irvin studies me like a map. “Maybe you accidentally erased it.”
“I didn’t fucking erase it! I swear it was here!” I scream.
“Are you okay, my love?” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close.
Burnt flesh lingers in my nostrils.
“You don’t smell that?” I ask.
He eyes me curiously. “Smell what?”
I wipe my nose. “Burnt meat. Like roast pork. And blood. Sulfur.”
Irvin shakes his head.
“Are you sure, Irvin? Please tell me I’m not losing it.” I yank my hair hard, pulling a few strands out.
“Stop!” He places his hand over mine, squeezing gently. His eyes narrow. “How do you know how burnt flesh smells?”
I stare into his sage eyes. Did I tell him about Emerson, or is he guessing?
“What are you talking about?”
He lifts my chin with his fingers. “Burnt meat and blood and sulfur. The only place you get that combination is gunpowder and a dead body. You’ve been around dead flesh.”
I swallow thickly, not acknowledging his words.
It’s not important. I need to find the person who sent the message.
I watch a guy walk past wearing a hoodie. It has to be him—the killer. I rush toward him. Irvin grabs my arm once more.
“Where are you going?”
I snatch my arm away. “He’s the killer. I know it. He’s the guy who sent me the message.”
I catch up to him and yank his hood, revealing his face. His eyes are dark, his hair black and messy like a rat’s nest. He’s slender, about the same age. My pulse accelerates. It’s him. Emerson. I knew he wasn’t dead. I’m going to kill him.
I stab my finger into his hard chest. “Why did you send me that message? You did it. You attacked my friend!”
Emerson balls up his fist as if to strike me. Irvin steps in front, shielding me.
“Sorry, my wife isn’t feeling well.”
I stand up, dusting off my sweatpants. I’m going to kill Emerson. First my parents. Now Winter. Fuck him. I should have killed him myself.
Tears burn trails down my cheeks. I hadn’t realized I was crying.
“I thought you died! You son of a bitch! And you hurt my friend!”
“Get this bitch away from me!” Emerson yells, but his voice is raspier than I remember.
I shake my head. His face morphs—copper hair, angelic features, not the rough, muscular Emerson I knew.
“Keep your bitch on a leash. She put her ha—”
Irvin grabs him by the throat, thrusting him toward the ER double doors. “Enough. She’s sorry. Get the fuck out before I slit your throat and throw your body in the ocean.”
The man’s eyes widen, and he stumbles out of the parking lot.
Irvin scoops me into his arms and carries me to the car. I cry buckets. He sits me in the seat, strapping my seatbelt over me.
“I-I’m so sorry, Irvin. I really am.”
He strokes the back of my head. “There isn’t anything to be sorry about.”
What happened back there? Was I really losing it? I check the phone—no new message. Did I imagine it, like the locket? I even thought the guy back there was Emerson. I feel worn out as so many emotions swirl through me.
Once we arrive home, Irvin carries me upstairs and lays me on the bed. He brings the blanket over me, then hurries to the bathroom, showers, puts on fresh pajamas, and climbs into bed, pulling me close.
I rest my head on his chest and cry. My chest burns. My limbs feel exhausted. My mind feels like it’s been in a blender.
I grab my phone, searching my messages again. The threat is gone. I hallucinated it.
I can’t tell Irvin about Emerson. He studies my every move like a lab rat. Honestly, I don’t blame him—I just accused a stranger of attacking Winter.
“I don’t think I’m well, Irvin. I-I keep seeing and hearing things again.”
“What else have you been seeing?”
I’m quiet, listening to the rain patter against the windows. I frown, shoulders slumping.
I lay my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. “I’d rather not say.”
He traces a finger along the back of my hand. “I’m making you an appointment tomorrow with a psychologist.”
I sit up. “No. It won’t help. I don’t want to be put on different medication like before. I’m sorry I’m crazy.”
He strokes my cheek. “You’re not crazy, my princess. You had some trauma that you’re not dealing with. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but you need to talk to someone.”
Usually, I’d be pissed at Irvin, but I need him more than ever.
He’s right. I do need to see someone, but I don’t want to deal with my past right now.
I know I suffer from PTSD, but I can’t be heavily medicated—I need to function.
I have to face that I’m hiding my secret identity from my friends and him.
Everyone would view me as a fraud. I work so hard to keep my past a secret, but it keeps slipping through the cracks.
How long can I keep this up? I have no clue.
“Let me be strong for the both of us, my princess. Let me love you in ways you can’t.”
He kisses me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me even closer.
Burnt fireworks. Metallic blood burns my nose.
I jump out of bed and rush to the bathroom, emptying my stomach into the toilet.
Irvin enters the room and bends down, holding my hair while I continue to puke. I flush, grab mouthwash, swish, and spit.
“Thank you, Irvin.”
He nods and scoots me into his arms, placing me in his lap. I need his warmth, his safety. I let the tears flow, sobbing uncontrollably.