Two Sides to Every Murder, page 13
“That’s a very sexy shirt you’re wearing,” Hazel says out of nowhere, breaking the quiet.
I stare at her, wondering if she’s having a stroke. “What?”
“Gross, right?” She wrinkles her nose and points to the magazine lying open on my lap. “That settles it, I’m definitely not a seductive flirt. But I don’t fit any of these other categories, either. Like, where’s the entry for a flirt who’s only interested in having intellectual debates with air signs and also likes tacos?”
I bite back a smile. I want to be annoyed. And not just about the sudden change of topic from murderers to flirting, but by her. I don’t like cutesy, happy people or astrology—or tacos, actually. But Hazel’s kind of obnoxiously charming. And it’s sweet how she’s trying so hard to be gentle with my ankle. I let my eyes linger on her face for a beat, just long enough to take in her deep brown eyes, her long lashes. She smells good, like lavender or something. It makes me think of clean laundry and fancy candle stores and spring.
Her eyebrows go up a little and I quickly look away, something strange twisting through my stomach.
“Uh…playful,” I tell her.
She frowns, which makes her nose scrunch up. “Huh?”
“Astrology and tacos and that thing you’re doing with your nose. You’re a playful flirt. See”—I point to the entry for “playful flirt” and read out—“ ‘A playful flirt uses her fun-loving personality to disarm her crush.’ That’s you.”
She’s been maneuvering the bandage around my leg while I speak, intentionally weaving it in a complicated looking pattern that takes some of the pressure off.
She pauses and tilts her head, studying me. “What are your thoughts on bread?”
I blink at her. “What?”
“Never mind. Let’s go back to the part where you think I’m disarming.”
I can feel my cheeks heat up. “I mean, I never actually said—”
At that moment, she pulls the bandage tight, causing a sharp crack of pain to shoot up my leg. I stop talking, and tears spring to my eyes.
Holy—
“Sorry!” Hazel says. To her credit she does sound very sorry. “I was worried that might hurt, it just has to be tight if we want to stop the blood flow. But I’m all done now. See? That wasn’t so bad.”
I’d argue with her, but I’m still trying to catch my breath.
13
Olivia
Jack and I don’t have to look far to find the landline. There’s a phone sitting on the nurse’s old desk. I hold my breath as I cross the room and lift it to my ear.
There’s a beat of silence that lasts a million years. And then—
A dull hum. It’s working.
Relief floods through me. I feel tears in my eyes as I dial 911, my heart lodged in my throat. When the operator answers, I shakily explain what’s happened and give her the camp’s address.
“We’ll have an officer dispatched immediately,” she tells me. “But I’m showing that the nearest cruiser is a twenty-minute drive away. Would you like me to stay on the line with you until it arrives?”
“No, that’s okay,” I tell the operator. I’m pretty sure staying on the phone with her would just make me more anxious. “Just please hurry.”
“You’ve got some scratches on your forehead,” Jack says, after I’ve hung up the phone. “Did you fall or something?”
I touch my forehead. “Oh, uh, no. There were some branches and stuff when I was running. They must have hit me.”
“Here, let me take a look at them.” He leans in close, right into my personal space. My breath dries up in my throat.
Here’s a thing not enough people talk about: thinking you might die doesn’t actually make you less horny. You’d think it would. I mean, someone just chased me through the freaking woods. I watched that person kill another kid with an arrow, and just a few minutes ago I was seriously afraid for my life.
And yet when a guy who looks like Jack leans toward me, oh so carefully examining the scratches crisscrossing my forehead, my entire body lights up. It’s embarrassing. The timing could not be worse.
He smells like campfires and marshmallows, I notice, and he touches me so gently, like I’m something precious that might break if he presses too hard. There’s logic and then there’s biology, and when a guy who looks like this touches you, it does things to you, physically and…chemically, that you have absolutely no control over.
That must be why I have little shivers racing all through my skin. It’s why, for several long moments, I forget to breathe, a very confusing mix of fear and desire mingling inside of me. Is this why people go on dates to scary movies? Because fear is kind of…hot?
Jack has a little bit of stubble on his chin, and I find myself staring at that stubble, wondering if it’d be all prickly or if it’d be soft or…
Oh God, and now I’m wondering what it would be like to kiss him. His lips are full, and they’re the kind of plummy red that makes him look like he’s wearing some sort of really delicious fruity lip balm. I bet he tastes like cherries. I find myself licking my own lips without intentionally making the decision to do so, and then—too late—I realize what I just did and feel heat blaze in my cheeks. I was just staring at his lips and licking my own lips and…crap, what’s wrong with me?
I look up, and he’s watching me right back, one eyebrow arched, almost like he’s asking me a question.
I really and truly can’t breathe now. My chest feels like it’s about to explode. The corners of my eyes twitch. I should move away, but I don’t. I’m too lost in my own thoughts, imagining those soft, warm lips pressed to mine, his campfire scent filling my head, that twisting feeling moving through my stomach, lower.
“Sorry,” Jack says, pulling away from me. His voice is lower than it was a moment ago. Deeper and kind of…rumbly. It hits me low in my gut, that rumble.
Then he says, “I just can’t get over how much you look like Reagan.”
A spark moves through my body, waking me up. Reagan. Of course. That’s why he was looking at me like that. Because I remind him of Reagan.
Does that mean they’re…together? It would make sense. The way he was touching me didn’t feel like a friend touch. It felt like a something more touch. But that would mean he thought she was hot, which would mean that, by extension, he thinks I’m hot. And that’s completely impossible, right? I am not hot.
Unless…maybe Reagan’s cool? Maybe she’s dangerous and funny? That would explain why they’re together. I have the second highest GPA in the junior class. I am not cool. I’m the class treasurer.
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing. “Reagan.”
“Speaking of Reagan, we should probably talk about the bear trap,” Jack says.
I close my eyes, suppressing a shudder. I would be perfectly happy if I never had to think about that bear trap ever again. It’s already going to haunt my nightmares. “What about it?”
“When I was trying to pull it open, I thought…well, it didn’t look old. I mean, it was old, but not like the rest of the stuff around here. Not sixteen years old.”
“Do you think the witch left it for us? As a trap?”
Jack frowns. “The witch is supposed to kill with a bow and arrows, right? At least, that’s how the story goes.”
I feel something cold move through me. “Do you think someone else left it?”
“No,” Jack says slowly. Then he kind of shakes his head, like it’s a thought he doesn’t want to acknowledge. “I mean…I don’t know. My family lives on the other side of those trees, not far from here, and there’ve been rumors about these woods for as long as I’ve been alive.”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the fear working up my spine. I think of the stuff I found in the archery field, the lantern and the sleeping bag and the coffee cup. “After the murders—”
“No, it’s not just the murders, this isn’t some urban legend about the Witch of Lost Lake. My dad’s a serious camper, and he says people easily go missing around here, that you shouldn’t go into the trees after dark, stuff like that.” Jack rubs his eyes. “I don’t know…maybe I’m just being paranoid. I mean, that bear trap really freaked me out. I feel like we’re being hunted. And this cabin…it’s basically a bull’s-eye.”
He looks at me like he’s expecting me to argue. And as much as I don’t want to go back out into the woods, even I have to admit that we can’t just stick around here waiting for the witch—or whoever else might be out there—to find us.
“Can you carry Reagan back to camp?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “It’s too far. And it’d slow me down. It’d be faster for me to run ahead for the truck and drive back to pick up the three of you.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You want to split up? Are you serious?”
“The truck is a five-minute walk away. Three if I run.”
But I’m already shaking my head. “Jack, no way. We stay together, that’s the safest thing to do. The cops will be here soon, and then this whole nightmare will be over.”
“Twenty minutes is a long time. What are we supposed to do if the killer finds us here? Reagan can’t exactly run on that leg.”
His eyes lock on mine, and I feel a jolt go through me as I stare back at him. He’s got a point. If the killer finds us here, Reagan’s a goner. And I’m guessing it would mean Jack would be a goner, too, because I can tell there’s no way he’s leaving her behind. I feel a sharp pang at the thought. It surprises me. I mean, I barely know Jack and Reagan, but the thought of them being in danger, of being alone and scared, unsettles me.
“You know I’m right,” he says in a soft voice.
My shoulders slump. I do know. We can’t just wait here to see whether the cops or the killer find us first, not when Reagan’s life depends on it.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling. “But you have to explain it to your girlfriend. I have a feeling she isn’t going to like this plan.”
Jack eyes me steadily. There’s a twist to his mouth that wasn’t there a moment ago, halfway between a smile and a smirk. Something I said must’ve struck him as funny.
“I just realized I don’t know your name,” he says.
“Oh.” I feel my cheeks heat up, which makes absolutely no sense. He asked me to tell him my name, not have his babies. “It’s—”
“I think I’m going to call you Mickey,” he says before I can answer.
“Mickey?” My eyebrows go up. “You mean, like the mouse?”
“No, like Mickey Joseph, the fastest QB the Cornhuskers have ever had. I’m pretty sure you beat his record when you tried to run away from me earlier.” He smiles at me and, for a second, I think he’s going to say something else, but he just shakes his head and walks back into the other room.
My stomach twists. Mickey.
* * *
• • •
I was right, Reagan really doesn’t like this plan.
“Are you an idiot?” she hisses when Jack tells her what he’s going to do. “You can’t go out there alone!”
He glances at her freshly bandaged ankle. “You can’t exactly come with me.”
“Then take someone else.” She gestures toward me and Hazel. “Take one of them!”
“I’ll be faster if I go alone.”
“You’ll be deader if you go alone!”
I tense and glance at the windows. Reagan’s not speaking as quietly as I’d like her to. “Let’s just try to stay calm, okay? Jack, you said it would take three minutes to get to the truck, right? So, you’ll be gone what? Six minutes?”
“Less than that.” Jack grunts. Quietly, thank God. “Getting back here with the car will be faster.”
“Okay, then…” I glance at Reagan. Despite how pissed she sounds, I can tell that the idea of Jack wandering off alone really freaks her out. It’s obvious. The fear is practically radiating off of her.
I take a breath, worried I’m about to make everything worse. “Then maybe just…go.”
Jack’s eyes lock on mine. Not Hazel’s, not Regan’s, mine. I feel a jolt go through me as I stare back at him, thinking of that strange, charged moment back in the office. But that moment had been meant for Reagan, not me. There’s nothing between us, I’m just the girl who looks like his much cooler, more badass girlfriend. I’m no one.
“What?” Reagan whispers. Her eyes widen. “Jack, no.”
A muscle in Jack’s jaw tightens. He’s still looking at me, his gaze so intense that I feel like I’m about to catch fire. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe, Mickey?”
Maybe it’s the way he keeps calling me “Mickey,” but I would’ve agreed to anything he asked just then. “We won’t leave her alone,” I promise him. “No matter what happens.”
Jack stares at me for a beat longer. I can tell he’s considering it.
“What are you talking about?” Reagan hisses. “Who’s Mickey? You’re the one who won’t be safe. Jack.” Reagan grabs for his arm, but he’s too far away, just outside her reach. Her voice low and dangerous, she adds, “Jack, don’t you dare leave me here, don’t—”
But it’s too late. He’s already out the door, his footsteps banging on the wooden steps. Gone.
Reagan releases a string of very inventive language, but at least she’s keeping her voice low, so I ignore it. I must be staring after Jack because Hazel comes up next to me and says, under her breath. “So, I know I’m not a very good judge of these things…but that guy’s, like, insanely hot, right?”
“Hazel,” I warn.
“The muscles and the…what do you call it…the thing where he’s risking his life to save us. You straight girls really go for that kind of thing, right?”
“They’re together, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Hazel smirks knowingly and says, “They’re not.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Just trust me on this. They’re not together. No way.”
I shoot her a look and she shrugs.
Behind us, Reagan has run out of foul language. When we turn, we find her collapsed back onto the exam table, her eyes glistening like she might cry. She sniffs, loudly, and says, in a low voice seemingly aimed at no one in particular, “Idiot.”
I hug my arms around myself. I can’t help thinking about what Jack said when we were alone in the nurse’s office. I feel like we’re being hunted. Six minutes seems like forever all of a sudden. Every nerve in my body is on edge.
There’s a second of silence, none of us saying a word. Then, almost like she can’t take it anymore, Hazel blurts, “Should we…talk about this?”
Reagan moves her eyes to Hazel but doesn’t sit up. “Talk about what?”
I glance at Reagan. Her expression is blank. She’s working hard to make it seem like she doesn’t know what Hazel’s referring to, but I can tell she does. It’s practically printed across her face. She’s just as curious as I am.
“She means you and me,” I say pointedly. “How we look the same.”
“Like, exactly the same,” Hazel adds. “Identical. You could be carbon copies of each other.”
“Sorry,” Reagan says, deadpan. “I don’t see it.”
“You don’t?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow, thinking, Bullshit.
Reagan tilts her head, lips pursed like she’s studying me. “Your forehead is a lot longer than mine. Like, a lot. And your eyes are closer together, and your nose…” she makes a face like yikes. And then she adds, “I mean, there are doctors who could probably fix that for you if you want.”
I take a step toward her, scowling. I don’t know what I’m planning to do, exactly. Hit her? I’m not a hitting person, but this girl apparently brings out violent tendencies I didn’t even know I had.
Luckily, Hazel grabs my arm, holding me back. “Olivia, chill, she’s obviously messing with you.”
I know that, of course, but I still don’t want to let her get away with it. Reagan snickers, and I feel a flare of annoyance. It figures that my doppelgänger would be kind of an ass.
Hazel looks from my face to Reagan’s and shivers. “You have to be related. It’s too freaky otherwise.”
“Maybe,” Reagan says. Her eyes linger on me for a moment, brows dipping low. It’s bizarre. Like staring into a mirror, only to have your own reflection frown at you.
“Anyway, we have more important things to discuss,” Reagan says, groaning a little as she sits up. She reaches into her pocket and pulls something out. “Like how are we going to find a cord that fits this thing?”
It’s Gia’s camera.
The same camera that was just in my pocket.
I reach into my pocket even though I can see with my own eyes that the camera’s not there, that Reagan’s holding it. “Hey! You stole that from me.”
Reagan presses a hand over her lips, all fake shocked. “Whoops.”
“What’s wrong with you?” I whisper-shout at her. I’m pissed, but the witch could still be close, so I keep my voice quiet. “You can’t just go taking things out of people’s pockets.”
Reagan’s jaw tightens. “You took it from me first.”
“I took it from a table.”
“I’m going to check the nurse’s old desk,” Hazel says. “I bet she has a charger. Back in the aughts they only ever used one size of charger for things, right?”
“Are you mad because I took it?” Reagan asks, her voice quiet and raspy. “Or are you mad because you were so busy staring at Jack that you didn’t even notice that I took it?”
My cheeks flare. “I…was not staring at him!”
“Please. I bet he has second-degree burns on his cheeks from where your eyes were lasering into his face.”
