Page 47 of Dirty Tricks

“He phoned me on Saturday,” I tell him since he’ll be able to find out easily enough. “He said I had to be ready to be picked up from school on Sunday, but he never came. I thought she’d left him.”

“Well, thank goodness he didn’t make the appointment. I think you’ve had a lucky escape.” His hand briefly rests on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “I’m happy to tell you what I can, though we’re holding back several details while we continue the investigation.”

I nod, face blank as he takes me through his limited knowledge.

“Where will I go?” I ask the head once he’s left the office, his card gripped tightly in my hand. “Did Dad cancel my enrolment?”

“You’re paid through to the end of the year,” she assures me. “We’ll protect you from any adverse publicity as best we can.”

Over the next few weeks, the detective grows less optimistic about solving the crime and the rumours about Todd and Finn escaping overseas, hand in hand, harden into fact.

One boy said he’d overheard them in Finn’s bedroom a few days before the Halloween party, going at it. I remember some of his shared details from when they hurt me together, but I prefer the event reimagined into part of their ‘love story.’ I don’t begrudge the fictional Finn and Todd their happy ending.

It’s impossible to know for sure what happened at the party house. Why the police never found the crime scene, why, after the last guests had departed for the evening, no one had reported the blood spatters left from our joint carnage.

When I close my eyes, sometimes I’ll play out the scenario I like best.

The one where a cleaner opens the door and sighs at the mess. She mops the floors with bleach, calls a glass repairer to fix the window. She wipes down the chains and the manacles and the pillory blocks, scrubbing away every trace of DNA until even if the police were tipped off and came calling, there’d be nothing to find.

I think of her, standing back with her hands on her hips, smiling at the thoroughness of her work. Smiling at how clean the concrete floor appears now the bloodstains have gone.

Tired but satisfied by a hard day’s labour.

At some point, school will finish. I’ll have to decide where I want to live; in my childhood house of horrors or in a new property I could buy with the proceeds.

But for the rest of the school year, I’ll stay at Kingswood.

And at night, when I go to my room, I let my arm dangle over the side, free of the covers, waiting until a hand grabs hold from the darkness and I haul a dream man into my bed.

EPILOGUE

Five yearslater

LEXA

The cracked bark of the tree digs between my shoulder blades as I press against it, my chest heaving, lungs crying out for air. My eyes bulge in the darkness, blood pressure soaring, barely able to hear above the thump of my heartbeat in my ears.

A sliver of moonlight pierces through the trees above me. I blink, scanning the forests ahead for signs of life. The sharp crack of a twig draws my attention, the shuffle of branches as something large moves through them.

Something large like a man.

And I’m running again, my lungs burning, thigh muscles twitching in protest as I force my stride longer, desperate to move faster. I stumble, flying forward, arms lifting to protect my head, body curling as I hit the ground, tumbling onto my side.

I lie there, panting, my body slowly reporting every new ache and pain. I check my belt but the knife’s still in its scabbard. With a groan, I roll onto my hands and knees, gradually rising to my feet.

A cry sounds in the darkness and I’m off and running again, chasing, pursuing the target as he stumbles through the undergrowth, as blind in the dark night as I am but twice as confused, twice as panicked.

After all, he’s the one running for his life.

I gain on him, even as the branches tear at my hair, rip at my clothing. Even as I misjudge a gap and wind myself on a tree.

Finally, I get a visual. He’s hurt, bent in two as he stumbles and staggers, making more noise as his speed drops, our prey running himself to the point of exhaustion.

Then I have to stop, hands braced on my thighs as I regain my breath, giving myself a wry smile. Guess he’s running us both to exhaustion. Luckily, I know Xander always has my back.

As if thinking of him conjures his presence, I catch sight of his glow in the dark tattoo, the UV reactive ink faint but visible, a perfect match to mine.

After playing these games for a while, we’ve learned new ways to keep ourselves safe, to make ourselves identifiable to each other while we run through the pitch black forest. The forest perched above the harbour, near to where we cut apart our first kills; its watery expanse waiting to accept whatever gifts we throw its way.

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