Page 79 of Soul of a Psycho

His face goes red with rage, like a thermometer about to burst, and my mother squeezes past him and into the room. She looks between the two of us, tangled in blankets and wedged together on the small twin bed, and her mouth parts into a small ‘o’.

“Is this what you would call ‘safe’, Ms. Haven?” Sky’s father slowly turns his head toward her, barely keeping the composure in his voice.

* * *

Once you deal with so many shitty people, you start to be able to pick them out. You can tell by the lines etched into their skin. The slanted mark between brows indicates years of anger. The tight scratches around the lips reveal they’ve been sucking on something sour their whole life. Receding eyes showing how beady they are.

The different combinations mean different things.

Horizontal forehead lines coupled with laugh lines are mostly a sign they’ve had a hard life but always find the bright side. Droopy eyes with smooth contours around the mouth are indicators of someone who cries when no one is looking.

Reading people is intrinsic. It goes beyond judging a book by its cover. This isn’t about their clothes, their hair color, or their stylistic choices. Most people hide their true selves behind masks, anyway. But they can’t conceal their essence. Aware of it or not, we’re given an innate ability to add up all the little signs and sense if someone is a bad person. We get a bad feeling.

Sky’s father gives me a bad feeling.

I lean into the alcove between two brick buildings in Angel Point, pulling my hood lower. Across the street, the doors of a black sedan with tinted windows open up, and I watch as my pretty little Sky slips from the rear. She has on a long burgundy coat, her golden hair splayed around her shoulders. She looks every bit the elite daughter of a Congressman. Butthisis the mask. This version of her—gaze cast down, not a hair out of place, and waiting for her father, it’s a fabrication.

The real Sky is naked in the woods, coated in my blood.

A smug grin catches the corner of my mouth as David Lyons shoves his phone into his pocket and rounds the car. Thinning gray hair whips in the frosty breeze as he puts an arm out for his daughter to take. She doesn’t even hesitate, looping her arm through his, and my grin turns into a scowl.

I don’t like the way she obeys him so studiously. People only garner obedience with two things: respect or fear. And there isn’t a respectable bone in that man’s body. I can feel it as intensely as radiation.

They disappear into Flame & Sear—Angel Point’s version of upscale dining—and I jog across the street, sliding up against the edge of a window. It’s a Tuesday, and the place is empty except for the congressman and his daughter. The hostess leads them towards a leather booth in the back, and I watch as he helps Sky out of her coat.

All of his actions are those of a chivalrous father, but they’re stilted, masking something. I’m going to find out what that something is, and then decide if I need to buy another teddy bear.

I stand outside for an hour, my fingers turning to ice as I watch them have dinner. I have a perfect line of sight on Sky, and I only notice her features pinch twice. Though, to her credit, they are well concealed, and I’m probably only seeing them because of how deeply I’m looking. I wish I knew what he said that caused her jaw to set and eye to twitch.

Last night, after my mother yanked my shoulder out of the socket, prying me off of Sky with more strength than I thought she had, the look Sky shot me could have gutted a soldier. I knew what it said, that I wascausing a scene, and that Ineeded to stop. I’ve seen the look a few times, though it had less punch behind it. This time, I had done something unpresentable in front of the most avid watcher.

And now I know why Sky conducts herself the way she does, why she cares so much about her image. It’s because of this piece of shit. I watch him hand over his card, charming as ever. I could have saved my fingers the frost bite. I knew nothing would give him away at dinner. He’s too concerned with what that would look like. But I wasn’t going to sit in the car with Bobby.

I set a pace down the street a piece, passing the parked sedan, and find a tree to slip behind. It’s pushing close to almost two hours since I left Bobby in my car, but he can wait a bit longer. He’s the one who wanted to thwart all my excuses for why he couldn’t come with me. This is what he gets.

It’s like trying to get through an impassive wall with him. It doesn’t matter how many times I snap at him, ignore him, or show no interest, he just shrugs it off. He eats lunch with us even though I’ve told him not to, ignoring me when I stare him down across the table. He finds us in the halls—even though none of our classes overlap—and falls in step with us. He’s like a puppy I can’t shake off my ankle. And he won’t shut up about Callie.

I can see the threads tangling between them. Every lingering gaze, and the way he gets that dopey smile on his face. The way she quickly bites her lip and looks away. It’s a runaway train I can’t catch. I have tried to warn him away from her, drilling into him that she’s going to college at the end of the term, but he doesn’t hear me. I interject myself into their conversations, trying to divert the tragedy to come. I even volunteer Sky and I to study with them in the library so they can’t be alone.

But no one ishearing me.

I’m practically screaming,she’s going to die, and no one is listening.

I’m not stupid. I know the bombs will have a ripple effect, that what I’m going to do can’t be contained to the senior class. Mothers and fathers will mourn. Siblings will be cast aside inthe wake of grief. The courses of their lives forever altered by tragedy. It’s an unfortunate avalanche of anguish.

Butnotfor Bobby.

I’m going to make sure of it.

I flick my eyes up, spotting Sky and her father. They walk along the row of parked cars, completely oblivious, but I dip farther back, just in case. This side of the street is empty, but the other side has a few people lingering between stores. The last thing I need is to be spotted by Sheriff Hammond or Rita.

I can just hear the hushed berating from Davis, and I narrow my eyes as his grip on Sky’s arm tightens.

“…embarrassing.”I catch the tail end.

I’m surprised when Sky yanks her arm away, and furious when she rubs the spot as if it’s tender. My foot moves before I can squash the rage, and I have to clench my teeth to rein it in. I have to be careful here. I don’t think Sky would be too happy with me bludgeoning her father. Also, the bastard is a congressman. He can make a very big dent in my plans. Images of Briarcreek flash in the back of my skull, and I take another step behind the tree.

I have to be smart. Calculated. I can’t lose it.

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