Page 41 of Wicked Games

It’s because of me that he’s been suspended from hockey.

It could be no one on my list.

This endeavor seems hopeless. My only solution would be to get Unknown to give me some bit of information I can use to tie back to them. Or catch them in the act…?

What act?Texting?

Everyone my age has a cell phone. And nowadays, it’s easy to block your number, make it private, or even get a number through a texting app.

I toss and turn in bed, my sleep tinged with worry. Every so often, my thoughts circle back to the bracelet on the dresser, and Caleb’s…

You’re killing me.

He’s confusing and complicated.

Eventually, I fall asleep. I dream of Caleb and my mother.

They’re arguing in his house, just beside the screen door. I can see them from where I’m crouched. Caleb has gray streaks in his hair. He’s older—maybe older than both my parents. My mom is red in the face. Their hands wave. Their lips move, but I hear nothing. Spit flies from Caleb’s mouth, and I instinctively hunch lower. Their anger scares me. I’m frozen in my hiding place.

I wish I could hear what they’re saying.

She throws a glass. Not at him, but at the wall. It shatters. I hearthat.

I scream, and both of them whirl toward me. Angry faces, brows lowered and mouths agape.

Someone yanks me backward. I fall and go straight through the floor.

I fall and fall and fall.

Caleb catches me. His arm across my back, the other under my knees. He doesn’t seem surprised to find me here, but I can only stare at him. His face is young—fourteen instead of seventeen. A bit of acne, a slight padding to his face.

“Be more careful, Margo.”

“You were just fighting with my mom.” I look around. There’s nothing but high grass around us. “Where are we?”

“We used to come here.” He mirrors my actions, head swinging back and forth. “Don’t you like it?”

Don’t you like it?

“I don’t…” I don’t recognize this place. It’s just grass and bright-blue sky, the sun so hot on my skin. “Why were you fighting with Mom?”

His face hardens. “I wasn’t.”

He drops me.

The grass reaches for me, brushing my exposed skin. I fall through the ground again, straight into darkness. Straight into my bedroom. I land on the bed with a bounce, and it takes me a long moment to collect my breath.

It’s not the one at the Bryans’. It’s in the Ashers’ guest house.

I lunge for the door, but it’s locked. Everything is blurry. Big fat tears fall down my face, and I pound on the door. Panic constricts my chest, choking me. It heightens my terror.

Why am I scared?

I’m trapped.

There are no monsters in this room, but I can’t fight the urge torun. I scratch at the door. Pain pricks my fingers, my nails crack, but I still can’t stop.

“Let me out!” I scream. “Let me out let me out let me?—”

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