Page 39 of Runaways

But he doesn't even look up and instead drags Zach's limp, unconscious body down the hallway by the back of his shirt.

"He's not going to help you, Noah," Tate says.

Now, I turn and run up the staircase, afraid to look back when I hear Tate bounding after me, taking the steps two at a time. I turn into a bedroom and barely get the door closed and locked before he's on the other side.

"Noah…" he taunts in a singsong tone before ramming his body into the door. The wood buckles a bit, and I know it won't last long.

I look around for anything I can use as a weapon, but this spare room is almost entirely empty, save for some wall decor.

But there's a phone. Alandlineon the fucking desk. I almost cry with relief, but when I pick it up, there's no dial tone.

Shit.

"Let's play a game," he says before hitting the door again. "It's called 'Obey,' and I need you to open the door now, Noah. I promise it won't be that bad if you do it nicely."

"Tate?"

"What is it, baby?"

"You could just leave me in here."

"I can't do that."

"But I loved Mia. It hurt me, too. Even when she didn't love me, I still loved her. YouknowI loved her."

"That's not why, Noah."

"Then why, Tate?" I sob.

"Because you've haunted me, and I can't be haunted anymore. I need to be clean."

There's something about that word—clean—that doesn't sound so bad. "Yeah," I tell him. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I need that, too. Maybe I should just give up. There are things worse than death, right? I mean, death is just…nothing."

"Didn't really sign up for a philosophical debate. This is more of just a murder situation."

"You really hurt me. I want you to know that before I open the door. You killed me a long time ago; the fact that I'm still walking, talking, and breathing…it's just…a technicality."

Something about what I said must have angered him, because he rams the door again—harder this time—and I jump back.

"Open the goddamn door, Noah!"

I move toward the back of the room, the breeze from the open window sending shivers up my spine.

Wait. The window.

Only it's not just a window—I push the curtains aside, revealing a door leading out to a balcony running along the backside of the house. I could jump, and maybe…maybeI could clear the fence.

I'd probably break mylegs, though.

Tate rams the door again, and I watch the wood splinter down the middle.

"Noah!"

I grip the railing hard in my sweaty palms. This is it—this is my last chance to decide.

Jump or face Tate.

I swallow hard and climb over the railing. And then, I make a mistake. I look straight down.

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