Page 16 of Begging for Mercy
I cut the engine once we park in her front driveway. Crickets sing like the lead instrument in an orchestra, filling the silence with the sounds of nature. An owl hoots somewhere nearby, and a possum crosses the front yard on its way to the tree line. Life remains vibrant even in the darkness. I’ve always said that Mercy puts on black makeup and nail polish to keep people away, but underneath the black leather and combat boots, she’s just as down to earth as the rest of us.
She has hopes and fears, too, like me.
I happen to know every single one.
Or so I thought.
Sighing, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “You should have told me the truth from the beginning.” If I had known that love was involved, I would have—I don’t know—told the cops? I run the idea through my head a few times, and in every scenario where I file an official report, I get laughed out of the station. No one would believe that a serial killer wants a college girl to fall in love with himor else.But I would have believed her.
That’s what friends do. We confide in each other. We trust each other. We pull each other out of the fire before we get burned.
“We could run away,” I suggest halfheartedly. “Start a new life.” It sounds as stupid as I feel.
Thankfully, Mercy doesn’t laugh. She reaches over the middle console and pries my hand off the steering wheel. Setting it in her lap, she plays with my fingers, tapping my knuckles with her fingertips. “I can’t leave my family, Sam.”
Some truths hover in moments of silence like these. They float in the air like a vapor that we pretend we’re not breathing in, when all the while, it’s slowly suffocating us. She can’t leave her family because they can’t handle another loss.
I could leave mine, though. I’llgladlyleave everything behind if it keeps Mercy safe… and away from Reaper. I drag myfree hand through my hair and try not to think about him, but my thoughts spiral. Memories of running into him at frat events or football after parties blur together, but one thing remains constant.
He’s always fucking around.
Mercy shouldn’t get involved with someone like that.
Bracing myself for another lie, I clear my throat. “Are you a virgin?” I keep my eyes on the tombstones ahead of us, trying to keep myself from picturing Mercy at one of those parties, spread out on a pool table while Reaper dicks her down. He does that to virgins—makes their first time a spectacle. Somethingmemorable.My face twists into something heinous, but that’s how I feel when it comes to Reaper.
Downright disgusted.
“Is that so bad?” Mercy throws my hand back at me like I’ve burned her.
Fuck.She thinks I made that face because of her. “No, Mercy, that’s not?—”
She pops open her door and climbs down from the cab, slamming the door in my face. I quickly hop out behind her. “Mercy, wait—that wasn’t—I don’t care if you’re a virgin!”
Spinning around, she bends over and picks up a rock. “Then why did you ask?” Throwing it at me, she screams in frustration. “God, if I could lose it, I would, okay? No one wants to have sex with The Dead Girl!”
I barely have time to catch the rock before she’s turning back around and storming across the yard. I’m aware of her reputation on campus. She says that it followed her from high school—that not enough of the local kids moved away after they graduated, so she’s been labeledweirdsince day one, Freshman year. But I didn’t think that would fuck up her chances of dating.
I mean,lookat her.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
As I follow her inside, I say a quick “hi, Grandma Star”and wave at Mercy’s grandmother. The old woman barely sees me, too focused on whatever spirits are dancing in the moonlight, or so she says. Without a word, she pops open the cookie jar beside her and hands me a homemade sugar cookie. “Play nice, dear,” she mumbles, waving me on. “Mercy’s troubled lately.”
Yeah, no kidding.
When I head upstairs and push open Mercy’s bedroom door, a chair she used to block her door clatters to the floor. “You really need to get that fixed,” I say without thinking. Then I have to dodge a shoe thrown at my head. “Nevermind, I’ll do it.” Replacing the broken lock and adding a few deadbolts should help keep Reaper at bay. But I’d feel better if she let me stay over—or better yet, if she came back to my place.
“You can stay with me until we figure this out.” I pick up the shoe she threw and roll it over in my hands. It’s one of her many combat boots, all identical, with laces instead of buckles because she likes them tight. “We can move back to my Dad’s if you want. He’s never there. It’d be like our own place.” I doubt she wants to spend all semester surrounded by testosterone and beer at the frat house.
She plops down on her bed and kicks off her other boot. “I won’t make you do that. Samuel sucks.”
I shrug and lean against her doorframe. Can’t argue with that. My dad’s a dick. “He doesn’t have to know.”
“He won’t notice his son shacking up with The Dead Girl?” Mercy shakes her head. “Don’t you have to marry for pedigree or some shit?”
“Please don’t call yourself that.”
Fluffing her pillow before getting comfortable, she takes a moment to respond. “Everyone else does.” She closes her eyes, and her mouth curves down. “Maybe that’s why Reaper likes me. I’m already dead, so it’s less work.”
