Page 88 of Our Darkest Summer
The hallway was dim,the yellow glow from the stairwell light barely reaching past the entrance. The air was warm, thick with the scent of old wood and something floral. Perfume, maybe. I caught sight of a bicycle leaning against the wall, the same one Samantha had arrived with to the grill party.
My fingers hovered over the apartment doorbell as I hesitated, just long enough for doubt to creep in. Thomas was two minutes away, sitting in his car, I reminded myself. I could do this. I exhaled and pressed the doorbell beside the door markedJones 3C.
A soft buzz sounded, and a moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Samantha in the doorway. Her auburn curls fell messily past her shoulders, an oversized T-shirt hanging loosely over her frame.
“You came,” she said, smiling, and I forced myself to return it.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Come in.” She stepped aside, holding the door open, and I followed her in. My gaze shifted over the space. Warm-toned lamps cast a golden glow over the linoleum floors, softening the edges of the worn furniture. The apartment felt almost cozy, ifnot for the long-dead flowers framing the walls. A faint scent of burning wax and old candle smoke—tea rose or maybe peony—lingered in the air.
Samantha led me further inside, where Aaliyah and Cora were already settled in the living room. They greeted me with wide smiles.
“Kinsley!” Aaliyah’s voice was bright as she pulled me into a quick hug, making me stiffen. Cora sat cross-legged on the couch, looking a little dazed, her cheeks flushed. At least someone was having a good night.
“You’re just in time,” Aaliyah said. “We were about to start drinking.”
I hesitated, glancing at the glass of red wine Samantha held out to me. The deep color made my stomach twist.
Blood.Bob Marley’s broken body.
The memory hit too fast. I placed the glass back onto the table.
I eyed the three girls.Did I really believe one of them could be behind the mask?
“We were trying to decide between a movie and a game,” Cora said, stretching back against the couch.
“I say game,” Aaliyah chimed in, grabbing a handful of chips. “Samantha and Cora are hopeless at agreeing on movies.”
Samantha scoffed. “I refuse to watch anything with a couple who break up three times just to get married in the end.”
“And I don’t want to watch cartoons,” Cora shot back.
I forced a chuckle. “What game?”
“Rapid Fire,” Aaliyah announced, smirking. “For example, I’d ask Samantha if Braxton finally got to her.”
Samantha choked on her Cherry Coke. “What?”
“You were at his house before we got there,” Aaliyah reminded her. Samantha rolled her eyes, but there was something deeper in her gaze, something distant.
“He was just helping me with something.” She waved Aaliyah’s words away, but the way her fingers shifted on the glass of her drink, the nervous breath she took... there was something more she didn’t say.
Aaliyah waggled her eyebrows, and the girls giggled. I tucked my legs under myself, attempting to blend into the scene, but my thoughts were spinning.
I needed to get away.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
“Sure. Down the hall, second door on the left,” Samantha answered, taking a sip from her drink. I nodded and walked out. The narrow hallway stretched in front of me, bathed in dim light. My pulse quickened as I turned my head, my eyes catching on a wall lined with photographs and pinned notes.
I stepped closer.
Samantha was in several pictures, sometimes alone, sometimes with a woman who had the same auburn curls as her. Heather Jones, Samantha’s mother, also known asHyacinthJenson Bowman.
Jones.So similar toJenson. Just like Hyacinth was to Heather.The easiest way to remember a fake name is to keep a piece of your real one.I heard that on a TV show once.
Another figure appeared in multiple images as well. A boy, older than Samantha, his strawberry-blond hair slightly overgrown.
