It doesn’t matter.
I have to get there, I have to at the very least get to the mansion, then I can start screaming for help and maybe Chaseor Dan will hear me. That should be enough time to get back to the front where I left all my stuff. Then I can just run to my car and go home.
Home.
The boys flash through my mind at that, all four of them waiting for me, making that empty crypt feel like home for the first time in forever, and I push myself even harder.
My ankle is on fire but every step I take, every time the sole of my boot hits the ground brings me closer to them, and it puts that much more distance between me and the boogeyman behind me.
Running like my life depends on it—because it fucking does—I go parallel with the crop line and head toward the closest spotlight, coming closer to the side of the house instead of the back and when I hear a frustratedfuckgrunted behind me, I make another knee jerk decision.
I dart left a few paces then jolt right, bursting through the dead and crunchy stalks, and slam right into a body.
“Leo, what the hell?” Dirt Sack Danny yells as he grabs onto me so I don’t fall. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
I grip his forearms tightly as I try to catch my breath, gasping like crazy while drawing in lungfuls of air. “I… I stayed late…”
He frowns as I meet his eyes, his surprised stare moving all over my face and arms before dropping to where I can’t put weight on my ankle. “And what, went for a jog in the field?”
“Something like that.”
“What happened? Why are you breathing so hard? What?—“
“Can you help me to my car? I’m pretty sure I sprained my ankle and I need to get home.”
Dirt Sack gives me a skeptical look before he nods then repositions so he can loop my arm over his shoulders and wrap his other around my waist. “You want me to call Justine?”
“No!” I shriek before getting myself in check. “No, that’s ok. She’ll just worry about me, and I’m fine.”
“But what about your ankle? How are you going to drive home?”
He starts walking us toward the front and I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s my left one, I’ll manage. I’ve driven with worse shit wrong with me. I’m an old pro.”
“Ok…” Dirt Sack says. “Promise you’ll get it looked at though, that kind of injury is no joke.”
I nod as we move slowly and for some inexplicable reason, I succumb to the need to see if I’m still being followed.
And looking back over my shoulder, I see nothing.
Nothing but a bunch of broken stalks where I broke through the field like the KoolAid man, and whatever planks of wood Dirt Sack Danny was carrying when I crashed into him.
Jesus, I must really be losing it.
But as we get closer to my car, I know I’m not.
Because there on the windshield, fluttering in the breeze under one of the wipers, is another envelope.
18
MARK
Iam about to lose my ever loving mind.
But I can’t, I’m basically not allowed to because when shit gets like this, I’m the one who has to keep everyone from imploding.
Does anyone say that I’m not allowed to lose my shit or freak out the way they do? No, they never have and I know they never will, but I’m the oldest, and I’ve always taken that on myself.
Granted, I’m only few months older than Pete, and I usually keep things light with stupid jokes or some sort of elaborate narrative, it also takes quite a bit to piss me off or even upset me, but right now I’m the voice of fucking reason.
