His hand glides over the top of my blankets, across my shoulder, and down the side of my body. It takes all my effort not to flinch, and I keep feigning sleep.
“I won’t hurt you. Not here. Not yet,” he purrs. “I need more time to coax that pretty scream from the back of your throat.” He leans closer, sniffing my hair like an animal scenting me. I hold my breath, not daring to exhale. “You smell sweet now, but you can’t wash us away. We’re under your skin, in the walls, creeping into your mind. We’re here to haunt you. Your phantoms. Your darkest, filthiest fantasies.” He strokes a strand of my hair to the side and rests two callused fingers upon the jumping pulse in my neck. “So quick. And ours. All fucking ours.”
He stands again and continues his exploration. He picks objects up and sets them back down, marking his territory to make sure I know that nothing is private anymore. There are no boundaries to their twisted obsession.
The door handle turns.
“No one touches our little ghost but us,” he says, before disappearing into the night.
His parting words confirm what I feared.
They started the Holt fire.
I don’t move, even long after he’s gone, for fear he’ll return. When I’m finally certain it’s clear, I jump up, racing to my door to prop a chair against it. It won’t stop them from coming in, but at least I’ll get a warning.
Dawn is breaking. When I turn to face my mirror, I see a smudge of black soot across my neck and another note taped up.
Strike a match and watch it burn.
If they burned down a house, what else are they capable of?
A tiny smile crosses my face. I raise my hands to my mouth in horror. What’s wrong with me? Knowing they did that for me shouldn’t feel good! Maybe Dad was right to take me to the asylum. Perhaps that’s where I belong. With them.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
ERIN
Holdinga fundraiser for the Holt family is ironic, considering they have millions of dollars in the bank, but it perfectly captures the spirit of Pasturesville. The entire community has rallied around the Holts in the wake of the tragedy. The Stonybridge rumor mill has informed me that Nate’s living with Oliver, while his parents have temporarily moved into their summer house. Once the school year ends, Nate will join them in the Hamptons, but he can’t abandon football mid-season.
“How long do we have to stay?” I grumble, letting Mom steer me through the school gardens by our linked arms.
Despite my objections, Mom insisted I attend the fundraiser. I’m dressed like we’re attending a funeral. A bland black dress with a demure pearl necklace. It’s perfect. Plain. An outfit that won’t attract attention.
The sun beams over the stalls erected in the academy’s grounds. Local businesses are selling their wares and donating the proceeds directly to the Holts. Circular tables decorated with extravagant floral arrangements are spread over the lawn. Sparkling wine circulates on silver trays for parents, while their kids sneak glugs of champagne from behind the trees.
“We’ll stay as long as we need to,” Mom hisses through gritted teeth. She smiles, waving at another parent she recognizes, before dropping her voice. “Be nice, Erin. We’re representing our family today. Think about your father’s reputation.”
For once, Dad isn’t attending. Apparently, he has too much work. He’s been exceptionally busy lately. When he’s not at Sunnycrest, he’s locked in his office and only comes out to eat. Not that I’m complaining.
It’s easy to pick Mrs. Holt out in the crowd. She sits, dabbing her crocodile tears with a handkerchief, surrounded by other fussing mothers. Her sly smile hints she’s enjoying all the extra attention.
“I’m going to find Mia,” I say. At least she’ll make the afternoon bearable.
“Oh, Nate!” I hear Lindsay before I see her. She and other students perch around the giant water fountain. “It’s just terrible. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”
Lindsay hangs off Nate’s arm, pawing his leg like she’s a supervillain stroking a cat.
“It hasn’t been easy,” Nate says. “But Dad’s already started the reconstruction. He wanted to remodel anyway, so it almost saved him a job.”
“I heard you almost died,” Lindsay says. “Didn’t the fire start right outside your room?”
My ears prick up.
“Yeah, it’s lucky I noticed the smoke coming up under the door,” he mumbles. Maybe he’s more shaken up than he makes out. He catches me staring and jumps up. “Excuse me for a second.”
I pace away in the opposite direction, cursing myself for sticking around to satisfy my own morbid curiosity.
