Let go of me, she tried to scream, attempting to kick the thing off of her.
Destiny stared at her through the black pits in her skull where her eyes had been.
“Help me,” she cried, echo
ing Bianca’s own desperate pleas. “Help me, Bianca.”
No. Oh, God, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t.
Bianca pushed and pushed, desperate to get the girl’s remains off her. The bones fell apart, floating downward, being carried by the current, the ghastly skull following after but staring ever upward directly at Bianca and whispering, “Please, please . . . help me . . .”
Bianca woke with a start.
Her heart hammering, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, she clutched the covers. Oh, God, she was safe. At home. In her bed. She let out a relieved sigh and saw that her bedsheet was twisted around her legs, the coverlet having slid off. Her ankle ached, and if she let herself, she could still feel the steely grip of the bony fingers encircling the spot where her foot joined her calf.
She shoved her hair from her face with fingers that still shook. She glanced at the clock. The digital readout told her it was one-seventeen in the morning. Not exactly the witching hour, but close enough.
Forcing herself to a sitting position, she tried to shake off the dream, but it clung to her, embedded in her mind. She knew she was safe here. Her mother, a cop, and Santana, as tough a cowboy as you’d ever want to meet, were both in the room down the hall. Jeremy, probably, was in his own room over the garage, and three dogs would sound an alarm if anyone or anything they didn’t recognize should wander too close to the house. So, okay, Cisco was pretty much useless as a guard dog, but he could sure make a racket if he wanted to.
So she and the rest of her family were secure.
Still . . . she looked around her darkened room, zeroing in on spots where any kind of monster could lurk.
All in your head, Bianca. You’re just letting your subconscious take over.
“Not on purpose,” she said, as if the voice in her head could hear her. Geez, what was wrong with her?
Nothing. You’re fine. You just had a horrifying experience. That’s all. You used to think there were monsters under the bed or in your closet. This is no different.
But the horrifying images of the nightmare persisted, and as she reached to the floor for the comforter, she couldn’t convince herself that this house, her home, was as safe as she’d always thought. Wrapping the coverlet around her, she walked to the window and peered into the night, black as pitch, only a few stars winking between the film of clouds.
She didn’t turn on a light, didn’t want anything outside to see her silhouette, because deep in her heart, she knew that something or someone was watching. Why, she didn’t understand, but intuitively she knew that whatever was skulking in the darkness was, without a doubt, the embodiment of evil.
* * *
For Pescoli, the next few days flew by. Most of the kids from the party were questioned again, but offered up nothing new. All that came of it was that Pescoli decided she didn’t much like Madison Averill, who, at seventeen, seemed already able to use all her feminine charms to her advantage and did it willingly, even eagerly. A pretty girl who was smart enough, she wasn’t looking beyond trying to gain TJ O’Hara’s interest, which, as Bianca had told her, seemed to be zeroed in on Lara Haas. As popular as TJ apparently was, he might find himself having to stand in line, as a number of college boys had returned this summer to sniff around her.
Lara radiated innocence, but it was an act, Pescoli thought, after interviewing her—something she purposely played up. However, she had admitted to knowing Destiny a little, more than the rest of the kids had allowed. She’d sworn she couldn’t shed further light on what had happened to her though.
“I hadn’t talked to her for a few days. It’s summer and so, with everyone’s jobs and vacations, we don’t see each other like when we’re in school.” Chewing gum, she had been seated in Pescoli’s office, having opted to give her statement at the department rather than at home. Her sun-streaked hair had been pulled into a messy bun, big hoop earrings swung from her lobes, and though she’d been wearing makeup, it wasn’t overdone. Didn’t have to be. She’d been blessed with thick, sooty lashes, high cheekbones, and pouty rosebud lips to go along with a killer figure. In skinny, holey jeans and a cropped tee, Lara elicited more than her share of sidelong glances from the male deputies and clerks who happened by. If she noticed, she didn’t react, just held Pescoli’s gaze and snapped a wad of green gum she was working on.
Pescoli had brought up the pregnancy.
Lara pulled a face as she chewed. “I wondered.”
“You did?”
“Well, no. Not if she was knocked up. Not like that. I just sensed something was wrong. She was off, y’know. I thought it was because she broke up with Donny, but maybe . . .” Lara gave an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe it was the baby. Geez . . .” She’d bit her lip then, forgetting about the gum for a second.
“Do you have any idea who the father could be, who she was seeing?”
“After Donny?”
“Or . . . during?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” She shook her head, wispy tendrils of pale hair shaking about her face, earrings flashing under the fluorescent lights strung high overhead. “All of the guys thought she was okay, but if she was hooking up with someone, I didn’t know about it.”
She began chewing again. Thoughtfully.