Page 96 of Waysider
Smart. Just not smart enough, Cal thought. He fixed his cold blue eyes back on the boy. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he said, “I’ll ask you one more time. Who sent you? Is Cass still in danger?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t disappoint him again.” Ricky’s chin wobbled, but something in him hardened as he met Cal’s gaze and said, “You will never get an answer to your questions. Not from me.”
Cal fell silent. He evaluated Ricky’s expression again, and he saw something that made Cal believe him. “The truth is, I didn’t come here to find out why you tried to kill my sister,” he said.
Confusion twisted Ricky’s expression. “Then why are you here?”
There was a long, bloated pause. Then Cal replied, his voice eerily distant, “To make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”
He flew at Ricky, and his arms moved in a blur. Before Ricky could even scream, there were fingers wrapped around his throat, digging into his flesh like steel. Cal lifted him from the chair.
“How?” Ricky rasped, clawing at Cal’s wrists. Squirming like a bug pinned to a board.
Cal only tightened his fingers, his face pitiless. And there was still no emotion in his voice as he said, “You can wonder about that while you’re on the other side. The questions will torment you. You’ll relive this moment over and over, thinking about what you could’ve done differently. Just like I did.”
Ricky made a gurgling sound and kept trying to hit Cal’s arms. But Cal didn’t feel a single blow. His grip didn’t falter. The truth was simple—he’d been practicing. Every spare moment over the past five months, whenever he wasn’t with Cass or Laura, Cal returned to the overlook and worked on his ability to affect the other side. With the same rigid discipline and relentless focus that had earned him so much merit on the football field, he’d gotten stronger. Better. He’d moved rocks, leaves, branches. He’d trained his mind to accept that pain was an illusion, along with any human limitations. He still hadn’t managed to teleport yet, but Cal excelled at the rest like he’d excelled at anything he decided to get good at.
Now, at last, he used that hard-won strength for the purpose he’d intended all along.
As Cal watched the light fade from Ricky Ramirez’s eyes, his hard expression never cracked and his grip didn’t relent. Not even when the boy hung limply from his fists, his swollen, slightly purple features twisted in terror.
Cal waited another minute before he finally let go, letting Ricky fall to the shag carpet in a graceless heap. After that, he stepped over the body and walked back toward the door. He wrapped his hand around the knob, twisting it without any effort. Hinges whimpered into the quiet as Cal left.
He closed the door firmly behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dusk filled the chapel.
Dying light streamed through the tall windows on either side of where Cass sat, casting the pews and wooden floorboards in pink and shadow. She occupied a pew near the back, tucked in one of those pockets of darkness. She didn’t want to be noticed if anyone else came in.
Now that Karen’s body had been removed and her soul was untethered, Cass felt safe here again. It was the only place on campus. No one knew about her visit to Patrick Doyle, or what had happened in that terrible cell, but everyone was buzzing about her and Professor Clemens. Speculating about the part she’d played. Cass had been seen going into the ambulance, apparently, and word had spread like wildfire. Cass had been utterly unprepared when a freshman Pennyseeker had come up to her that morning and said, “Hey, Cass. I’m so glad you’re okay. Was Professor Clemens really a serial killer?”
It wasn’t the first time. Throughout the entire day, during her classes, in the dining hall, on the walking paths, the other students looked at her or approached her. Her roommates had done their best to intervene or create a barrier around Cass—they knew she didn’t want to talk about it—but there was only so much they could do. Cass was pretty sure she’d bombed all her finals today, just like the ones yesterday.
She just didn’t know what to say to anyone, or how to explain why a professor she’d never met before had tried to butcher her with a knife. Not without talking about Karen, and Cass wasn’t sure she entirely understood that part, either. But Cal had been totally AWOL again, and so had Michael, so there was no one to talk to about it.
Now here she was, hiding. She should be saying goodbye to her roommates. Soon, Cass told herself. Once campus had cleared a little, and the coast was clear. She needed time to figure out what to say when one of them inevitably asked her questions about Christmas, or going home, or her flight.
But Cass wasn’t going home. Not anymore. She’d used the money her parents had sent for the flight to see Patrick Doyle. She hadn’t told them yet, or Teresa, either. Cass could already hear the confusion in their voices. Confusion that would be quickly followed by disappointment. Then, anger.
Just a few more minutes, she told herself, pressing harder against the pew.
There was one silver lining, at least. Now that Cass was staying, she’d be able to keep her promise to Louis about meeting him every Sunday. She’d flaked on him this week, considering she had been on a plane to Oregon at the time. Cass wondered how long Louis had waited until finally accepting that she wasn’t coming. A needle of guilt pricked her heart.
Outside, Cass could hear students calling out to each other. Laughing. But their noises were background noise to her—she’d gone back to reliving every moment of her encounter with Patrick Doyle. The memory was louder than any conversation or song. Everywhere Cass went, his words haunted her. She remembered the disbelief. The fury.
You love him already.
What did you mean? Cass wondered silently, the corners of her mouth tugging downward. It felt like the thousandth time she’d asked herself that question, and for the thousandth time, she had no answer. Frustration stirred in Cass’s veins, and her hands tightened where they rested in her lap.
Suddenly one of the chapel doors opened, the sound disturbing the perfect stillness. Cass stiffened, and her thoughts dissipated as she willed whoever it was to leave her the fuck alone. Seconds later, Sinister’s distinct scent reached her, that pleasant sandalwood teasing Cass’s senses.
But she didn’t relax. If anything, the tension in her body only heightened, until she felt like a bowstring that had been pulled too taut.
The pew creaked as Sinister settled on the bench beside her. A minute went by, marked only by the dust motes and the voices of their peers, which floated through the air alongside those bits of light. Goodbye! See you in two weeks! Merry Christmas!
Sinister kept his eyes directed toward the pews ahead of them as he said, “So you survived your first semester at E&B. That’s something.”
