Page 117 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
Cal leaves through the window, and I follow after, but he never does answer the question.It takes Callum Park about fifteen seconds to scale the back fence of Pamela’s duplex, climb on the empty hot tub that’s been full of sludge and old leaves since we moved in years ago, and hit the roof.
“You’ve done this before, I see,” I grunt as Cal helps haul me up the rest of the way, cloaked in darkness and starlight. Pamela isn’t home, and to be honest, if the neighbors see us, they’ll just look the other way. This is deep South Prescott right here. Don’t call the cops because you might be labelled a snitch. Don’t call the cops because they might shoot you or somebody you love ‘on accident’.
Neil loved that, being a police officer. His father and brother looked down on him as ‘just a cop’, but they knew why he did it. He loved the power that came with the badge. He could hurt people and justify his reasons for doing it. Not to say that there aren’t some good cops out there, but Neil was certainly not one of them.
Sara Young might be. Maybe. Possibly.
“At least three times a week for years,” he tells me, and I pause. There’s a worn spot near my window, like a spot where somebody might have sat. I look up at him as he very carefully and systematically removes the old window, lifting it right out of the sill and setting it aside.
“You … snuck up here and stared at me through my window?” I ask, thinking about all the nights I lay here, staring at the door and listening for Neil’s movements.
“For years,” Cal says, slipping inside and pausing on my bed. His boots are getting the blankets muddy, but I don’t care. I’ll never sleep here again. Actually … it feels like there’s a forcefield there, in that empty window, the one that reminds me of an eye socket with no eye. My throat closes up and my breath catches. This is the house where Penelope was raped, where she died.
I don’t want to go back in there.
I glance over at the windows behind me, the matching ones for the neighboring duplex. The curtains are always drawn shut since the view from up here isn’t so stellar. Behind our house is the parking lot for a cabinet-making business. Sometimes, if you open the window on hot days, you can smell the fumes.
“Bernadette,” Cal says, very calmly, very slowly. “Come here.” He holds out a hand and I take it, scrambling into the window before I can lose my nerve. He yanks me to him, the bed wobbling beneath us. But we don’t fall. Callum keeps us standing, his hood sliding off his blond hair, leaving him bare for me. “You cannot let this place have power over you.”
“Are you going to tell me why you stalked me for years and I’m just now hearing about it?” I snap, using my anger to push aside the feeling of despair I feel at being in here again. This building is drenched in hate and pain. You could smudge it with sage, or bless it with holy water, and it would still smell like sulfur and ash.
“Breathe,” Cal whispers, voice thick and smoky. He closes his eyes and puts his hands on either side of my face. His fingers are cool against my skin, soothing me even if I feel like they shouldn’t. “It’s just a house. Houses don’t hold hate; people do. There’s nobody here but you and me. Just us.”
“Victor is going to flip when he finds out we came here alone,” I say, but my voice wavers and I’m so wound up that I bet you could tell if you were looking down at me from space. I’m lost in a dark orbit here, and I don’t like it.
“Breathe,” Cal repeats, holding me still, standing together on the bed I didn’t sleep in for years. I’m so tired. I’ve been so tired for so long. I exhale and close my eyes, pulling in a shuddering breath that smells like peaches and vanilla from the sprays and lotions still sitting on my abandoned desk. “You’re not alone, Bernadette. You never were. If you need to fall, let your knees go and I’ll catch you.”
“You can’t sweet-talk me during the middle of a robbery,” I murmur, but I’m feeling lightheaded anyway. “I’m your monster.” That’s what Callum told me. I can feel an edginess to him, this violent burning that’s on the brink at all times. It wouldn’t take much to set him off. Yet, I feel no danger standing here with him right now.
I open my eyes.
“I stalked you, Bernadette,” Cal says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “There is no other way to put it. I can’t romanticize it or explain it. I’m sure it isn’t healthy.” He looks back up at me, but there’s no shame or regret in his gaze. None at all. “I’d do it all over again though, if given the chance. We are beautiful poison, not perfume.” He steps back and then climbs off the bed, looking up at me.
