Page 82 of The Fall of Iris Henley
It’s been open season on me for almost three weeks now. If you were the kind of person that wanted to hurt someone just for the sake of hurting someone, I’m a pretty easy target.
I step on the gas then. We’re already going sixty, but I watch the number on my dash climb: sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six. It’s hilly out here, lots of rises and falls and turns that make it hard to see farther down the road, especially at night, in the darkness. The wheels growl low against the pavement. Seventy. Seventy-one.
The headlights drop behind for a moment. Then they catch up again, closer than before.
Then they’re right up next to me, horn blaring.
It’s a pickup truck. Black, I think—I’m not sure, though, because it’s all so dark, so fast. It lays on its horn again, inches from my driver’s side door. But it’s not speeding up to go around me. It’s drifting up beside me. Veering so close to me I brace for the sound of metal on metal.
A strangled sob tears through the car. Mine, though it feels almost like someone else’s.
I swerve to the side of the road and hit the brakes.
The truck follows, coming to rest at an angle in front of my car.
There’s no time to react. I’m shaking, my gut sour with fear. The truck’s driver leaps out. Someone else gets out of the passenger side a minute later and crosses to the front of the truck so I can’t see them for a moment.
Then the driver comes up to my window. He’s gesturing, saying something, but I don’t understand. I am frozen in place. Finally, he opens the door. Finally, I can see his face.
It’s Carter. In his right hand, he’s holding a pistol. A moment later his passenger comes out of the shadows, and I can see her face too.
Hayden.
“Move over,” he says. “We’re going for a ride.”
CHAPTER 47
MONDAY, OCTOBER 24, 8:32PM
VARDA
Hayden climbs into the driver’s seat. I’ve never seen her like this before, pale and rigid with fear. Her hair is lank and unwashed, and from the side all I can see is her jaw, sharply set and protruding from between her greasy locks.
“What the fuck is going on, Hayden?” I keep my voice low, controlled, but she doesn’t have time to answer. Carter shuts the rear door with a slam that makes both of us wince.
“Come on. Drive,” he says shortly.
The back seat is dark, but I can still see it: the gun, trembling in his hand. A black so matte and heavy it’s somehow visible in the darkness, a deeper shadow among shadows. My breath is shaky as we pull away from the side of the road.
“I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re doing this.” My mind’s spinning. I’m trying to piece together what is happening, to go from A to B to C. Last time I saw Carter he was losing his mind about Hayden cheating. Last time I saw him he was acting like I was a murderer. So what does he think now?What does he know? Has he seen Max’s confession? Does he somehow know I’ve seen the Ring footage?
All I know for sure is that Carter is wild with emotion, his hand shaking—the gun never moving off me, though. He looks like he’d be just as happy to tear me open with his bare hands as shoot me. I have to be careful. I can’t set him off.
“Where are we going?” I say softly.
“Shut up.” Carter runs his free hand roughly through his hair, knuckles white. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
“Carter…” I start.
“SHUT UP.” He jabs at my shoulder with the gun. I freeze, my body humming with electricity.
We’re hurtling through the dark, down one ranch road and onto another. No streetlights out here, not much traffic. No houses.
“Fuck!” Carter screams suddenly, kicking at the seat in front of him in frustration. “How did this get so fucked up?”
I assume the question isn’t actually aimed at either of us, but Hayden murmurs something in reply that I can’t quite make out. Carter must hear her, though, because he lets out a bitter snarl of laughter.
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted, Hayden, because this is what’s happening now. Give me your fucking phone.”
