Page 107 of Please Open Me
No part of me wanted Sophia with us. Socially, I knew I came off creepy, but Sophia? Something about her unsettled me in a way that crawled under my skin. It was hard to believe she’d killed anyone; Sophia just didn’t seem like the type. But her “confession” twisted my unease into dread. My gut told me she was going to do something crazy, I just didn’t know when.
But I couldn’t push her away. Not while living with her. Not while tethered to Cameron. Not while still clinging to the pipe dream that our family could be fixed.
So when she woke up and asked where we were going, I told her. That’s how all three of us ended up piled into Cameron’s truck before the sun had risen.
He insisted he was fine to drive, but his slurred words and stumbling steps said otherwise. I took the wheel. He snored in the passenger seat, and I prayed he’d wake up sober before we got there. Mason would not appreciate him showing up drunk, not with her parents’ history of alcohol abuse.
Sophia sat in the back between two cat carriers. For the first forty-five minutes, I hoped she’d fall back asleep. No such luck. She was wide awake—bright-eyed, bushy-tailed—and staring right at me.
My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She shifted, lips curling into a small smile that made me sit straighter.
“So… Who did you kill?” she asked, like she was starting small talk.
I choked and slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt on the rain-soaked dirt road.
Instinctively, I threw an arm across Cameron’s chest—as if that would do anything to stop him from flying forward if we crashed. He was too damn heavy. If we wrecked, he’d die. Luckily, he was smart enough to wear a seatbelt.
I blew out a breath and glanced at him. Still dead asleep. Lucky bastard.
A manicured hand appeared on my shoulder as Sophia unbuckled and leaned forward.
“It’s kind of freeing, not having to hide,” she said. “I’ve seen your S.H.A.D.E. file. You killed exactly one person to earn your five-year contract. Who was it?”
My chest filled, but I forgot how to exhale.
“You… Work for S.H.A.D.E.?” My voice came out strained.
Work wasn’t even the right word. I’d never seen myownfile, let alone anyone else’s. That meant she was higher on the chain of command than I’d ever been.
“Mhm!” Her blue eyes glittered with joy.
Joy was never the word I’d associate with S.H.A.D.E.
“I told you I’ve killed someone. What, did you think I was a serial killer?” She laughed, waving her hand.
I narrowed my eyes. “Honestly? I thought this was some fucked-up joke gone wrong.”
Once the shock of last night wore off, that explanation made the most sense: Sophia made a sick joke, Mason exploded, and there was no time to take it back.
“Oh.” Her nose scrunched. She leaned back into her seat.
I asked, politely, for her to put her seatbelt back on. She did. I started driving again.
“Well, the point still stands. Who did you kill?” she pressed, eyes wide with curiosity.
Images of Holly’s shattered skull filled my head. The phantom smell of brain matter. Memories that would never leave me.
“Who didyoukill?” I echoed, still expecting her to crack and admit it was all a joke.
Sophia frowned. “No fair. You only killed one. I’ve got seven to tell you about—eight, if you count the one I got away with.”
My blood ran cold.
This had to be a joke.
“I mean, since you’ve got so many stories,” I said carefully, “it only makes sense that you go first.”
She tilted her head side to side as if her brain were powered by kinetic energy.
