I’d rather die than go into the bedroom.
“No.” Just that one word. I stand firm, holding his gaze. Based on his behavior, I feel like he knows who I am. The Slayer’s Daughter. If he hurts me, he might end up like the girl in the box. We both seem to be aware of that. There’s always a chance he’ll refocus his aggression on Chas, but then, he has no idea who Chasm is. For all he knows, we’re both off-limits.
“You think you have a choice, bitch?” he spits at me, dropping the weapon down so that it’s pointing at my leg. “You think I won’t shoot your ass and then just take what I want?”
I smile. Maybe not a great choice, in retrospect, but I feel like my hunch is right. This guy can’t hurt me without drawing the wrath of Parrish’s kidnapper. Whether he’s the Slayer or Justin Prior or not is irrelevant: he’s dangerous either way.
“I really don’t think you will,” is my response, even as Chasm grabs onto my ankle in warning.
“I said now!” the man screams, and then a gunshot goes off, startling me. It’s like a car backfiring inside the walls of the house; the sound is deafening. I clamp my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
After a moment, I risk opening them to find … It takes me several tries to piece together what I’m looking at. My hands drop by my sides as Chasm finally finds his feet, standing up beside me and staring down at the man. He’s slumped against the wall in front of us, holding his leg and howling. It takes me almost a minute to register that, what with my ears ringing and all.
“You fool,” a voice says, just before a man walks out of a nearby bedroom holding a gun. “You animal.”
I stare at the newcomer because it’s just occurred to me where I heard the kidnapper’s voice before.
In class. At school. Sixth period. Mr. Volli.
“What the fuck?” Chasm chokes out as Mr. Volli pauses beside us, reaching up to adjust his glasses. He’s not looking at us though. Instead, he’s staring at the bleeding man on the carpet, looking at him the way one might inspect a roach they’ve just squashed.
Is … Mr. Volli my dad?
Alarm bells go off in my bed. That can’t be right. It’s too obvious. Think harder, Dakota.
Regardless, whether Mr. Volli is my bio dad or not, he’s the one who was wearing the mask in the video call, that’s for damn sure.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the man on the floor screams, clutching at his leg and rocking back and forth with the pain. “I knew I never should’ve gotten involved in this shit.”
“No, you never should have raped and killed that maid. You’re a pervert, no worse than an animal. I don’t like people who can’t control themselves.” And then Mr. Volli pulls the trigger again and Chasm yanks me against him, holding me in his arms like he can use his own body to protect mine.
When I look back, I see that the bullet wasn’t aimed for me or Chasm. Instead, it’s gone right through the skull of the blue-eyed man.
He’s dead.
Mr. Volli, my sixth period teacher, has just killed someone in front of me.
The smell is … god, it’s horrible. Gunpowder and iron, that’s what it smells like. I press my face into Chasm’s uniform, inhaling his dark chocolate mint scent and wishing I were anywhere but here.
“Where’s Parrish?” Chas demands, but his voice sounds like it’s underwater. I wouldn’t be surprised if we both had permanent hearing damage from the gunshots. I push back from him just enough that I can turn and see Mr. Volli standing there, dressed all in black like he was during the video call.
“You know the rules regarding Parrish,” he explains, like that was a silly question. “Now.” Mr. Volli moves toward us, holding out the gun. “Take this and fire two or three shots into Mr. Fosser’s body.”
“The fuck?” Chasm blurts out as I press my back against his front, seeking comfort in his warmth. I can’t stop staring at the dead guy, at the spatters on the wall behind him, at his sightless eyes, his bloodied leg. I’d never seen a dead body before today; now I’ve seen two. Now I’ve seen someone murdered right in front of me.
“It’ll leave fingerprints on the gun and gunpowder residue on your hands to keep you accountable,” the computer science teacher explains, still holding out the weapon like he’s certain neither of us will use it on him instead. “Just a precaution. I’m sure you’d rather see Parrish alive than shoot me, but you never know.” He gestures with the gun yet again as my stomach churns and my mind rebels against what I’m hearing.
