My phone is ringing.
I slip it out of my blazer pocket, eyes widening as I see a familiar number on the screen.
Daddy’s calling.
I stand up so suddenly that the bench slams into the window behind me and several people turn to look our way.
“No, no, I’ll … I’ll excuse myself,” I blurt, even though that makes no sense, excusing myself from a conversation about my own sexual conquests. “I have to take this. It’s my … it’s Lumen.”
Without waiting to see what either of the Maxes thinks about my crazy behavior, I take off for the back patio. Coincidentally, it’s the same spot where Tess caught me talking to Saffron. It’s thick with bad juju, but where else can I go to have a private conversation with a serial killer and his hostage?
Thankfully, it’s raining again, so the patio is unoccupied. I tuck myself beneath the eaves and answer the call just before the last ring.
The wine cellar—one of my only good clues—appears on the screen, but I don’t see Parrish. Instead, there he is, the man in the black sweater, slacks, and stag mask with real antlers, sitting in a chair with his legs crossed at the knees, hands folded neatly over them.
“Mr. Volli?” I query dryly, and he smiles at me. Well, I guess most people smile when they’re happy. This smile looks more like an admonishment than anything else. It almost stings to look at.
“Mr. Volli is a pet who knows the length of his own leash; he knows how to respond when I tug on it.” The words are creepy enough as is, but since they’re quite literally coming out of Mr. Volli’s mouth, they’re beyond disturbing. My sixth period teacher delivers his self-proclaimed master’s words without skipping a beat. Either he’s got an earbud in or something and is listening to Justin Prior talk through it, or else he’s just a crazy person who refers to himself in the third person.
Either way, I want to see Parrish.
“Where is he?” I ask, anxiety making me feel dizzy. The rain comes down in sheets, cutting me off from the rest of the world. The brick wall at my back doesn’t help. I feel trapped. Just … not physically. I’m trapped in a game I never asked to play, one where I’m not sure that I understand all of the rules.
“He’s here, of course,” Mr. Volli explains calmly as I kick myself for not recognizing his voice the first time we talked. He leans to one side, and my heart stops.
Parrish is there, as promised. He is not, however, looking at the camera.
Instead, he’s still sitting in that goddamn chair, his head hanging down, his body limp and motionless. A cry escapes me as I step forward into the rain. I don’t even mean to do it; it just happens. The rain is coming down all around me, soaking my (thankfully) waterproof phone, plastering my hair to the sides of my face.
“Parrish!” I call out, but he doesn’t stir. “Parrish, wake up.” This time, my words are more of a sob than anything else. There’s so much blood, I can hardly stand the sight of it. He’s shirtless, his chest and belly drenched with red-brown patches of dried blood. I can hardly tell where his tattoos are underneath all of it. “Parrish.”
A pleading, a desperate cry.
This time, he blessedly, thankfully, mercifully responds.
His head lifts up like he’s coming out of a daze, blinking glassy eyes at me. I’m not sure what he’s watching me on, a monitor of some sort I’m assuming, but he shakes his head like he’s having trouble focusing.
“Gamer Girl,” he whispers with cracked lips. “I’m so tired.” Even though he told me multiple times to let him go, to tell the police, to save myself from all of this, I can see in his gaze that he wants to live. His expression cuts straight through the screen of my phone and hits me like an arrow to the heart.
I’m hurting and aching and crying for him all at once. My tears blend with the rain as it falls in a silver wave all around me. How could his condition have deteriorated so quickly since yesterday?
“If you really are my father, you must hate me,” I choke out, forcing myself to take a step back so that I’m out of the rain again. Doesn’t matter anymore, I guess. I’m soaked to the bone already. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”
“I’ve already explained as much to you, Mia. Do you really believe the world runs on compassion and love? On empathy and kindness? That’s ignorance at its finest. The world runs on blood. Blood is power. I’m giving you all the tools to take some of that power for yourself.”
“I don’t want it,” I snap back at him, my eyes still on Parrish. He’s watching me, but he looks like he’s on death’s door. No matter how strong he is, how strong he wants to be, how hard he fights, we all have our limits. Our bodies are organic, not robotic. Eventually, his will give out.
