We pause outside, standing in a group next to Chasm’s black sportscar. I think it’s a Maserati, not that that means anything to me. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest. We’ve left Maxx’s Jeep at Chasm’s place, but it was risky. He said if his father comes home and sees it, he’ll probably start blowing up his phone.
“We’ll try the asylum next,” I say, exhaling and reaching into my blazer pocket to withdraw the skeleton key. I hold it up so that it catches the afternoon light. Sunset isn’t until about nine tonight, so we have time. Justin’s only messaged me once to confirm that we’re having dinner—but apparently that can happen anytime up until eleven.
Tess, on the other hand, will not leave me alone.
She keeps finding reasons to message me and ask questions.
It’s exhausting, but I don’t blame her. She’s worried about me spending time with her ex. She should be: he fucking murders people. She’s probably tracking me, too, which is unfortunate. But I have a feeling trying to explain away my location as Justin’s doing is an easier feat than ignoring her entirely.
I wish I could ask her about the house she mentioned. That, and about a million other prying questions. First time with Justin? Kinda don’t want to know where my biological parents first got it on, but knowing Justin, that could very well be a clue. Place where I was conceived? Same grossness, same reasoning. Favorite date spot? Location where they broke up?
All of those things are valid.
But I love the idea of this key and that asylum.
Emerald State Mental Hospital.
I shiver.
“Our last and best option for today,” Maxx says, shaking his head. He’s frustrated, I can tell. But we saved the best—and the furthest away—for last. With reason, too. The key, of course, being the most prominent. Justin specifically left that for me, and on my birthday no less.
It could very well open the door to the room where Parrish is being held.
“Should we grab shakes on the way?” Chasm suggests, looking up at the bright, sunny sky and frowning. “I’m fucking starving to death.”
“A milkshake isn’t food,” Maxx replies, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. He opens the car door and climbs in before I can protest, squishing his huge body into the backseat so that I can have the front. He’s so crammed in there, he actually turns sideways and rests his legs on the seat, knees up. “Let’s get burgers and fries, too.”
“Whatever. I just need something calorie heavy and dripping with chocolate and brownie pieces, Oreo bits and fudge swirls and all that sugar-high inducing crap. What sort of shakes do you like, Little Sister?”
“Strawberry. Just plain strawberry. I’m easy.”
We all pause, Chasm with his body half in and half out of the car.
“Um. Oops?” I reply, and Maxx snorts from behind me. “Not really my choice to sleep with three different guys in as many weeks.” Chasm had started to climb in again, but pauses at that response, looking stricken for the briefest of seconds. “Not that I minded because it was you guys.”
I don’t say aloud what I’m thinking. What, maybe, both of them are thinking, too.
What if Justin asks me to do something like that with a stranger? What then?
He just happened to choose my two crushes based on their ability to inflict massive emotional scars. But it could be worse. It could be unbearable. Would I do it? I don’t know. And that scares me for two reasons.
It’s scary because I might not.
It’s scary because I might.
I shiver and rub at my face with both hands.
“I like vanilla shakes, just plain vanilla,” Maxx says easily, like this is any normal day and the three of us are just hanging out. “Parrish also prefers strawberry shakes.”
That makes me smile.
“Tell me all of his favorites,” I say as Chasm starts the engine, and I spend the rest of the drive listening to the two of them talk about their friend in progressively more animated voices.
They’re excited; I’m excited.
But what’s next if we get there and our hunches lead to yet another dead end?
It feels like this nightmare must end at some point, like we’ll find Parrish if we just keep pushing and we don’t stop. But that isn’t necessarily true. Justin is offering food and water, medical care, and a bathroom to Parrish for now, but he doesn’t have to. He never promised he’d keep doing that.
Besides, he’s still cutting Parrish—or rather, Mr. Volli is—and Parrish only has so much space on his body. What if one of the cuts gets infected? What if Justin changes his mind? He says that he never lies, but I can’t trust him, and we both know that.
I will never forget that day when Parrish looked like he was dying, his eyes glassy, head lolling. I am one mistake away from seeing that happen again.
