Where the Darkness Goes

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

TESSA — AGE 16

My door bursts open like a firework, boys exploding in every direction. I sit up in bed, closing the book I’d been reading, and eye them. Will, Garrett, Justin, Brendan, and Cory pant heavily, faces red as they slam the door shut. It’s as if they were running from something.

“What are you dweebs doing in my room?”

Like he just realized I’m here, Will’s expression goes serious. “I need to talk to you.” He crosses the room and sits on the end of my bed. The other boys linger near the door. I’m used to this—the house dripping with my brother’s friends. The understanding that they might pop up at any moment.

It’s something I learned to ignore years ago. Besides, I like Will’s friends, for the most part. With only one year’s difference in our ages, it means we’ve always gotten along well enough. I was never the baby sister annoyingly tagging along. At least, if I was, they hid it well.

My eyes flick to Garrett without thought, and his face is serious. Stoic, even. He doesn’t smile, just stares back at me.

When I look back at my brother, there’s no hint of a smile on his lips either. My stomach flips with worry.

“Well?” I prompt.

“Did you hear about Amber Allen?”

My stomach drops. Amber Allen is in my grade. Is she pregnant? Did she run away from home? She’s not really someone I’d consider a friend—we’ve never hung out outside of school or anything like that—but in a town this small, everyone is pretty friendly with each other. We don’t have room to be choosy, and even if we did, I like Amber. I don’t want her to be in any sort of trouble.

Will licks his lips, huffing another deep breath. “You can’t tell anyone we told you.”

“O-okay.” I put the book down, adjusting onto my knees. Whatever it is, it’s serious.

“Amber and her mom were…” Checking behind him, almost for confirmation from his friends that he should keep going, he nods. “They were found dead this morning.”

I get that sick feeling I have in health class when we talk about illnesses and diseases. My fingers hurt. My muscles are sore. Nothing about my body feels right. “What are you talking about?” It’s too horrible to be true. This is the most disgusting prank Will has ever tried to pull. I shove him off my bed. “Stop it. Don’t be awful!”

“He’s serious, Tessa,” Garrett’s voice cuts through the chaos, and I stop yelling at my brother long enough to listen.

“He can’t be.” Someone is sitting on my chest. Two someones. It’s ice cold, and I can’t draw in a breath. “You’re lying. All of you.”

But I know…somehow, I know they’re not.

“Why would you say that? How would you know?” I ask finally.

“Everyone’s talking about it.” Will moves to the window and pulls back my curtains, lifting a blind to stare outside into the darkness. “The sheriff just announced a curfew, chased us off from the basketball court. No one can be out past dark anymore while they’re investigating.”

“Why?” I move next to him, looking out the window too. “What happened to them? Two people don’t just drop dead at the same time unless…”

His eyes dart back and forth between mine, and there’s a confirmation there, even before he nods. “Yeah. I know. They think someone hurt ’em, Tessa. They think they were murdered.”

It’s as if someone traces their cold finger down my spine. “Who told you that?”

“I already told you. Everyone was talking about it down at the park. Tye Prince and Aaron Harper and Brett Johnson.”

“How would any of them have known?” I sneer, but I know he’s not lying. I just hate that he’s not.

“Aaron’s dad is friends with Sheriff Ward,” Cory says, wiping sweat from his brow, his skin glistening in the glow of my overhead light. His gaze is fixed on me, willing me to understand. “Aaron overheard him talking to his mom about it.”

“No one’s allowed to go out. The cops are patrolling the streets,” Garrett adds. “Like he said, they made us leave the ball court and told us we had to get home. We all came here to wait for our parents since your house was the closest.”

“Parents. Oh no. Where’s Mom?” I ask, as a sudden weight sinks in my chest. “Does she know?” She’s worked as a cleaner for the Allens for years. “She’ll be so upset.”

“She’s fixin’ dinner,” Will says. “She was on the phone with someone when we came in. Sounded like that’s what they were talking about, though. Everyone will know by morning.”

“I have to call Britney.” I grab the pink Razr on my nightstand and flip it open, about to speed dial her.

Will snaps his hand over mine, closing the phone. “Are you dense? You just heard me tell you not to tell anyone.”

“Oh, come on. It’s Britney. She’s not going to say anything to anyone.”

“Yeah.” He snorts. “Okay.”

“She won’t. Besides, who is left to tell? You guys already know, which means a lot of other people do too. You said everyone is talking about it.”

“Yeah, but Aaron wasn’t supposed to tell us. He could get into big trouble if his dad finds out he ran his mouth. You gotta keep quiet until Mom tells you.”

I groan. I couldn’t care less about what stupid Aaron Harper gets in trouble for, but whatever. “Fine.” I drop my phone back onto the table and flop down on the bed. “But get out of my room. You guys stink like gym socks.”

They mumble in agreement, shoving each other on their way out of my room. A few minutes after the door shuts, unexpected tears sting my eyes. I don’t know why I’m crying. Amber and I weren’t friends. We weren’t?—

My door opens again, and I turn my head, trying to hide the evidence that I’m crying. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” The voice isn’t the one I expected.

I sit up to find Garrett lingering in the doorway, his messy, dark curls pillowing around his head. One corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying to decide what to say. “Will said you and Amber aren’t, er, weren’t friends, but I’ve seen you two at school talking, and well, I just wanted to…you know.”

“Thanks.” I dry my eyes quickly with the backs of my hands. “I’m okay. It’s just…sad.” It’s pathetic really. That’s the best word I can come up with at this moment. Sad. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“I know.” He runs the toe of his sneaker over the powder-blue carpet. “Nothing ever happens here. Not like this.”

“Exactly. The closest thing we have to actual danger is, like, that time Jimmy Saltz got arrested for punching Dallas Green over a parking spot he was aiming for.”

A corner of his mouth twitches again, this time with a hint of a smile. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I promise him. Still, he lingers in the doorway. I feel like there’s something else he wants to tell me, but I have no idea what. What could be worse than this?

It’s always like this with Garrett, though. He has one of those faces that always feels as if he’s waiting to say or do something else, like he’s brimming with it. The way he looks at me, full of fascination and expectation, you’d think I often randomly burst into song to entertain him or something.

“Do you have plans Friday?”

“Plans? Friday? Next Friday?” I practically squawk, my voice so loud and pitchy it grates on my own nerves. No plans here except talking to Britney on the phone, eating buckets of popcorn, and digging into the latest Sarah Dessen novel.

He nods.

“Not yet.” I trail a finger across the threads of pattern in my comforter. “Britney and I might do something.”

“Yeah?” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Why do you ask? Do you have any fun plans ?” I tease.

“Nah, not really.” He seems to think, twisting his lips, then adds, “Actually, I’m having a party.”

“A party?”

A laugh escapes his lips on a breath. “Are you a parrot? What’s with the repeating?”

I grab a pillow from behind me and chuck it at him, narrowly missing as he ducks. Laughing, he picks it up, but instead of giving it back right away, he holds onto it. “I, um, it’s my birthday party.”

My stomach twists itself into a zillion knots. That’s right. His birthday. “Sweet eighteen,” I muse. My cheeks must be the color of the wine my mother allows herself a single glass of once a week.

He nods, and to my surprise, his own cheeks give mine a run for their money. “Somethin’ like that. Anyway, I thought if you didn’t have anything to do…it’d be alright with me if you came.” His gaze zips across the wall and over the ceiling, like he’s preparing to paint in here, before falling back to me. “And invite Britney, too. If you want. Or…whoever.”

“I could invite anyone?” I jump off my bed, crossing the room and snatching the pillow back from him. “Like my boyfriend?”

Once tomato red, his skin has quickly returned to its usual tan. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

I shrug one shoulder, and his gaze falls to it, then jerks back up. He swallows. “Since now.”

“Who?” he demands.

“Why do you care?” With a fist shoved into my hip, I push the pillow into his chest, but he catches it with both hands, tugging it and me forward until we’re toe to toe. Refusing to let go of the pillow, my knuckles rest against his chest.

Anticipation builds like an inflating balloon. His dark eyes zip back and forth between mine like he’s interrogating me, and I can’t quite think straight.

Guilt takes hold of my insides when I realize what I just said to him. I don’t know why I lied. It was just a joke, really.

He blinks, releasing the pillow and swiping his fingers over his lips. “I don’t. I just thought you should tell your brother. So he can…look out for you, or whatever.”

I take a step away from him, shaking my head to clear the fog. Whatever that was, it was weird. Why is he looking at me like that? “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much. Where’s your party, anyway?”

“My house. Well, the guest house, actually,” he says, bobbing his eyebrows before he scratches at the place in between them. “Anyway, it’s super low key. No gifts or anything like that.” He scowls. “But if you want to come, cool. If you want to bring someone, go for it. If not, no biggie.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

“Cool. Just, um, let me know. If you want.”

“Sure.”

“I’m really sorry about Amber, too.” He pats the doorframe. “It sucks.”

“Yeah.” Like me, he doesn’t seem to know what to say about the situation. Any way you phrase it, it doesn’t feel like enough. Neither of us is equipped to deal with anything of this magnitude.

Without waiting for me to get out of my thoughts and say something else, he moves back into the hall, and with that final, familiar look that tricks me into thinking he’s going to say more, he’s gone.