Page 83
Story: I'll Be Waiting
I keep going, blood pounding in my ears.
Blood on my hands. Heather’s blood on—
Stop that.
I will cut you open, and I will gut you.
That’s what Patrice did. Exactly what she did. Cut Heather open and gutted her.
I don’t understand.
Tears prick my eyes, which fill until I can’t see and I have to blink to clear them. Blood and tears and snot run down my face.
None of that. Break down later. I need all my senses and all mysenseto get out of this forest.
Just keep—
I stumble over something on the path. I’ve been so hyperaware of what’s ahead—as much as I can see it in this goddamn darkness—that I haven’t looked down, and I’ve tripped over a root or a branch or…
An arm. I’ve tripped over an outstretched arm. An arm with a worn friendship bracelet around the wrist.
Patrice’s arm. The bracelet Heather gave her years ago.
That’s when I see blood. It covers the hand, and I follow it up her arm to see her lying on her stomach, limbs splayed.
“Patrice?”
What the fuck are you doing? Run!
I step over her hand and then turn around to walk backward, continuing along the path as I keep my gaze on her. There’s more blood spattering the undergrowth and on her light shirt and a cut on her collar, dripping blood.
She’s hurt.
She didn’t kill Heather. She’s another victim of whoever did.
Patrice groans, and I move forward. I’m about to drop to my knees beside her when I see her other hand, the right one stretched out with something lying right beside it.
Aknifelying right beside it. A hunting knife with its blade coated in blood.
“Nic?” Patrice mumbles.
Her head rises. “Nic? Is that you?”
I don’t answer. I just take a slow step back.
“Please,” she whispers. “I’m hurt. Help me.”
Trap!
My brain screams the word so loud I expect her to hear it.
“Nic? Please?”
Her gaze locks with mine as her fingers inch toward the knife handle.
“Nic? Help me.”
Her fingertips graze the knife. I wheel and run.
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