Page 54 of Cry Madness
Needing to pit-stop at my locker, I race down the crowded hallway, pushing my way through the throngs of students. As soon as I wrench open the metal door, an eerie stillness stops me dead. It suspends time and place, and even my hands stop mid-motion.
A chill shivers down my spine. My blood turns to ice, flowing like a frozen river through my veins. A toxic mix of disbelief and horror steals my breath as I peer inside the locker. A shockingly familiar sight stares back at me, plummeting my heart to my feet like a stone dropped off a cliff.
Panic coils tightly around me, straining every muscle and electrifying every nerve.
After the initial jolt of panic fades, I can finally draw air into starved lungs. My vision tunnels, blocking out everything but the tiny canvas on a mini stand staring back at me. The highly detailed and remarkablyvivid painting is an exact miniature replica of my grotesquely severed head.
Oh, my fucking God.
Rook.
He’s the only one who would have done this, and I feel violated all over again. All that terror and vulnerability come flooding back right when I’d made so much progress to break free of those chains. But I do my best to remain calm and think. Think of who else knows the details of that sick painting. Could be anyone, really, since photos of this awful painting made the rounds at Krobes. Okay, but that’s a start. Who here knows anyone there?
Think, think, think.
But I can’t think clearly because fear has me in a chokehold.
Thankfully, though, my mind is functioning enough to remember to inspect my locker for tampering. It doesn’t look like anyone broke into it, meaning whoever got into it used the combination. Who the hell knew I reset the code to match Maddox’s birthday?
I don’t like this.
I don’t like thisat all.
Scanning the busy corridor, I search for Rook as if I’ll find him hiding in plain sight among this crowd. Of course, he’s not here. Even if he was the sick bastard who left this in my locker, he’s the sort of deranged asshole who likes to leave gruesome little surprises…then run away because he’s a coward who lacks the courage of his convictions.
Besides, now that I’m a bit calmer, I rationalize that getting on campus would take more effort and cunning than he possesses. Briar Rose is a veritable fortress, designed to be damn near impenetrable to protect its students. Armed guards patrol the grounds, and the security system is state-of-the-art. Everyone entering the campus must present a photo ID at the front orrear gates—the only two points of entry—critical checkpoints to keep out those who don’t belong.
And good luck scaling the towering walls that surround the grounds. They’re more like castle ramparts topped with battlements, with additional armed patrols.
Also, Rook is flagged, making it impossible for him to surpass all of those security features.
Dean Stockwell is aware that Rook Knavish stalked me, threatened me, and vanished before he could be served with a restraining order. Stockwell explicitly banned Rook from campus, leaving me with the unsettling conclusion that someone here knew about that painting and thought it would be funny to replicate it.
Scarlett.
Had to be her.
Who else could it have been?
She’s the only person cruel enough to do something this low.
Besides, she already knows about Rook. Assuming she would sink down to the gutter isn’t such a stretch of the imagination.
Fucking bitch.
With anger replacing fear, I drop the backpack at my feet and kneel, fishing out my cell phone. My hands shake, and my heart races as I search for Maddox’s name. I tap the screen, but after a few rings, it goes to voicemail. Frustrated, I try calling Ivory, but she doesn’t answer either.
I snatch the painting and shove it into my bag before slamming my locker shut. The force of the bang sends an echo of metal crashing against metal throughout the hallway. Urgency propels me forward, and I sprint down the corridor. Bursting out of Juniper Hall, I race across Brakel Green. The rain is comingdown in sheets, and by the time I reach Gryphon Hall, I’m breathless and soaked as I beeline for room 103.
Every head snaps toward my direction as I storm into Advanced Digital Illustration and Design. Professor Riddle whirls around, his usually composed demeanor replaced with outrage. He scolds me for intruding, but I barely hear him as I gaze around the room, searching for Scarlett.
At that moment, I struggle not to wilt under the heat of every eye on me. A chorus of whispers swirls as I stand there like a drowned rat. But my focus narrows to Scarlett. Look at her, the smug little witch, half-hidden behind her computer screen. I want to smack that smirk right off her face.
“You!” I shout, charging toward Scarlett.
“Miss Knightly, you’ll kindly?—”
“Sorry, Professor Riddle, but I promise this will only take a minute.” I stop in front of Scarlett’s desk and peer at her over the computer. It takes everything I have not to slap her in her whole face, but I refrain from physical violence as I swing my bag around and awkwardly dig inside it for the tiny canvas. I wing it at her. The picture lands with a soft thud on the desk. Scarlett doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even so much as glance down at it.