Page 14

twelve

If You're in Trouble and You Know It, Make It Worse!

Noah

M ake it stop.

That's what I think when I open my eyes. Make it stop.

But the 'it' is my phone vibrating against the hardwood floor as the alarm goes off, and no one can make it stop but me. As I roll over, my eyes catch the time displayed on the microwave, and I realize it's probably been going off for a while.

Fuck. I'm going to be late.

I crawl out of bed, my head pounding, but at least my stomach isn't rumbling for once. I toss my leftover fries into the microwave and then head to the bathroom, where I quickly rinse off before straightening my hair and applying some makeup.

"It's not frizzy," I say aloud, remembering what Zoey told me last night. I run my hands through my short red locks and shake out my bangs. It could use a trim, I guess…by a professional, for once. In my next life, maybe I'll wear a wig. Then again, the nice ones are expensive, from what I understand, and they'd prove limiting if I ever found myself in an intimate situation again.

Shit. Mason.

My pulse quickens as I try to recall our conversation from the night before. But surely, I didn't say anything too damning, right? I'd know if I did.

But wait, there was another thing.

The texts.

I drop the hair straightener, and it lands directly on my foot.

"Fuck!" I scream, jumping back. "Fucking damn it!"

That was my good foot, too.

I try to convince myself that I made it up—that somewhere between god drunk and sleep, I imagined I received those messages. But I pick up the phone with shaky hands, swiping to unlock it, and there it is.

Unknown: 2 Messages.

I'm in trouble, and I know it. I stuff the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, pull a flannel over my tank top, slip on my sneakers, and leave with the fries still in the microwave, locking the door behind me.

This time, when I walk around the front of the building, I promise myself that if someone else wants to get run over, I'll let them, no matter who they are.

"Hey," Zoey says when I step inside. "You look nicer today. You took my advice, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about, Zoey?" I ask as I head to the back to clock in.

"About getting caught out? And it's a good thing, too, because at this rate, it's probably going to happen again. "

"At this rate? What's this rate? What does that mean?"

"A couple of reporters have called here for you," she says.

"What?" I can't breathe. "What did you tell them?"

"Jodie told them you didn't work here, and she doesn't know you; she told me to tell them the same thing. I don't really understand why, though. Do you want to tell me why?"

"I like my privacy," I tell her. "That's why I moved here—for privacy."

The phone rings as I breeze past her, tying my apron around my waist.

"Poplar Café," I say as I answer. "This is…Zoey."

Zoey crinkles her nose at me, nudging me with her shoulder as she passes.

"Hi, my name is Stephanie, and I'm with the Cascade Tribune. I was hoping to speak to…Lilah?"

Fuck. "I don't know anyone by that name; I'm sorry."

"Oh…really? I must have the wrong information, then. Maybe you can help me, anyway. The redhead who saved that little girl yesterday—do you know how or where I could get ahold of her?"

"No, sorry," I lie. "We don't know who she is; she must have been passing through. Have a nice day."

"Table fourteen is up," Gabriel says, setting two plates of food in the window.

That's my section now, so I grab the plates but freeze before rounding the bar. Two men in dark clothing and gloves sit in that back corner booth, each wearing a mask. It makes me uneasy, and even though I didn't eat, I think I may vomit .

"Zoey…?"

"Yes?"

"Did you seat Ghostface and Jason Voorhees in the back booth?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"Why did you do that?"

"What do you mean? It's Halloween week. People are allowed to be festive. Hey, actually, my roommates and I are having a party tonight; you should come. You, of all people, need to fucking unwind."

I barely hear her, my eyes still locked on the two men in the corner. I can't tell, but I think they're looking at me, too.

"They have coffee," I say. "So, are they drinking it? Did they take the masks off?"

They ordered food, so they must plan on taking them off, right?

"Oh, no," she says. "They took their straws, and they're just kind of—you know—wedging them up under the masks. It's kind of hilarious."

"It's kind of fucking creepy."

"I can take them the food if you're that scared," she says.

I look back at the table. Ghostface is definitely watching me; he cocks his head to the side as my eyes meet the place where his should be. I begin feeling queasy and set the plates on the counter, gripping the corner and looking down at my feet while I catch my breath.

"Lilah?"

"I don't like masks," I whisper .

It's true—I've never liked masks. They remind me of the story my grandmother used to tell me, which reminds me of the other reason I can't sleep.

Fuck.

"It's okay; I'll take care of this," Zoey says, her expression still confused.

But she's right, isn't she? It's Halloween this week, and he's only looking at me because he wants his food.

"No, I've got it," I tell her.

I fix my face, hold my chin high, and walk right over to that table, refusing to allow fear to take over. "Okay, who had the club sandwich?" I ask in my practiced server voice.

Jason lifts one gloved finger, and I set the plate down in front of him.

"That must make you the soup of the day," I say, setting the other in front of Ghostface. "Anything else I can get for you two?"

Ghostface shakes his head from side to side, almost comically slow.

I try to think of a question that would require an answer beyond yes or no. "Where are you from?" I ask.

Ghostface looks at Jason before shrugging.

And I'm annoyed. I'm way too high-strung for this shit right now, and so fuck my phobia and my tip; they probably wouldn't leave me one, anyway.

I scoff, shaking my head. "You know it's rude, right? Someone talks to you; you don't bother to reply. Someone brings you food, and you can't even say thank you. "

Ghostface cocks his head again, then slowly lifts his gloved hands, curling them together to make a heart.

A fucking heart.

Across from him, Jason shakes with silent laughter.

"Okay," I say, fuming. "Yeah, you're fucking welcome."

I stomp away from the table, but before I can round the corner of the bar, find myself face-to-face with Mason.

"Hey," he says sheepishly. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"I'm kind of…" Busy. I was going to say busy. But it's easy to discern from just a quick glance around the dining room that it's a lie, and his eyes are sad, the way mine are most of the time. "Yeah, sure," I say instead.

He gestures to the empty booth behind the two men, and I follow, sitting across from him, which puts me back-to-back with Jason.

"Do you remember our conversation last night?" he asks.

I nod. "I think so. I remember most of it."

"Did you mean it? Do you really want me to leave you alone?"

"I think…it's for the best."

"Shit." He sighs, looking up at the ceiling before leaning in and reaching across the table for my hand. "I was really hoping you wouldn't be able to say it to my face."

I almost couldn't, but then I remembered how disappointed he'd be if he ever found out who I really was, and that made it easier.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "It really isn't you or anything you did; it's me. I'm the one who's…mentally unwell."

"You and those phantom limbs, right?"

I nod again. "Yeah. Pretty much. "

"You're going to miss me," he says.

"Probably."

"Who are you going to talk to in the middle of the night when you're lonely?"

"No one," I tell him. "I'll just have to get used to being lonely again."

"I hate that."

I offer him a sad smile. "I'd better get back to work. I'll see you around."

I slide out of the booth, but before I can walk away, he stops me.

"Oh, Lilah?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate to ask, but I lost my ID and one of my cards, and the last time I know I had them was before I went to your place. Do you mind looking for them?"

"Oh…sure, no problem."

"Thanks. If you find them, you can just leave them at the shop or toss them in my yard or something—that way you don't have to look at my stupid face again."

"I wouldn't do that. I like your face."

Mason smiles before shifting his gaze downward. "Okay. Bye, Lilah."

"Bye."

I stay there, watching him leave. The door closes behind him, and reflected in the glass are the men in masks in the back corner. I almost forgot about those assholes.

"Hey! This coffee is cold," an older man calls from across the restaurant, waving his arms in the air .

I turn to him, plastering on a fake smile, and take his cup. "I'll get you another one."

I spit in the bottom of his mug before filling it.

Once I'm back behind the bar, I feel someone watching me again. It's Ghostface, and neither he nor Jason have touched any of their food or removed their masks.

This is not my day.

I print out their tab and stomp across the restaurant to that back table, stopping in front of them.

"Something wrong with the food?" I ask.

They both shake their heads in that slow, annoying way again.

"Do you want me to take these for you? Doesn't look like you're eating, so I went ahead and grabbed your check."

I set the receipt down on the table, but before I grab the plates, Ghostface picks up his straw and sticks one end in his soup.

You're fucking kidding me.

He sticks the other end up under the mask, and I watch him suck thick tomato bisque up through the straw, and it makes me want to fucking scream.

I ball my fists, locking my arms tightly by my side to prevent myself from yeeting the damn bowl against the wall, and walk away.

"Okay, well…have fun with that."

I stomp back behind the counter, muttering profanities under my breath while starting a fresh batch of coffee. With the dining area mostly empty, I find a place behind the counter where I'm obstructed from their view, cross my arms in front of my body, and glare at them.

Minutes pass, and he's still there with his straw in his mouth, sucking down soup.

"You should unclench your jaw," Zoey says. "I don't think I've ever seen you this angry before, and you're angry a lot."

"I'm going to ask Gabriel to make him leave," I say. "Did they speak to you when they ordered?"

"No," she says. "They just pointed. I don't know why it's bothering you so much. They can probably tell, though, and that's why they're staying."

"Maybe they're reporters."

"Is that why you're worried? You think the guy sucking soup through a straw is here on business?"

"Maybe," I tell her. "I need that table, though. It's going to get busy soon."

It always gets busy—for better or worse—after school lets out, especially on Fridays and when it's raining like it is today. There isn't much to do in this town, and Poplar is one of the few places in Winter Falls where you can sit down that isn't a bar. The result is that the place fills up with teenagers who often don't tip, either.

Air crackles in that soup straw loud enough for us to hear it from across the room.

"Sounds like he's done," Zoey says. "Maybe he'll leave."

I'll give them five minutes, I decide. I'll clear my empty tables, and then, if they're still here, I'll tell Gabriel.

But I get lucky because after I clear the first, they get up, toss some cash onto the table, and head for the front door. Ghostface leaves first, and I stare him down as he passes, and then, when I turn, I run directly into Jason's chest.

I inhale as he steps around me, and now I'm pretty sure I'm the one who looks like a ghost. All the color drains from my face, and I stand there, frozen, because I know.

He smells like Silas. They're here. I thought it would be the police or a private investigator who found me, but this is much, much worse.

They're here to kill me.

The bell above the door snaps me out of my haze, and I blink, sending tears rolling down my cheeks.

"Lilah?" Zoey calls. "Are you okay?"

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "Yeah," I say, but it comes out as a whisper. "I'm fine."

"Do you want to take your break before we get hit by the afternoon rush?" she asks.

Zoey places her hand on my arm, a comforting gesture, but I shrug her off on reflex. She's nicer than I give her credit for, especially considering what a dick I am to her sometimes.

"Yeah." I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and try again. "Yeah, I do. I just…yesterday was a lot, and I didn't sleep well. Mason and I broke up, too, and—"

"You and your commitment issues, right?" she asks. How does she know? Does he talk about me? The question must be rhetorical because she continues. "I get it—it's fine. I'm not as helpless as you think; I can handle it."

"I don't think you're helpless."

She smiles, squeezing my shoulder before stepping around me. "Sure you don't. "

I thank her before heading to the back room. Then I sit at the table, dropping my head into my hands, and try to get a fucking grip.

The afternoon rush is even busier than I expected. Jodie comes in, and I'm on my feet and preoccupied enough to keep at least some thoughts of impending doom at bay.

But the shift passes far too quickly…because I know I'm safe here, surrounded by people, and when I leave, I won't be.

At nine, Zoey and I both clock out and walk out into the dark parking lot together.

I've never found it menacing—actually, I don't think anything has truly frightened me since that night—but I do now. A chill runs down my spine as the cool late October rain settles on my skin, along with the distinct feeling of being watched.

"You sure you don't want to come over?" Zoey asks. "We've got plenty of booze to go around, and from the looks of it, the party is already in full swing."

"No, thanks," I tell her. "I don't even have a costume."

"That doesn't matter," she says. "But suit yourself."

Zoey walks off toward her red Bronco, and I turn in the other direction, stopping when I spot the same two masked men from the café watching me from the other side of the street.

It's them. I know it is. They're going to follow me home and kill me.

"Zoey, wait!" I call out. "I'll go with you!"

I jump into the Bronco, breathing a shaky sigh of relief once inside.

"Lilah, you really need to relax. You look like you've seen a ghost."

I feign laughter, and it must come out just as awkward as I think it does because Zoey grimaces, sucking air through her teeth and shaking her head before starting the vehicle.

Music blares from the speakers as the engine comes alive. Zoey throws it into reverse, tires slipping on the wet gravel as she brakes. Mason does the same fucking thing. It's like there's some unwritten rule—the further you get into the mountains, the more unhinged the drivers are. She pulls onto the main drag, gravel flying, and speeds unnecessarily toward the house she shares with three other girls our age just a few blocks down.

I grab the handle above the door as she pulls off the road without warning, driving through the yard and parking right next to the front porch.

"Jesus," I say. "What the hell, Zoey?"

"Well, the driveway is full, and I'm not parking down the block—this is my fucking house. Let's go."

I step out into the muddy front yard and then follow Zoey up the porch steps and into the crowded house. It's been a long time since I've been to a party like this, and it makes me a little uneasy, but I'm safer here than I am at home right now .

Still, I can't hide forever, and I know that. I'm just not ready to deal with it.

"Come on," Zoey says, taking my hand. "I'll get you a drink."

She pulls me through the crowd to the kitchen, where she grabs a couple of plastic cups from the counter. Before she can fill them with whatever red liquid is in the giant blue storage container in the middle of the kitchen, another girl stops her.

"Hold on," she says. "It's not strong enough yet."

"So, that's Rose," Zoey says. "She lives with me, too. Rose, this is Lilah…from work."

"Yeah, I've seen you there a few times," Rose says, grabbing a plastic bottle of cheap vodka from the freezer. "And I saw your video, of course."

Rose opens the vodka and drains the entirety of its contents into the tub before stirring it with a plastic oar.

That can't be sanitary.

When she finishes, Zoey fills two cups and hands one to me. "Wait," she says before I take a drink.

I pause while she sets her purse on the counter, shuffling through its contents for a few seconds before pulling out a small plastic bag and shaking a couple of pills into her hand. She pops one into her mouth, washing it down with the red mystery drink, and then holds the other out to me between her thumb and first finger.

"To help you relax. You need it."

I do need to fucking relax. I take the pill and place it on my tongue without hesitation, and then sip from the cup. Luckily, I was mentally prepared for it to be mostly alcohol, because that's what it is .

One drink, I tell myself. I can have one drink and hide here until morning if I want to.

Zoey smiles, both pleased and surprised by my compliance. "Good girl," she says, patting my cheek in approval.

It…does something to me.

"I'm going upstairs to change into my costume," she tells me.

As she walks away, I take another drink from the cup and then step into the living room, finding a place to lean against the wall and observe like the houseplant I was at parties like this for years. But this is different—people stare as I accidentally meet their eyes, likely because of the video. I recognize a couple of Mason's friends in the back of the room and quickly look away when they notice me, too.

But then, the alcohol, the pill, or a mix of the two must kick in because I don't care so much. I allow my eyelids to flutter closed, swaying alone to the music. I don't know how long I stay like that before someone places their hand on my arm, pulling me out of it.

"What are you doing at a party like this? Wait until Mason's preppy ass finds out you're just as much of a degenerate as the rest of us."

I recognize him as one of Mason's coworkers. I've seen him at the shop, but I don't know his name. "Oh…hey."

"Noah," he says.

My heart stops in my chest. I quickly backpedal away from him, but it's like the air is thicker, and I can't get away fast enough. Eventually, the back of my legs hit the sofa, and I sink into it, spilling what's left of my drink all over my jeans and the upholstery.

"Whoa, hey," he says, closing the space between us. "You okay?"

"W-why did you call me that?" I ask.

"Call you what?" he laughs. "How wasted are you? I didn't call you anything; I just told you my name was Noah."

I nod, attempting to slow my breathing and heart rate, but it doesn't work. "Right. I'm sorry." I realize I'm sweating, too. Even though the door and windows are open, it feels like I'm sitting in a sauna. "I'm Lilah," I say, shrugging off my flannel.

"I know," he says, laughing. "What are you on, Lilah, and where can I get some?"

That's a good fucking question. What the hell am I on?

Zoey appears in front of me in a two-piece leather nurse costume, and I spend a little too much time staring at her stomach and the beads of sweat forming on her bare skin.

"You like it?" she asks. "Looks like you could use another drink."

She takes my hand, pulling me up from the sofa, and leads me to the kitchen. "I'm glad you're making friends," she says, filling my cup before handing it back to me. "You know that guy works with Mason, though, right? That might make things a little awkward."

"Yeah, I don't…I'm not interested in him."

"Good," she says. "Let's go dance."

"I don't really—" I protest, but she doesn't listen, pulling me back into the living room, through the throngs of people grinding their bodies into each other .

And before I can think about it, I'm doing it, too. The other Noah comes up behind me and presses his body against mine, running his hand up my thigh and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Then he places a hand on my hip, grinding against my ass, and I feel like I'm wrapped up in a warm blanket.

A warm, wet, sexy sex blanket.

"Zoey…?" She dances with her back to me, her long, dark hair swaying behind her, and I can't stop myself from reaching out and running my fingers through it. "It's so soft," I tell her when she turns around. "You were right—mine's frizzy, and it sucks."

"No," she says, smiling. "I didn't mean that it's always frizzy. Your hair is nice." She places her hands on my cheeks before raking her fingers through my short, sweat-soaked hair, and I rub up against her palms like a cat.

"Zoey, what the fuck did you give me?"

"It's just a little bit of molly."

"Are you serious?!" I ask. "This is going to make it worse."

She laughs, pressing her cheek to mine. "No," she says. "It's not going to make anything worse. What did you think it was when I gave it to you?"

"Vicodin? Percocet? I don't know."

"What?" She laughs. "You thought I was giving you opioids? Lilah, that's dangerous . Those are highly addictive; you should know that. And I would know because I'm a nurse."

Shit.

Hot breath against my neck sends chills of pleasure up my spine, reminding me that Mason's friend is pressed up against me, that it's his hard cock I'm grinding my ass into. He slips his hand under my tank top, pressing it against my stomach before I feel his lips against the bare skin of my shoulder, and I moan.

But this—as good as it feels—this will definitely make it much, much worse.

I pull away from him, turning until Zoey is between us. Zoey—with her thick, dark hair and beads of sweat rolling between her cleavage and down her bare stomach.

I run my fingers through her hair again, bringing it to my nose and inhaling. It smells like jasmine—the way Mia's used to smell. Jasmine used to grow along the east facing side of our apartment building, and Mia would pick the small, white blossoms and weave them into her braid. I've always associated the fragrance with two things—Mia and home—both of which I'll never have again.

"You're pretty," I say, resting my head on her shoulder. "You remind me of someone I used to know. And I'm so mean to you at work."

"Pfft, no, you're not."

"I am. I am mean. And look at you—you're just better than me. You saved me from the bad guys."

"The bad guys? What are you talking about?"

"I…don't know. I really wasn't a bad person. I don't know why any of this happened to me."

"Of course you're not a bad person." She laughs again and nuzzles her cheek against mine, hooking her thumbs through my belt loops as we move together to the music. "Stop thinking. You need to relax."

Apparently, I'm not able to apply the same logic I did with Mason's friend to Zoey, because when she kisses my neck, I sink further into her, running my hand up her thigh and gripping her ass before turning and letting her mouth meet mine.

My body is on fire as her tongue twists with my own, my pussy throbbing as she grinds against my thigh, moaning into my mouth.

I come up for air, resting my forehead against hers when my eyes catch a glimpse of something else in the dark room just over her right shoulder.

The two masked men from earlier stand near the front door, their gaze fixated on me.

No.

Is it really them? Could I be hallucinating? Is that a thing?

"Hey, are you okay?" Zoey asks. When I don't answer, she turns, following my eyes, and sees them, too. "Oh, it's your friends again. Wait, are they the bad guys?"

Not a hallucination.

It takes a few seconds to convince my body that I need to run, but I do. I stumble back through the crowd and then to the kitchen, pushing my way through the sliding door leading to the backyard, and then run toward the street, slipping and sliding on the muddy, wet grass. I eat it when I step off the curb, rolling into the street beside a parked sedan only two houses down from Zoey's.

My chin burns, and when I wipe it with the back of my hand, it comes away bloody. "Fuck."

I glance toward the house just as the two of them step out onto the porch, and "Jason" pulls a cell phone from his pocket. Milliseconds after he finishes typing, my own phone vibrates.

UNKNOWN You can jump, but you can't hide. You know that.

Heart pounding and hands shaking, I pull myself to my feet and run. I don't look back to see if they're following; I don't want to know. I keep running until I'm at the top of the staircase, standing in front of my apartment door. After fumbling with my keys for longer than I'd like and dropping them once, I finally get the right one into the lock and turn it, practically falling into the apartment once it opens.

I bolt the door quickly, backing further into the room until I hit a wall, and then slide down onto the floor with my hand over my heart and try to catch my breath.

They're here. There's nothing I can do about that now.

I take my phone out of my pocket and read the texts again before replying.

What do you want from me?

What are you going to do to me?

I hit send and wait, staring at the screen, but minutes go by, and I don't get a reply. I pull myself to my feet and make my way toward the bed, freezing when I see what's waiting for me on my pillow.

A pack of Skittles with a post-it note on the front: You forgot these.

It's Silas's handwriting .

They were here—somehow, they were here inside my apartment despite the locked door. A chill runs up my spine. There really is nowhere to hide now.

My phone vibrates in my hand, catching me off guard, and I scream, letting it fall onto the hardwood floor. I take a second to compose myself before I drop to my knees and pick it up.

UNKNOWN I guess that depends on you.

What does that mean?

UNKNOWN You know the name of the game, Noah.

What if I don't want to play anymore?

UNKNOWN Then you'll only make it worse for yourself.

UNKNOWN Honestly, Noah…what did you think was going to happen?

"Fuck!" I say aloud, letting it drop to the floor again. I fall back onto my ass and drop my head into my hands, my breath coming short and heavy until finally, I scream, curling into a ball and letting the tears fall. "FUCK!"

That's the last thing I remember before letting my eyes close.