Now, you coward. Do it now.
I set down my cake and pause the movie. “George, we need to talk. I know you said you’re helping Eli with a school project, but I know that’s not true. I saw you at—”
There’s a sharp rap at the door.
“Pizza delivery,” a guy calls.
My stomach growls.
“Hold that thought. I’ll just get the pizza.” George sets down her plate and moves across the kitchen. Her shoulders tense.She’s afraid of what I’m going to say, what I’ll do.
My best friend is afraid of me. She—
Hang on a second.
We only ordered the pizza like five minutes ago. There is no way an Emerald Beach pizza parlor – especially a shitty one in Lethe – will cook a pizza and get it through traffic in that amount of time.
My stomach sinks. “George, wait—”
I’m too late. George’s hand hasn’t even turned the knob before the kitchen door slams open, sending her flying backward. A guy in a black balaclava shoves his way inside, grabbing George by the neck and slamming her against the wall. The twinkling fairy lights over the sink glint off the gun in his hand as he aims it at George’s forehead.
36
Claudia
George.
Fuck.
No.
George’s eyes widen as the muzzle touches her skin. The intruder rams the gun into her flesh. She whimpers, her whole body collapsing in on itself, like a hedgehog curling up into a ball. Tears stream down her face, and I can see he’s cutting off her airway.
“Listen to me, girl,” the guy rasps. “I don’t want to hurt you, yeah? But I’m going to need all your tapes. Your laptop, too.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I blurt out.
I’m soangry. This bastard ishurtingGeorge.
Et in morte fidelitas.
I’ll make him regret pointing a gun at my friend.
The guy turns to me, his hand still wrapped around George’s throat. All I can see are hollow eyes that bug out from his head as his gaze sweeps over my body.
All I can think about is making him stop. My fingers close around the handle of the cake knife.
My eyes fix on the gun, on his finger twitching on the trigger. His grip wavers. George slides down the wall.
“Y-y-y-you?” he stutters as he takes me in. He sounds surprised. No, not surprised.Terrified. “It can’t be. This doesn’t make any sense—”
I lunge forward, flicking my wrist and letting the knife fly. The guy catches the movement and swings the gun at me, but he’s right about one thing – he doesn’t want to shoot anyone. If he did, he wouldn’t have hesitated, and I’d have a lovely hole in my chest.
Instead, he gets acquainted with the business end of a blade.
George screams as the knife embeds itself into his neck. His mouth flies open, and blood spurts out. George leaps away as his finger slides off the trigger and he drops the gun. Blood sprays in a graceful arc across the kitchen.
He slumps to the floor.
