Noah
The lights.
Goddamn the fucking lights.
They still haunt my nightmares and many of my daydreams. They’ve been less frequent since Sawyer started coming around.
But the lights are here now. They’re here again, flashing blindingly, illuminating the house and the barn and the storefront in reds and blues.
Like history is repeating itself.
“Merce,” I growl in his direction.
I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this on my own.
Pacing the makeshift perimeter, I offer at least some semblance of calm to the students doing their best to help.
“You’re doing a good job,” I tell a thin boy with shaggy blond hair.
He nods stoically, his expression hard-set. The throng of students trying to get through—or worse, record everything that’s happening—has created dangerous crowds on the far side of the parking lot.
Once EMS is out of here, we can release them.
Until then, all I can do is try to give Sawyer’s friend the privacy he deserves.
Emotion lodges in my throat as the fallout of the last several minutes plays again in my mind.
Sawyer’s surprise when she found us in the barn.
Sawyer’s horror when she discovered that Ty was stuck, and not by his own doing.
Sawyer’s sobs as the boy’s lifeless body tumbled out of the storage shed.
She told Mercer she’d never forgive him for this.
I believe her.
This entire situation is tragically unforgivable.
I search the chaos for my girl. A flash of copper hair catches my attention, her locks illuminated by the red lights of the emergency response vehicle. She’s on her knees, cradling Tytus’s head in her lap.
Squinting, I try to assess the situation from here. Is he conscious? Are they preparing him for transport?
I can’t look for more than a few seconds at a time. The lights are too blinding. Even when I squeeze my eyes closed and try to clear my mind, they’re all I see. I blink again, willing the intrusive thoughts and flashbacks under lock and key, where they belong.
To keep myself from drifting back there, I refocus on my girl. Should I go to her? Should I offer to help?
Just as I’ve decided that yes, I should, and I’ve taken a single, tentative step toward her, she’s hit with a spray of blood and releases a sharp, heart-wrenching scream.
The sound lances through me, rips through my soul, and catapults me back to the worst night of my life.
Chapter three
Mercer
There’s a nail digging into my spine.
Relishing the scratch against my skin, the pointed pressure that promises pain, I press against the raw wood behind me harder. The nail isn’t long enough, though, to do what I need it to do.
