Perhaps.
“It’s three in the morning, Neve!” Her voice is still that whisper-hiss, and I want to tell her they can probably hear us as high-pitched as it is, but I’m too busy unlocking my phone as she stands over me, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
Missed calls from the boys.
Ten each.
A text comes through as I hold my phone.
Sylvan <3
We’re coming up. Open the door.
I frown as the tapping continues, then check to ensure I have no more messages from Tasia.
There’s nothing. She didn’t call back either.
I stand to my feet too fast, the blanket falling from my shoulders and drenching me in cold as Cynthia takes several steps back, her eyes big on mine.
“Call Karter.”
“Did you not hear me?” she hisses. “It’s three in the goddamn morning!”
“Call her.” I hold my friend’s gaze. “She might be in danger.” Then I scurry away on quiet steps, but not before leaning down and swiping up one of the smaller, but no less sharp, knives from my collection.
Easier to plunge into a man’s chest.
Hopefully.
I walk on light steps, my bare feet cold on the kitchen tiles. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cynthia hold her cell to her ear. My heart swells she listened and she isn’t yelling after me.
No doubt because the tapping hasn’t stopped.
It’s eerie, but after all this time, it’s starting to slide under my skin like a nail, too.
I stand silently in front of the door, not daring to breathe, and press up onto my toes, my heart racing, vibrating my pulse into my throat.
It takes everything in me not to gasp when I see it.
Him.
My brother’s eyes staring back at me, pressed close to the peephole, like he knows I’m here.
The light in the hall shows the shadows beneath his lower lash line. The purple and black. The wildness of his pupils, nearly engulfing the shade of his irises.
His brows are jumping up and down in a strange way, and he sways a little to the side, like maybe he’s drunk or on something else.
He knows.
He knows, because he grins at me in a way I’ve never seen his face move before and he says, “Let me in, Neve.”
My hand goes to the lock.
I’m frozen as I stare at him, but the urge to hear him out is strong. He can’t be the killer. He’s lonely and cold and stressed and worried and he won’t hurt me, will he? He didn’t do it. He’s not a murderer.
“Let me in and let me look after you. You’re not eating enough, are you Neve?”
Calorie counts spring into my mind. 1200. Never over 1500. Or if I had too much, best to be under a 1000. And some foods were off limits. Anything with more than five grams of sugar. Anything that made me bloat, even a little. If I wanted to look my best, walk at noon in the summer with no hat, little water. Let my fingers swell but afterward, lying down half-naked, dripping sweat in bed, I’d be lean. Hard to pinch an inch.
