Page 76 of Sinister

Yet that conversation really had been a bad one, so I text back, as way of truce.

There’s nobody like that, Ames. I just don’t have the time for such things these days.

And besides, it’s not like people are just lining up to date a grumpy teen mom-to-be. Of course, I don’t tell her that last bit.

But you’ll tell me? If there’s someone special?

I stiffen a bit, thinking of my entanglement with Sin, even though he doesn’t know about the most solid knot in the thin thread connecting us for now.

Course Ames, you know I will.

I send the text and take a deep breath, trying to center the swirling visions and restive thoughts assailing me.

Edwin’s dead. He was around last week, and now he’s not.

Harry was right: The whole situation feels more than unreal.

It feels like I’m living my own version of The Truman Show and at any moment, the people behind the scenes are going to jump out and tell me it was all scripted. Even the you-know-who and my whole trip to the pharmacy and my conversation with the lady at the counter.

A bitter chuckle escapes my lips as I tuck my phone back into my pocket. Regrettably, my life is all too real at the moment.

Over the course of the day, the whispers and murmurs in the hallways continue to grow and multiply, becoming more frantic and frayed as more gruesome details of Edwin’s death begin to surface.

I’m ever-wary of the rumor mill, so instead of dwelling on the hushed exchanges that speculate about alien and mafia involvement, I head to the library.

But I am wrong to assume that the library would be a safe space.

Here, too, students huddle in tense, agitated groups, with the more dramatic ones bursting into tears while live-streaming to their followers.

I sit at one of the far tables, still trying to steady my breathing but failing to temper the growing dread in my chest.

A shadow falls over my table, and I look up to see Harry again. I know something is very, very wrong the moment I see him. His face is pale, and his eyes are darting everywhere.

“What happened?” I ask at almost the same time as he says, “Petra, have you heard the latest?” in a quivering voice.

I shake my head and repeat my question. “What?”

He glances around before sitting down next to me.

“I-I heard some of the faculty talking. Turns out . . . Edwin wasn’t just found dead. He was—” He breaks off and wipes his face, as if trying to erase a nightmare that’s still unfolding when he’s awake.

“Harry, please!” I implore. “You’re scaring me now.”

“They say he was mutilated, Petra,” Harry says at last.

My blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”

Harry runs his hands through his hair, and I notice that they are shaking slightly. “His chest . . . they said it was empty. Someone removed his organs.” He finally looks me in the face, and I am stunned at the sheer horror permeating his features. “. . . and filled the cavity with dead rats.”

At first, I let out a loud laugh, as if trying to dispel Harry’s words with the force of my incredulity. But the sound dies on my lips when he keeps staring at me with unmitigated terror.

“No, that-that sounds fake. Just another messed-up rumor,” I say firmly, shaking my head in disbelief.

“I thought so at first. But then the teachers were talking about it, Petra. This is not rumor. I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t absolutely sure.” Harry sits back and puts his face in his hands, like he’s trying to rub out the garish, nightmarish images that keep springing up before his eyes.

My hand flies to my mouth as I try to process the enormity of Harry’s news. The room seems to tilt, and bile starts crawling up my throat.

“Who . . . who would do something like that?” My voice comes out shaky, barely louder than a whisper.