Page 367 of Mad Girl

“Are you serious?”

“You’re so predictable, Ellie. Give you a reason, and you’ll go after anyone.”

“Except I almost got sent away again!”

“Nic will never send you away! No matter what you do! Do you know how many times he’s almost sent you to one of those treatment places? How many times I’ve heard him and my parents talking about it? After Michael broke your nose during volleyball that time, Nic was going to send you to Arizona for six months! But he couldn’t do it!”

“Bree. Will you please slow down?” I grabbed the center console again, my back pressed firmly to the seat, my feet digging into the floorboard. Troubling as these revelations were, I had more pressing things to consider. “I’m really sorry about tonight.” Voice wobbling, I added, “Maybe I can still fix it somehow.”

“All you do is make things worse! Because of you, I’ll lose Casey after just finding out who he is, our parents will split up—and then what? I’ll barely have a family left, because you broke it! You’re a horrible, toxic bitch—just like your mom! She tortured your dad, and that’s all you’ve done your whole life! My parents say Victoria broke Nic. My mom says you’re just like her. You break everything you touch! My dad has this son he’d love to get to know better if he only knew, but you’ve screwed that up, too! Why is it that you have to chase everyone else away? Why can’t you leave? We’d be better off without you!”

“Bree, please,” I begged. “Bree! Slow down. Please—just pull over! Stop!”

But she was wild, Casey. Out of control. That rage had filled her, had taken hold. She wouldn’t heed my cries, wouldn’t take her foot off the accelerator, wouldn’t slow down at all. As we hurtled down a street lined by brownstones and trees on both sides, I spotted a dark figure up ahead, crouched down low, close to the pavement, as if someone were tying their shoe.

I grabbed Bree’s arm, screaming at her to stop. She slammed on the brakes, but not soon enough. The headlights spotlighted the man for a split second, no time to move, before Bree struck him, a sickening thud mixing with the sharp screech of the breaks.

Not one thud. But two.

The first thud, when she hit him. The second, I don’t like to think about. That second one still haunts me.

A scream—hers or mine, I can’t be sure. Can’t remember.

We went deathly silent, gaping at each other, her blue eyes wide. Impossibly wide. Scared.

I flung off my seatbelt and jumped out first, scanning the street. I wandered out in front of the Range Rover, eyes frantically darting over the empty pavement.

Bree joined me, walking slowly, hands dangling by her side, face paling when she spotted the blood. Garish red streaks marred the grille of the car.

“Where is he?” I yelled, not thinking, too shocked to think rationally. “Where the fuck is he?”

Bree stared, unmoving. Unresponsive.

I dropped to my knees in the middle of the street, looked under the car, and there, Casey. There he was.

I sprang up. “Call 911,” I said, brushing past her. I rounded the car and dropped to my knees again, rocks digging into my knees through the leggings, digging into my palms, pressed flat against the pavement. The man lay trapped underneath the car, crumpled in a way that made my stomach turn, a black pool of blood spreading beneath him, oozing out fast. He was alive—but just barely.

I’d seen enough movies to know the sounds coming out of him—coughing, wheezing, gurgling—weren’t good.

“Hey,” I said. Didn’t know what to say. He turned his head. Eyes dark. Shining. Looking at me. Arm turned at a weird angle, up by his face. More blood. Pooling too fast. I glanced back at Bree, who still hadn’t moved. She just stood there, frozen in horror, ghostly pale and trembling. “Bree, hurry! Call 911!” I looked under the car again. “Just hold on. It’ll be okay.”

But it wouldn’t be okay. That was a lie, too. His blood trickled across the pavement, shimmering as it reached me, the sharp metallic smell of it burning my nose.

We were perfect strangers, Casey, but I’ll remember that man’s face until the day I die.

The wide-eyed shock.

The reality setting in, the panic.

The last thing he ever saw was me, staring back at him, and just before he took his final breath, a flash of something I’ll never forget: terror.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Wait a minute. This can’t be right. It wasn’t Bree driving that car. Bree wasn’t there at all.

Because, to your knowledge, she wasn’t.

But this is the truth, Casey. This is the bomb.

Bree’s the one who killed that man.