Page 12 of Dead Pretty

I hear Jack sigh softly behind me, followed by the sound of his footsteps as he walks away, leaving me alone.

Alone, like I want to be.

I stare down at the silent cell phone in my hand.

I used to have a phone that rang often. Dinged with text messages. Social media notifications.

I had friends. A life.

Now, I have a phone that stays silent. No text messages from friends. No social media accounts, as I deleted them all.

I have no friends. No life.

I basically have this cell phone in case of emergency and so I can call my brother, Cole.

I have to call him once a week to check in. It was our agreement when I told him I was moving away from the only home I had ever known.

I bring the screen to life and dial Cole’s number.

He answers on the second ring.

The sound of his voice saying, “Hi,” fills my chest with warmth.

It’s that feeling of home. Only my brother can give me that feeling now.

“Hey,” I say to him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good. Miss my sister. Wish she would let me see her.”

“Cole …” I sigh.

“I know; I know,” he utters. “I just think it’s crazy that you won’t let me see you. Even crazier is that you won’t tell me where you are.”

“Can we not go over this again?” We have this exact same conversation every single time we speak. “You know my reasoning.”

Cole doesn’t know where I am. I didn’t tell him when I left.

It’s not that I don’t trust him; of course I do. He is the only person in the whole world I do trust. I just worry if he came to visit me here, and he was followed …

A shudder runs through me.

After the murders and Tobias’s trial, Chicago just didn’t feel like home anymore. There was the press, constantly outside my house, and then there were the crazies, fans of Tobias. I guess I just didn’t feel safe in Chicago any longer.

I wanted to get away from people. Including my brother. I know that sounds awful, and I would never say it to him out loud. And it’s not that I don’t love him or want to be around him … but I just wanted a fresh start.

To be somewhere no one knew me or about what had happened.

“Just because I know your reasoning doesn’t mean that I agree with it. But fine, I will never bring it up again.” His tone is annoyed. It’s been like that a lot recently when we talk. And he also says that every time we speak—that he won’t bring it up again, but he always does.

But I can’t be angry with him. He’s done so much for me. Taken care of me my entire life.

“Thank you,” I say softly, trying to appease the situation, not wanting the only family I have left to be angry with me. “So, what have you been up to since we last spoke?”

“Just the usual. Work. Go to the gym. Got a haircut yesterday.”

“You change the style? Dye it? Let me guess … you got a blue Mohawk.”

He chuckles, and the sound makes me smile.