Chapter 75 Ch. 45
"Oh my God!" she gasped, blood dripping down the side of her lips. She looked up, her eyes locked onto Yvette's panic-stricken friends.
They looked at her with disgust and fear all at once, their hands trembling, throats sore from screaming.
"I didn't mean... I—" she began, tears pouring out of her eyes. She had meant to teach a lesson, not to kill—not like she really cared about the lives of humans.
"What the fuck?" Miranda was the first to speak, her voice hoarse as she stared at Yvette's body that was slowly losing color.
"We should get out of here," Alexa whispered, hiding behind Miranda.
"You won't," Prunella said, her voice shaking. She locked eyes with both of them, hoping she was replenished again to start compulsion.
"If you're asked about her... the two of you left the school with her. Drove and she brought you guys here to... I don't know... meet someone she met on... on a dating site," Prunella's voice broke, her words stumbling into one another as she tried her best to form a lie.
"And... and when you got here... you... there was a man... I don't know... I don't know," she said, tears increasing the rate at which they fell. "You just tell them you went blank... you went blank... you can't remember anything at all and you saw her lying on the floor. You never saw me... you saw her lying and... you had to drive to... get help... Now go," Prunella said, her voice rising.
She watched them as they walked toward the car, Alexa getting into the driver's seat, and then she reversed out of there.
The morning air seemed colder than usual as Zara stepped out of the door, trailing behind her father. He opened the door for her and she gave him a smile, settling into the passenger's seat.
"Get your feet off, Zara," her father said sternly as he got in, starting the engine. She pretended to ignore him.
"I won't say it again."
"Ugh." She took her legs down from the dashboard and reclined her chair, feeling more exhausted than usual. "I'm so fucking tired."
"Language." His voice was stern, but he glanced over at her with concerned eyes. "I know it's hard. Training until late and then waking up early for school."
"Yeah." She turned on the radio and sighed as the car eased out of the driveway. The sound of the tires crunching on gravel was oddly comforting.
"Seatbelt."
"Hm?" she mumbled, pulling the straps across her chest.
"It is the third murder this week, and the police have every reason to believe a serial killer is responsible," the voice through the radio said, crackling faintly. "Just two days ago, investigative journalist at NEON 24 lost Ivanna, a young woman covering the Riverbend case, and just yesterday, a student at SandRidge Academy, Yvette Thomas, was found dead just a street off the Public Library—"
"Yo, Dad, that's my classmate," Zara gasped, her eyes turning wide as she listened.
"Her friends claimed she drove there to meet a man she had met on a dating site, and from what we know... as a queen in her school, it's a possibility. Her friends will still be investigated because some things do not add up. Police are also trying to make a connection, what connection Yvette might have with the two ladies, it what the motive of this person, but we can be very sure that this serial killer is targeting young blonde women..."
Zara shut off the radio.
"Dad," her voice broke as she turned to face him. His jaw was clenched, and his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"I'm sorry, Zee," he mumbled. "People have lost their minds... The world is a scary place these days."
"Yeah... How could she be... gone like that..."
"I know." He pulled into the parking lot. "Be safe, love," he whispered, as she stepped out.
"Luckily, I'm not blonde or white," she said with a wry smile.
She watched her dad ease out of there and drive into the staff parking lot, before she bounded through the open doors.
SandRidge Academy was anything but quiet. Voices spoke in conspiratorial tones as if they were so scared to say the actual words out loud: That Yvette, the school's queen, was dead, and not coming back.
The atmosphere was a mix of false pity, sadness, while a few of them seemed relatively happy that she was gone.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Zara heard someone say in passing.
Ethan leaned against her locker, typing away at his phone. "Hey," he greeted, not looking up. His expression was that of worry and fear.
Two things were on his mind.
Was it possible that his dad had mistaken Yvette for Zara? Did his dad know what Zara looked like? Or did the murder have nothing to do with his dad?
"Hi." She tapped him once, then raised her brows, gesturing toward her locker.
"Oh." He pushed himself off, and then stood behind her. Now that Yvette was dead, and he wasn't sure the source except that it was a vampire, he had every reason to be more protective of her.
"Yo, Zara, did you hear the news?" Noah appeared behind her, making her jump. "The serial killer stuff... it's real."
"Luckily, I'm not blonde," she sighed. "Seems like that's what he or she is targeting."
"Doesn't mean you still shouldn't be careful," Ethan muttered, placing a hand on her shoulders protectively.
She rolled her eyes, then turned to where the whispers were coming from. Prunella walked through the double doors, her eyes scanning the crowd nervously. Zara's heart broke, knowing she felt under too much scrutiny after the scene with Yvette yesterday. She waved shyly, waiting for her to walk over to them.
"How are you?"
Prunella shrugged, glanced at Ethan and then looked away.
"Are you glad she's gone?" Noah asked tentatively. "I mean, knowing she can't like... pick on you or anyone."
"It's a tragedy," she answered in a guarded tone. "I'll see you guys later."
"The bell hasn't even—" Zara was cut off by the shrill noise of the bell. "Oh dear."
Students began drifting toward their respective classes, the murmur not stopping, even when they had gotten to class and the teacher had picked up the marker to write.
"I know it's a sad day for our school," Mrs. Rhodes said in a tight voice, trying not to display the annoyance she felt at a distracted class. "Yvette was one of us. It's okay to feel whatever you're feeling and counselors are available to talk... But I do not need my class divided."
The murmur quietened as students began to pretend to be interested in the class even though they weren't. Strangely enough, Ethan who was a back-bencher was seated beside her. She glanced toward the back, noting that Prunella was more distracted than ever.
When the bell finally rang, and the class emptied quickly, she waited behind and fell in step with Prunella who gave her a weird sideways glance as she packed her books.
"Can we talk?" Zara asked, her eyes meeting Ethan who stood by the door with Noah. "You guys can go on."
Ethan hesitated. With a sigh, he left with Noah.
"Uh... Why are we... talking?" Prunella's voice shook as she asked. She furrowed her brows, assessing Zara, as if somehow, Zara knew the truth of what she had done.
They walked down a quieter hallway and out into the small courtyard where a few students sat on benches, talking in low voices. They had a few minutes' break before their next class. The sky was pale, a thin sun hiding behind clouds. Zara stopped near a tree, her bag slipping from her shoulder to the ground.
"You don't have to feel bad," Zara said. "Or guilty. Yvette... she picked on you. It's okay if you feel... I don't know. Relieved."
Prunella looked at her. "I am relieved," she said. "But I'm not happy."
Zara nodded. "That makes sense."
Prunella crossed her arms. "She made things hard for me. For a lot of people. But I didn't want this. I didn't want her dead... I didn't think she was going to die after yesterday and..."
"I know," Zara said, patting her back softly.
Prunella froze for a fraction of a second—the realization that she had almost slipped, lost control and told the truth.
"It's just... I don't... Never mind."
Zara said nothing. "What class are you having next? Do we have the same schedule?"
"Chemistry."
"Same. Let's go before the bell rings."
They walked back briskly, the air cold, but neither of them complained about it.
"You shouldn't be around me, Zara," Prunella commented, eyes scanning the crowd that had their eyes on them.
"Why?"
"Your social reputation will be hurt."
"Ethan's isn't," Zara shrugged.
"Because he's Ethan," she drawled.
"I don't care what people say, or think," Zara responded genuinely. "I'm hated enough, but no one dares to pick on me."
"True." Prunella adjusted the books she held in her hands. "Are you doing this... because you feel bad for me?"
Confusion marred Zara's forehead. "No... I could use another friend," she shrugged. "Not the ones that talk to me because they want to get close to Noah, or they need favors or something."
"Or bragging rights that you were state champion last year, and your dad's the celebrity coach."
"Exactly," Zara grinned.
"Shit, it's going to rain," Prunella said, looking at the sky that had turned gray.
The building looked too weak to withstand the gusts of winds that troubled it. The sky, once bright blue in color, had darkened with gray clouds that seemed to mirror everything Dylan felt inside.
He took a step forward on the mushy grounds of the wooded area and inhaled. The petrichor was intoxicating, just like blood.
He had avoided this place for three days since Ivanna had been missing from the morgue, because he knew he was being watched. But also mostly to avoid confronting the situation that he might have to face for the second time again.
Now, he stood in front of the mournful wooden cottage that leaned to the left. Its thatched roof was halfway blown off, windows too dusty from years of wind blowing the sand. Crickets hummed nearby, irritating his ears.
He took another step forward, and shivered slightly. He wasn't cold because of the rain that he was completely drenched in. It was from the fear of what he was to meet.
Imogen hadn't told him anything tangible, only that he was to come.
She never did.
All she did was speak in riddles and watch with amused eyes as one tried to rack their brain to find answers.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning struck the ground the moment he walked in. The air inside was warm, moist and fungal. Cobwebs decorated the space, their threads extending from one end of the room to another.
The house itself was bare, and half of it leaked rain. He walked further in, passing by a battered leather chair and nearly jumping when a rat skittered nearby. Walking toward what was supposed to be the kitchen, he tapped his foot on the ground continually.
"Imogen," he called out, running his fingers on the edge of a rotten cabinet, dust gathering beneath his fingers.
Something creaked behind him, but before he could turn to the source of the noise, he was falling.