Page 96 of Reckless
Ugh, you know, there was absolutely nothing worse than a single wet sock—
My eyes fell, and I looked down to see what I’d slipped on.
It wasn’t clear. It was a bright, ghastly red… and it came directly from the body laying on the floor between the island and the rest of the cabinets.
Suddenly the wet sock meant nothing. Suddenly all I could do was stare down at the body, the scene before me not computing in my head. Her blonde hair was wet, stained in blood. Her eyes, a brilliant, vibrant green, were dilated and unblinking. A deep, maroon gash lay on her throat, still bleeding, as if her heart still beat in her chest.
But, even though I found myself frozen, even though the image of her hardly registered in my head, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was dead.
My mom was dead.
Like a switch, I came back into my body, and I fell to my knees beside her. “Mom,” I whispered, staring at her face, at her bleeding neck, her stained shirt. The pool of blood on the tile surrounding her head grew bigger by the second. “Mom, no…”
I touched her shoulders, feeling her warm but immobile body. Water gathered in my eyes, and I tried to blink the tears away.
No. My mom was the only family I had, the only person who—
The feeling of wet steel touched the back of my neck, and a low, menacing voice growled out, “Get up slowly, Jaz. I want to look into your eyes when I kill you.” That voice, so familiar, and yet a darkness lingered there, a vileness I never before noticed.
I got up, because what else could I do? When the metal withdrew from my neck, I turned around, facing the killer. When I looked upon that face, I didn’t see the mask. I saw evil. Pure, unadulterated evil, and my heart raced in response.
“Bobbi,” I whispered her name, my eyes on the red-covered knife in her hand. A kitchen knife, but sharp enough to slice through the throat of an unsuspecting person. And then I asked the question I should’ve asked all along: “Why?”
My friend—no, the girl who pretended to be my friend this entire time, looked truly demented. She gave me a cruel smile, her eyes on fire as she stared at me, the knife outstretched towards me.
She didn’t look like Bobbi. She looked like a monster.
Bobbi laughed. “You’re such an idiot. You mean you still don’t get it, after all this time?” The laughter that bubbled up then was hideous, ugly, an awful sound to grace anyone’s ears. “I told you in the beginning, Jaz, but if you’re that much of a moron, let me fill you in. You met me, you met my dad, but you never met my sister.” She shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t talk about her lots, but I did mention her.”
What? Bobbi had a sister? Why didn’t I know this?
“Her name is Alice,” she spat, “and she died that day.” The arm holding the knife held steady. “She’s nothing but a body now, a vegetable. Mom couldn’t handle it, so she ran, leaving my dad to take care of her, of me.”
“I don’t—” I didn’t know what to say? I wasn’t following what she was saying? This was crazy. This was… this was madness.
“Alice Wilde was drugged,” Bobbi hissed. “Someone made it look like she got drunk and high and drove her car straight into a fucking tree!” Blood dripped from the knife, my mom’s blood. “That someone was Celeste Chambers.”
It hit me then, what this was all about. Something that had happened three years ago, something I had nothing to do with. If I had to guess, I’d say Celeste never did that, but Ollie’s sons—his demented twins who were related to the Scotts? I’d say it was them.
But none of that mattered now.
“Why me?” My voice cracked, and I nearly broke down.
“You moved here, into this house. You took Celeste’s place, and because that bitch is nowhere to be found, someone has to pay for what she did.” Bobbi shook her head. “I had it all planned out, too. I spent so long watching you, trying to see if, maybe, she was hiding in this house. I gave you the money, I figured you’d hire the first Google search result you found. For me that was a man named Jacob Hall.” She smirked. “Did he ever tell you he was spying on you?”
I could say nothing, because right now she was having a ball. This was what she’d wanted all along. Revenge. She’d probably spent years planning it.
“I learned who you were. I became your friend, all the while feeding Brittany Pots whatever it was she wanted to hear.”
Finally, I found my voice, “You were the one who called the police about Archer’s father.”
“Looks like you’ve learned something after all,” she said. “Brittany was okay with it, because she knew she was losing him. The dance was all a show, your win staged. She knew what you were doing, because I told her. I also grabbed a few hairs off your brush when I came over. That helped my dad point his fingers at you.”
The more I found out, the more I hurt inside. “Deetra and Chelsea… I assume you killed them, too.” I watched as she nodded. “What about Archer’s mom?”
“Me,” she said. “Her nurse was very welcoming, until I pushed her down the stairs, and Brittany was all for coming back and making a scene, but she was too weak. She wanted Archer, and she knew to get Archer, she’d have to get rid of you—but you’re mine, not hers.” The hand curling around the knife’s handle tightened so hard the knuckles turned white. “I had to pick her up and take care of her.” A shrug of her shoulders. “Just another loose end tied up, I guess.”
I think I had the whole picture, and I felt myself start to lose it. My mom lay dead behind me, the girl I thought was my best friend before me, holding onto the bloodied knife that was used to slit her throat.
