Page 92 of False Idols

“Go, Nevaeh. Don’t stop until you get to Bloom. I’ll be right behind you.”

Beau doesn’t promise he’ll be there, like he has to keep me safe. Last night I knew Beau meant what he was saying, but this time I don’t know. He’s willing to make sure The Reaper doesn’t find me again, that they won’t be able to follow me and hurt me anymore, but where I hear the falter is when Beau says he’ll be right behind me. I know what that means. Oh god, I know.

I want to cry. I shake my head and come forward a step but stop myself when he backs away. “Beau.” His name gets choked up in my throat but the smile he gives me knocks it free. “Beau, no, please.”

“I love you, angel. Now go.”

“I love you,” I say back. It’s the only thing I can say. Those are the only three words that will come out of me when Beau gives me one last lingering look and heads upstairs with the kitchen knife he took from me in one hand. He’s willing to die. God, what if he dies? I stay where I am, watching Beau until he vanishes from sight up the stairs. I almost run up the stairs after him and beg for him to come with me. The only thing that would do, though, is tell the murdering psychopath exactly where we are. And Beau would never come with me.

“You’re not fucking dying here tonight. Do you understand me?”

He’s going to see it through and I say a silent prayer to whatever is out there that Beau lives. I need him to live. I deserve for him to live. Living means running, though. I turn to look at the door. It’s still wide open and I can see Simon’s body swinging in the wind and rain. I wonder if Simon tried to run. Did Marcus and that’s why he isn’t here? I take a hesitant step forward but stop.

I can’t go empty handed. I gave Beau the knife. If I end up walking to Bloom, I’ll need something to protect myself with. The Reaper isn’t the only predator out there. I go back into the kitchen and grab another knife, it’s small and easier to hold, which is good if I have to use it. I see a jacket hanging on a hook beside the basement door and reach for it, but when I do I see someone through the windows facing the pool. They’re sitting with their back to the house. Even with all the lights on in the house, the lights by the pool are off and I can’t see much of anything other than their silhouette. I forget the jacket and take a step forward and then another until I recognize them.

It’s my mom. What is she doing here? Why is she sitting outside in the rain? A door slams upstairs and I hear the sound of feet running. I have to press a hand over my mouth to stop from screaming. I’m not supposed to hear this. I have to get outside. I rush forward, right to my mom and not out the front door like I know I’m supposed to. I go out the back door and shut it behind me. My mother has never protected me, not a day in her life, but somewhere in me I wish she would. I wish she had when I was fifteen and traumatized by Carrie’s death, but she didn’t.

She left me alone and told me to pray on it. We never spoke about that night. Not ever. So what is she doing here now?

“Mom?” I call out to her, but I’m not loud enough to be heard that far away with the rain. She’s twenty feet away, so close to the edge of the pool. I edge forward and then stop. My mom’s car was driven out here when no one knows I’m here. The only people that knew that were the cops and Beau’s parents. I squint at the familiar figure and see my mom’s dark hair plastered to her head. Her arms are on the armrests and she’s leaning back slightly. It’s a pose I’ve seen her do countless times when she’s listening to a good story or relaxing at Church. My mother sits that way when she doesn’t have a care in the world.

How did she know to find me? What was she doing with her car that far out? I haven’t heard from her in weeks and now she’s here. Something doesn’t make sense. Why is she here?

I take a step forward but I freeze, because realization dawns over me. My mom knows where I am and so does The Reaper. She’s been gone since the day of the first attack. The girl they found was killed that first day that my things arrived at the dorm. Where has she been with all of this going on?

I thought she’d just washed her hands of me and that’s why she’d been missing this entire time, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was there for every attack that happened? What if she’s been involved?

I start moving again. My eyes are on her relaxed pose. She hasn’t moved a fucking muscle. There’s a killer in the house and she’s sitting like she’s enjoying the night air, not a storm that’s surely bringing flash floods down around the county.

The only reason someone would sit like that is if they were safe. And the only way to be safe with The Reaper is if you know he won’t kill you. The only way that would be possible is if my mom was helping him. I grip the knife tighter and keep walking forward. I half expect her to turn and yell at me, but she doesn't. I wait until I’m right behind her to speak.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” I ask. She can hear me, I know she can. I’m close enough but she doesn’t give any sign that she did. This has to be part of her sick little game. Why am I even asking and hoping that she’s not helping the murderer inside come after me? She would do anything to be free of me.

I glare at the back of her head. How did it never occur to her that I wanted to be any place but with her? How did she not know that I counted down the days spent in her home and kept time to when I would finally be free? It wouldn’t make sense to her that I wanted out as much as she did, because she always thought I should be grateful. Forever indebted to her for the roof over my head and the clothes on my back.

The bare fucking minimum.

If she isn’t going to give me her attention, I’ll take it then. I reach out and grab her shoulder. “Mom!” I yell and give her a shake, but still she doesn’t turn her head. I round her chair to get in her face. “What are you-” I stop talking and start to scream. I see why my mom didn’t move or turn her head to look at me. Why she’s been sitting without moving an inch in the storm.

My mom is dead.

36

BEAU

I’m going to kill this motherfucker. He’s close. I can feel it, even if I can’t see him. I walk down the hallway and past the bedroom I was in with Nevaeh last night. The door to it is open. I can see the bed still unmade, but there’s no one in there. I think about going to the gun safe but it would take time, too much time and too much fucking beeping of that gun safe to do it without ending up with a knife in my back.

“He’s as big as you. He’s strong too and so, so fast. B-but the way he moves. He moves like he’s the scariest thing out there. He knows nothing can touch him. Not the cops, not me, not anyone.”

The lights on the second floor are on just the same as the first. I know I’m going to hear him coming, I just have to be patient. I just have to not do anything stupid. Prison taught me how to be still. I know how to wait, to look for an opening before I force my will to be done and take a life. All those times before, it was to stay alive or to follow orders from men I hated. I had no problem killing then. This is easy. I would do anything to keep Nevaeh safe. I go through the next bedroom and there’s no one there.

He walks too heavy. I’d hear him straight away.

He’s trying to be quiet this time, not at all like when he went after Nevaeh. Good. I want him trying harder now that he knows he’s going up against someone his own size.

I continue down the hallway and enter the library. It faces the lake side of the house and overlooks the pool. I don’t see anyone when I enter the room, but there is another room—my dad’s study, that’s connected to it. I head that way, but I only make it a few steps in when I hear the creak. It’s slight. Something that you could mistake for the wind if you didn’t know what to listen for or what someone sounds like when they’re trying to move softly.

It’s not the wind. It’s that murdering cunt.

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