Page 48 of Pretty Poisoned

I'm not sure exactly what I was going to say, but I never get to say it. She leaves the room without another word. I don't see her when I go downstairs to eat later, nor do I see Luca, but Declan is there. He doesn't speak to me; he never even glances at me, and it's like the entire afternoon never happened.

And when they invite me to watch a movie with them in the theater room afterward, I decline, telling them I'm tired and just want to read and go to bed.

It's so incredibly quiet in the room that it seems loud. I miss music. I miss hearing the traffic from the 57 outside my window at night. I think maybe I won't be able to fall asleep, but eventually, I find my eyes heavy. I close my book, turn off the lights, and drift off to sleep.

TEN

"Teagan," a voice whispers. A hand closes around my shoulder, shaking me lightly and rousing me from my sleep. "Wake up."

Layla kneels beside the bed. I can barely make out her features in the dark room and her tone—there's something different about it.

"Layla?" My voice comes out raspy from sleep. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" she says. "Yes! I'm okay. I know what I have to do now. Youhelpedme—I wanted to tell you that."

"What do you mean?"

"Bridget!" she says. "She wasn't an idiot; I get it now. He was so proud of her.That'swhat I need to do. Then, he'll have to forgive me."

"What are you talking about?" I ask. I do my best to process her manic words, but even if I wasn't coming out of a deep sleep, I'm not sure they'd make sense.

She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. "Thank you, Teagan."

"Um, you're welcome…"

She releases me, and for the first time, I see her smile. It's like looking at an entirely different person. That person practically skips across the room. I watch, still trying to piece this together. Moonlight streaming through the window reflects off a butcher knife in her hand just before she reaches the door.

"Take care of my family for me," she says before she turns the corner into the hallway.

"What?"

Ohshit.

He was so proud of her.

Bridget. The knife.

"Wait! Layla!"

I run into the hallway, but I don't see her anywhere.

"Layla!" I shout again. I hear the back door open and close downstairs.

"Fuck!" I yell.

Pulse racing, I run back into the bedroom, step into my boots, and race down the staircase. Spotting her as soon as I step outside, I stop to catch my breath. Layla stops merely fifty feet away, where Declan and Luca sit beside the firepit.

Okay. It'll be okay. They'll be able to stop her.

I watch them both rise to their feet; I can see that they're talking, even if I can't make out any of the words over the blood pumping in my ears.

But I watch her raise the knife, turning it inward toward her body and gripping it with both hands, and neither of them move.

"Layla! Don't!" I scream, running toward the firepit.

But just as I get the words out, she plunges the knife into her stomach. Before I reach her, she pulls it out, drags it across her throat, and crumples to the ground at Declan's feet.

"Do something!" I scream when I reach them. "Why aren't you doing something?! Call 911! We have to stop the bleeding."

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