Page 96 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“It was already over by the time I found them,” he says, “but I had to try.”
I glance at the watch in my hands. The seconds idly tick by.
We’re losing time, and we’ve already lost too much.
Margaux is the next to speak.
“Go on, then,” she says. “Show us the vision, and I’ll decide if you live to see another day.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ican see through his eyes. Is Margaux seeing this, too? I stride through the courtyard. This is a new perspective. I’m nearly a foot taller. I peer through the thick frames of his spectacles.
What is more perplexing is that I can feel him. I know where he is and what his thoughts are. He’s on his way to me. My heart fills. It’s warm.
Is that his heart or mine? I don’t know the difference anymore, but I’m hot with embarrassment when I consider the possibility of Margaux feeling this, too.
She’s in the vision as well. How much can she feel? What can she see?
Caldwell’s powers are more jarring than Margaux’s. She may flash fangs and zoom around, but it is nothing compared to the plunging feeling of being thrust into his mind.
There’s a scream. It comes out of nowhere, sending my heart racing. I stop. My gaze roams around the courtyard. The pause lasts a moment—then, I sprint.
I know I won’t be fast enough. Others on campus are faster. The killer probably is, as well. I have to try.
Another scream urges me forward.
Why are they screaming? It’s unlike any of the other deaths. The killer is getting messier.
The sun is down. I can’t make them out at first, but there are two figures.
I, Tobey, recognize one of them. It’s the same student.
When I saw him, he was covered in blood, and Caldwell was beside him. This is different. There’s no blood. With wide open eyes, he looks at me with a plea.
No. I recognizebothof them. Above him hovers a copper-haired woman with fangs at his neck.
“Stop!” I—Caldwell—yell.
Red eyes meet mine, and they belong to Amelia. Amelia’s movements are usually dainty and graceful. I—Tobey—would even call them adorable. They aren’t now. She’s an animal caught in a trap.
With sporadic movements, she lifts her head from the body—and with her fangs sunken into his throat, she effectively rips it out. I recoil. I’m sick to my stomach. Caldwell is, too.
I’m running, but it’s too late. Amelia is gone in a blur. I kneel by the body, my hands pressed to the gushing wound at the side of his neck.
“Please,” I mutter, my voice matching Caldwell’s low timbre. “Can you hear me? Listen to me. I’m going to go for help, but… please…”
But there’s no pulse, no breath, no response. It’s the vision. I know that. It doesn’t stop the tears from falling onto the bloody grass.
Are they Caldwell’s or mine?
“Don’t leave me.” Caldwell sobs.
Hope is gone. The killer is gone, and she’s too fast for me to catch up.
All that’s left is the mask next to me. It’s the mask of the plague doctor.
I move my attention from the wound, turning to the mask. With red, shaking hands, I reach…
