Page 73 of The New Year's Party
“Stupid,” she muttered to herself as tears spilled down her cheeks. Despite her grand conclusions about truth, she felt about as small and alone as she ever had. “Stupid, stupid,stupidOlivia—”
Near the bottom of the stairs, she lost her footing and fell down the rest of the way.
“God.” Why couldn’t she do anything right—anything? Handling the truth—walking down a set of stairs—
At least she’d found the light bulb. She pulled the string and the basement flickered into view before her.
She yelped. Her hand. It was red. Wet. Covered in blood.
Feet, sticking out from behind the couch. And a trail of blood, leading the way there.
Elton John sang in the soundtrack of her head.
Olivia rounded the corner.
Not Bennett—not Bennett—
Not Bennett.
Jenn. Lying on her back, her legs slightly splayed, her brown eyes wide open, and blood all over her face, her torso, the floor.
“Help! Oh, my God, someone help!”
She should see if Jenn still had a pulse... but there was blood everywhere, so much blood.
Olivia leaned over and threw up.
Chapter 32
Doug
Doug rammed back into the living room, a single word bursting in his mind.
Gun.
After Hellie had basically given him theF-U, Doug stormed out, went straight to his car, realized with rage he didn’t have his keys, kicked the door a couple times, then broke into a run. He made it all the way to the turn onto the county road before stopping, a stitch tearing at his side. Damn, he wasn’t in any kind of shape anymore.
He turned around and walked back. Everything was so freakingquietout here he couldn’t think a single clear thought. As he returned to Phelps’s street, he noticed Ted, sitting in his sporty show-off little silver BMW with the interior lights on. Doug slammed the window with his palm as he passed the car, but didn’t stop.
Gun.
He wasn’t as helpless as he’d felt when Hellie stroked his cheek and saidI can’tand he realized he couldn’t make this goddamn woman do anything—couldn’t make her stay, couldn’t make her reconsider. Couldn’t make her love him.
He pulled the front door shut behind him with a vicious yank. He didn’t have to use the gun. But he could if he wanted.He wasn’t anyone’s pawn. He was in charge of his own self. Hecouldkill Hellie. He really could.
He’d go down for it, but that didn’t sound so bad right now. Crimes of passion had something respectable about them. Something grand, right? Somethingepic...Doing shit for love...
“Phelps?” he shouted, broken glass crunching under his shoes as he crossed the living room. “Phelps! I need my goddamn keys!” His gun and his keys, so he could shoot and leave and see how far he could make it before the inevitable handcuffs.
He never should have surrendered his keys to Phelps. He’d had a bad feeling when Phelps collected them all, and he should have listened to it, listened to his gut—
He stopped in the doorway between the living room and dining room. The dining room was empty too. It didn’t seem like anyone was in the kitchen either.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” he shouted, making a slow three-sixty. “Hello?”
Ah. A light in the hall and the sound of running water.
He headed in that direction. The bathroom door was open. It was Hellie, washing her hands. She glanced up, meeting Doug’s eyes in the mirror.
