Page 110 of Riot Rules
Victim of circumstance. He’s right, isn’t he? Since I was eleven years old, I’ve been a victim of circumstance, and now I’m here, trapped in a cave, about to die by Wesley Fitzpatrick’s hand. How doesthatmake any sense?
“There are four of us.” Wren says. “And only one of you. The chances of you managing to hold us all off before we putyoudown are pretty slim.” How can he be so calm right now?
Fitz’s face falls. He lookshurt. “What are you talking about? I’d never killyou, Wren. Iloveyou. It’s just all these girls that have to go.” He chuckles. “I’m not worried about three skinny little girls. And I don’t thinkyou’regoing to hurt me.” The man soundscrazy. Unhinged. His obsession with Wren is so out of control that I have no idea how we didn’t see it before. How he could have hidden it for evenonesecondwithout someone noticing the depths of his insanity and calling the police?
Fitz jerks sideways, the knife held out in front of him…toward me. It isn’t me that he’s going for. He lunges for the person he considers to be his biggest competition; he perceived Mara as a threat to his relationship with Wren, so he killed her, and now he’s about to do the same thing to Elodie.
“NO!”
Wren; Mercy; Me: we all scream it at the same time, each of us terrified as Doctor Fitzpatrick hurls himself toward Elle. Wren tries to get to her, but I can see already that there’s too much space between them. Elodie will be dead before he can reach her.
It's remarkable, how a million thoughts can compress down into one instant. The last time I saw Mara, she was arguing with Mercy in the kitchen at Riot House. I left her because I wanted to be with Dash. I didn’t see the intricacies of a very fucked up situation unfolding right before my eyes. I should have. I should haveseen. I should have protected my friend. Mara would still be here if I hadn’t been so distracted by a boy. I was mad at her. I didn’t look for her. I didn’t find her. She was alone.
The decision makes itself.
I will not be a victim of circumstance anymore.
My hands are still bound behind my back, but I’m not thinking. I run full tilt at Fitz, a monumental roar drowning out my thoughts.
I hit him as hard as I can.
I use my body, because it’s the only weapon I have.
And then, the world narrows down to two fractured points.
There is the knife.
There is the pain.
There is the knife.
There is the pain.
And then…eventually…there is the cold.
52
DASH
This is fuckingstupid.
I should wait at the house. Someone will traipse back in through the front door at some point. Depending on who it is, I’ll be able to figure out apartof what the fuck is going on, at least. But there are at least a hundred people at Riot House right now, dancing, smoking, laughing, drinking all of the most expensive booze, and I can’t be around that kind of bullshit right now. If I have to see one more person run into the living room with one of those red flags tied around their foreheads like they’re fucking Rambo, then I am going to knock a hole in a wall.
The forest surrounding Riot House has a Brother’s Grimm vibe to it. All forests do, you might think, but this is especially true of our forest, and especially true tonight. A low-lying fog curls between the spindly, tightly packed tree trunks on the mountain at night. Moonlight cuts through the canopy overhead, casting shafts of silvery light onto the ever-present leaf litter. And somewhere on the mountain, a pack of wolves howl out a mournful chorus. I know these woods like the back of my hands, but if I didn’t, I’d be exceedingly creeped out right now.
It's past one in the morning. Nearly two, maybe? I swing the light on my cellphone from left to right through the thick darkness, hissing through my teeth every time a Wolf Hall student in a dumbass costume comes barreling out of the darkness clutching hold of a fistful of red flags. I grab Theo Barber by the scruff of his t-shirt as he tries to drunkenly careen past me, back in the direction of the house.
“Have you seen Carrie?”
He looks at me blankly. Fuck, he’s so wasted, his eyes aren’t even working in tandem. He’s gonna break his neck out here. “Carrie who?”
I drop him, disgusted.
I walk another twenty minutes, cursing and thinking violent, unhappy thoughts, only coming to a stop when my phone randomly chimes in my hand. I haven’t had service until now, but the rocky outcrop I’m standing on is apparently high enough for me to get one measly bar. I check the screen and—
What?
Mercy: 911. Fitz gone mad. Caves. Now!
