Dana and Cal leaned forward to keep tabs from the backseat. Dana’s expression was stoic, but I saw her eyebrow twitch, and I knew she was as anxious as I was.
“Jilly?” Milo called the girl’s name quietly, as he picked up the bouquet with the camera and held it in front of him so that we could see what he saw.
With his foot, Milo nudged the door open farther. The lighting was dim inside, but there was enough illumination from the lamp in the hallway for us to see the outline of feet.
Jilly, lying on the closet floor.
“Jilly!” The flower-cam got jostled for a second as Milo set the bouquet down next to him on the closet floor.
Her limp body came into view, her face and neck the color of spoiled milk. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving—and for one horrible, sickening moment I actually thought she was already dead.
But then, she blinked. And her left arm twitched—her arm, which was, at the moment, being squeezed tightly above her elbow by a rubber tourniquet.
An IV needle was sticking out from the map of blue veins beneath her paper-thin skin. Tubing filled with dark red liquid led down to a nearly full bag of blood. No doubt about it, Rochelle was bleeding her dry. Thankfully, the D-addict had messed up and left that tourniquet on, so it was happening slowly.
Jilly spotted Milo, and her expression changed. She didn’t look angry this time. Her eyebrows raised high, and when she met his eyes, she actually appeared relieved.
“Don’t move,” Milo said softly. I watched his muscular forearm come into view. It was such a contrast next to Jilly’s malnourished limb. He leaned forward and ever so gently pulled the needle from Jilly’s arm, careful to apply pressure with a piece of cotton he’d found in Rochelle’s home D-lab.
Jilly nodded and mouthed the words
thank you
. Her de-needled arm flopped down to the floor, as though she didn’t even have the strength to keep herself upright.
If Milo expected Jilly to leave Rochelle’s house with him, he would need to carry her out. It wouldn’t be the kicking-and-screaming variety this time—but she wasn’t going anywhere without some serious help.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a glint of movement.
“Guys? You see that?” Calvin spoke from the backseat.
Garrett had been reciting four-letter words in a little rhythm the entire time he’d been driving—and he still hadn’t stopped. Because the police vehicle was still behind us. And that meant Garrett was required to maintain the speed limit—which felt, right now, like the pace of a snail on Valium.
“What?” Garrett asked. “See what? What happened?”
At first I didn’t know what Cal had seen. And then, I did.
Rochelle.
I spotted a glimpse of her as she came into camera view in the living room. She was done with her shower, and now she was back downstairs.
“Oh my God,” Dana muttered. “No. No.”
“Milo has to get out of there!” I said for what felt like the trillionth time.
Rochelle was stalking around the room, taking her sweet time to observe the damage she’d done when she’d brutally murdered her best friend Ashley. She stopped at one blood-spattered wall and paused for a moment to wet her index finger before scrubbing gently at the edge of a silver frame holding one of her beloved self-portraits. Ashley’s blood smeared slightly, but it didn’t come off. The blood had already solidified into dark streaks against the cream-colored wallpaper.
Cal sighed heavily from the backseat. He didn’t say a word.
“Come on come on come
on
!” I willed Rochelle to turn around and head back upstairs. Surely there was something she needed up there. But, instead, she kept inspecting the scene of her crime, her face disturbingly blank as she emotionlessly studied the carnage.
Milo was taking too much time as well. If he would just get his act together, he might still have a chance to run out through the garage without Rochelle seeing them. But he had to leave
now
.
“This is bullshit,” I said and pulled my own cell phone out of my pocket, even as I continued to watch the play-by-play on Cal’s. Quickly, I dialed Milo’s number.
And then?
It had been an inside joke between Milo and me. Whenever my name came up on Cal’s phone, Sir Mix-A-Lot’s decades-old single “Baby Got Back” played. It was apparently my official ringtone, and every time I heard it, it cracked me up. So Milo had downloaded it onto his burner phones, so when I called
him
, it played, too. The first time it happened, I’d laughed so hard I’d almost peed my pants.
Right now though, I wasn’t laughing.
Because Milo’s phone was turned to top volume. He must’ve had it set like that so he could hear if I called him while he was on Dana’s motorcycle. And right now that ridiculous ringtone was playing, the bass bumping loudly, even through Milo’s cheap cell-phone speakers.
Tell her to SHAKE that (shake that) SHAKE that (shake that) SHAKE that healthy butt!
Rochelle had been kneeling over Ashley’s body, and when the music started to play, her head whipped up fast, her pupils filling her entire eyes.
Dana looked at me and gasped. “Hang up!”
“What’s happening?” Garrett finally turned onto Rochelle’s street, his eyes on the rearview to see if the police car was following.
“Dude, that’s my jam,” Calvin said to no one in particular from the backseat.
“Hang up!” Dana barked at me again.
Shocked, I pressed the End button and then dropped my phone like it was a spider. “Oh my Lord!”
Meanwhile, Milo had been fumbling with
his
phone, trying to turn the ringer off. But the moment he’d attempted it, the volume had only increased.
And, anyway, it was too late now.
Rochelle was bounding toward the hallway—toward the closet—toward Jilly and Milo. She was out of sight for a moment as she exited the range of the living-room flower-cam.
Meanwhile in the car, Garrett finally hit the gas and we surged forward, but we were still at least a half a mile away.
Over the cameras, I could hear Rochelle’s voice as she shrieked. “
What are you doing? How dare you!
”
I should say, I could hear her
voices
. She screamed the words in three very different octaves. One was high-pitched, like a baby crying. The second was midrange, and the third was a low roar—like a lion. It was terrifying.
I saw Milo’s arms, still in the view of the flower-cam as he reached for Jilly.
But before he could pick her up, Rochelle got to Milo.
He tried reasoning. Tried to sound as if he belonged there, quickly turning the flower-cam to face her as she glowered at him with some very crazy eyes.
“I’m here to help Jilly,” he said evenly. Calmly. “Rochelle, if she dies, you’ll be out of Destiny.”
But reasoning didn’t work with a jokering addict, because then, God, Milo was in the air, flying across the room like he was being carried by a hurricane-strength wind, and I realized that Rochelle was using her TK on him—as effortlessly as if she were tossing away a rubber ball.
Milo hit the opposite wall with a sickening
thunk
before he landed in a heap on the floor.
“Oh my God,” Dana breathed.
“Is he okay?” I shrieked, although I knew that no one in this car could answer that question for me.
I tried to see, through the image on the screen, if Milo’s chest was rising and falling. But the camera was too far away and he didn’t move and he didn’t move and he didn’t move…
“Get up, Milo,” I whispered. “Please. Get up.”
Garrett’s jaw was clenched as he continued to race toward Rochelle’s house.
My heart pounded. This felt exactly the same as the night Dana had pretended that Milo had been taken. Except, this wasn’t a drill.
This
was really happening. And
this
time I
knew
that Milo was hurt—that he was in danger. I knew it, because I could still see him, slumped on a jokering Destiny addict’s floor.
Get up, Milo. I need you to get up. I need you to be okay.
I need you.
“That bitch,” Dana snarled.
In the closet, Rochelle had turned her attention back to Jilly. She was jamming that needle back into the girl’s vein.
“Almost there,” Garrett said softly, determined. “We’re almost there.”
I breathed.
Still thoughts. Still thoughts
.
But the mantra did nothing to calm me.
All I could think about was getting to Milo. And this time, I couldn’t screw things up. This time I would rescue him. I would save Jilly too. I would get them both to safety. I would.
If I got there in time.
Hold on, Milo. Just hold on.
I reached out to him, despite the distance, and I hoped that some part of his unconscious mind could hear me before it was too late.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Dana kicked in the front door, using her TK along with her steel-toe-booted foot, and the sheer force tore the thing off its hinges. It hit the floor with a crash.
“So I guess the plan isn’t to use stealth,” Calvin said as we followed Dana inside.
“The plan is we kill the bitch,” Dana said, “and then we get Milo and Jilly out of here.”
“Holy shit!” Cal’s foot must’ve hit a puddle and he slipped, nearly going down onto the tile floor. “
Holy shit!
” As he scrambled to keep his footing, he realized that it was blood that had made the floor slippery—it was everywhere and it was even more awful seeing it in person. The gory splatter sprayed the walls and the furniture as well as drenching the floor. “
Holy shit!
” he said again. “But they were friends!”
Ashley’s body was on the floor next to the sofa, her legs sticking out into the room. I looked at her through my eyelashes, and even then I didn’t look too closely. A butcher knife—the murder weapon—was nearby. I didn’t look too closely at that either.
And yes, she and Rochelle
had
been friends.
“This is what jokering addicts do to their friends,” Dana snapped.
Calvin turned, leaned over, and threw up, and at first I was afraid he was starting to detox again, but then I realized that his was the right response to seeing this carnage. Garrett puked, too, and I probably would’ve done the same, if I wasn’t hell-bent on finding Milo.
Please, God, let him be alive!
I was right behind Dana, who was already leading the way toward the playroom. She caught my arm as I tried to hurry ahead of her. “Me first,” she said. “I’ll distract her, while you get to Miles.”
I didn’t have time to do more than nod, because there we were. In the playroom. And Rochelle, who’d heard the door crash open, was waiting for us.
“Welcome, girls,” she said in that weird three-octave voice. She’d been kneeling beside Milo, but now she stood up. “I smelled you come in. What a lovely surprise! Have you come to help me?”
After seeing what she’d done to Ashley, I’d expected something different—maybe a screaming and incoherent she-monster flinging kitchen knives at our heads. I would’ve stopped short, but I saw Milo there on the floor behind Rochelle and I lunged for him.
Dana caught my arm again, holding me back as she returned Rochelle’s faux politeness by asking, “Help you do what?”
Milo was still not moving, crumpled there, facing away from us. To make things worse, Rochelle had—Lord! She’d
bitten
him. Her teeth had broken the skin on his arm, and she had some of his blood smudged next to her mouth.
“What did you do to Milo?” I blurted, even as Rochelle told us, “I’m making the biggest batch of Destiny ever.”
Dana’s fingers tightened around my arm in warning, but Rochelle didn’t take offense. In fact, she seemed to think my question was worth answering, too.
“His blood’s not any good,” she said. “But yours is. I can smell it from here.”
It was then that I saw it. Milo’s finger moved! Just his first finger, and just a little. Just enough for me to recognize that he was alive and awake and ready for us to kick Rochelle’s butt.
The relief that ripped through me nearly knocked me over, and I had to lean on Dana to keep from sinking to the floor.
Dana nodded to me, very slightly, and I knew that she’d seen Milo’s movement, too, even as she kept this weird conversation going. “I guess you didn’t want to share that giant batch of Destiny with your friend, huh?”
“With Ashley? No. She annoyed me.” Rochelle’s eyes were pure crazy, and the smile that curved her mouth was hideously evil. Now that I wasn’t quite so frantically focused on Milo, I could smell a thing or two myself—and I caught a nasty whiff of sewage. Despite her recent shower, this joker couldn’t wash off her malevolence. It clung to her and made her reek.
And it reminded me that even though Milo wasn’t dead, Rochelle could still kill him, easily, without any thought or remorse. She could easily kill Garrett and Calvin, too. They were lurking just outside the playroom door, and I made a motion behind my back that I hoped they’d interpret as a very solid
Stay back
.
“What are you going to do with it?” Dana asked Rochelle. “The giant batch of D?” She narrowed her eyes, just a little—and I knew that she was trying to mind-control the woman.
“I’m going to bathe in it and drink it and
become
it!” she told us.
I realized then that she was dressed rather oddly in a blue pair of men’s boxer briefs—maybe something Garrett’s dad had left behind—and a brightly patterned top that she’d pulled on both backward and inside out. The tag was right up by her throat, and the loose neckline draped down her back. She wore mismatched shoes on her feet—one expensive and black and four inches high, the other strappy and bright yellow with a slightly lower heel. If I’d had any doubt at all that she was jokering, her complete disregard for fashion would’ve convinced me that she’d snapped.
She took an unbalanced step toward us, telling Dana, “And, by the way, I can feel you creeping around in my head, little girl. It’s not working, whatever you’re trying to do. I’m stronger than you—stronger than you’ll ever be!”