Chapter 1
Cash
There isn’t a handbook for cheating death.
It would have been nice if there was one. Anything would have been more helpful than these fluffy stories about white tunnels of light, angels, and perfect peace. I didn’t get any of that. What I got was this. Not life. Not death. A freaking nightmare.
“Smile!” The flash popped and flames sparked behind my eyes. I was back in that house again, being swallowed by smoke and heat and panic . Sunset-gold eyes blinked down at me. I’m so sorry.
Crap.
I rubbed my eyes and refocused on the big black shadow dripping from the gym rafters. There was only one for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way. More would come. They always did. They’d creep in through the cracks and corners until darkness consumed every square inch of this gym. Until all I could feel was cold filling up my insides and fear throbbing behind my ribs. The shadow above me hissed and I watched as it swirled like smoke around the big silver ductwork, coming closer with every pass. The air around me felt like cold venom, crawling across my mouth, trying to find a way in.
I pressed my lips together and closed my eyes.
“Cash?” The photographer with curly saffron hair piled on top of her head peeked around her camera and frowned. “You weren’t smiling, hun. You weren’t even looking at the lens. Let’s try one more.”
I scrubbed my palms over my face and someone behind me adjusted my cap. This was so stupid.
They could paste a picture of Mr. Rogers in my place in the yearbook for all I cared. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be here for this. I didn’t really want to be here for anything anymore. What I wanted was my life back.
I forced my mouth into a fake grin, but a second shadow slithered over the shoulder of the photographer, and the smile disintegrated on my lips. The shadow’s tar-like tongue reached out to taste the silver bangles on the photographer’s wrist. I stumbled backward off the stool at the same moment the camera flashed, and my back hit the ground hard, forcing the air from my lungs. After living off an inhaler the past week, that shit hurt. I winced and sat up, trying to catch my breath and failing.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” The photographer stood up, holding the camera at arm’s length.
Students piled up behind her, whispering and trying to see what had happened. Great. More fuel for the gossip queens. Just what I needed.
Ms. Moyer tried to help me to my feet, but I waved her off. I had to get the hell out of here. Not just away from the way they were all looking at me like I was a nut job. Away from the shadows. Senior pictures were the least of my worries. Besides, the longer I stayed here, the worse my chances got of avoiding Em. And I wasn’t ready to face her. Not yet.
I tore off the cheesy blue graduation gown and picked up my cap. “Can I do this later? I need to get my inhaler out of my locker.”
The photographer nodded and Ms. Moyer looked me over with sympathy in her eyes. “Come right back. We need to get these done today.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my bag and the crowd of seniors split down the middle to let me through. It didn’t take much to be kicked off the popularity podium at Lone Pine High, and the look in each person’s eyes said they were watching my hellacious fall. As if I cared. I wasn’t coming back. I was going home. It’s not like Ms. Moyer wasn’t expecting it. They should have been used to my disappearing acts by now.
I got halfway down the hall and skidded to a stop. Shadows seeped out of the air vents on the ceiling, melting down the sky-blue lockers like sludge. They pooled across the tile until the darkness closed around my boots, and my heart thundered in my ears.
I shoved my hands into my hair and pulled until my eyes watered. Anything to take this shit away.
They were freaking everywhere. Dark and cold like a nightmare come to life.
My head snapped up at the sound of someone laughing. A guy about my age wearing a gray wool coat stood across the hall, a chunk of pale blond hair falling over one eye. In a town a small as Lone
Pine, it wasn’t hard to pick out someone who didn’t belong. And this guy didn’t belong. As if to prove my point, he eyed the shadows around me with interest, his mouth twisting into a grin as one swirled around the base of my boot and up my pant leg. Other than the tremor rolling down my spine, I stood completely still, afraid to breathe.
“Back off!”
I flinched at the unexpected sound of his voice splitting the silence and stared in awe as the shadows around my legs parted. They didn’t leave, but even the few feet of space gave me room to breathe again. When I looked up, the guy was still watching me. As if he were waiting to see how I’d react.
“Who are you?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Just winked and backed around the corner, disappearing behind a row of lockers. The second he was out of sight, the shadows closed back in. I pulled my boots out of their darkness and barreled though the hall.
“Hey!” I patted my jeans for my inhaler, my lungs burning with the want for air. “Stop!” I braced myself on the edge of the lockers where he’d been standing and the metal seared my hand with cold.
What the hell?
I spun in a circle, searching the empty halls. He was gone.
I backed down the hall toward the exit. I was fucking losing it. Had he even been real? Did the things circling my ankles even exist or was I just my own brand of crazy now? I wasn’t ready to answer that, so I turned around and ran until my feet hit the gravel parking lot. The sunshine felt good against the frosty sting of my skin, so I kept going until I was in my Bronco, speeding down Main
Street. I prayed to God I didn’t get pulled over. If I had to stop, they’d catch me. What happened if they did? I stepped on the pedal a little harder. I didn’t want to find out.
I didn’t know how long I’d been home. Long enough for the light in the windows to fade and the neighbor’s dog to stop barking. Long enough for me to hear Dad’s little silver BMW cruise up the drive about four minutes before he marched into my studio, armed and ready to make my ears bleed.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dad growled before the door to my studio had even slammed shut. “I didn’t raise you to act like this.”
I stared at the half-painted canvas in front of me and pressed my bare feet against the cold, concrete floor to wake me up. He was either pissed about me skipping again, or he found the half-empty bottle of bourbon I had taken from his desk. “You didn’t raise me to act any way. You would have actually had to be around to do that.”
I picked up a brush, dipped it into bloodred paint, and slashed a wound across the white canvas.
Dad’s well-polished oxfords clicked across the concrete floor until he was standing next to my canvas, blocking my light. He hadn’t changed yet, which meant he was still in lawyer mode. Damn it.
Out of habit, my gaze wandered to the window where Emma’s house once stood. It was just a clean foundation now, waiting for some stranger to build a new house and move in. The fire hadn’t left anything more than memories and a crap-ton of hospital bills. Escape wasn’t as simple as walking across the yard anymore.
Who was I kidding? Escape didn’t exist anymore. It used to be so easy to find. In the bottom of a bottle. In the backseat of my Bronco with a girl who was just as needy and fucked-up as me. Or my favorite way, curled up in Em’s bed, letting the soft sounds she made as she slept drag me under with her. But none of those things could help me escape from the hell I was living in now.
I sighed, dropped my brush back into the bucket, and retrieved a clean one.