Authors: Mandy Hubbard
It only takes an instant to realize it’s not Logan.
It’s Daemon.
And even though I’ve been waiting to confront him, I can’t help but shrink down in my seat, so that only the top of my head pokes over the window. I watch as Daemon climbs into a dark SUV—one that I think belongs to his uncle—just two spots away from me, slamming the door hard behind him.
He starts the car and backs it out of the stall, his headlights illuminating my car for a heart-stopping moment. I freeze,
hoping he didn’t see me, hoping the raindrops trickling down my window were enough to blur my face.
As Daemon pulls away, my eyes lock onto the oversized chrome grill on the front of the car. It’s bent in the middle, caved in.
A wave of horror washes over me.
It was a dark SUV that hit Bick. The grill could be bent because he rammed into Bick’s truck.
I sit upright, twisting the key in the ignition and sliding the car into drive. Without a second thought, I turn to follow Daemon, turning onto Roosevelt Avenue just as the light turns green.
My heart feels strange and fluttery, my nerves wound up, but I can’t seem to stop myself from following him as he turns again, down a back road.
“Where are you going?” I mumble to myself. His house is on the opposite side of town, and as far as I know, he has no friends in Enumclaw. How would he make them when he’s homeschooled?
I maintain a good quarter-mile between us as I follow him, my hands gripping the wheel so hard it’s almost painful. As he pulls up to a four-way stop, he seems to accidently hit his brights, because they flash a moment before his blinker clicks on and he turns left.
I slow as he turns, and wait a moment longer at the four-way stop so that he’ll get further ahead. I don’t want to lose him, but I
really
don’t want him to realize he’s being followed.
While I’m waiting, I glance up at the stop sign, shining
under the lamplight, and realize it’s new. The original must have been one of the ones that went missing.
I glance back down the street and decide it’s safe to follow at this distance. Still, I wish we weren’t the only ones on the road. It seems so glaringly obvious that I’m following him, but I can’t seem to resist. Daemon’s up to something, and I want to know what.
By the time he makes it to a second stop sign, I’m only a few hundred yards back. This time, I can see that he stops just shy of the sign and doesn’t immediately flip on his blinker, just waits.
My stomach climbs into my throat. There are no turns between me and that sign. If I keep going, I’m going to come to a stop right behind him, bumper to bumper.
I glance at the locks on my door and wonder if I should just whip a U-turn rather than catch up with him.
But then he flashes his brights again, and the white-striping on the stop sign reflects the light. He flips on his right blinker and heads down the next road.
I pull to a stop next to the sign and stare up at it through the raindrops shimmering on my window. And that’s when I realize it’s a replacement sign, just like the other one. Even the pole is new.
Maybe flashing his lights wasn’t an accident…. Maybe he’s trying to show me something.
But that means he knows I’m following him. He must know who I am. Maybe he saw me in the parking lot.
Why is he doing this? Why is he showing me the signs?
Even though I know it’s stupid—dangerous, even—I turn right and follow him again, hitting the gas to catch up. There’s no point in playing dumb. He knows I’m here, and he’ll probably just wait for me if I fall too far behind.
When Daemon flashes his lights and glides to a stop at the next sign, I don’t have to wonder if the sign next to him is new.
Does this mean he’s taking credit for removing the signs? Doesn’t he know people got hurt—that it wasn’t a silly prank?
As I follow him into the shadows behind Mount Peak, I remember the dented chrome grill, and fear creeps in. Bick says he was run off the road. Says the SUV rammed right into him, and then took off. The memory of the red handprint flashes in my head. The one on Bick’s truck.
But then there was also the other one…the one left on my car door. The handprint that I thought was made of real blood. Somehow, while Bick helped me get paper towels, it disappeared. Was it Daemon who cleaned it off? Was he in the lot? Did he remove it so that I couldn’t report it?
Then it hits me: What if Daemon is taking me down these backroads so that he can run me off the road?
I tighten my hands on the wheel as I realize my mistake. I shouldn’t have followed him. I glance in my rearview mirror, trying to decide if I should just turn around. There aren’t many houses directly behind me, but there are several just ahead, and from there I can turn left and drive closer to town.
But I don’t end up having much of a choice. Daemon pulls over in a big gravel turnout, leaving his brights on full blast.
I slam on my brakes and watch him from where I sit, my car idling in the middle of the road. The only streetlight near me is burnt out, leaving the inside of my car pitch-black.
He flashes his lights into the tree line. Once, twice, three times. It seems deliberate, like he wants me to see something.
But what’s he trying to show me?
Before I can figure it out, he slams down on the gas, and gravel shoots out from under his tires as he turns hard. The SUV whips around, and his brights shine right into my eyes.
I put a hand up to block the glare and realize with horror he’s accelerating right at me.
My heart turns to a thunderous roar as I glance to my right and left, trying to figure out a way to go—a way to save myself from the five-thousand-pound vehicle barreling my way.
But it’s too late.
I let out a strangled cry and throw my hands up to shield my face just as the SUV bears down, closes the gap to a foot…
But it doesn’t hit me, it just roars right past, inches shy of my window.
Eyes wide, I watch the red taillights disappear in my rearview mirror as I gasp for air, try to bring the world back under control. I twist around in my seat and glance back, convinced that to him this is a game, that he’s going to reappear at any moment.
But he doesn’t.
My wipers screech on the windshield, and I realize the rain has stopped. I flip them off and stare at where my headlights illuminate the gravel turnout.
Curiosity overwhelms me. I pull forward, turn into the shoulder, and put my car in park, shutting off the engine. I climb out and walk to the road, listening for the sound of Daemon’s car. But the night is silent.
I turn back to the gravel and follow the glare of my headlights, walking to the edge of the gravel.
Something is reflecting back at me in the darkness. I rest my good hand on the trunk and step forward, peering into the trees. As my eyes adjust, I realize what I’m looking at.
Stop signs.
I
’m sitting in the hay barn, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of the alfalfa to try to calm my nerves, when Logan’s Jeep crosses the gravel driveway. He pulls right under the eave of the barn, turning the engine off.
I stand, wiping the hay from the seat of my jeans, and walk to him.
“Hey,” he says, climbing out of his Jeep.
“Hi.” My voice is curt. Short.
“So…what’s up? Your texts were…mysterious.” He smiles, but when he sees my flat stare, his expression changes. “Something wrong?”
“What the hell did Daemon do in Cedar Cove? And not the Cliff Notes version, the whole story.”
Logan looks like I’ve slapped him. “What?”
“Was it criminal?” I ask, stepping closer.
His lips part, but he doesn’t speak.
“I saw Daemon in town last night. I followed him.”
Logan pales. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
I laugh, a humorless laugh. “Why? You haven’t told me everything, have you? What are you hiding? Why are you protecting him?”
“It doesn’t matter what he did,” Logan says, his voice even. “That’s behind us.”
I stare him straight in the eyes, taking another step toward him. “Is it? Because my evening was rather…illuminating.”
Logan swallows, but he doesn’t speak as he meets my gaze.
“He’s responsible for removing the stop signs, Logan. And I think he’s the one who ran Bick off the road.”
Logan’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak, just meets my gaze with fear and pain and dejection swirling in his eyes. He knows I’m right and he
still
won’t admit it.
“You can’t keep doing this. You have to stop covering for him,” I say, my voice lower.
Logan shakes his head so hard I’m surprised his neck doesn’t hurt. “It’s not like that.”
“No? Because it sure as hell seems like it. You had to have seen his car. Known it matched Bick’s description. Noticed the enormous dent in the grill.”
“It has a dent?” He pinches his nose, closing his eyes like he’s trying hard to come to terms with this.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know,” I snap.
He opens his eyes and gives me a hurt look. “I didn’t. He parks it in the garage. You’ve been to my house. You would have seen it too.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I can’t. It’s true. I’ve been
to Logan’s house since Bick’s accident and I didn’t notice the dent either.
I walk away from Logan, plunking down on the hay bale and pulling out several stalks of alfalfa. “Tell me what he did before, Logan. I deserve to know.”
“Please. I thought you understood,” he says, making no move to follow me. “I just want to be with you. I want it to be about us. Not him.”
“How can there be an us with him acting like he is? When I know you’re keeping secrets? You know everything about me, but all I know about you—about him—is what you’ve told me.” I twist the stalks together as I think of how he severed all ties with his old friends. He’s hiding something. I just don’t know what.
Or why.
“Is this the Spanish Inquisition?” He wants it to sound like a joke but it doesn’t. It sounds defensive.
“No, but I need to know. Daemon’s doing some scary things. Endangering people’s lives. If I’m going to be with you…I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“If?” he says, finally moving toward me and sitting down beside me. He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away. “Please don’t tell me we just became an
if.
”
I push myself off the hay, whirling on him. “Daemon tried to kill one of my best friends!”
“You don’t know that!” He groans, his face in his hands, his hair flopping into his eyes.
I cross my arms. “Then fill in the blanks, Logan. Tell me everything that happened in Cedar Cove.”
He doesn’t answer.
I chew on my lip until it hurts, staring right at him, but he doesn’t look up to meet my eyes. “You know what? Screw it. Keep your stupid secrets.”
I stomp out of the barn and toward the house, my heart aching with the hope that Logan will follow. The hope he’s going to offer me an explanation.
But pretty soon I’m all alone, and no explanation comes.
T
he next evening, I’m crouched down behind some shrubbery, halfway down Logan’s driveway, when I hear a car door slam, and then moments later, another. I hold my breath as the engine fires up and the now-familiar SUV glides by.
The sight of the bent front grill makes any guilt I had for what I’m about to do disappear. Every sign points to one explanation for why the grill is bent: Daemon wrecked Bick’s car. Deliberately. He’s a danger to me, my friends, and the whole town, and since Logan won’t stop protecting him, I’ve decided that it’s up to me to get proof on my own.
I count to thirty, until the rumble of the engine disappears. Then I stand up and walk down the tree-lined lane until the house appears before me in all its classic, Victorian glory. It’s dark, eerie in the silent afternoon light.
I walk faster, staring up at the windows, waiting for any sign of life. But the curtains are still, the lights off.
I go to the front door and ring the bell, then dash back to
hide behind a bush and wait. Their uncle is supposedly out of town and I heard two doors slam, so I’m fairly sure Logan and Daemon left together, but I have to be careful.
Nobody answers, so I slip around the house, to the back door. When Logan was driving the other day, I noticed that he doesn’t have a house key dangling on his key ring. Either he doesn’t need one, or they hide a key. And if they hide a key, I’m betting it’s near the back door.
I slink around the back, sneaking along the shadows, and then stop near the back entry, surveying the gardens and the rocks, looking for anything out of place that might conceal a key. But nothing stands out.