Dangerous Boy (8 page)

“It
was
a hay hook,” he says, excited now. “But they say he used it to drag the bodies—”

“Logan!” I yell. “Just sto—”

And then the lights go out, and my stomach plunges to my knees. His stories, the shadows in his eyes, the pictures of the little girls, just six years old. It’s too much. Now that Logan’s silent, and the lights are out, I can make out the sound of the rain pounding the earth on the other side of the basement walls.

“I want out of here,” I say, my voice pathetic and gargled thanks to the lump in my throat. I’m afraid to move it’s so dark.

I hear something—Logan or mice, I don’t want to know. But then I feel his breath, hot on my ear. “Stop it,” I say, panic rising as I whirl around to face him. Or where I think he is. It’s pitch-black down here. I step back, a tiny, tentative step, my bare heel connecting with something. The stool?

I turn in the direction I hope will lead me to the stairs and tiptoe forward, my toes sliding across the concrete. I blink, again and again, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I just want to see. Something. Anything that would tell me where he is, where I am, how to get out of here. “Logan?” I say. “Where’d you go?”

He’s silent.

“Stop screwing around. I’m freaked the hell out, okay? I
hope you’re happy.” I purse my eyes shut and then open them again, but it’s pitch-black either way.

He doesn’t speak. I creep forward another step, and then I feel something cold against the back of my neck.

Cool, curved metal. In an instant, I know what it is, know he’s sliding the back of the hook along my skin.

And then my shirt is tightening around my throat, and he’s pulling me back. My heart explodes in my throat. “This isn’t funny!” I say, my voice strangled. I twist around and my shirt tears, breaks free, and then I lunge toward the steps as Logan laughs.

My vision is still nothing but inky black, and I don’t know how close I am to the stairs until I trip on them. I hit the bottom step with my toes and fall down, hard, my shins and knees hitting the steps just as the lights come back on.

I twist around so that I’m sitting on the stairs staring back at Logan as my eyes swim with tears. He’s doubled over, laughing, still holding the hook in one hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, my voice trembling as tears stream down my cheeks. I sniffle, frantically wiping away the tears, willing myself under control as my lip trembles. “You’re an asshole. Stay away from me.” And then I turn and scramble up the steps, on my hands and feet until I get to the top.

The door sticks again and I shove so hard I tumble to the floor.

Logan laughs louder, and the sound of it rings in my ears as I flee the house.

O
n Monday, I step out of my car in the gravel lot at school, pulling my hood over my hair. I glance down at the rocks beneath my feet, just to make sure there are no birds, no feathers, no blood. I don’t think I could handle that today.

The rain that pounded all weekend has finally let up, lessening to little more than a drizzle. I cross the lot and round the building, pushing my way through a steel door and into the bright light of the gym.

Two long tables are set up along one side, where a group of girls are unrolling butcher paper and squirting paint into little bowls. Madison stands with a clipboard in one hand, and a handful of paintbrushes in the other, ever the mistress of the situation. It’s no wonder they’re letting her manage the whole event.

I turn away from her and scan the room for Allie until I find her sitting cross-legged on the floor, dipping a paintbrush into a cup of paint.

I wanted to back out on the stupid Halloween Masquerade decorations—if only because helping Madison on
anything
is totally against my principles—but I promised Allie I’d help, and besides, I really need to talk to her. She was at her out-of-town race with her parents all weekend and I really need her to tell me what the heck I’m supposed to say to Logan, because I have to see him in a half hour when first period starts.

I shrug away a chill as I think of the darkness in his eyes, remember the sound of his cackling, cruel laughter. Remember the dead silence when the lights went out, and he crept up behind me.

I can’t get over how shocking his behavior was on Friday. How positively gleeful he was over terrorizing me.

I walk up to Allie, where she’s laying half-across an enormous stretch of butcher paper, staring down at a rather lopsided witch’s hat, her lips screwed up to the side. When she looks up at me, her frown transforms into a smile. “Oh good! You’re here!” She motions to the wet paint. “This whole thing looks ridiculous.
Help!
”

“I don’t know how great I’m going to be at doing this, but okay…” I sink to the floor and sit cross-legged, watching as she tries to even out the two sides of the hat. I’m not really sure what the mural is going to become, but so far she’s got a frog, a broomstick, and some kind of cape. Leave it to Allie to worry about the clothes and accessories before the actual witch.

She glances up at me as she works. “How was your weekend?”

I pick up a bat-shaped sponge and dip it in some paint, chewing on my lip. “Uh, not good.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not really sure if I’m
with
Logan anymore.”

“What?” She jerks her hand just as she’s dipping the brush into the paint, and the whole cup tips over. “Crap.” She grabs at some paper towels, mopping up the mess from the linoleum floor. I grab a few extra and begin cleaning up alongside her.

Naturally, that’s when the door to the gym opens. I look up to see Logan stride through, my heart dropping to my stomach.

“Great.” I consider making a mad dash for the exit, but we share first period anyway, so it’s not like I’m going to be able to avoid him all day.

Instead, I just sit there, glued to my spot, watching him walk up. Oddly enough, he doesn’t have the look of someone who just scared his girlfriend out of her mind. His smile is tentative and, if anything, he seems concerned. I continue evaluating his expression when suddenly he speaks. “Hey. I dropped by to pick you up like usual, but you weren’t home.” He looks down at the mural. “You want a hand with this stuff?”

I stare at him. “You really think I want your help right now?”

He eyes me quizzically and reaches for a cup of red paint.

“Thanks. We got it.” I pull the cup of paint a few inches from his reach.

He picks it up again, and this time I yank it away so hard it splashes over the rim, onto my hand. “I said we got it.”

Logan narrows his eyes at me. “I thought maybe you didn’t
answer my texts yesterday because you were busy. But you’re actually mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Ya think?” I glare back at him, ignoring the paint running down my hand. It drips onto the butcher paper.

“Look, I’m really sorry I had to leave early from the maze—”

“The maze? You think I’m upset about the maze?” I rub the back of my paint-covered hand against the butcher paper, glancing at the speckles that have already begun to dry. They look like drops of blood.

Logan’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Umm…I’m sorry, but I guess I must have missed something.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “What else do you have to be upset about?”

I slam the mostly empty cup of paint against the paper. “How about how you were a total asshole at your house?”

Logan visibly recoils. “You came to my house?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Logan. You scared the crap out of me and then laughed about it. And you ripped my favorite shirt.”

He pales. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Why do you care? You seemed to think it was funny as hell at the time.” I shiver just thinking about the way he rubbed the hook against my skin.

“Harper—”

“Just leave me alone,” I say, through gritted teeth. Allie’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“But—”

“
Leave
.” I say again, glaring at him, hard.

He looks like he wants to say more, but he’s at a loss, which is just fine with me.

Madison walks up and for once I’m relieved to see her. “Hey, Logan. Did you come to help with the decorations? Because I really need someone
strong
to work on the custom table we’re designing.” She reaches for his arm, giving his bicep a suggestive squeeze while smiling demurely. “It’s going to hold a bunch of dry ice so it will make fog clouds all night.”

She couldn’t lay it on thicker if she had a spatula.

Logan doesn’t even look at her.

“He would
love
to help you,” I say, when he doesn’t turn away.

Logan glances over at Madison, finally allowing her to drag him across the room and out of earshot, but not without glancing back at me a half-dozen times.

“Um, wow. Intense!” Allie says, “What was that about?”

“You know, I actually don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I say, staring at the mural to avoid her eyes.

“You sure?” She looks up from her paint cup, studying my face.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s just paint this mural.”

“Oooookaaay,” she says, unconvinced.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

I wipe the remaining crimson paint off my hand and then set to work, adding beady little eyes to the bats.

They’re as black as Logan’s eyes had been just before the lights cut off in the basement.

•   •   •

I wait until the last minute to walk through the classroom door and am not surprised to discover that Logan’s already sitting there, sunk down in his chair, staring at his binder. When he sees me, he sits up straighter and watches me walk toward him.

It takes everything I have to ignore his gaze. I walk right past him and sit down just as Mr. Patricks begins handing out a stack of papers to the first student in each of the rows.

“Okay, guys. We’re going to have time to outline our campaigns today, so look over this list and then assemble in your groups. I expect a basic overview of your plans by the end of class.”

Great. I’d take a pop quiz over group time with Logan. I’m just going to hear that terrible, cackling laugh of his—the one that I never knew he had—over and over as I imagine the cold steel of the rusty hook gliding across my skin.

The last paper lands on my desk, and I stare down at it, the words blurring together. Just as the first chairs screech on the tile floors, I shoot out of my seat, walking straight to Mr. Patricks.

“May I use the hall pass?”

He nods and waves at the big wooden G
IRLS
pass hanging by the door. I slip it from the hook and step into the hall, taking in a big gulp of air.

How am I supposed to sit next to Logan all day, all week, all year? I really thought we had something special, but after what happened on Friday…

I slip into the girls’ bathroom around the corner and then
lean against the cold cinder-block wall, my eyes closed, taking in deep breaths. It hurts to be so close to him. Hurts to think of the way he smiled at me, kissed me, held me.

It hurts because I want him so much, despite the way he treated me at his house.

The door creaks and I open my eyes just in time to see Logan step in.

“This is the girls’ bathroom,” I say, stepping away from the wall.

“I know, but I have to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

As he stands in front of me, it’s hard to reconcile this guy and the one who laughed at me at his house. He’s defeated. Like he knows he’s lost no matter what happens next. “There’s something you need to know, Harper. You can still hate me but you deserve to know.”

I walk to the bathroom sink and wash my hands, ignoring his reflection behind me. The last time I stood in here, I was trying to forget the image of those birds as he was putting a rose in my locker.

And now it’s my own boyfriend I want to disappear. “I told you. I don’t want to talk to you. Why can’t you understand that? We’re done.”

“No, Harper…let me explain.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder.

I jerk away. “I don’t need your explanation. I can’t believe I told you about how I have all these fears, things that I’ve been afraid of since my mother died, and you bring me down
to your unbelievably creepy basement and taunt me with a murdered family’s mementos.”

Logan pales. “It wasn’t me.”

“I’m not an idiot. Of course it was you.”

“I have a twin brother,” he says all in one breath, the words landing on top of one another.

They ring in my ears as I go still, my hands under the running water. I look up at him in the mirror, taking in the light reflecting in his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. “No you don’t.”