The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,97

come back. She’ll bring me back and everything will be okay.”

“You want me to stab you?” I said. “That … no … I can’t do that.” I was angry all over again, my skin hot. It had to be a test, but I wasn’t sure what for. Wasn’t it obvious I was still her friend? I was here, wasn’t I?

She didn’t get up. “You said you’d do anything. This is what you have to do. I can’t do it by myself. It won’t work. It has to be you.”

I shook my head so hard my ears rang. She was serious. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a game. “I can’t.”

“You have to. You promised you’d help me. She said you would.”

“No! I didn’t promise to do this.” I bent over her, punching the floor next to us. “Please, you don’t need her. You have me. I can help you. We can go talk to my mom.”

Indecision flickered across her face. Her mouth worked and tears glittered.

“I can help you,” I said, pounding the floor again.

She swiped at her eyes with angry hands. “You can’t. It’s too late. No one can help me. No one but her.” She grabbed my wrist. “Don’t worry. She promised everything would be okay.”

I shook my head, unable to speak, and jumped up. Running, I made it upstairs, down the hallway, to the front door, but as my fingers met the doorknob, a pain in my side drove me to my knees. It was fire and ice, and I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. It went on and on and on, and when it faded, I was curled into a tiny ball, shaking all over. She wouldn’t let me leave. Not until I did what she wanted. Not until I helped Becca.

With quicksand feet, I returned to the basement. Becca hadn’t moved.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave,” she said. “Best friends forever, right?”

I thumbed the pendant. “Best friends forever.”

“Don’t worry.” She held out the knife, and this time, I took it. “This is the way it has to be,” she said. “It’s the only way it’ll work. And you can never tell anyone about tonight. Not ever. Not even when you’re an old lady. Promise?”

“I promise.” My voice didn’t even sound like mine.

“She’s here with us,” she said. “Can’t you feel her? She’ll help you do it the right way.”

But I felt nothing and no one but Becca lying on the floor and me sitting beside her. Just the two of us. The way it should be.

Then I felt a hand, warm and light, on my shoulder. I moaned but didn’t pull away. No one was there, only the air in the basement, but it felt real. It felt more than real. I sniffed back a sudden gush of salty snot.

“See?” Becca said. She sounded birthday-party happy, and it cut me into ribbons. I didn’t want to be here anymore. Didn’t want to feel the hand on me. She wasn’t supposed to be real. I leaned back, away from Becca. The hand on my shoulder pushed me back into place. Snot ran over my upper lip and I shouldered it away.

“Becca, I can’t,” I said.

“Yes, you can,” she said, as the unseen hand moved down my arm, guiding it where it needed to go. “That’s it. Now.”

“I can’t,” I said. But I did. I did because the Red Lady made me do it. Because Becca was sure everything would be okay. Because if I didn’t, Becca would never be my friend again. There was a pinch of resistance, then the knife slid all the way in. Becca’s eyes got wide and she groaned. I did, too. When I pulled the blade free, she blew out all her air. A thin line of blood trickled down her side, the wound an almost-closed mouth smeared with red lipstick. Nothing serious. It only needed a few stitches. I dropped the knife on the towel and started crying because that was a lie. I’d cut her. I’d cut her skin and her insides.

She coughed a little. “It doesn’t even hurt. Stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me alone. Promise me.” She pulled her shirt down to cover the wound, and blood seeped through.

“I won’t,” I said, clutching her hand. “I promise. I’ll stay the whole time. I’ll be here when you come back.”

“No,” she said. “The dirt. Get the dirt.”

I pulled the baggie close. “Okay. I have it.”

“You have to put it in my mouth. Not yet, but when it’s done. And