Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,141

“After a while, you get tired of pretending that you’re in control of everything that happens to you.” He paused, turning to me again. “And you start being what happens to everyone else.”

Spinning back around, he walked over to his mother, crouched down next to her body as he faced me, and wrapped his hand around the front of her throat.

I watched as his fingers curled, tightening, and the whites of his knuckles flashed in the dark.

He lifted his eyes to mine, watching me as I watched him. My toes curled, my reflex to run, but…

I felt it. My hand, not his. My fingers hummed, slowly balling into fists, and I breathed heavy, feeling my heart pound and the bile rise up my throat, but…

God, I wanted to be him. I wanted to do it.

I liked this feeling.

I wanted to kill, and I squeezed my fists until they ached, but I didn’t move until she stopped jerking and gasping and shaking, one of her legs dipping over the side of the grave.

Damon held my eyes the whole time.

The part of me that always gave in to tears was gone. Tears solved nothing.

I didn’t know when I started toward him, but in a moment, I was next to the grave, holding out my foot and helping him push her into the hole. Her body hit the soil, dirt smearing her legs, feet, and arms as he grabbed the shovel. I dropped to my knees, hurriedly helping him push the earth on top of her with my hands.

We didn’t talk. I didn’t even think we really realized what was happening or what we were really doing, but it was too late now. Even if I turned him in for murder, I’d helped him dump the body. It was too late to panic.

And although I feared what I’d feel tomorrow in the light of day with a clearer head, I couldn’t push the dirt in fast enough tonight. I wanted her to fucking die.

When we’d covered her as much as we could, Damon carried the sheet and the shovel back to the trunk, while I stepped on top of the grave, packing the soil.

I gazed at the grass around us. It was a mess. They must use a blower or something to clean up the soil scattered around the grass, but we didn’t have that right now. What if they noticed?

Just then, a drop of rain hit my face, and I looked up to the sky.

A few more drops of cool water hit, and I closed my eyes, almost smiling.

Damon rushed back over, helped me finish flattening out the dirt, and then pushed me off, dropping to his knees and running his hand over the grave, getting rid of our footprints.

“The rain will muddy it,” I told him. “Maybe they won’t notice it was dug up.”

He nodded. “Get in the car. Now.”

God, he was probably going to kill me next, but I didn’t think. I ran over, opened the passenger door, and climbed into his BMW.

BMW.

I’d seen this car before. Somewhere.

But I shook my head.

Of course, I’d seen it before. Everyone at school knew the Horsemen’s vehicles.

Damon slammed the trunk shut and climbed into his seat, rain starting to pummel the roof, and I stared out the window at McClanahan’s grave, dirt kicking up at each heavy drop.

We shouldn’t have dumped her here. Where did he get that idea?

That grave was important. Damon and his pals revered it. How could he put her there? Wasn’t that like desecrating McClanahan’s memory or something?

I mean, I guess it seemed smart. Hide a body where no one would think it was odd to a find a dead body, especially since that grave was freshly dug and there was a good chance no one would notice it had been disturbed again, but anyone could’ve seen us. Maybe someone did.

I looked around, scanning the tree line and hedges. Looking for any flash of movement among the crypts and headstones.

I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth tasting the dirt on my finger and feeling it in my sweater.

I looked over at Damon, who still hadn’t started the car.

He gripped the wheel, his bottom lip trembling as he stared through watery eyes out the windshield.

“I didn’t love her,” he said, almost to himself.

But his face was twisted in sadness and despair as tears spilled over, falling down his dirty face.

“I don’t know why it hurts,” he told me. “I didn’t love her.”

“You did,” I said, but it came out as