Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,181

anything in the dorms, but they’d never know.

I turned off my desk lamp, the darkness making the flickering candle a little spooky.

Thea undressed and then pulled on her robe, grabbing a towel and her shower caddy.

“Happy Halloween,” she sing-songed, leaving to take a shower.

But I spoke up. “Devil’s Night.”

“Huh?”

I turned my head, seeing her grip the door handle.

“Tomorrow is Halloween,” I told her. “Tonight is Devil’s Night.”

“Like in The Crow?”

I broke out in a laugh. Devil’s Night, Mischief Night, Cabbage Night…I forgot most of the world outside Thunder Bay—and maybe Detroit—had never heard of it before, other than in the movies.

She leaned over, looking at the clock on her own desk. “Well, it’s after one,” she said. “It’s Halloween now.”

She stuck out her tongue and then left, heading down the hall to take a shower.

Touché.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, closing my textbook for the night. Wrapping a rubber band around my flashcards, I tossed them on the desk and picked up the lid of the jack-o’-lantern and put it back on top.

I stared at its face. “Emory Scott loves Will Grayson,” I murmured.

My throat ached with tears.

I’d never told him I loved him. Emptiness had spread through my insides over the months, and even though it made me feel stronger every time I looked away from him his last year at school—proud that I was surviving him and Martin and Thunder Bay—I never felt like I was winning.

The longing just grew, and if he walked in here right now, I’d let him pick me up, and I’d wrap my legs around him and not stop touching him the rest of the night.

My arms hummed with the need to hold him.

I looked up at the Godzilla on top of my supply drawers on my desktop. I’d done the right thing. Right? I hadn’t wanted him to know what was happening in that house.

I had to cut him loose.

But I did regret not trusting him. Whatever I had to lose, I’d lost already. I should’ve told him I loved him, and it wasn’t his fault, and maybe someday…

Maybe someday.

I dried my eyes and picked up my phone, tempted to call or text—maybe to apologize, I didn’t know—but if nothing else, maybe he was in Thunder Bay tonight. Maybe he’d come back from Princeton to celebrate, even though he hadn’t come back home last year while I was a senior.

Or maybe he wasn’t home and everyone else carried on the tradition after the Horsemen had left for college.

I wanted to see home.

Logging on to Instagram, I searched #devilsnight and clicked on Recent for anything posted tonight and…

Images and videos assaulted me all at once, my heart starting to hammer as their faces popped up immediately, swarming the page.

I smiled, warm everywhere as I caught a glimpse of his smile in one square and his beautiful face, a little thinner than I remembered, with eyes piercing the camera in another.

I caught sight of Michael’s red mask, Kai’s silver one, Damon kissing some blonde in the shower, but then I spotted a video running in one of the squares, and my brother in the background.

I grabbed my glasses, putting them back on and holding the phone closer to my face to study the video.

What was this?

Guys in black hoodies and masks beat my brother as he hung by his hands in a dark room. The light from the camera phone shone on him, blood streaming down his face and his dark hair matted and sweaty.

My head spun. No, no, no…

I glanced at the door, worried Thea would be back, and grabbed my earbuds, plugging them into my phone and clicking the post, turning up the volume.

“Ah!” Martin growled, his face etched with pain.

One of the men in black approached him, and I perked my ears to try to hear, but all I heard was mumbling between them.

After a minute, I heard Martin’s dark laugh, and I winced, remembering that sound.

This was from when my brother was attacked this past summer. He’d tried to tell me, but I’d refused to answer the phone, only hearing about it from my grandmother. He’d been hospitalized for over a week, but I hadn’t given a shit. He’d been lucky I wasn’t praying for his death.

One of the men in black lost control, and I sucked in a breath as I watched him pummel Martin, bringing down his fist again and again, my brother’s silver badge glinting in the light.

Jesus.

I didn’t have to see his face