Saint (Angelview Academy #1) - E.M. Snow Page 0,103

was pissed at how I was treating you. Said he was going to come check on you.”

My heart started pounding, and it had felt like the air was being sucked from my lungs.

“He never came,” I’d insisted, though a sharp fear began poking at the back of my head.

“He did.” Dylan’s voice had been strained, his grip on me painful. “I was tracking his phone, but the signal disappeared. His fucking car is here. He was here, Mallory, when … that happened.”

My gut had hurt. The most unimaginable pain I’d ever experienced. Without a word, I’d turned to stare at the burning house, praying Dylan was wrong. James wasn’t there. He’d have never gone inside.

He would if he thought you were in there, the voice in my head had hissed.

I hadn’t been, though. I’d been knocked out on the other side of the house, out of sight of the front door.

They’d found James’ body, or what was left of it, the next day.

I still remember what my scream of anguish sounded like.

Dylan had blamed me. He was sick with grief and not thinking straight, but I couldn’t blame him. I blamed me too.

James had been my best friend since we were kids. He’d always been there for me. My rock in the shitstorm that was my life, the normal kid from the right side of the tracks with the good family and the brother who was a fucking teacher. Whenever he thought I was in trouble or in need of rescuing, he’d show up at my door, even knowing what that place really was and what my mother was really like.

Of course, he’d run into a burning building for me.

James loved me.

Tears begin to stream down my face as the memories continue to assault me, and I try to wipe them away, but they just won’t stop. Dropping my head into the cradle of my arms, I give in and let myself sob. I cry for everything that’s happened. All the shit and abuse. The abandonment by Jenn, who’d gotten in trouble despite the effort. I cry for Saint’s betrayal, and Dylan’s hatred.

I cry for the baby that had led to so many sleepless nights.

But mostly, I cry for James because I miss him. I wish I’d been a better friend to him. I wish I hadn’t relied on him for so much. Maybe he’d still be alive if I’d just grown the fuck up and dealt with my own problems instead of relying on him to pick me up out of the dirt.

I don’t know how long I cry exactly, but when I finally begin to calm down, my shoulders are shivering from cold, and my hair is starting to dry into a tangled, chlorine stained mess. Sniffling, I pull myself out of the pool and shuffle to my stuff.

When I reach down to pick up my towel, I spot an envelope sitting next to my phone. My hand hovers mid-air for a moment, and then I frantically look around the space, but there is no sign that anyone was there. I didn’t hear anyone come or go, but I was so absorbed in my swim, that’s not truly surprising.

With cautious fingers, I pick the envelope up and turn it over in my hands. There’s no writing on it, but it’s sealed. Knowing my luck, there’s probably anthrax inside.

I carefully tear it open and peek inside. No anthrax, but there is a picture and a note. Frowning, I remove the photo. My eyes widen as I recognize it. It’s the same picture Saint had shown me of his dad and his friend in the trophy case, although this one is clearly a copy, and one of the full image.

I’m surprised to find a girl standing next to Mr. Angelle’s friend to his left, her fingers linked with his. She’s pretty, with long dark hair and blue eyes. Her lips are tilted into a smile as she gazes at the camera. There’s something strangely … familiar about her.

Something that makes my breath catch because of the similarities to features that I’ve looked at in the mirror every day of my life.

Why would someone give me this?

Reaching back into the envelope, I pull out a torn piece of plain notebook paper. I don’t recognize the handwriting, though it’s clear the note was scribbled quickly.

If you leave, you’ll let him win again. Just like he did against your real parents. Ask that crack whore you call a mother about Benjamin Jacoby and Nora. Then ask her what you’ll be worth to her when you graduate.

That’s it. That’s the whole note. There’s no signature or further explanation as to why they gave me this picture. This has to be a hoax, right? Who the fuck would they be talking about? Let who win? And what do they mean, real parents?

Before I can attempt to decipher more of the mysterious letter, I notice my phone silently flashing out of the corner of my eye. Carley’s name is lighting up my screen. I pick it up and see that this isn’t her first phone call. Startled, I answer it.

“Hello? Carley? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried about you! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for almost two hours!” Her tone and urgency have me tensing with instant worry. Did she hear about Dylan? With my luck, the entire assembly is probably trending on YouTube, my shame displayed for the entire Internet.

“I’ve been swimming,” I reply in as calm a voice as I can manage. “What’s going on?”

“I saw your school on the news, sweetheart, and it scared me to death!”

The impact of that hits me so hard, my shoulders curve forward. “Wh-why is my school on the news?”

“You don’t know?” She sounds baffled by that fact. “Mallory, there’s a fire burning up one of the dorm buildings as we speak!”

“What?” I cry.

“I was so worried it was yours, but then they said it was one of the boys’ dormitories and then—”

“I have to go,” I strangle out, nearly tripping over my own feet to pull on my sweatpants and t-shirt. I grab my towel and tuck the envelope and its contents into its folds. “I’ll call you once I figure out what’s going on.”

“You better!” she insists. “You can’t scare me like this!”

“I’m sorry.” I’m running out the door, my footsteps echoing off the empty hallway walls. “I promise I’m all right, but I need to make sure my friends are. I swear I’ll call later.”

“Okay, you do what you need to do.”

The second I emerge from the athletic building, I’m engulfed in chaos. There’s smoke rising into the air and sirens blaring and flashing their lights as they speed through campus. My heart clenches with panic when I realize the smoke is coming from Saint’s building. I break into a dead sprint, and my worst fears are realized when I come upon a crowd gathered around the blazing dorm.

It is Saint’s building.

Fuck, fuck! This feels strangely like déjà vu.

I push my way through the gathered students toward the front of the pack and gaze around in desperation. My eyes fall on Gabe, who’s sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, talking to a police officer while a paramedic inspects him. He’s alone. Saint isn’t with him, and neither is Liam. I scan the area around him, but don’t see them. Then I look toward the other ambulance that showed up, and finally turn to scan the crowd as best I can.

It’s no use, though. If either Liam or Saint were nearby, they’d stand out. I’d be able to spot them.

“Three bodies,” someone is saying, and I can barely breathe.

“I bet she did it…” another voice, female, says, and for the first time, I feel eyes on me.

Several eyes.

“Crazy fucking bitch,” someone spits out, just as I turn my gaze back to Gabe on the back of the ambulance. Our eyes lock, and his shoulders stiffen.

Once upon a time, I’d told him that they should be afraid of me, and he’d laughed at me.

Now, he’s not laughing.

Now he just looks … terrified.

Please, God. Not again.

TO BE CONTINUED