Six Months Later Part 29

Both of them.

Which pretty much means I'm in.

I feel too light for my skin, as if my body's been filled with helium. I snag the back of a kitchen chair, desperate for something to tether me back to the here and now.

"This is it," Mom says, beaming. "This is the beginning of your future, Chloe. You did it."

They squeeze me into a hug, and we all dissolve into laughter. They keep saying it over and over. You did it. You did it.

Somebody did it all right. I'm just not so sure it was me.

I stare at my purse, where a different future lingers. A future of police investigations and courtrooms. All of this laughter and dancing in the kitchen will come to a screeching halt as our scores and grades are examined. Maybe even retested.

In this other future, my parents will be reminded of exactly who I really am.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

I meet Adam one block away from Dr. Kirkpatrick's office at five. He doesn't say anything when I slide into his car, and pulls away from the curb before I can kiss him. I hold on to the edge of my seat, shocked at his speed.

It isn't like him to drive this fast. Or to be this quiet.

He looks pale and gaunt, dark circles ringed beneath his eyes. I'm sure he hasn't slept at all. No way.

"Hey, are you all right?" I ask.

He doesn't take his eyes from the road. Just nods and checks his phone. A minute later, he checks it again. And then again.

"Is the president calling?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He looks at me then. "Keeping an eye on the time."

"Okay."

But it's not okay. Something's seriously screwed up with him. And I have no freaking idea what it is or why he's acting like this. I mean, shouldn't I be the one who's wigged out right now?

This isn't the time for this. There are bigger fish to fry-h.e.l.l, there's a freaking white shark in my skillet.

Adam pulls into the parking lot, and I spot Dr. Kirkpatrick's car. "There. That one. I'm pretty sure that's hers."

"Does anyone else work here?"

"A receptionist, but she leaves after she checks the last patient in for the day."

"What about the last patient?"

"Sessions end at ten before the hour, so we should be good. She's probably doing paperwork."

Adam doesn't park in the lot. He parks one street over, where his car won't be as noticeable. I look down at the manila folder in my trembling hands and wish I hadn't agreed to this.

I should have gone to the police. c.r.a.p, what if she calls the police?

I push the thoughts away and follow Adam into the office. The electric door chime sends a burst of adrenaline dancing through me.

"Dr. Kirkpatrick?" Adam calls out.

No answer. I clear my throat and gesture at the cracked door to her office. We step closer, still hearing nothing. I don't like it. The quiet sends cold, needling fingers up my arms and neck. I begin to shiver, though I'm not cold.

"Dr. Kirkpatrick?" Adam knocks on the door, and it groans open farther under his taps. He pushes through the gaping crack and sucks in a gasp.

"What is it?" I move around him so I can see.

I wish I hadn't.

Dr. Kirkpatrick is slumped over the desk. There's a giant red-black puddle beneath her, all over the pretty desk planner. Some small, detached part of me understands this is blood.

The rest of me demands it to be something else. That much blood would mean she's-no. She can't be.

But she's not moving at all. I take a breath and smell an unmistakable coppery tang in the air. And the truth whooshes through me like a hurricane.

Dr. Kirkpatrick is dead.

"Oh my G.o.d." My voice splits. Cracks into pieces. "Oh my G.o.d, Adam, we have to call nine one one."

He's standing there, not merely shocked and sickened like I am, but almost catatonic. As if he can't even believe what he's seeing. And who could blame him? Because no one should believe this. No one should even see this.

There's a purse on the floor beside her desk. Her purse, I a.s.sume. The contents are spilled out across the carpet, her wallet conspicuously missing.

Is this why she was killed? For a wallet? A wave of nausea rolls through me, so I turn away from the scene. From the body. s.h.i.t, there's a body.

What do I do? What do I do?

I stumble backward, pulling out my phone. Suddenly, Adam comes to life, snagging it from my fingers. "No. Someone else has to call it in."

"What? What are you talking about?"

He takes me by the arm and moves fast, rushing us back out of the office and into the fading sunlight. He takes a moment to rub the door handle with his sleeve. I want to argue and pull away, but the truth is, I hardly feel present at all. A little bubble of shock is holding me away, numbing my senses.

"We have to call the police," I say again, but my voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

He keeps walking, dropping my arm and a.s.suming I'll follow. And I do. Because I don't know what else to do. This is way, way outside the realm of things I know what to do with.

I feel sick and heavy. I'm not just shaking-I'm practically convulsing.

Adam pulls out his own phone and starts texting. Furiously.

"You're texting the police?" Is that even possible?

He looks around, eyes frantic and face pale. "Get in the car, Chloe."

"Somebody robbed her! Somebody-" I trail off, bracing myself to say the word. "Somebody killed her."

"n.o.body robbed her."

"I saw her purse on the floor-"

"n.o.body robbed her," Adam says, and the certainty in his tone chills me.

What chills me more is that I know d.a.m.n well he's right. This wasn't some heat-of-the-moment crime. There's nothing random about this.

My face is hot and my jaw aches, and I have to stop thinking. The pieces are locking together too fast, and the picture that's forming scares me to death.

I get in the car because if I don't, I will fall down. I will fall down right here. And I can't be here anymore, not knowing there's a body and so much blood inside-oh G.o.d, I might be sick.

Adam starts the engine, and I jump at the sound. Then there's another sound, one that makes my ribs ache and my throat close up. Sirens. Two police cars race past, flashing blue and red as they fly into the parking lot.

Adam swears under his breath, easing the Camaro away from the curb.

"Did you call them?" Somehow I know he didn't. I don't know why I'm even asking.

He pulls out without a word then fumbles his phone up to the steering wheel, texting again. He doesn't just look scared. He looks enraged, terrified, confused: a jumble of so many things that it makes me dizzy.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask, and my chest hurts now. Really hurts. This is bad.

He doesn't answer, and I press a hand to my sternum, willing myself to breathe deeper. But I can't. My breathing is too shallow, too fast. This isn't good. It's not good at all.

My phone buzzes, and I yank it out. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Chloe, it's m-me." It's Maggie. She's crying. "You w-were right."

"Right about what?" I ask. I'm breathless and queasy, gripping my seat hard when Adam flies around a corner.

"Get off the phone, Chloe," Adam says. It isn't a request.

I flash him a glare and push closer to the pa.s.senger window. Maggie takes a shuddering breath. "I looked into the Miller family t-tree. There's n-no history of schizophrenia in Julien's family. You were right, Chloe. She's in t-trouble."

"So am I," I say.

"Get off your phone," Adam says again, almost shouting it. And then I don't have a choice because he's tearing it out of my fingers.

I'm too shocked to move. To speak.

I think of him texting at the pizza place. Checking his phone earlier tonight. And then, I remember that first night together, when we went to the tower in Corbin. When he asked me to turn mine off.

This isn't happening. It can't be.

I glance sideways at Adam as we screech to a stop at a red light. He curses again, rolling down his window. He flicks his wrist, and I jump in my seat as I hear first one phone and then the other shatter against the ground.

"What did you do?" I ask, knowing he won't answer.

I feel smothered and frozen, like the sun has been snuffed out. Darkness moves over me. Inside me and through me like cold water sucking me down fast. I know what this means.

"Adam," I say, and I know my voice reflects every ounce of my fear. I force myself not to scream. I know if I start, I will never stop. Not ever.

He turns right down a narrow side street near my house. He puts the car in park and covers his face with his hands. The scar on his arm glares at me, white and jagged like a cruel smile.

"I can't do this," he says. He sounds small and weak and shattered.

I want him to shut up. Right now. My fingers curl over the door handle because I want to run.

"I don't even know what to say or where to start, but I can't do this to you," he says. "No matter what they do to me, I can't. Not anymore."

I feel my ears ringing and my fingers going numb. It's like a blood pressure cuff has been strapped around my middle. Every breath is harder than the last.

Adam faces me, his eyes bright with the promise of tears. "You were right. Part right, anyway. Your memory loss was an accident, Chlo, but it wasn't natural. Daniel Tanner was testing that chemical in our study group. I don't know how or why, but he wants to sell it. And apparently we were the guinea pigs."

I feel like I've left my body. Like I'm floating somewhere outside, a million miles away from these words. I find my voice, but it is thin and small. "How? How do you know?"

The pain in his eyes is unmistakable. "Because I work for them. Daniel hired me to monitor the group. He said he wanted peer information on the relaxation techniques."

"Relaxation techniques," I deadpan, my lungs shriveling with each breath.

"He fed me a bunch of c.r.a.p about subliminal messaging and meditation, but he never-I didn't-h.e.l.l, it doesn't even matter. He sold this whole thing. He sold it to the school board as a big community service project, and he sold it to me as my only way out of this s.h.i.t-hole town and I bought it, Chloe. I bought it hook, line, and f.u.c.king sinker."

The pieces are sliding together. Clicking into place. Sitting across from him for that first math test. Blake's comments in the bathroom. "I'm the boyfriend, remember?"

Blake. Blake who kissed me-I can't. I can't go there.

I shake my head, my tears hot and slick trailing down my face. How could I miss this? How?

All of the texting makes sense...tonight before he tossed our phones. Before that, even. "You were texting Daniel tonight?"

"Yes. I had no idea he could be capable of something like this, but I know it has to be him, that son of a b.i.t.c.h."

I shake my head, not wanting to hear any of this. Not one more word.

"I needed money for college," Adam says miserably. "I didn't-no one told me about the drugs. No one told me about any of this."

I shove open the door, and his hand curls gently over my arm.

"Chloe, please."