Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  I felt like such a creep, always thinking of myself. “I just don’t know what Henry will say when he sees Becket.”

  “Henry has to deal with it.” She sounded exasperated. “Grace came without a date. Maybe there’s some way we can hook them up.”

  “That’d be nice. But Henry’s not that bad. He’s looking better and better every day, don’t you think?”

  “What the hell. You’re high, don’t be giving me that bull.”

  “I am feeling really, really good right now. Let’s dance.” I clutched her wrist and hauled her into the mix, putting an end to her squawking. The impelling tempo sent us in motion. Any and all my inhibitions dispelled like a feather on a breeze.

  My body kept the beat, however, Nona was the dancer. I liked to mimic her gyrating torso, and we giggled trying to outdo the other. The overwhelming drug had stayed the course, distorting my vision. The world revolved upside down and right-side up. Happy again. No thoughts, just the rhythm, music, and laughter.

  Five songs later, Nona breathed heavily, “Let’s sit.”

  “No. Not yet.” Swaying with the beat in my head, I grasped her arm. “Stay with me.”

  “It’s a slow song, anyway. I’m going to get Reggie.”

  Words flew by my ears, “I thought I’d never get the chance to hold you.” Strong arms swallowed me and I curled into Becket’s chest.

  Unlike Henry, I had to tilt my head to gaze into his faultless face. “Hi, Becket. You’re looking good. How’s Marcy?”

  He smiled with irresistible warmth. “Let’s not go there.” He fingered a loose strand of hair that had fallen over my eye. And his fingers glided over the sensitive nape of my neck. I inhaled him as he drew near, his hair brushed my cheeks. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

  I melted like butter over fire as his hands molded me into him. It took a moment for his words to register. “I bet you say that to yall the goirls.”

  “Are you alright?” He pulled back and examined my eyes.

  “Don’t I look alright? You just said I was ‘credible bootiful.”

  “You’re slurring. And your eyes. Are you wasted?”

  “Becket. I’m…I’m…messed—” My ankle twisted, and I would’ve fallen, but he held on to me.

  He slowed our lazy sidestepping. “I’m taking you home.”

  My arms circled his neck like a life preserver and stared at his tormenting lips. “No, you can’t do that. I came with Hen-nery. He’ll take me home when I’m good and ready.”

  “Is he alright to drive?”

  My eyes traveled from his mouth to his impeccable eyes, but they merged into an eye of a Cyclops. “You have one big eyeball.” I giggled, then to make him jealous I said, “I don’t think we’re going home.”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “Are we dancing?” The floor tilted.

  “Leo.” He sounded like steel. “What do you mean you’re not going home?”

  I tried focusing on his big eye. “’Member, Lucien’s place…”

  All of a sudden, someone plunged into Becket; two bodies tumbled to the floor leaving my arms empty. Everyone scattered. Girls screeched, and I unsteadily stood there, thunderstruck. Henry was all over Becket like tar paper. Becket recovered from the blindsided tackle, reeling in Henry’s flailing fists with one hand. Then caging his other arm around Henry’s waist, they stumbled to their feet.

  “I don’t want to fight you.” Becket liberated Henry with a jerking thrust.

  Kids fenced them in.

  “She’s mine, Kane. Leo’s with me.” Glasses askew on his nose, Henry’s face warped in strife. “You have no right to touch her.” Like a linebacker, he rammed into Becket with his shoulder. Henry, not nearly as equivalent in height or strength, Becket rooted his feet to the ground taking the full brunt of his burden.

  Becket propelled Henry to the floor.

  Henry gasped like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Behind his lenses his eyelashes fluttered. I started for him, but Becket blocked my path.

  “Stop.” I placed my hand on his chest, holding him off. “You’re hurting him.”

  “I didn’t start this.” He sheltered an arm over my shoulder. “He’s in no condition to take you home. Let’s go before the teachers nab us.”

  A shout spurted from Henry, “Blow me, Kane!” From the edge of my vision, I saw him climb to his feet. It happened so fast, yet, as if in slow motion.

  Henry lurched, smacking Becket in the upper arm. What no one could see was the small jackknife. The threads of Beckets sweater flooded crimson.

  “Becket—” breathy, his name passed my lips. “Becket.”

  Pain slashed across Becket’s face. He strapped his arm, and his fingers came away liquidy red.

  Chapter 49

  In a nightmarish haze, I had no choice but to comply as Henry seized my arm, jogging us from the gym. I wondered where the chaperones were and what was happening to Becket. The car door snapped and Henry flung me onto the seat and raced behind the wheel.

  Coatless and in shock, iciness bled into my skin creating spikes of goosebumps. The car smoked from the parking lot and I finally looked at him. In subtle dimness, he concentrated on the road ahead, hovering over the wheel. He seemed lost in his own mind of discord.

  “Henry.” My teeth chattered. “Wha…what did you do?” The image of Becket and blood repeated like a skipping record in my mind. “You stabbed him. You stabbed Becket.”

  The airy hum of the heaters rushed into my ears, though, not squelching the frost that encased my bones. He evaded Terrace Circle, detouring through the outskirts of Star Hallow. “Henry, we have to go back. Where are you going?”

  When he eventually sought my eyes, a parade of emotions marched over his face. “I…I’m screwed.” We heard the drone of sirens.

  “You have to take me home.” I recognized the back route and knew where he was heading. “Henry, you can’t hide there.” He crossed into the middle of the intersection and made a sharp right. The screeching of metal on metal and sparks jettisoned underneath the cars chassis. My body joggled as the wheels trundled over railroad ties.

  On the east side of the tracks was the preliminary section to Hallow Saints Cemetery. He traversed further ahead, then yanked the wheel to the left. The car nosedived over the berm into a field of brambles, trees, and shrubbery.

  “Watch out for the tree,” I yapped, pointing. “You’re not going to make it through this.”

  Skidding out of control, the tires became entrenched in mangled brushwood, strangling the axel. Henry cranked the gear into park, turning off the engine.

  “Get out,” he barked.

  The gravity of our plight sent my worthless functioning body into overdrive. I pushed on the door, it budged a few inches as twigs clawed at the metal frame. “Henry, I can’t get out.”

  “Come over to my side.”

  My legs and butt shunted over the center console into the driver’s seat. He held out his hand and took me into his arms. There was a breath of space between our mouths. “Let me go,” I scolded into his face.

  “This way.” He rotated, paying little heed to my distress and yanked my arm.

  With each miserable step, my heels burred holes into the ground, making my trek hazardous and dawdling. Undergrowth grazed my legs as Henry’s fingers dug into my forearm, steering me onward. We made it to the gazebo. My heels clunked on the wood as he continued lugging me. I quenched my starving lungs and tried to contain the nightmare jogging my senses.

  Henry’s cell rang. He slowed to fish into his pants pocket. I peeked at the bright screen, his father. He ignored the call. Less than a minute and his cell buzzed again, this time the screen said Dyl.

  “Everyone’s looking for us,” I said, and thought of my only form of communication. My phone was in my purse still on the table at school.

  By the light of the moon, we managed to tread upon the ornamental slate pathway that encompassed the mansion. Overrun with nettling greenery, my he
el snagged a vine sending me to my knees. A stinging pain laced into my thighs as Henry wrenched me off the path toward the house. We huddled together and watched a spotlight scour the ground and then disappeared.

  “What the hell?” Henry said, confounded.

  “Detective Dyl told me to stay away from the mansion. Police are going to be patrolling the Court.” Sticking his arm around my shoulders, we inched far enough to perceive rear headlights vanish around the corner.

  “They’re gone,” he whispered.

  We scampered to the front and stopped. A new, shiny metal chain had been reattached to door.

  “Think we can get in through the back?”

  “Not a chance.” I pushed at his adhering hold lacking luck. “That’s been boarded and bolted for as long as I can remember.” Henry had muted his cell, but persistent vibration in his pocket was noticeable. “It would be better if we—”

  “Stop talking!” He shoved me over the porch. “Walk over to our hole.”

  “They boarded that up too.” He pushed me again, and I headed around the far corner of the mansion.

  “Stand back.” Exhorting the heel of his shoe, Henry thwacked the planks. When they didn’t break, he booted it again and again. The weatherized planks surrounding the newly applied panel finally splintered. “You first.”

  “Henry, please—” He grabbed my waist with one arm and with the other cupped the top of my head and funneled me through the broken gap. The thigh-high dress hampered my climb, and slivers of wood tore the material as I plunked onto the inside floor like a whale.

  “Why are we here?” My eyes blinked into the dark room.

  Henry, right behind me walked to the couch and slithered his hand under the shawled cover. He withdrew a heavy duty flashlight and dispersed the blackness. “I bought this a week ago and left it here just in case.” The glazed lenses veiled his eyes. “It’s important that I explain.”

  “Explain?”

  “C’mon.” He signaled with the light. “The cops might come back.”

  “Go where?” I didn’t understand.

  Henry shored up my left elbow and I believe for my stilettos sake he progressed at a measured pace up the stairs. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, holding the flashlight in his left hand, shining it on the stairs. “I went berserk when I saw you in Kane’s arms.”

  Wary of setting him off like a stick of dynamite, I remained taciturn.

  “My father says I was born with this wrath inside of me. He blames my druggie mother. He said I inherited her psychosis. Even when I was an infant, he said my tantrums were off the wall. When I was five, my father said she committed suicide.”

  We engaged the third story landing and he flipped the light to his face, he looked ghoulish. “I never believed she committed suicide,” he said.

  “Why don’t you believe him?” While clarifying his neurosis, did Henry think I’d feel empathy after he stabbed Becket?

  “Because—he killed my mother.”

  Chapter 50

  “What makes you think your father killed your mother?” After a pregnant pause and still bearing my elbow, he walked with purpose. We ventured to the room where we’d last seen Mom’s picture.

  “I know,” he declared.

  “You said she died when you were only five.” My toes were beginning to cramp in my shoes. “Kind of young to suspect your father of murder.”

  Skin stretched like parchment over his cheekbones, or was it a foible of the light? His chest rose up and down, breathing deep. “He never stops—never, all these years. Physically punishing me because of her.” Underneath his lenses, his eyes were black sockets. “And it’s him. It’s all him.”

  Fingers clamped tighter on my arm like he suspected I’d run away. We banked into the bedroom. A beam of light sluiced over the four poster bed, and then shone on Mom’s picture. On the chest of drawers was a vase with multicolored lilies.

  “He’s been here,” he uttered.

  My eyes rebounded from the lilies to Henry. “What’d you say?”

  His face bloomed into a fusion of dismay and abhorrence.

  Lacking forewarning, he forced me onto the huge bed.

  “You haven’t figured it out yet?” He set the flashlight on the bedstead and tore off his glasses. Glossy eyes blinked. “My father—My father.” Arms lashed out, pointing to the flowers and Mom’s picture. “He hung that here. He puts flowers on her grave. Now do you understand?” His face evolved into a fickle mess.

  “Are you trying to tell me that—your father…he…killed…” The words died in my throat.

  Henry reached into his pocket and finally answered his vibrating cell. I listened to the one-sided conversation. “I have to tell her— No, I don’t care what you say. It doesn’t matter anymore—GO TO FUCKING HELL!” He threw the phone and retrieved the jackknife still sheathed in Becket’s blood. Was he planning on stabbing me too?

  He placed it onto the bedstead next to his glasses and the flashlight. His eyes scrunched and his mouth thinned in an obstinate line. “Did you know my dad and your mom hooked up years ago?”

  “I…I don’t believe you.” Blood stormed through my arteries, I couldn’t think straight.

  “Your mom was a piece of work, a real shit starter.” He licked his lips. “She was a typical bitch just like all the rest of them. My dad groveled at her feet like a weasely mouse. It made me sick.”

  “My mom wasn’t like that. You’re lying.”

  “We used to watch. From the attic.” His fingers clipped my chin. “All women are flirtatious whores.”

  “We?”

  “I liked to surprise Dad with a visit. I followed him one day. Their favorite spot was the Lucien attic.” His thumb rubbed the side of my face. “Then I started watching you. I thought you’d be different. But you played me, just like all the other sluts.”

  Henry spread my knees and wedged his legs between them while simultaneously clasping my shoulders. He thrust me backward onto the mattress. The full weight of his body collapsed on top of me, then his juxtaposed legs anchored me down.

  “Henry! What are you doing?”

  “Do you know the real reason I moved here?” He mouthed less than an inch from my nose. “I can’t believe Dyl didn’t tell you?”

  “Get off, you’re scaring me.”

  “My girlfriend was raped and murdered.” He moved his head to speak directly in my ear. “They wanted to blame me because my DNA was inside her. We were screwing around before she walked home.” His arm snaked beneath my back tacking me to his chest. “They found her in the trash, where she belonged.”

  My right arm was trapped behind me and he fastened my left arm to my chest, between us.

  “I had an alibi.” Hot breath ringed my ear. “She was like as all the other girls, playing me like a fool.”

  I shivered, revolted.

  “Get off!” I writhed, attempting to crack his grip.

  Ruthless, his mouth covered mine, quashing my cry. I felt a hand on my thigh roughly tearing my dress over my hips.

  “Give it to me, Leo. Just like you give it up for that jockhead,” Henry said. “I want to do you, before…”

  “You’re crazy.” Screaming wouldn’t help, only ghosts lived here. With the right side of my body pinned to the mattress, I tried shoveling him off. I never thought of Henry as strong, until now.

  “Dyl couldn’t save your mother.” He continued talking like he needed to solve the mystery for me. “He tried to warn her. Like the arrogant whore that she was, she didn’t listen. And then, it was too late. He made me watch.”

  “Who made you watch?” His words registered like a cleaver to the gut, my queasy stomach churned. “Who made you do it—Dyl?”

  Insistent fingers pinched my inner thigh and his knees moved my legs farther apart. I jerked my hips, thwarting his exploration, but it only made him travel faster and harder.

  There was a loud crash. Henry’s exploration arrested as his body shifted upright, lesse
ning his weight. It was my opportunity to bolt; I made it to the boundary of the mattress when his arms shackled me. I noticed the vase of flowers had shattered to the floor. Long, flowerless stems littered the floor, and the petals inexplicably had scattered a trail to the bed.

  Henry’s callous gaze skittered around the room like he was looking for someone.

  Just the distraction I needed. Though, not to goad him, I enticed, “Henry, let’s go up to the attic.”

  “The attic?” He stared with neutral eyes.

  “That’s where it all began, right? We’ll make plans—for…for the Halloween party.”

  He wasn’t untying his arms, and I felt all was lost as he pressured me back onto the mattress. Then, surprisingly an incandescent glow struck his face.

  “Hold still, Henry James. Don’t make a move.”

  With a sigh, I shuddered.

  “Leo, are you alright?” asked Detective Dyl.

  “Yes,” I squeaked.

  “Henry, slowly, very slowly—get off the bed.”

  The enormity of Henry’s embrace increased as his body became inflexible. Placing his palm over my forehead, Henry pressed my head onto his shoulder. Into my ear he said, “Don’t let him take me, Leo. Don’t.”

  “Henry,” Dyl said. “Let her go.”

  I squinted into the detective’s light; not able to tell if he was pointing a gun at us.

  “Leo, you have to believe me,” his voice hitched in his throat. “I had to—”

  “Son?” Another familiar voice added into the mix.

  “Dad? Get the fuck away from me,” Henry sobbed. “Why are you here?”

  The light was blinding, I couldn’t see Ethan in the hallway next to the detective.

  “Now, Henry, release her,” Detective Dyl instructed, “or you’ll leave me no option but to take extreme measures.”

  “Please, son, listen to the detective.”

  “But he…he made me.” I didn’t know what Henry was stuttering about. He was openly crying.

  Henry’s arms mechanically snapped off of me like somebody pressed the magic button.