Page 73 of She Haunts Me Still
Mallory flinches, heartbeat skyrocketing. She sharply drops her hands. What the fuck? She didn’t mean to think that.
“Mal?” Saskia studies her in the glass. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. Too little sleep, she convinces herself, not to mention everything else. She wouldn’t hurt Saskia like that—wouldn’t hurtanyonelike that. That’s not her.
Swallowing, Mallory tries to refocus on what Saskia just said about Ezra.
Disassociating. Violent.
Something using his body as a vessel.
She thinks of the Ezra who sat beside her in this very room, hands warm as he unveiled his secrets. The Ezra she saw tonight, contemplating romance and tragedy like he’s been mourning what they nearly had, too. The way those memories are at war with the Ezra from the other day, that monstrous voice in her ear as he took what he wanted.
And then, a new question materializes. One she hadn’t considered until now.
“Saskia,” she says, “you did theater with Ezra, right? In Boston?”
Saskia turns to lean against the makeup counter, holding her loosened corset to her chest. “Yeah. It was a summer program a couple years ago. He was still at Grey at the time. Why?”
“Do you know what happened with Ezra’s fraternity brother? Bryce?”
There’s a small pause. “I don’t know all the details. There was an accident at a party. Bryce…he fell from a balcony and ended up in a coma. I don’t think he’s woken up yet.”
Mallory squints. “Fell?”
“Pushed,” she says after a moment. “He was pushed.”
The words land with the satisfying click of a hunch proved right.
“Everyone saw it. But Ezra—supposedly, he doesn’t remember.” Saskia skews her mouth to the side. “The Prescotts didn’t press charges. It’s likely Ezra’s dad paid them off. But Ezra might as well be dead to them. The other guys in the frat, too.”
Mallory’s eyes drop and guilt widens in her stomach as she recalls the words she spat in his face the other morning, the wounded expression that followed.
She rakes a hand through her hair, head swimming with clues that don’t fit. Maybe, she thinks, it’s time to start chasing ones that will. Before she ends up as lifeless as Lily’s corpse.
“Saskia,” Mallory says, “I don’t want to be in the dark anymore.”
Saskia arches a brow. “You’re scheming again, Nancy Drew.”
Mallory steps closer. “If Ezra’s dad really built this school over graves, there are probably records at his office, right? Ones he wouldn’t want other people to find?”
“Oh, she’s leveling up,” Saskia teases. She sits fully on the counter. “You wanna break into Ezra’s dad’s office? You’re not scared?”
“Terrified.” She swallows. “But I want answers more than anything.”
Saskia studies her. Something shifts in her face, an awareness that Mallory is growing braver right in front of her.
An understanding that Mallory just might feel braverwithher.
“Alright.” Saskia holds out her hand. “Then we’ll do it afraid.”
Mallory reaches forward, too, fitting their palms together. Saskia’s grip is cool and firm, and for a second, Mallory could swear she’s held her hand before, just like this.
The thought rattles her slightly, but the feeling is surprisingly clear: Saskia’s hand in hers isfamiliarsomehow. Saskia meets her gaze, and there’s something about her expression that makes Mallory suspect she’s thinking the same thing.
But then, Saskia’s thumb slips over Mallory’s knuckles, fingers threading between hers. In a split second, their handshake morphs into something different. Saskia’s gaze lowersto Mallory’s mouth, and there’s no mistaking the way she lingers there, allowing Mallory’s focus to wander, too. Taking in Saskia’s parted lips, the pointed slope of her collarbone, the way the loosened corset has slipped dangerously low.
A few days ago, Mallory would have chased away this awareness. But tonight, standing in a darkened room with a girl just as haunted as she is, a girl who believes every word she says without hidden motives, she faces it. She notices everything on purpose.
