Page 172 of The Initial Insult

“I’m going to get Hugh,” I tell her. “Hey!” I clap my hands in front of her face, sending a massive jolt of pain up my arm. “Felicity—I’m getting Hugh. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Hugh?” she asks. “Hugh didn’t carry me.”

“Okay,” I tell her, agreeing with whatever she says. “I’m leaving you the phone, okay? I’m leaving you the light.”

She doesn’t answer, so I go, lost in pitch blackness as soon as I turn my back, slipping in my own blood, finding the staircase by feel, pulling myself along the banister, one-handed, resting halfway up.

Jesus Christ. Neither one of us is going to make it.

I elbow the hook open, fall into the kitchen, sending bottles scattering. The glass rolls across the floor, making hollow music.

“Hugh!” I cry, not caring who finds me. Not caring who helps. Not caring about the questions. I just have to save my friend.

Chapter 80

Felicity

“Hugh didn’t carry me.”

My voice is strained, tired, a worn-out note.

But it’s not wrong.

“Hugh didn’t carry me,” I say again, a little louder.

Something rests against my skin, something metal on my chest, something sticking in place. Something wet. Something smells something . . .

Chapter 81

Tress

I crawl on my elbows through the kitchen, black spots spraying my vision. I cry for Hugh, cry for help. I call for Brynn. I call for Maddie. I even call for Gretchen. No one comes.

I struggle to my feet, pulling myself up with a chair, and lurch to the door.

Chapter 82

Cat

The smell of the girl

is everywhere.

Red. Death.

Spots in the room

with the swinging boy

down these steps, a drop

I lick and taste

her last / best

Felicity / FELICITY

a puddle of her, in this room