Gilt Hollow (27 page)

It's a horrible choice . . . to do what's right or protect the ones you love.

Willow flipped back through the pages and skimmed several entries about band drama and a girl with red hair and freckles that he'd had a crush on. With trembling fingers, she turned to the next page and skimmed for names she might recognize. Then she found it, two weeks before he'd passed away.

Confronted Colin today. It didn't go well. Not that I expected it to. I told him I saw him that day at the falls, and he backed me against the wall. Something switched off in his eyes, like he'd turned into a soulless clone. When he demanded to know what I'd seen, I told him, “I saw you push Daniel and I know why you did it.”

Colin was the killer! A noise made Willow raise her head. She couldn't place the sound. The prickles on the back of her neck urged her to go. But she just needed two more minutes to be sure. She kept reading.

He backed off then and slumped on the bed. I explained everything I knew about him and Brayden stealing Claire Turano's jewelry, selling it, and buying all that stuff. Then he admitted that Daniel knew what they'd done. And that Danny had threatened to tell. Colin said he hadn't planned to kill Daniel, just scare him.

I'm not so sure I believe him.

When Colin asked me what I planned to do about it, I told him I couldn't hold in the secret anymore. I begged him to turn himself in. Then I told him about the nightmares I'd been having about Ashton Keller chained in a damp cell, the flesh melting from his bones, and how it wasn't right for Ashton to pay the price for something he didn't do.

Colin came at me again, this time wrapping his hands
around my throat. He squeezed. His eyes popping out of his head. Just as I was about to black out, he released me and threatened to kill me too if I didn't keep my mouth shut.

I know it's crazy, but I'm scared of my own brother.

This was what she needed—the proof to clear Ashton's name and put Colin away for good. After stuffing the journal in her purse, she relocked the box and set the key on top, and then pulled out her phone to call . . . who? Ashton? Her mom? Chief Kagawa? What if he buried the evidence again? Before she could decide, she noticed a piece of paper tucked into the back pocket of her bag. She pulled it out and read:

Willow,

Meet me at Keller House by midnight. I need to tell you something important.

~A

She'd meet Ashton and show him the journal so they could decide what to do together. Clutching her overstuffed bag to her chest, Willow glanced at the clock sitting on the dresser. It was eleven forty. She would have to hurry.

W
illow jogged up the driveway to Keller House, feeling like she was trapped in a bad slasher film. Mom had replaced the outside lights with orange bulbs that flashed on and off at random intervals, and as Willow climbed the porch steps a dozen glowing jack-o'-lanterns leered back at her. She opened the front door to the dimly lit foyer and flinched so hard she almost peed her pants. A ghost with a skeletal face floated in the mirror. As she watched with her hand clutched to her thudding chest, the image flickered and she turned to see the hologram machine hidden behind a plant. Her mom had done too good a job turning the place into a haunted house. Not that it needed much help.

Shutting the door behind her, she called, “Mom? Ashton?”

No answer. She didn't even hear Rainn scampering around.

In the kitchen, Willow found trays of food covered in plastic, and the hot spiced cider simmering in the Crock-Pot made her mouth water. She set the journal on the counter, pulled out her phone, and saw that she had several missed calls from Ashton and a text from her mom saying she and Rainn had decided to go to the ball to catch the headless horseman's ride. Willow turned her ringer back on and checked the time. It was five minutes until midnight.

A bang from upstairs caused her to whirl around. “Ashton?” When she didn't hear a response, she began to worry. He tried to hide it, but he still hadn't fully recovered after his accident. She raced down the hall, then flew up the
stairs and saw a light shining from his bedroom. “Ash?” She peeked her head in, but the room was empty.

A shuffling noise sounded down the hall, and her pulse leaped into her fingertips. If he was playing a trick on her, she would never forgive him. Her steps slowed. With the way they'd left things at the party, a prank didn't seem appropriate. The hairs rose on Willow's arms and she tiptoed back toward her room. Was someone in the house with her? Or had the famous Keller ghost finally come to call?

The curtains in her room were open so she could just see the outline of a figure sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace. He was dressed all in black, a bandanna tied around his head, but his face was in shadow. “Ashton?” she whispered and took a step into the room.

“Do you believe we all have to answer for our sins?” The voice was gruff and unrecognizable.

Willow flipped the light switch, but the lamp didn't turn on. The dark figure tensed, his hands braced on the chair arms. What was it Lisa had said earlier?
“Follow your instincts, and if something doesn't feel right, you cut and run . . . or you die.”

With that in mind, Willow spun on her heel. But before she'd gotten two steps, something jerked her back. She twisted and struck out, but the guy in the mask held her wings in his gloved hands. She filled her lungs and screamed as he yanked her against him, wrapped an arm around her waist, and forced her backward into the room. He lifted her off her feet, and Willow kicked back, the heel of her boot connecting with his leg just before he hurled her onto the bed. He slammed the door shut and turned to face her.

“I told you if you didn't give me my key back, I'd crush more than your wings.”

Willow gasped. Colin stalked toward her and she could
see he still wore his clown makeup under a ragged black cloth he'd cut eye holes into and tied around his head. Willow swallowed a rush of paralyzing fear. He'd dressed like Ashton for a reason. She sat up, but he rushed forward and pushed her back down on the mattress, grasping her calf as he pulled a wicked-looking knife out of his belt. It was curved at the end like the blade you would use to gut a deer.

“I'd stay still if I were you.”

Willow stopped moving. Tingles rushed down her shoulders and numbed her all the way to her toes. He was going to kill her. She could see it in his eyes.

He pulled ropes from his back pocket and grabbed her wrists in one hand. She kicked out, but he shoved the knife in her face. “Ashton's grandfather was nice enough to supply me with this lovely blade. Did you know there's an entire collection of them in the garage?”

His eyes were wide and unfocused, the pale blue blending in with the white, his pupil a tiny speck of black. She'd never seen this side of him, but the insanity brewing in his gaze made her believe he was capable of taking human life without remorse. Fresh horror washed over her as the revelation sunk in—Colin had pushed Daniel to his death and murdered his own brother.

Desperate to pull him back from the edge as he tied her wrists, she asked, “You wrote the note and put it in my bag, didn't you?”

“Yes, and had Yolanda write one to Ashton and sign your name to it. Luckily neither one of you knows the other's handwriting well enough to spot a fake. Our friendly neighborhood killer should be here”—he glanced at his watch—“in about fifteen minutes, so we better get on with this.” He set the knife down and moved to tie her ankles.

Willow bucked, her free foot connecting with something soft and fleshy. With a grunt, Colin released her and she rolled off the other side of the mattress. She jumped to her feet, but he recovered, grabbed the knife, and raced around the end of the bed, backing her into the corner.

Willow lifted her tied hands in front of her as he stalked forward. “Why are you doing this? I gave back your key!”

“I know.” He cocked his head and blinked at her slowly. “I found it.”

“What? You were there? Why didn't you stop me at your house?” She lowered her hands and began working the ropes, thanking the Lord for her tiny wrists.

“Brayden said you were smart.” He shook his head and took another step toward her, the rope in one hand, the knife in the other. “Why would I attack you in my own house or even on the street when I could frame Ashton for your murder and kill two birds with one stone?”

The blood seemed to drain out of her head. Ashton would go to prison for life and no one would ever know Colin had killed Daniel or Cory—or her. Willow worked the ropes as her eyes darted around for something she could use as a weapon. “But how did you get here so fast?”

He grinned, his maniacal painted-on smile widening until it looked as if his face would split. “Quarterback, remember? I'm a fast runner.” He stepped forward and, impossibly, his grin enlarged. “Passed your mom and brother. They both assumed I was Ashton.”

Colin reached for her, but she sidestepped toward the bed. “Wait!”

He stopped and tilted his head, watching her like a bug in a jar, fully confident of his control.

A gust of wind slammed into the windows at the front
of the house, the glass rattling in time with the rioting trees. Her skin burned as she forced the rough fibers of the ropes down over her hands. She had to keep him talking. “What about Brayden? Does he . . . does he know about all of this?”

“Brayden is a gutless coward. After he helped rob Twisted Beauty, he refused to do what was necessary to close the deal.” Colin rushed forward and pressed the cold steel of the knife against her throat. “Now, what did you find in Cory's box?”

“Nothing . . . nothing, I swear.” She'd left the journal on the kitchen counter. If Colin didn't know about it, then Ashton could use it to clear his name. She forced herself to meet Colin's icy gaze and began to talk fast as she dropped the rope and inched her hand toward the nightstand. “Please don't do this. You asked me if people have to answer for their sins, and I believe that they do. I know you killed Daniel. But I believe in forgiveness and . . .”

His gaze narrowed, something dark and wild taking over his face. As his muscles flexed against her, she grabbed the lamp and swung. The stick reverberated against his skull with a resounding crash. He staggered back, shock flaring in his eyes. A sting of pain burned across her throat. Clutching the cut on her neck, Willow raced past him.

Caught in a living nightmare, she felt the hot blood seep through her fingers as her legs pumped in slow motion around the end of the bed. She reached out, the door just steps away. But before she could grasp the knob, footsteps thudded behind her, vibrating the floor. Remembering she still held the lamp, she whirled and swung it like a bat, hitting Colin's head with all her strength. The bulb shattered into a million pieces, and Willow held her breath as the knife clattered to the floor, along with the lamp. Colin swayed to the side, like a tree ready to fall.

“Willow!” Ashton yelled from somewhere in the house.

Willow screamed his name as she spun for the knob and flung open the door. But she'd only taken a step when Colin pushed her from behind. She stumbled down the hall, and when she looked back he was flying out of her room, blocking her path to the stairs.

Spinning on her heel, she sprinted down the corridor and took a sharp right, heading for the back staircase. The house was dark, and Colin didn't know its twists and turns like she did. Praying she could reach the door before he caught her, she pushed her legs faster. Colin crashed after her, his footfalls like gunfire.

Willow reached a fork in the hall, but before she could turn right toward the servant's stairs, Colin raced forward and cut her off. She spun and sprinted in the opposite direction, heading for the attic door at the end of the hall. She flung it open and hurtled through, but when she tried to pull it closed, Colin was already on the other side. She let go of the knob, ran up two steps, and then pressed into the shadows. Colin hurtled through the door, and she kicked his arm, knocking the knife from his grip.

His curses ringing in her ears, she raced up the rest of the stairs. At the end of the hallway was a door with a new bolt at the top. She threw the lock, slipped through the door, and shut it behind her. Unfortunately, there was no lock on the outside, but if Colin checked the other rooms first, it would buy her some time.

A gust tore at Willow's hair as she moved out of the sheltered archway and onto the roof. She took a few tentative steps and leaned over the edge of the widow's walk. The squeak of metal drew her attention up to the top of the turret where the weathervane twisted in the wind. When she
lowered her gaze, vertigo took over and she staggered to the side. After catching her balance, she leaned over the edge at the spot where Rainn had fallen. If she dropped from three stories up, it could kill her. Colin screamed her name. She'd have to take her chances.

Ice pooling in her gut, she gripped the iron railing and stepped over onto the slanted roof. Easing herself down, her feet floated in midair. Her hope was that Colin would glance out the door to the roof, see she wasn't there, and then go back inside.

Afraid to move, she bit her lip and forced her gaze to the left. The turret was rimmed with a narrow gutter. She willed away a panic attack and reached between the spikes of the iron railing to her left. Once her left hand was secure, she lifted her right and grasped the rail in between the spikes. Just like climbing across the monkey bars . . . except three stories up.

She reached the turret and braced her foot on the gutter, taking some of the pressure from her hands. Just as she lowered herself so that her head wasn't visible above the roof line, the door burst open and Colin ran out. Willow prayed he wouldn't notice the white of her fingers wrapped around the dark rails.

His footsteps moved closer and a burst of wind pushed against her, ruffling the fabric of her skirt like a flag.

“Willow, I know you're hiding, but you can come out. I changed my mind. I won't hurt you.”

Right.
She squeezed her eyes closed.
And we'll hold hands and sing “Kumbaya” as we try to forget you stabbed your ex-girlfriend, killed your best buddy and framed Ashton for it, then murdered your own brother to cover it up. The perfect happily ever after.

Willow's arms began to shake, and she didn't know how much longer she could hold on, or if she'd have the strength to pull herself back up.
Go back inside, Colin. Go back inside.

A boot stepped so close to her hands, she ducked her head to hide her gasp.

“Funny, I thought fairies could fly.”

Terrified to look, she gathered her courage and raised her eyes to find Colin peering down at her, the clown makeup melting in rivulets of sweat onto his neck, the butcher knife in his fist.

“And I thought clowns were supposed to be funny,” a deep voice quipped.

Ashton!
In her mad panic, she'd forgotten he was in the house.

Colin whirled. “Keller, so glad you're here. Now I can set this up good.” He circled while he talked, and Ashton did the same. “The cops would totally buy a murder-suicide scenario from the two of you. Star-crossed lovers and all that.” With their identical costumes and similar builds, it was hard to tell them apart. Then Willow noticed Ashton was holding a sword. His costume sword. How was he going to fight Colin with a prop? Her windpipe began to tighten, nausea rising in her throat.

Colin thrust and then Ashton parried, the sharp sound of metal on metal echoing into the night.

Willow's eyes flew to Ashton's weapon. It was real!

“I called the police; they'll be here any minute,” Ashton said as he lunged. Colin caught the thin sword in the cross-guard of his knife and pulled Ashton forward. Chest to chest, with the blades locked between them, they grappled for control.

“Yeah, right. The ex-convict calls the cops. I don't think
so.” Colin pushed Ashton back two steps. The flat surface of the roof was six feet by six feet, and the iron spikes of the railing only reached their knees. If one of them pushed too hard, it would be over. A heavy weight pressed down on Willow's chest.

As the boys struggled, Colin's knife ripped into Ashton's bicep, a brilliant red line seeping down his arm. Willow couldn't breathe and black began to close in on her vision.
No, No, no! Not now!
But her internal protests only fueled her panic. The familiar sensation of losing control rushed over her from head to toe, and her foot slipped. She cried out, her legs swinging in midair. She heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh followed by the friction of blades untangling.