Cruel Love (18 page)

Ariana scrunched down in her seat, waiting for Dr. Meloni to drive on by. As his SUV roared past her rear bumper, she envisioned herself slamming her car into reverse and taking him out. She wanted to drive her fist through the windshield, yank his lifeless body out through the shattered glass, throw him to the asphalt, and run over him multiple times with his own car, reveling in the crack of each and every bone, the squishing and splurting of his vital organs, the lakes and rivers of blood. But since she was not a possessor of superhuman strength, and since that dream was unrealistic, she decided to just breathe.

In, one … two … three … Out, one … two … three … In, one … two … three … Out, one … two … three …

Instead, she took comfort in knowing that at least the very clueless Dr. Meloni was headed toward his death, and in approximately one hour, she’d be headed back to her party.

In the yard behind Dr. Meloni’s house Rambo barked his fool head off, every high-pitched yelp like a pinprick to Ariana’s nerves. She stood in front of the fourth window on the side of the house, saying a silent prayer that this one would give unlike the first three, then she pressed her fingers into the glass and shoved upward. e window slid noiselessly open. Ariana smiled. Finally. She was in.

She hoisted herself through the window and carefully lowered her feet onto the floor of what appeared to be a guest bedroom. Slowly, she crept to the doorway and listened. Meloni’s voice. He was already on the phone. She had given him ten minutes to get settled before getting out of her car and creeping around the house, but of course he couldn’t just wait for her. e man always had to be doing something, anything, to make himself feel important. Ariana peeked her head around the corner and saw that at the very end of a long hallway, a door stood slightly ajar, soft yellow light pouring out from inside.

Ariana took a deep breath and steeled herself. This was it. The moment of truth.

She tiptoed to the end of the hall and hovered right outside the doorway, relishing the moment. Maybe this wasn’t the way this was supposed to happen, but it
was

happening. She might as well let herself enjoy it. Dr. Meloni was so deliciously oblivious. He had no idea she was here. He had no idea what was about to happen.

“But that’s exactly why you need to take some time to think,” Dr. Meloni said urgently on the other side of the thick, oak door. “ere’s no reason good enough to consider taking your own life.”

Ariana gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes closed. He was on the phone with a patient. And this was just like him, trying to tell people what were good reasons and what were bad reasons—acting like he knew everything about everything and it was all so black and white. What did he really know about the person on the other end of that line? Ariana’s fingers curled inside her black leather gloves.

In fifteen minutes, you’ll be on your way back to your friends, to Jasper, to your party and your life
, Ariana told herself, taking long, soothing breaths.
Just get through this and all will be well.

Dr. Meloni hung up the phone and heaved a sigh. Ariana’s pulse sped up to an alarming pace, but suddenly, she saw everything around her more clearly. Just like that, her adrenaline brought focus. She pressed her lips together and pushed the door wide. She didn’t even try to conceal her face.

Dr. Meloni looked up from his desk with a start. His jaw fell open and his eyes widened in shock. All the blood drained right out of his face, from his temples to his cheeks to his chin. Even with her new hair, and even though she was supposed to be dead, he clearly recognized her.

“You,” he croaked.

Ariana took a step into the room and smiled. “Miss me?”

e doctor reached for his phone. Ariana leaped forward, tore the reading lamp from the corner of his desk, knocking over a cup full of pens and pencils, and swung as hard as he could. e heavy metal base cracked across his jaw, sending a spurt of blood over the wall where it showered his precious framed degrees—arranged just as they’d been in his office at the Brenda T.—with thick red spots. e phone slipped from his hand and he went down, slamming his chin into the edge of the desk. His head whipped back and she heard the telltale crack of his spine breaking. As his heavy body slumped to the floor, his eyes rolled into his skull. At first, one arm crooked over the arm of his leather chair, but then, ever so slowly, it slipped off and landed on the hardwood with a thud.

Her chest heaving, Ariana slowly walked around the end of the desk. Dr. Meloni was curled up at an unnatural angle, blood seeping from his mouth onto the floor. She tossed the lamp and caught it by its neck, then crouched over his feet, letting out an amused, derisive snort.

“That was almost anticlimactic,” she said with a sneer.

Suddenly the doctor’s eyes popped open. He grabbed a gold letter opener off the floor, let out a wet, guttural growl, and swung. Ariana felt the stabbing pain in her side before she even registered the fact that he’d moved. She shouted out, raised the lamp over her head with both hands, and brought it down with all her body weight on the front of Dr. Meloni’s skull. Instantly, he fell back again. When Ariana shakily lifted the lamp, the entire front of his head was crushed inward. ere was blood everywhere, and he was gone. Truly and utterly gone.

Ariana tried to breathe, but her lungs caught over and over again. She put her gloved hand over her wound and it came back covered in blood. She was supposed to do this without leaving any evidence, but now … now there was no way to be certain that some of the blood on the floor wasn’t hers.

Her eyes filled with hot, angry tears as she looked around shakily, trying to decide what to do. She caught a glimpse of the gold letter opener, glinting in the overhead lights. It was soaked in her blood. When she reached out to grab it, she felt her wound open further and she winced. A few drops of blood slipped from her dress and hit the floor.

“Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Ariana wept. She shoved the letter opener into her coat pocket and used her sleeve to try to wipe up the droplets. She only succeeded in smearing them into the grainy wood planks.

“This isn’t happening,” Ariana whispered hoarsely. “This is
not
happening.”

Reaching up to clutch the desktop, Ariana dragged herself up to standing. e pain in her side was excruciating, and she was starting to wonder if Meloni hadn’t hit a major organ. She fought for breath and tried to think. What did this mean? What did she need to do?

Think, Ariana. Just think.

When the police arrived, as they would eventually, they wouldn’t find any fingerprints, but they would find blood. When they tested the blood, they would not be able to identify it as Briana Leigh Covington’s, but they would be able to match it with Ariana Osgood’s criminal file. is would, of course, stump them for a time. Ariana was supposed to be dead. But DNA didn’t lie and eventually they would figure out that Ariana had faked her own death. ey would figure out that she had assumed a new identity. ey would put her picture everywhere. ey would come looking for her, and as Meloni was currently employed at Atherton-Pryce Hall, that would certainly be their first stop.

She had to get out of here. As soon as possible. She had to get the hell out of Washington, out of the United States. It was time to haul ass.

Taking a few tentative steps toward the door, Ariana found she couldn’t move much without pain. She grabbed Meloni’s scarf from a hook by the door and pressed it against the wound, staunching the blood flow. It helped her move a bit more freely, too, and she was able to nudge the door open with her foot. She opened the Internet connection on her cell phone and toggled directly to the page for Intercontinental Air. Ariana had already booked tickets for Emma Walsh and Jasper Montgomery on a three a.m. flight to Portugal, plus a nice but not ostentatious hotel room in Lisbon. All she had to do was hit
CONFIRM
.

Standing in the hallway, Ariana’s eyes caught on a stack of mail resting atop a small table. e top envelope bore the Atherton-Pryce Hall crest. Her heart squeezed so tightly she staggered sideways, and had to brace herself on the far wall. Suddenly, the last few months seemed like a dream. Scoring a spot at the prestigious school. Making all these amazing friends. Winning the Welcome Week competition and moving into Privilege House. Being with the most coveted guy on campus. Masterminding her pledge class plot to score points with her secret society. Getting elected president of Stone and Grave. Falling in love with Jasper. Being offered a guaranteed admission to Princeton. It had been everything she ever wanted. And now, she had to let every bit of it go.

Every bit of it except Jasper
, she reminded herself as she started down the hallway, her legs quaking beneath her.
You may have to give up the future you always wanted, but at least with Jasper, you’ll have some kind of future.

She made it through the front door and out into the cold, where Rambo’s bark still split the air. Cursing Dr. Meloni under her breath for the last time, she limped her

way across the driveway as fast as she could go.

A
PROMISE

Ariana slammed on the brakes of her silver Porsche outside the club and one of the valets jumped to open her door. She pushed herself up and out, still holding Meloni’s scarf to her side underneath her coat. As she tried to stand up straight, a lightning bolt of pain shot through her abdomen, and she found herself unequal to the task. She leaned hard on the door, practically doubled over, and tried to look as if she was simply relaxing.

“Good evening, Miss,” the valet said with a smile, holding the car door for her.

“I don’t want you to park it,” she said, a bead of sweat slipping from her temple down her cheek. She folded her coat over her dress, the skimpy fabric of which was completely soaked through with blood. e pain was growing unbearable. She had to get Jasper and get him to take care of her, or she was going to end up in a hospital, which would be the worst possible thing. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Oookay,” the guy said, clearly confused.

She pulled her phone out and brought up a picture of Jasper. “See this guy?” He nodded.

“Good. Go inside and get him for me,” Ariana ordered. Then she fell back into the leather bucket seat. The valet hesitated. “Um … I’m not really supposed to leave my station.”

Ariana tugged a crisp hundred-dollar bill out of her wallet and handed it to him. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Go.” “Yes, Miss.”

He ran inside, letting the door slam behind him. Ariana leaned back in her seat, the exhaust making steam clouds against the night air, and closed her eyes. She imagined all of her friends inside, dancing, eating, drinking, wondering where she’d gone off to, assuming she was in another part of the club. She imagined how confused they’d be when they finally realized she’d ditched her own party, how devastated they’d be when they realized she was gone from APH entirely. She hadn’t decided yet whether or not to leave them a note. Certainly it would be the kind thing to do—to tell them she’d simply decided to drop out and move to Europe. It would keep them from fretting that she was dead, and probably keep Soomie out of the loony bin. But would it help or hurt her cause with the police? Part of her thought it would help because if she simply disappeared, they would be suspicious of her. But part of her thought it would hurt because it would let them know her plan.

Perhaps she could tell them she was going to Australia or Hawaii or Africa. Throw them off for a little while at least. “Ana?”

Ariana’s eyes popped open at the sound of Jasper’s voice. He hovered next to her door, his cheeks ruddy with the cold. She’d never seen anything so perfect before in her life.

“Hey,” she said weakly.

Jasper crouched next to the open door. “Are you all right? You look sick.” “I’m—”

Ariana shifted and the scarf tumbled out from under her dress, caked with blood. “Holy—Ana! You’re hurt!” he whispered harshly.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she told him, pushing herself up straight. “We have to get you to a hospital.” Jasper fumbled for his phone.

“No.” She gripped his wrist so tightly he froze. “Jasper, no. Do you remember, last night? What you said to me?” Jasper’s brow knit. “What I said …?”

“About going to the ends of the earth for me?” Ariana prompted. His eyes registered perfect clarity. “Of course.”

“Well I have to go. I have to leave the country. Now. Tonight,” she said furtively. “I came here to ask … will you come with me?” Jasper leaned back on his heels. “Are you … you can’t be serious.”

Ariana felt his words inside her heart like a thousand tiny daggers. “Dead serious.” She reached for his hand and squeezed. “Jasper … please. I need an answer. Are you coming with me or not? I have a hotel room in Lisbon. We could be there first thing tomorrow. We could start a new life. One where no one knows me … knows us.”

Ariana realized she was rambling and bit down hard on her bottom lip. “So. Will you come?”

“Okay, you’re freaking me out here,” Jasper said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Ariana’s mouth hardened into a thin line. Jasper almost never spoke so colloquially. “You’re stalling.”

His eyes widened. “What? No? I just … you’re bleeding and you’re talking about leaving the country like some kind of fugitive and I’m not sure you’re thinking straight.

Let me get you some help and we’ll—”

He started to get up, but Ariana grasped his hand and pulled him back down again.

“Jasper, there’s no time.” She looked him dead in the eye. “I know this a lot to ask, but I also know that you love me. And because I love you, I’m going to give you some time to think about it. Just … not too much.”

She let him go and he stood up, backing up enough for her to slam the car door closed. Her finger trembled as she pressed the button to lower the window. “If you want to be with me, meet me at Terminal A at Ronald Reagan International in four hours. And bring your passport.”

“Ana … please. Let’s talk about this,” Jasper said, his nose turning red with the cold. “Tell me what’s happening.”