Psycho Inside Me (11 page)

Chapter 11

“I’m going to drop you off here.” A block from my house, Mr. Weston stopped the car. He reached across me and pushed the door open. As if forgetting the entire reason he’d driven me.

Swiveling on the bucket seat of his 1987 Mustang, I swung my legs out and climbed from the car.

“Oh, your leg. Can you make it?” He leaned over, his hand in the center of the seat I’d just left.

I smiled and arched my brow. “My leg’s fine, Mr. Weston. I just wanted to spend more time with you.” I winked and turned away, not giving him the opportunity to respond.

His car zoomed away when I reached my front porch. I had plans to make.

Once again, my despair lifted with the thought of another kill.
Another chance to see Deegan.

~~~

All during school that week, I avoided Mr. Weston’s class. I didn’t have him on my schedule or anything, but my locker sat two classrooms down from his and he usually monitored the hallways between classes.

I walked alone. Everything I did was alone.

Friday came. I’d forgotten to do something for the anniversary of my mom’s death. But Dad didn’t. He had hit the whiskey hard and hadn’t resurfaced until Wednesday for his scripture study class with the youth.

My nerves twanged each time I clicked online. I’d left the chat rooms behind – at least for the week. No,
instead I’d opted to study Google’s street view of Mr. Weston’s house. I made notes on a small pad of paper about the number of windows, the porch, his front door, the driveway. Everything.

He didn’t wear a ring and I’d never heard of any kids. Hopefully, he’d be alone Saturday when I
showed up unannounced.

Friday. Oh man, I was so jumbled. I couldn’t focus for any set amount of time.
Sheldon had died in a house. I could do houses.

“Cassie Mulligan? You’re excused to your next class.” My Engl
ish teacher pointed at the door.

What was my next class? Study hall. “Sorry. Thanks.” I gathered my books and
pencils and sauntered out the door. Nothing seemed stable. I only had three classes left for the day. Going home looked like the best option.

Caught up in planning around every possibility for that weekend, I didn’t watch where I was going and slammed into a wall. I dropped my books and looked up. Nope, never mi
nd. I’d slammed into Deegan.

Tucking a loose chunk of hair behind my ear, I muttered, “Sorry.” And bent down to pick
up my things.

He knelt, too,
scooping up a pencil and some loose leaf paper that had broken free from a three-ring binder. Damn, he smelled so good – like maple leaves and freshly oiled leather. Softly, he spoke. “Here you go. How you doin’, Cass?”

The way he said it, like he knew I was unraveling, like he could smell my desperate need to off another terrible man.
I lifted my chin, looking him straight in the eye, avoiding the twisted knot in my gut. “I’m good, Deegan. How you doin’?”

Disappointment lowered his lids. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but his girlfriend’s shrill voice cut him off. “Oh, Deegie-bear, do you really think you need to talk with sophomores?” She tugged on his arm, her pink nails bright against his dark brown tee.
Narrowed eyes and tight lips directed my way didn’t hide her feelings under any social niceties.

I waved him off. “You better get going, Deegie-bear.” Rolling my eyes, I finished collecting my things and stood, prepared to see him nowhere around.

Instead, he held his ground in front of me – his face hard, unyielding, but with an edge of vulnerability. The girlfriend waited a few feet away.

I
pursed my lips and jerked my chin up. “Good to know you wear the pants.” I’d never liked his girlfriend and couldn’t swallow the image of them together, kissing, holding hands, cuddling. Oh, crap, was that throw-up rushing up my throat?

Thou shalt not covet.

And I definitely coveted.

“Enough.” He sliced his hand through the air, stopping at waist level.

I bit back the next smartass remark begging to be let out. I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest and thrusting a hip out.

He leaned into me, his face suddenly awash in concern. “Look, I’m serious. How’re you doing?”

For a moment, I pretended there was no girlfriend, that he asked me because he cared. But the moment didn’t last when
she
tapped her fingernails on the tiled wall and cleared her throat. I tilted my head to take in her annoyed countenance, her own head angled such a way to try to eavesdrop on our conversation.

No pretending. Not anymore.

My features tightened. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone. “Seriously. I’m fine.” I pushed my lips into my version of a sexy pout, as if to say, go ahead and argue with me. See what happens. I hoped I didn’t come across as a duckbilled platypus. But he didn’t take the challenge. I spun on the heel of my combat boot and walked off the other way, both from Deegan and the library.

And dang if I didn’t almost collide with Mr. Weston.

“Cassie. How are you?” His smooth smile spread quickly, his hand pulling from my shoulder even faster.

Deegan still close to my back,
I hitched my pile of things tight to my chest. “I’m good, Mr. Weston, how are you?” The previously packed hallway thinned out, students disappearing into their classes. A large clock stationed above the lockers a few doors down showed I had less than thirty seconds to get to study hall. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m going to be late for class. I already have two tardies in there as it is.” I wanted to woo him, but no way would I be able to kill him, if I was in Saturday detention and grounded by my dad because of it.

Plus, how did I pretend to care about Mr. Weston when I was so close to the guy I loved?

“No, no. It’s okay. I understand. I’ll see you later.” He eyed my chest, as if my curves were there for his pleasure only.

Before losing him to the consequences of my perceived disinterest, I flashed a flirty smile his way, pretending Deegan had take
n his place. “Nice running into you, sir.” I swung left, right, then left again before turning around and leaving, making sure to peek at him over my shoulder. Pervert watched my ass walking away. Could he be any more obvious?

I ignored Deegan standing at the corner just past Mr. Weston, his girlfriend hanging on his arm and glaring at me.

Two men I’d planned on seeing that weekend had crossed my path on the day my need drove me to my limits. I couldn’t take a second longer of being in that building. I feigned the flu and got the hell out of there. I left my backpack in my locker.

~~~

“Home, home on the range. Where the deer and the buffalo…”
Play? Kill? Eat?
Weren’t they the same?
I stared into the sink of bubbles and water. A pile of dirty dishes stacked to my right far outweighed the stack of clean ones on a towel to my left.

“Play. You can’t be forgetting already, right?” My brother snapped a towel at the bar of the oven door. “Come on. Where seldom is heard, a discour
aging word. And the skies are dark…” He stopped and searched the air above his head for the words.

He’d left school early himself, meeting me at home. Grateful for the company, I hadn’t commented on his actions, didn’t want to be a hypocrite.
I laughed instead. “The skies are dark? You forgot it, too, nerd. I’m not the only one forgetting.” Our smiles matched and then faded. Facing off in the kitchen, we took a moment to study each other.

My little brother’s eyes brimmed. I’d forgotten he was only ten. He seemed so much older sometimes. His lip quivered. “If we forget her songs, Cass, won’t we forget her?”

Restricting, my throat worked to do what I wanted. I swallowed and hmm-hmmmm’ed. “No. We won’t forget her. I promise.”

But the tears came anyway. He shook his head. “I can’t picture her anymore. I don’t remember what she looks like. I can’t…” A small gasp moved his slight frame. I hadn’t really looked at him since Mom’s death. Thinner, his appearance gave him a younger slant – like he might be closer to eight than ten. Dark hollows shadowed the sockets of his eyes and his cheeks had taken on a gaunt look.

I closed the distance between us and pulled him into my arms. Cheek against the top of his head, I closed my eyes. “Okay. Close your eyes.” He tried to pull from me, like I was trying to get him to take drugs or something. I pinned him to me. “Seriously, close your eyes.”

He did. I continued in a soft croon. “Picture the last time you saw Mom. Her hair and that ridi
culous bun she always wore. Do you remember the shirt she wore? Most likely a tee, right? She loved her t-shirts. Only a little bit of mascara, maybe a touch of chapstick?” I patted his back. “What was she doing?”

His
lips moved against my arm. “She made me a sandwich for my lunch and gave me some cheese.”

I shut my eyes. The picture of Mom doing exactly what he said ran fresh through my mind. The warmth of the kitchen, the smile as she slid the slice of cheddar across the counter, the tilt to her head as she asked one of her questions.
I could clearly see her eyes, so like mine and my brothers – dark brown, deep and warm. “Can you see her? She’s smiling, bud. She reaches over and wraps you in a huge hug.”

He sighed. “She always smelled like vanilla.” The joy in his voice at remembering Mom had a contagious
effect on me.

We laughed together. A
nd he returned my hug. Tears cover both our cheeks.

“I miss her, Cass.” He straightened from my hold
, but the distance between us had been decimated.

I swallowed. “I know. Me too.”

“Why doesn’t Dad? He doesn’t care about anything anymore.” He sniffed, wiping his nose and hunching toward me.

How did I answer that? I didn’t understand our dad anymore than a stranger would sitting through one of
his sermons. “I don’t know. But I care, okay? If you need anything, to talk or whatever, you tell me. I’m here.”

Reassured, my little brother nodded and rinsed soap from his hands, then wiped them on a towel. “Thanks, you too.” He left the room.

I called after him. “Hey, pizza later tonight. Let’s do a movie, too.” Doing things alone had less appeal than I’
d willingly acknowledge. Loneliness in my day-to-day dealings took a lot out of me and I welcomed being home with someone that I knew loved me. My brother was my top choice – second to Mom, of course.

Saturday would be the big day. Everything would have to be perfect. Part of me doubted Deegan would come. Another part of me hoped he hadn’t forgotten me. But the last part, the part with the inked flowers on it, just couldn’t believe Deegan would ever forget me, like I’d never forget him. He was branded on my skin in a part only I could see. That had to account for something. Right?

To get into Mr. Weston’s house, I’d need to dress trampy again. My outfit would need to be appealing too, though. If Deegan did show up, I couldn’t waste the opportunity to make an impression without the wench there. I’d have to wear a belt of some kind to hold my knife on it. The strong, sharp blade’s value had increased since the last time. Even as cheap as it had been, I couldn’t bring myself to replace it.

Wait a minute… I stopped, thinking hard. Where had I put that thing last? I’d tossed it in my backpack when I’d gone hiking a few weeks back, the weight slipping to the bottom of the bag. But where had it gotten to after that?

I’d never taken it out. I exhaled hard and slapped my palm to my forehead. “Come on, Cassie.” Jeesh. The clock said four-oh-five. If I was lucky, the building would still be open. No way was I going to Mr. Weston’s without my knife, like it would jinx my kill or something. I couldn’t have that. Without Deegan, things were already desperately altered. I couldn’t guarantee my psyche would be stable before or after, but I could hope… I hoped.

In jeans and my vintage-style Converse tennis shoes, I twisted my hair into a lower ponytail
and covered my dark brown t-shirt with a light turquoise windbreaker. Just because I’d hit sixteen didn’t mean I had my license. I’d be hoofing it until my dad returned emotionally and mentally to the family.

My brother wouldn’t come out of his room for a while, but just in case he did, I left him a note by the phone. “
Went to high school for backpack. Will grab pizza on way home. Pick out a movie
.
”

No way would I run in my tennies. Plus, sweating in jeans – blech.
I walked the few blocks to the school campus. Friday night, no one my age would be there – another hope.

In the side door, I walked the hall leading toward my locker. Half the lights had been turned off
and the lack of windows to the outside gave a different ambience to the corridor. All the doors were shut. Horror movies always had the chick walking like a dumbass through the empty halls while the killer took his time getting closer and closer. The girl’s footsteps echoed loudly, even if she was wearing rubber-soled shoes that didn’t even squeak. She would have been dressed much sluttier than me, most girls were.

If I wrote it, I would have had
the girl be the killer. So much more interesting when the “weaker” prey turns out to be the predator. The school had a wet paper odor, like paper mache but with a moldier undertone. I wrinkled my nose. Smells must be easier to hide with hundreds of kids running around.