The Girl From the Woods
29
Night had come, bringing with it the shadows, as well as her. Again.
Rachel—alive, her heartbeat pounding against my chest—was curled next to me on the bed. She looked at me, the moonlight bathing her clothed body.
I saw the tears in her shirt, the blood on her, and slid my hands along her cheek. Her skin was cold.
"You're dead," I said.
Her eyes, which held my gaze, were intense. When she touched my cheek, I couldn't help by shiver, my bones rattling.
"You're so close, Quinn," she whispered, lips against my ear.
"This is a dream," I told her, pulling away. "You're not here. My mind is playing tricks on me."
"You're so close, Quinn," she repeated, her eyes bright with tears. "They will help you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Brandt and Bridget," she told me. "They want justice for me."
"Brandt has me pinned," I argued, sitting up. "He won't see anything else that's going to help him catch Victor."
"That's not his name," she said softly. Something crossed over her features—fear?—but it was gone before I could ask about it. "And Brandt—be careful. He's not who you think he is. But he wants this to end."
"I didn't hurt you," I muttered, looking at the door. "I didn't even know you."
Her voice was low as she leaned close and said, "But you saw me that night."
"You—" My throat clenched, tight and painful. "How did you know that?"
"Because I saw you," she whispered, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Before he told me what he wanted me to do, I saw you watching us. I should have known better. I should have gotten up and walked over to you."
"Rachel, what did he tell you to do?"
She smiled in the light, and it was grim.
"He told me to run."
Rachel—alive, her heartbeat pounding against my chest—was curled next to me on the bed. She looked at me, the moonlight bathing her clothed body.
I saw the tears in her shirt, the blood on her, and slid my hands along her cheek. Her skin was cold.
"You're dead," I said.
Her eyes, which held my gaze, were intense. When she touched my cheek, I couldn't help by shiver, my bones rattling.
"You're so close, Quinn," she whispered, lips against my ear.
"This is a dream," I told her, pulling away. "You're not here. My mind is playing tricks on me."
"You're so close, Quinn," she repeated, her eyes bright with tears. "They will help you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Brandt and Bridget," she told me. "They want justice for me."
"Brandt has me pinned," I argued, sitting up. "He won't see anything else that's going to help him catch Victor."
"That's not his name," she said softly. Something crossed over her features—fear?—but it was gone before I could ask about it. "And Brandt—be careful. He's not who you think he is. But he wants this to end."
"I didn't hurt you," I muttered, looking at the door. "I didn't even know you."
Her voice was low as she leaned close and said, "But you saw me that night."
"You—" My throat clenched, tight and painful. "How did you know that?"
"Because I saw you," she whispered, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Before he told me what he wanted me to do, I saw you watching us. I should have known better. I should have gotten up and walked over to you."
"Rachel, what did he tell you to do?"
She smiled in the light, and it was grim.
"He told me to run."