Chapter 1
Close To Me
Fate is a rigged game.
She took my hand and led me to Daphne Bridge beneath the moonlit sky. On the overcrossing, a massive web stretched wide. A pale spider waited at its center, patient and deadly. I didn’t realize then that the spider's stalking echoed hers—a predator that ensnared her prey and devoured them whole, flesh and soul.
Love stories don’t begin this way.
Mine does.
***
When you're dead, they say you hallucinate bright lights, even if you're consumed in total darkness. I knew it was coming for me. It was only a matter of time, borrowed time at that. The pulsating lights defile my senses. I hear them. I smell them. Do you know what light sounds and smells like? Screaming. And blood.
Did the knife slip between my rib cage unnoticed as I touched up my lipstick, preparing for a “meet cute,” but getting the death scene instead? Damn, Spencer. I didn’t know you had it in you. I’m kinda impressed, actually. I really wanted that kiss too. Too bad. At least I'll die with makeup on.
The lights of the police cruiser behind us bounce off the rearview mirror painting us in neon blue and red. It seems I’m not dead, or dying after all. Just arrested, for whatever reason.
“What are you, some axe murderer?”
Spencer, scruffy and broody, turns in the driver's seat. “Not unless you’re talking about that can of Axe body spray I killed for this date of ours.”
Spencer massages the back of his neck and lowers his window for the approaching cop. “It’s probably nothing, Jayce. Expired tag.”
The flashlight in our faces only adds to the non-ambiance. And here we were, Spencer and I, on the verge of a sloppy kiss. The “verge” — such an exciting place to be, often better than the destination itself.
Spencer perks up. “Good evening, officer. We were admiring this beautiful city view. Is there anything wrong?”
I stop gnawing on the lock of my hair. “Safety Officer Rolls, right? You work at Century High.”
"On Tuesdays and Thursdays," he lowers his light. I smile.
“This isn’t a good night to be at Makeout Point,” he warns. So much for my wholesome act. “Authorities found the body of a student in Southcross.” Perhaps unintentionally, he angles the flashlight up and illuminates his face, like he’s telling ghost stories at a campfire.
Southcross, only one town over. Things just got real. My stomach plummets, taking the childish grin on my face with it. “What does that mean? Are you saying there’s a killer on the loose?”
A murdered teen? One more notch on God’s bedpost. I’m not sure what to feel, except total buzzkill.
The square-jawed cop keeps a straight face. His flashlight is still under his chin. “I suggest you head home.”
Spencer nods. “Yes, sir.”
Officer Rolls heads back to his cruiser, his dark profile outlined by the night sky as he walks past the pines that overlook the city.
Starved for romance, I'd subsisted for days on almonds and cottage cheese. All to shed pounds before tonight's rendezvous. Brilliant plan. A spontaneous laugh tumbles out of me, breaking the awkward silence. “That was weird.”
Spencer starts the car. “Yeah. Crazy, huh?”
“The only killing going on here is the vibe.” A drumroll goes off in my head.
“Ha. Yeah. Axes are too messy."
I crack the window. “What?”
“For murder. Hypothetically.”
“So, what's your weapon of choice?”
He glances at the speedometer. “Never mind. Stupid thought.”
“No, killer. Spill it. Things just got interesting.”
His eyes dart between me and the road. “You enjoy this?”
“Maybe. Impress me, and we'll resume our... activities.”
He rubs his chin. “A scalpel. Precise. I’d cut out the heart.”
I run the back of my fingers down Spencer’s arm. “Ooo. Poetic. Quite the imagination, Spencer."
"Your turn. How would you do it?"
I clutch my collar in mock horror. “Me? I would never take a life! I'm no sicko.”
“Got me there, Jayce.”
We laugh, letting go of the earlier tension.
Spencer runs a hand through his dark hair. “So, did you want to pick up where we left off before our brush with the law?”
I nibble my lower lip. As far as I’m concerned, a smooch remains in the cards, but I don’t want to come off as easy. “Well, walk me to my porch like a gentleman, and we’ll see.”
I touch up my cherry lip gloss as he parks in my driveway and jogs to the passenger side to open my door.
“Thank you kindly.”
We link arms as he walks me along.
“I’m really glad you took me out.”
“Me too. It was the least I could do after the accident.” He glances at my wrist brace that I’ve made a useless attempt to match with my outfit.
Fate intervened when Spencer broke my wrist and then asked me out on this pity date. If we hit it off, then it would make a good story later.
“So, you felt guilty then? Here I thought it was because I was special.”
“You are.” He leans in.
Our mouths touch. I turn to stone. Breath held, lips locked, muscles rigid. Spencer pushes for more but meets only resistance. My body rebels, every fiber taut with rejection. Fists balled, limbs stiff, I endure rather than enjoy. The experience is as great as a frozen hot dog, and I’m not sure why.
Lips met. Sparks fizzled. From yucky to meh, my kisses with boys left me wanting. I didn’t expect fairy-tale magic, but it had to be better than this. Is Spencer not into me? Do my looks fall short? Maybe my technique needs work. Or am I too uptight? Doubts swirl as reality fails to match even modest expectations.
“That bad, huh?” Spencer lowers his face with a meek smile. “Maybe too much death talk.”
“That’s not it, trust me. Sorry. Let’s try again. Kiss me.” I close my eyes and wring my fingers. Spencer's hands close around my shoulders. He places a gentle peck on my forehead and steps back. “I’m happy to try this another night if you are.”
I’ve had better make-out sessions with my pillows. I want to die.
Spencer shuffles to his car, and I give a clunky salute with my injured hand as he turns.
“Oh, and, uh, Jayce? Don’t mention the whole run-in with the cop, I mean, to anyone at school, or anyone else. ”
“Um, okay. Nothing happened.”
“Yeah, but ‘nothing’ is how rumors are started. Just promise me you won’t say anything.”
“Yeah, of course. My lips are sealed.” Ugh. Literally. What a poor choice of words.
“See you at school then.” He waves and gets in his car.
I wait for him to pull out of my driveway. I don’t know why except it seems like the polite thing to do.
I wave back at him- for several seconds, starting to feel like I’m on a parade float. He doesn’t turn the ignition right away, but leans over and fiddles with something in his glove box. What’s taking him so long? Is he doing coke or something? The car roars to life as he gives it more gas then he needs. The music volume is cranked up to full- some heavy metal song. He fishtails out of my driveway, burns rubber, and speeds away.
And we were having such a lovely time.
Oh-kay.
Defeated and deflated, I slump inside.
A towering silhouette spooks me in the foyer, giving me the sudden urge to pee.
My mom turns on the light and gives me a tighter-than-usual hug. “Are you okay?”
She smells like washed hair. I’m a kitten in stilettos in need of my mother’s grooming love. “You startled me. You weren't watching me on the Ring camera, were you?”
“No, sweetheart,” she yawns, “I’m just glad you’re home.”
I sink into her embrace. “Are you gonna stay up my entire senior year worrying about me?”
“I’ve given up eternal rest as long as you’re around. My ghost will haunt you, kiddo.”
“I’m your favorite child, aren’t I? Admit it already.”
“Nice try. Speaking of your sister, she sent you a get-well package. I put it on your laundry.”
I check my phone upstairs in my room. There’s a text from Faye asking me how my date went.
The kiss was HORRIBLE; I type.
They reply with a sad face.
I text back that we’ll talk later.
My package from Layne, addressed to “Little J” beckons from atop my laundry under my framed Suspiria poster.
I tear open the box. There’s candy and a stuffed bear inside.
“What am I, nine?” I shake it loose, airing out the package smell, and throw it on my bed. I take the card and candy to the adjoining bathroom and dump them in the trash.
I remove my wrist brace and undress. As I pinch my midriff, I scrutinize the mirror's harsh verdict. I squeeze hard, enduring several seconds of pain before letting go. I wish I could just carve out the extra flesh from my side if I wouldn’t bleed to death. It would be worth the scar, I think.
Layne's save-the-date wedding announcement stares back at me from the corner of the full length mirror. A silver-toned professional couple’s portrait, of her facing the camera caught in mid air, by her strong fiance, her tiny tee shirt riding up her perfect midriff, and a smile as wide as a guillotine.
Underneath it, the bathroom scale. “Moment of truth,” I mutter, stepping on.
I wait for the number, like a condemned criminal awaiting sentencing. The display flashes, and I shift my weight, hoping in vain for some improvement, but no. Court is adjourned.
I wash my hands and tie back my hair to prepare for what's next. The cool bathroom tile meets my knees as I drop in front of the toilet as if it were an altar.
There’s a pause as my mind goes blank and I ready myself for the pain. The toilet water stares back, casting another reflection of me, this one fragmented, and warped.
I press my flat palms on the cold porcelain of the outside of the bowl and curl my fingers.
“C’mon Jayce. You don’t have to do this. You’re fine just the way you are. It’s the inside that counts.”
It makes me laugh a little every time, my corny little monologue, because I know it’s just not true.
I plunge my fingers into the back of my throat and ignore the instinct to pull them back until I choke and heave. A deep cough rips my esophagus, and my stomach tightens as I expel a violent cascade of liquid pizza and breadsticks. The rotten smell is secondary to the pain. Convulsions continue, expelling bile and drool.
A euphoric relief settles in me as cold sweat falls from my brow and my body settles. I’m turned inside out like dirty laundry. I heave one last time, expelling dead air. My ribs constrict and I take in a new breath. I blow my nose into my hand freeing pieces of food from my sinuses, and whimper for several moments.
The minutes that follow are always the most freeing of my existence. I’m a newborn, naked, wet, dirty and cold on the outside, but my mind is warm and clean. If I can feel this way balled up in the bathroom corner, it gives me hope.
As I come to, I wipe the stray chunks of vomit from the floor and toilet bowl with sanitary wipes and stumble to the shower.
Freshly bathed, my feet are on autopilot as I shuffle to my bed and flop onto the mattress, woozy and exhausted. For several minutes, I lie nearly motionless, except for my finger scrolling through cake pics on my phone.
Faye FaceTimes, and I answer with the bear pressed against my chest.
“Aw. Who's your #1 BFF?”
“Cheap gift from Layne. You’ll always be my #1 BFF.”
Faye bites their nails. “Yo, there’s a senior here at NHU whose sister got killed. Everyone’s freaking out.”
“I heard. Spencer and I ran into Safety Officer Rolls. Remember him?”
“Officer ‘Zaddy’? Bet.”
Guilt slides across my mind like a papercut. Did I betray Spencer’s confidence? He asked me not to say anything about the police. Whoops. It’s just Faye though.
“What do you know about this murder?” I ask.
“Supposedly the killer left a tear-stained note near the body. They’re calling them The Crying Killer.”
“Whoa.” I run my fingers across my lips. “That is so . . . “ Friggin cool. Romantic. Metal. Goth. . . . “spooky.”
“Right?”
My imagination runs wild. Paralyzed and bloodied, I lie motionless. Above me, a shadowy figure weeps. Their tears rain down as they profess their love. Lately I can’t tell the difference between my nightmares and fantasies.
“Jayce, you okay?”
“Sorry. I’m fine.”
“Spencer?”
“Actually, no. Layne’s wedding is coming up. I thought that if I found someone to bring to her perfect day. . . It was stupid. Always the little sister, forever climbing. Little J lost and stuck in a tree,” I sing.
I cover half my face with the bear. I run my finger over his button eye and tug at it a bit.
“You’re low-key roasting yourself. A situationship will boost your mood. We should head to some place sexy.”
“Sexy? In this town?”
“There’s the new nightclub, V, we could slide through if we can get in. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“I don’t think I’m the club type.”
“Or, maybe you could pull a college hottie at the NHUE Fall Ball.”
I let out a huge breath of air and trill my lips. “I don’t know. Will it be weird going to a college party since I’m still in high school?”
“It’s open to anyone who purchases a ticket. Throw on something fire and come through.”
“I’ll think about it.” With a murderer on the loose, what could go wrong? Fear nags, an old instinct I’ve been batting off for years. Little J would cower at home. Fate beckons outside these walls. “Count me in.”
“Someone is here.” Faye looks behind them. The dorm door creaks open in the dark.
My heart is in my throat as thoughts of the Crying Killer invade my mind.
“Who's there?” Faye shouts. The camera shakes like a found-footage horror film.
A stranger stands in Faye’s doorway.
I gasp and dig my nails into my nameless plush toy. “Faye? Is everything alright?”
“Hello,” a female voice answers and flips on the light switch.
Faye jumps off their bed. “Arachne. Hi! You scared the hell out of me.”
My shoulders relax. But I've pulled one of the bear's eyes out.
Faye’s lopsided face comes back on camera. “Whew. It’s my roommate, Arachne.” I have a tilted view of the dorm.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Arachne has an accent I can’t place. Soft. Sexy.
“Are you okay?” Faye moves toward her.
“My lover and I had a fight.” Arachne pulls a tie from her dark hair. “I want to stay here tonight if that’s cool.”
Lover? Who is this girl? Wish I could say things like that. She gets it. Passion. Heat. Lust. Meanwhile, I’m hugging toilet bowls.
“Of course. This is your room too. Give me a sec, and we can talk if you like. I need to let my girl, Jayce, go.”
“Thanks.” Arachne slips off her jacket. Her tank top reveals fair skin that harmonizes with her dark features. “I’m gonna shower and change.”
She looks over her shoulder, her gorgeous face in profile.
I take a quick screenshot. Okay, stalker.
With Arachne out of the room, Faye turns their phone to me and speaks in a hushed tone. “Dude, she’s like, never spent the night here since we moved in. She’s always at her boyfriend’s.”
“I’ll let you go. Hit me up later?”
My stomach rumbles. “Oh, shut up.” Love’s embrace will free me from this self-imposed prison of perfection.
I face the ceiling plastered with stars that no longer glow, and my hands wander over my body. First I think about Spencer and our kiss, but that’s not sexy at all. I chew on our banter about killing someone, and that amps me up a little. Crying Killer. Getting warmer. Arachne. I pull out my phone, zoom in on her picture, and whisper her name. It sounds like designer perfume. My tongue dances around the syllables. I imagine her from her “lover’s” point of view. That ivory skin, the smell of those dark locks. Purr.
My body tingles.
I stop myself. I’m tired.
“Arachne and her lover.” I’m so mad behind.
