The Long Game
Page 63
Vivvie blinked rapidly, her lips pressed together and forced into a smile that told me she was trying not to cry. “You knew it wasn’t over.”
“Vivvie.” I reached out and took her arm, but she jerked out of my grasp.
“You listened to me talk about my dad,” Vivvie said. “And you knew. You knew it wasn’t over. You’re supposed to be my friend. My best friend.” She shook her head. “And I know that I might not be yours. I know that you have Asher and Henry, and you probably have tons of friends back in Montana, but you’re my best friend. Sometimes I think you’re my only friend. I trusted you when I didn’t trust anyone, and—”
The flow of words cut off abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” I told Vivvie. “I thought I was protecting you. And it was just a theory.”
A theory I’d believed from the moment I’d heard it.
“It’s fine,” Vivvie said, her voice dull. She forced herself to smile, even as a tear broke free and started carving a path down her face. “I’m not mad.”
Henry was angry with me. Vivvie was heartbroken.
“I’m not mad,” she repeated. “I just—I need to go.”
“Viv—”
I didn’t even get her whole name out before she was gone, bolting down the hall before anyone—myself included—could see her cry. As she disappeared around the corner, a member of the security staff walked by and told me to get to class. I waited until he’d passed, then turned and walked away.
I wanted to go after Vivvie, but I wasn’t sure I had the right to, so I did what I always did when my brain was too loud and there were no right answers to be found: I walked. I walked down the hall. I looped around and found myself standing in front of the library.
And that was when I heard the first shot.
CHAPTER 47
I thought that I’d imagined it. And then there was a second shot. And a third. Gunfire. My brain searched for another explanation, even as my body told me to run. Run-run-run-run—
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, my entire body jarring with each beat. Blood rushed in my ears. I forced myself to move, forced myself to turn, to take a step forward—away.
Away. Away. Run away. Run-run-run—
I caught sight of the library door. I remembered the door opening, John Thomas’s bloody body spilling into the hall. I shook. My vision blurred. Shallow breaths burned my lungs.
Blood. Everywhere I look, I see red. John Thomas. His body is on the ground. The walls close in around me.
Shot. Shot. Shot.
He’s bleeding. Can’t run. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. The blood—
Hands gripped my shoulders. I lashed out, like a horse with a broken leg.
The person holding me stumbles backward. All I can see is blood. I hear her, calling my name.
I felt like I was watching myself from outside my body. I felt as if something else had control.
“Tess. Tess.”
Through the blood, her features come into focus—
“Emilia.” I said the name and came back to myself. There was no blood. There was no body. But the gunshots were real. It took hearing another one before I was sure, and by that time, Emilia had locked a hand around my forearm.
“We have to go,” she said. “We have to hide.”
I let her pull me toward the library door, and then my survival instincts clicked back on. I pushed the door inward. Emilia followed. I considered barricading the door but decided that might just draw attention. If we barricaded ourselves in, the shooter would know we were here.
I pulled Emilia through the stacks. Toward the back of the library, the lights in the stacks were motion activated on an aisle-by-aisle basis. I hunkered down between two shelves, pressing my body as flat to them as I could. Beside me, Emilia did the same. It took a minute for the lights to go off.
Those sixty seconds were the longest in my life.
I could hear Emilia breathing beside me, could feel her breath on my neck.
“What’s going on?” I asked her, my voice so quiet I could barely hear the words myself.
“We were supposed to be in class,” Emilia said, her voice nearly as low as mine, neither of them anywhere near as deafening as the sound of my own heartbeat. “I forgot something in my locker. I went back, and I saw one of the new security guards pull his gun.”
Hardwicke had doubled the number of security personnel on campus. Heavily armed. The memory washed back over me. I’d thought—we’d all thought—that the guards were armed for our protection.
“How many?” I said, my voice hushed, my throat tightening around the words. “Just the one guard?”
“Vivvie.” I reached out and took her arm, but she jerked out of my grasp.
“You listened to me talk about my dad,” Vivvie said. “And you knew. You knew it wasn’t over. You’re supposed to be my friend. My best friend.” She shook her head. “And I know that I might not be yours. I know that you have Asher and Henry, and you probably have tons of friends back in Montana, but you’re my best friend. Sometimes I think you’re my only friend. I trusted you when I didn’t trust anyone, and—”
The flow of words cut off abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” I told Vivvie. “I thought I was protecting you. And it was just a theory.”
A theory I’d believed from the moment I’d heard it.
“It’s fine,” Vivvie said, her voice dull. She forced herself to smile, even as a tear broke free and started carving a path down her face. “I’m not mad.”
Henry was angry with me. Vivvie was heartbroken.
“I’m not mad,” she repeated. “I just—I need to go.”
“Viv—”
I didn’t even get her whole name out before she was gone, bolting down the hall before anyone—myself included—could see her cry. As she disappeared around the corner, a member of the security staff walked by and told me to get to class. I waited until he’d passed, then turned and walked away.
I wanted to go after Vivvie, but I wasn’t sure I had the right to, so I did what I always did when my brain was too loud and there were no right answers to be found: I walked. I walked down the hall. I looped around and found myself standing in front of the library.
And that was when I heard the first shot.
CHAPTER 47
I thought that I’d imagined it. And then there was a second shot. And a third. Gunfire. My brain searched for another explanation, even as my body told me to run. Run-run-run-run—
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, my entire body jarring with each beat. Blood rushed in my ears. I forced myself to move, forced myself to turn, to take a step forward—away.
Away. Away. Run away. Run-run-run—
I caught sight of the library door. I remembered the door opening, John Thomas’s bloody body spilling into the hall. I shook. My vision blurred. Shallow breaths burned my lungs.
Blood. Everywhere I look, I see red. John Thomas. His body is on the ground. The walls close in around me.
Shot. Shot. Shot.
He’s bleeding. Can’t run. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. The blood—
Hands gripped my shoulders. I lashed out, like a horse with a broken leg.
The person holding me stumbles backward. All I can see is blood. I hear her, calling my name.
I felt like I was watching myself from outside my body. I felt as if something else had control.
“Tess. Tess.”
Through the blood, her features come into focus—
“Emilia.” I said the name and came back to myself. There was no blood. There was no body. But the gunshots were real. It took hearing another one before I was sure, and by that time, Emilia had locked a hand around my forearm.
“We have to go,” she said. “We have to hide.”
I let her pull me toward the library door, and then my survival instincts clicked back on. I pushed the door inward. Emilia followed. I considered barricading the door but decided that might just draw attention. If we barricaded ourselves in, the shooter would know we were here.
I pulled Emilia through the stacks. Toward the back of the library, the lights in the stacks were motion activated on an aisle-by-aisle basis. I hunkered down between two shelves, pressing my body as flat to them as I could. Beside me, Emilia did the same. It took a minute for the lights to go off.
Those sixty seconds were the longest in my life.
I could hear Emilia breathing beside me, could feel her breath on my neck.
“What’s going on?” I asked her, my voice so quiet I could barely hear the words myself.
“We were supposed to be in class,” Emilia said, her voice nearly as low as mine, neither of them anywhere near as deafening as the sound of my own heartbeat. “I forgot something in my locker. I went back, and I saw one of the new security guards pull his gun.”
Hardwicke had doubled the number of security personnel on campus. Heavily armed. The memory washed back over me. I’d thought—we’d all thought—that the guards were armed for our protection.
“How many?” I said, my voice hushed, my throat tightening around the words. “Just the one guard?”
