The Dark One by Jennifer Martucci & Christopher Martucci

Author:Jennifer Martucci & Christopher Martucci [Martucci, Jennifer & Martucci, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-06-06T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Walking into school on Monday morning, I feel as if my feet do not touch the ground. After a weekend spent chatting on the phone with Sarah for hours at a time, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been in recent memory. The hallway is lined with kids, many with their backs turned, huddled and deep in discussion. I’m hardly aware of them though. There’s only one face I’m searching for, one person I seek: Sarah.

Making my way to my locker purposefully, I notice that the faces I scan all wear the same general expression. Each seems troubled. Each bears sadness, confusion, and fear.

Seeing Tom in my periphery, I turn to face him as he fumbles with the combination on his lock. “What the heck is going on? What’s with all the long faces?” I ask.

Tom’s eyes narrow and confusion knits his brow. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?” I ask, perplexed and intrigued.

Tom sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. I notice his eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Jenny Sanders, you know, Sarah’s best friend, she committed suicide last night. They found her in the basement with her wrists slit just like the other girls.”

My stomach plummets to my feet and a wash of icy numbness prickles my skin. “No.” The word comes out as a breathy whisper. Guilt collides with anger as I realize Jenny’s death is my fault. I was sent here to prevent such occurrences, though I haven’t the vaguest clue how I’m supposed to accomplish such a feat. Regardless, I’ve become distracted. I’ve become preoccupied with Sarah. Her face fills my thoughts. Her voice echoes in my mind. And the ache in her heart becomes my own.

Sensing her proximity, I look up and see her. She walks toward me, her hurt palpable. “Sarah,” is all I can say.

“Danny,” she barely manages. I hear the tightness in her throat, see the rivulet of tears streaming from her eyes. She reaches out and touches my arm, her fingertips feathers on my forearm.

Immediately, I envelop her, drawing her close to my body and wrapping both arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I say into her hair, the sweet scent of strawberries and vanilla wafting from her golden locks.

She allows me to hold her as sobs rack her body. Her shoulders shudder and I hold her tighter, begging every deity I can conceive of to allow me to take her hurt and make it my own. “This can’t be happening.” Her words come between sniffles. She steps back and her eyes, now the brightest, palest sky blue I’ve ever seen, meet mine. “She didn’t do it. She didn’t kill herself. She wasn’t like that.” Her arms fall from my waist and wrap around her own. She clutches her midsection as if attempting to literally hold herself together. “Jenny loved herself. A little too much at times.” A small, pained laugh passes from her lips. “This is like the others, the other girls who allegedly committed suicide, isn’t it? Only she wasn’t found at the mansion, she was found at the house.

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