The Devil Inside

18: Ashes to Ashes

Calla stared at Vincent, absorbing every detail—the golden flecks in his eyes and the anxious crease between them; the soft layer of stubble on his jaw; the slope of his neck and the slight curl of his hair, desperately in need of a trim.

I'm going to lose him, she thought.

Calla was resigned to that fact. She could see the end, could feel the final, shuddering breaths of what lay between them. In its own way, this felt like death. Like the burning away of something old and decayed.

And from the ashes, she wasn't sure what would rise.

"I killed Tracy Smith," she said into the frigid, dark air, her words a cloud of white against the looming headlights.

Some distance away, Cooper started choking on his own spit.

"You..." He gasped, bending at the waist to catch his breath. Once the coughing had subsided, he straightened. "You went there? You couldn't, like...ease him into it?"

"Ha, ha." Vincent glared at the both of them. "Very funny. I know you think this is some kind of joke—"

"Vincent," Calla said, cutting him off. She wasn't smiling. "I'm not joking."

He threw her an exasperated look. "Right."

"I killed her," Calla repeated, trying to think of how she might be able to explain the situation properly. "I took a knife from the kitchen and followed her upstairs at the party. And I killed her. That's what started all of...this." Her grip on the edge of the headstone tightened.

Vincent gave her a long, hard look. She didn't budge an inch. Eventually, he whirled on Cooper. "What kind of sick fucking joke—"

"This isn't a joke," Cooper repeated. The look on his face was one of utter torment. "Think for a minute. Just...think. And let her finish."

Vincent jammed his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket. His breath had started to come more quickly, fogging in front of his face at an alarming rate.

Calla tilted her head back and stared up at the starless sky, the pit in her chest expanding, swallowing her whole.

"Cory saw what happened," she continued. "It...inspired him to do the rest. He was completely delusional." She closed her eyes and sighed, her breath warm against the ice in the air. "That part has always been true. He killed the others. He wanted to make a game of it, between the two of us. And then at the end, he wanted to kill the both of you, too. I obviously didn't allow that to happen."

She opened her eyes. Vincent had not moved. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but she thought he looked rather pale.

"I don't think this is going so well," Cooper muttered.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Calla asked, peeved. "You've been digging and digging at this, begging for the truth. Well, there it is. Unfiltered. Unedited."

Vincent zipped up his jacket with shaking hands. His next question was a whisper, barely audible. "You...you killed Tracy Smith?"

"Yes," she said, without hesitation.

Cooper had started pacing between the headstones, his hands practically superglued to his hair.

"Why?" Vincent choked out. He wouldn't look at her. His eyes had latched onto a point just over her shoulder.

Calla could have lied, could have tried to frame herself in a better light. Because Tracy was a bully was one excuse that came to mind. That might've made everything easier to understand. But they'd already come this far. She wouldn't soften the blow for him now.