Kyle walks through the front doors of the school in a fog. She slept most of the day Sunday, more tired than she ever remembers feeling. The dreams were torture, a sick highlight reel of all the worst ones she’d had, woman after woman dying in front of her, blowing away into nothingness.
Being awake was almost as bad as sleeping. Every time she pulled herself out of her nightmare world, she saw Colter’s face, frozen and blue. Felt his icy skin beneath her fingers, heard the shuddering breath she had thought was pleasure, but now knows was him shivering from the arctic spell she cast.
And any moment not spent dreaming of dead women or reliving the panic of what had happened in her bedroom, Kyle drowned under the similarities of what she did to Colter and what the killer did to his victims. The ice cold bodies, the frozen bits of flesh—Colter’s face flashed in her mind again, blue skin and frosty eyelashes.
Students rush around Kyle, excited chattering filling the hallway. By now, everyone has heard the FBI is in town, investigating a serial killer, and the ones who haven’t had their lives ripped apart by these murders are living high on the excitement. Kyle weaves through the press of bodies, watching the halls for Colter.
Jayne is waiting at Kyle’s locker. “Where were you?” she calls. “I thought you were coming to the party.”
“Oh,” Kyle mumbles, “I, uh...I think I got what Lynette had. Sick.” She gestures to her stomach lamely.
“And you couldn’t call? I waited for you.” Jayne plasters a fake pout onto her face. “I called you, like, a thousand times yesterday.”
“Yeah, sorry. My phone was dead.” Kyle glances past her best friend toward Mr. Branscom’s classroom. Maybe Colter came early to work on his showcase piece?
“Whatever. I’m over it.” Jayne grabs Kyle’s arm and practically dislocates the shoulder with her excited tugging. “Guess what happened?”
“What?” Kyle asks, trying to put excitement into her voice. She pulls her arm from Jayne’s grip. “Ow.”
“Sorry.” Jayne loops her arm through Kyle’s elbow, her constant need for contact propelling her movements. “You done?” she asks and shuts the locker door at Kyle’s nod. The two walk toward Mr. Branscom’s room.
“Okay, so I get to the party, and it’s pretty lame.” The door is open, and Kyle can almost see inside, is almost close enough to know if Colter is inside. “So I’m pulling my phone out to call you and tell you not to bother coming after all, when he walks in.”
They turn into the room. Colter is standing in front of the easel, paintbrush in hand, a blank look on his face. Kyle freezes in the doorway, pulling Jayne to a skidding stop next to her. Colter’s eyes snap up, lock to Kyle’s. His face morphs into a war of emotion. Desire still lingers beneath the surface, but his intense fear nearly knocks Kyle back out into the hallway. Suddenly, she is exhausted again, wanting nothing more than to crawl back to bed and spend another day sleeping.
Jayne tugs lightly on Kyle’s arm. “Oh, who is he?” Kyle asks, doing her best to sound interested.
Thankfully, Jayne is so excited to tell her story she doesn’t seem to mind Kyle’s distraction. They cross the room to their seats, and Jayne gushes, “His name is Blake, and he is so cute. He’s a junior at Mount Olive, and—”
Kyle’s hand freezes halfway to her supply table. “So he’s like twenty?”
“Just turned twenty-one.”
“Your parents will flip.”
Jayne rolls her eyes. “Whatever. We talked all night Saturday, and he called my yesterday. He is so amazing.”
YOU ARE READING
Incubus, Episode One
Teen FictionAll Kyle Prideaux wants is a normal life. But with a serial killer in town, murdering women the same way her mother died seven years ago, and a silent stalker watching her during the day and invading her dreams at night, normal is impossible. After...
