The Psychopath Next Door

23: Don't Do Drugs, Kids

It changes nothing.

Cooper sat in silence, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring listlessly down at his shoes. Coach Wallace stood at the base of the bleachers, reading names off a broken clipboard. Cooper barely recognized his name in time to say here; the back of his head ached. He rubbed at the tender spot, wincing at bruises he couldn't see.

It was his fault, really. He was around her so often he'd almost forgotten what she was. He'd forgotten about the cold darkness resting in her eyes. He'd forgotten about the iron strength of her hands, the cruel curve of her fingers.

He'd forgotten about the shadowy figure standing in the window when he found his dead cat in the field.

It was easy to forget nowadays. Surrounded by death and horror and his own impending doom, Cooper had grown accustomed to her dark presence. She was, after all, his only chance of survival. He'd been consumed by the idea that maybe she wasn't the murdering, vindictive little psycho he thought she was. But he'd been wrong. Worse: he'd been too fixated on the beast coming for his throat to pay attention to the one already hovering at his back.

How the hell am I ever going to get out of this mess? Cooper thought, shoving back a wave of desperation. Is this going to be my life? Running from serial killers and Calla Parker until one of them comes bursting through my door to finally end it all?

A depressing thought. So why the hell did he suddenly feel like laughing?

"Lunch time."

Cooper looked up, startled. Vincent towered behind him, his hands shoved in the pockets of his letterman jacket. His eyes were downcast, unhappy. But when the other guys he'd been sitting with—a couple of players on the JV team—motioned for him to join, he waved them off, signaling for them to go ahead without him.

Despite the awkward tension that had been drifting between them all day, Vincent still wanted to walk to lunch with his best friend. Cooper felt his heart swell.

And yet, the warmth lasted only a millisecond. Neither one of them said a word as they made their way down the bleachers and across the gym floor. Calla walked arm-in-arm with Stephanie several yards ahead, Cory on her other side. He said something that made the girls laugh.

Vincent scowled. "Hey, Coop?"

"Mmm?"

"Mind if we, ah, stop by my locker?"

"Your—" Vincent's locker was on the other side of the school, in the farthest wing possible from the cafeteria. But the look on his face was still troubled, his features twisted in a scowl as his eyes tracked Cory.

Cooper relented, his stomach growling. "Sure, dude."

The things I do for friendship.

They kept walking as the others veered off to get in line for a sack lunch. Further ahead, Cooper caught sight of long, white-blonde hair and a petite brunette with bronze skin. His heart sank.

Vincent made a noise in the back of his throat, and Cooper was suddenly very glad they were skipping lunch. He really didn't want to be at the same table as Jess, Astrid and Calla—or even in the nearby vicinity. An unholy trinity like that had an expiration date. Eventually, someone was going to explode.

Vincent didn't say a word until they reached his locker. Even then he procrastinated for as long as he could, fiddling with the lock and pretending to shuffle around in his athletic bag until he finally shrugged off his jacket, hung it up, and gave a huge, frustrated sigh.