Dead of Summer - Page 143

My brows shoot up at that, and he grins wryly in my direction. “I didn’t even yell at her. She asked about you, by the way. But I told her she didn’t have the right to say your name. Turns out, she’s known for a while that something is off with Shawn. He had these dreams about you, where first he imagined you being his, kissing you, whatever. But then they changed and became dreams of murdering you. He’s been having them for two years now, according to Darcy. But something changed.”

“When you arrived, right?”

“Yeah. I guess it triggered something in him, because Shawn started having them constantly. He was obsessing over the idea of killing you. Slowly. He only waited so long because he didn’t want it to be over. He wanted to hurt you, Summer.” His voice is flat as he says it, but I can see the spark of rage in his face. “Darcy thinks it has something to do with his mom, or his childhood. I don’t know. I’ll be honest here, Summer.” When he looks at me, it’s with a flat, disinterested expression. “I couldn’t care less what shitty things happened to him as a kid. The moment he thought about killing you, it was all over.”

Hours later, I still can’t get his look out of my head. Not when he’s sleeping in the uncomfortable chair by my bed, and certainly not when my mother whispers to me that he’ll make a great son-in-law.

I want to feel bad for Shawn. For the little boy that had a hard time growing up and turned into someone that couldn’t control themselves.

But I can’t.

Because at the end of the day, he’s not the only one of us who suffered abuse or cruelty from their parents. But he is the only one who took it out on a child and tried to kill me not once, but twice in the same day.

So I stop trying to find my moral compass and instead focus on memorizing Kayde’s face while he sleeps.

The flowers from Grey arrive a day later. I roll my eyes at his note, unsurprised to see stupid, cartoonish drawings of bunnies on it and a wish for me to get better soon. The bouquet is the most ridiculous, over the top thing I’ve ever seen as well, and when I find a second note stuffed into the vase, I unfold it with knit together brows.

Thanks for keeping my stuff safe. Got it out of your cabin before I left. I expect an invite to the wedding, but please get in writing that Kayde won’t kill me as a wedding gift to you, okay?

P.S. I heard Kayde stomped his face in. Was it epic??

P.P.S. Tell Melody to stop going into the woods alone, looking for a thrill. She’s going to find it, if she keeps it up.

I can’t decide whether to laugh or groan, but a knock on the door has me stuffing the note back into the vase where it can’t be seen through the gaudy bunch of flowers.

“Summer?” a small, nervous voice calls. “Could I come in?” It takes me a second to place it, but when I do, my grin turns rueful.

“Yeah, Mel. Of course you can,” I tell her, dragging myself up in my bed.

In seconds Melody is around the curtain, her mom behind her looking me over.

“Oh, Summer,” her mom sighs, giving me a pained smile. “I know you take your job seriously, but isn’t this a little much?”

I glance at Melody, unsure of how much her mom knows about the situation, and my favorite camper says slowly, “I told mom about Emily. I said you were the only one willing to go after her, but you fell, too.”

Well, it’s not the worst lie I’ve ever heard.

I grin wolfishly at her mom, fiddling with my sheets. “Nah, I promised to risk life and limb for my campers, Mrs. Carr,” I promise. “No matter the danger.”

“There should be some kind of camp counselor award for dedication, then.” Melody makes a face at her mom’s words, and shrugs free of her grasp.

“Can I talk to Summer alone for a few minutes?” she requests, eyes wide and plaintive. “Please, Mom?”

Her mom doesn’t argue, but I’ve started to think that her mom never argues with her. She’s out of the room in a few seconds, and Melody turns to me again, then takes the chair I dramatically motion her toward.

“Who are these from?” she asks, wrinkling her nose at the vase of flowers.

“Grey,” I tell her flatly. “He’s—Mel, no!” But before I can do more than reach toward her, Melody has fished the note out of the vase and read it quickly. Her brows lift, and she looks at me incredulously, appearing much older than twelve.

“I get to come to the wedding too, right?”

“Yeah, Mel.” I laugh, rubbing my face. “You can be the flower girl.”

“I’m too old for that.”

“Bridesmaid? Ring bearer?”

“Maid of honor,” Melody retorts.