Tim hates Shane. He thinks I should break up with him. But what he’s accusing Shane of is a step beyond that. He’s accusing my boyfriend of murder.

“Tim,” I whisper, “are you saying you think Shane…?”

Tim’s eyes flash as the room briefly glows from a flash of lightning. “It’s his house. If anyone were going to plan it…”

“Why would he do that though?”

“Why would he beat up some innocent kid? Because he’s a terrible person. That’s what I’ve been telling you, Brooke.”

My legs feel rubbery beneath me. Shane isn’t a terrible person. Tim doesn’t know him the way I do. If he had been in the bedroom and seen how sweet and caring and loving Shane was, he wouldn’t be saying that. Shane would never hurt anybody. “Why would he kill Brandon? Brandon is his best friend.”

“Best friend?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think either of those assholes has the capacity for that kind of loyalty. They’re friends, but they hate each other.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you want to believe.”

“Tell me something.” I narrow my eyes at him. “When you and Shane were huddled in the living room earlier, what were you talking about?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “What?”

“When we first came in, the two of you were talking. What did you say to him?”

Even in the dark kitchen, I can see his jaw twitch. “I just told him he better treat you right.”

“I see.”

“Listen to me.” His fingers close around my wrist. “This isn’t a joke. Shane is dangerous. And while you’ve been gone, I’ve been searching the house for something I could use as a weapon.”

That’s when I noticed the object in Tim’s other hand, that he’s been holding onto since Chelsea and I got back into the house. I squint into the darkness.

It’s a baseball bat.

“It’s longer than a knife,” he says. “If he tries to come at me, I’m clocking him right in the head.”

“Fine.” If Tim gives Shane a concussion, it won’t be the worst thing that happens here tonight.

He gives me a long look. “Let’s make sure we stay together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I believe him.

When we return to the living room, Chelsea is still lying on the sofa, but on the plus side, her chest doesn’t appear to be covered with blood and stab wounds. Shane is also in the living room, shaking water out of his clothing and his hair. I can see him just barely well enough to recognize he got drenched out there.

“Any luck finding a signal?” I ask.

“Sorry, no.” He stomps his sneakers against the ground, trying to get some of the water and mud off of them. “I think we’re stuck here until morning.”

Chelsea struggles into a sitting position on the couch. “I hope Kayla is okay upstairs.”

I tug on the snowflake on my necklace. “Maybe we should check on her?”

“Why?” Shane says. “She didn’t seem to want us anywhere near her.” “I know, but she was freaked out,” Chelsea says. “She’s probably

calmed down by now. It’s better if none of us are alone, isn’t it?”

There’s a long silence as we contemplate Chelsea’s suggestion. Kayla seemed hysterical earlier, and I’m not eager to see her again right now, when I’m already a little hysterical myself. But on the other hand, I’m also worried about her. When someone is that upset, they can do stupid things.

“We’ll just knock on the door,” Tim says. “If she tells us to go away, we leave.”

Nobody wants to stay behind in the living room, so we all go together up the steps to the bedrooms. The stairwell is dark, and I cling to the banister to keep from falling. Even though it’s hard to see, I can feel Tim’s presence right next to me, hovering over me with that baseball bat clutched in his right hand.

Kayla had gone back into the bedroom where she and Tim had been sound asleep when Chelsea’s scream woke us all up. At least, that’s what I would deduce based on the fact that it’s the only door that is closed. Chelsea goes first, picking her way carefully down the hallway until she reaches the closed door. After a hesitation, she raps her fist against it.

No answer.

“Kayla?” Chelsea calls out. “Are you okay?” Again, no answer.

Chelsea clears her throat. “We won’t try to come in. We just want you to tell us you’re all right.” She pauses. “Kayla?”

In the slit of light coming in through the upstairs windows, I can see Tim looking at me. My eyes meet his, and he shakes his head. I can hear the bat shifting in his hand.

Chelsea turns to us. “She’s not answering. What should we do?” “The door doesn’t have a lock,” Shane says.

“I…” Chelsea’s voice trembles. “I can’t do this.”

Before there can be any more debate, Shane pushes past her. There’s a creaking noise as the knob twists open, and a second later, the door to the room swings open.

Even though it’s dark in the room, it’s lighter than it was in the hallway, so our eyes are already adjusted. Which means I’m able to make out details I wouldn’t be able to otherwise. Like the bookcase in the corner. Or the bed in the center of the room.

Or Kayla lying on the bed, her chest covered in fresh blood, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.