Read Online Scarlet Wakefield 01 - Kiss Me Kill Me by Lauren Henderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lauren Henderson
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clawing at his pocket. “Help me. . . .”
Inside my head, I’m screaming. What did I do wrong?
Dan staggers backward. He’s wheezing and clutching at his chest. When his legs buckle underneath him, the scream inside my head finally comes out of my mouth.
I run toward Dan and catch him just as he’s about to knock his head on the bench, and I lower him to the ground. It’s even harder to make sure he doesn’t crash and hit himself, because he doesn’t put his hands out to brace his fall, or cling to me: his hands have moved up to his throat. And when I’ve got my breath back, because six feet of teenage boy is not a light weight to support in your arms, I scream over and over again.
But the music is loud inside, and everyone’s laughing. I banish any embarrassment I might feel at shoving my hands in Dan’s pockets and dive in to see what he was looking for, if there’s something that might fix whatever’s going on with him. And I keep screaming at the top of my lungs, screaming till my throat’s raw and painful.
But by the time Simon hears me only a bare couple of minutes later, and comes running out to see what’s going on, it’s too late.
Dan has suffocated to death in my arms.
After that, everything’s a blur of movement and confusion and screaming and bright lights stabbing through the dark. . . .
An ambulance parking at the front of the building, its blue swiveling light sweeping round and round, casting ghostly flashes up against the glass of the terrace, streaking across the plants, throwing eerie flashes of blue lightning across Dan’s face, across the paramedics bending down by his lifeless body, across my hands as they pry them loose from him and pull me away from his corpse . . .
Someone screaming like a maniac, wild and grieving and raucous. Not me. I’ve screamed my throat dry and I can barely speak. . . .
A paramedic holding me by the upper arms, her hair scraped back so tightly from her forehead that the skin looks stretched, the dark-blue eyeliner rimming her eyes, the sharp tone of her voice asking insistently over and over again what happened, if I saw Dan take anything, anything at all? But I didn’t. I don’t know what happened. And my voice is gone, so I just keep shaking my head, back and forth back and forth, until she says something about being in shock, and pushes me down on the bench and shoves my head down between my legs so I don’t faint. . . .
Simon, rushing to my side, asking me if I’m all right, sounding so concerned it makes me burst into tears and the paramedic shoos him away . . .
And Plum. Bursting through throngs of people, including Simon and the paramedic, yelling at me, “You killed him!” she screams. “You killed him!” I think Simon tries to say something to her, but she shoves him away. And she’s more than a match for the paramedic—she shoves her away, too, and keeps screaming at me: “You killed him, you bitch!” until finally the police come and take her away and soon I’m being taken away, too, out through the doors of Nadia’s apartment, down the elevator, into a car, and speeding off to God knows where. . . .
“Did you bring anything to the party, Scarlett?” the older policeman asks me. “You know what I mean, don’t you? Something to get things going, liven you up a bit?”
I stare at him, completely confused. I’m cold. They didn’t bring my coat. I don’t care about my coat, it was falling to pieces and too small for me anyway, but my arms are bare and feel like ice.
“I don’t think Scarlett understands what you’re asking,” says Lady Severs coldly. “And frankly, no more do I.”
She’s not in the best of moods, having been woken up and summoned to Knightsbridge police station so that the authorities can have an adult present when they formally question me. I didn’t realize they were going to ring her: they asked for my home phone number and twenty minutes later
Inside my head, I’m screaming. What did I do wrong?
Dan staggers backward. He’s wheezing and clutching at his chest. When his legs buckle underneath him, the scream inside my head finally comes out of my mouth.
I run toward Dan and catch him just as he’s about to knock his head on the bench, and I lower him to the ground. It’s even harder to make sure he doesn’t crash and hit himself, because he doesn’t put his hands out to brace his fall, or cling to me: his hands have moved up to his throat. And when I’ve got my breath back, because six feet of teenage boy is not a light weight to support in your arms, I scream over and over again.
But the music is loud inside, and everyone’s laughing. I banish any embarrassment I might feel at shoving my hands in Dan’s pockets and dive in to see what he was looking for, if there’s something that might fix whatever’s going on with him. And I keep screaming at the top of my lungs, screaming till my throat’s raw and painful.
But by the time Simon hears me only a bare couple of minutes later, and comes running out to see what’s going on, it’s too late.
Dan has suffocated to death in my arms.
After that, everything’s a blur of movement and confusion and screaming and bright lights stabbing through the dark. . . .
An ambulance parking at the front of the building, its blue swiveling light sweeping round and round, casting ghostly flashes up against the glass of the terrace, streaking across the plants, throwing eerie flashes of blue lightning across Dan’s face, across the paramedics bending down by his lifeless body, across my hands as they pry them loose from him and pull me away from his corpse . . .
Someone screaming like a maniac, wild and grieving and raucous. Not me. I’ve screamed my throat dry and I can barely speak. . . .
A paramedic holding me by the upper arms, her hair scraped back so tightly from her forehead that the skin looks stretched, the dark-blue eyeliner rimming her eyes, the sharp tone of her voice asking insistently over and over again what happened, if I saw Dan take anything, anything at all? But I didn’t. I don’t know what happened. And my voice is gone, so I just keep shaking my head, back and forth back and forth, until she says something about being in shock, and pushes me down on the bench and shoves my head down between my legs so I don’t faint. . . .
Simon, rushing to my side, asking me if I’m all right, sounding so concerned it makes me burst into tears and the paramedic shoos him away . . .
And Plum. Bursting through throngs of people, including Simon and the paramedic, yelling at me, “You killed him!” she screams. “You killed him!” I think Simon tries to say something to her, but she shoves him away. And she’s more than a match for the paramedic—she shoves her away, too, and keeps screaming at me: “You killed him, you bitch!” until finally the police come and take her away and soon I’m being taken away, too, out through the doors of Nadia’s apartment, down the elevator, into a car, and speeding off to God knows where. . . .
“Did you bring anything to the party, Scarlett?” the older policeman asks me. “You know what I mean, don’t you? Something to get things going, liven you up a bit?”
I stare at him, completely confused. I’m cold. They didn’t bring my coat. I don’t care about my coat, it was falling to pieces and too small for me anyway, but my arms are bare and feel like ice.
“I don’t think Scarlett understands what you’re asking,” says Lady Severs coldly. “And frankly, no more do I.”
She’s not in the best of moods, having been woken up and summoned to Knightsbridge police station so that the authorities can have an adult present when they formally question me. I didn’t realize they were going to ring her: they asked for my home phone number and twenty minutes later
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