Read Online Vial Things (A Resurrectionist Novel Book 1) by Leah Clifford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leah Clifford
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massages it straight with expert fingers.
“Better?” she asks, her blue eyes wide, nervous.
“Yeah, just a cramp.” I start the story slowly. “I was on my way back. Halfway here, I noticed a guy behind me.”
“And then what?” she prods.
The key to a good lie is sticking close to the truth. Getting the details right. “I turned the corner, kept walking. When I looked back he was there, so I waited.” She’s still holding my hand. I stare at our fingers, not sure if I should twist mine between hers. In the end, I settle for her touch. “He gives me this big grin like we’re old friends, just at the point I’m realizing something’s not right with him. He’s smiling but his eyes...he’s looking at me like he hates me.”
Remembering the scene now, I twist the look on Jamison’s face to match. Make it sinister. Cruel. It’s easier than I hoped. I wince, sit up and go for the glass again.
“Not too much,” she cautions as I fight down a few swallows.
My side throbs. I press a hand there when I set the glass on the floor. “So I start to get a little nervous about him. I mean, my friend was just hacked apart.” It’s a good detail. I can tell by the way she leans slightly forward, absorbing the story. “For all I know, this is the guy. I’m thinking maybe he’s got a hatred for street kids or something and I’m pretty sure I’m right because he asks me if I knew Brandon.” I meet her eyes. I think about what Jamison said. We need her afraid. “But then he asked me if I knew you .”
The color leaches from her cheeks.
“I hadn’t even answered when he hit me in the side. I didn’t know what happened until I saw the blade in his hand,” I add.
She’d figured Brandon was killed because he was like her. I want her to make a connection between what happened to him and what happened with me. I want her to be terrified enough to trust me. I’ve gotta get some sort of info from her. Because once Jamison hears she didn’t fix me, he’s going to take it personal. The same way he did when we were younger and he figured out the bruises were coming from my dad. I push away the memory. That life’s over. Gone. I’m someone new now.
“Allie,” I whisper. “What the hell are you mixed up in?”
She gives her head the slightest shake, presses the back of her hand against her mouth, and I know I did the right thing. A sudden burning sears my side and I have to take four deep breaths before I can talk. “I think I need a doctor. This...it was deep.”
Her brow wrinkles in concern. “It was.” The sheet she’d put over me is bunched in my lap. For the first time I see my shirt, the tear straight up the middle. Before I can pull the fabric aside, her hand touches mine. “Don’t,” she says quietly.
A small laugh chuffs from me. “You think it’s gonna gross me out? I need to see how bad it is.”
She licks her lips. She’s threading the bottom of her tank top through her fingers, up, over, twisting. “What’d he look like, this guy?” she says suddenly.
“Shaved head, no tats that I could see,” I say. “A little built. Jeans and t-shirt.” It’s a description for a hundred people, a thousand. But it also matches Jamison. I glance up at her. There’s a quiver to her chin. She bites her lip and her face crumples, a slow tear tracing down her cheek. I freeze. “You’re crying.”
“Yeah.” Her voice cracks on the single word. She swipes a palm against her cheek and rolls her eyes, embarrassed. “I’m kind of in a heap of shit right now. And I brought you into it. We’ve got to call my aunt. I’m going to have to move away from here.” She drops her face into her palms, shudders once and then scrubs the palms across her closed eyes. “Damn it,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get clear of it.”
I give her a minute to get herself together. Granted, we haven’t exactly known each other long, but I’ve never seen her look so completely wrecked. I
“Better?” she asks, her blue eyes wide, nervous.
“Yeah, just a cramp.” I start the story slowly. “I was on my way back. Halfway here, I noticed a guy behind me.”
“And then what?” she prods.
The key to a good lie is sticking close to the truth. Getting the details right. “I turned the corner, kept walking. When I looked back he was there, so I waited.” She’s still holding my hand. I stare at our fingers, not sure if I should twist mine between hers. In the end, I settle for her touch. “He gives me this big grin like we’re old friends, just at the point I’m realizing something’s not right with him. He’s smiling but his eyes...he’s looking at me like he hates me.”
Remembering the scene now, I twist the look on Jamison’s face to match. Make it sinister. Cruel. It’s easier than I hoped. I wince, sit up and go for the glass again.
“Not too much,” she cautions as I fight down a few swallows.
My side throbs. I press a hand there when I set the glass on the floor. “So I start to get a little nervous about him. I mean, my friend was just hacked apart.” It’s a good detail. I can tell by the way she leans slightly forward, absorbing the story. “For all I know, this is the guy. I’m thinking maybe he’s got a hatred for street kids or something and I’m pretty sure I’m right because he asks me if I knew Brandon.” I meet her eyes. I think about what Jamison said. We need her afraid. “But then he asked me if I knew you .”
The color leaches from her cheeks.
“I hadn’t even answered when he hit me in the side. I didn’t know what happened until I saw the blade in his hand,” I add.
She’d figured Brandon was killed because he was like her. I want her to make a connection between what happened to him and what happened with me. I want her to be terrified enough to trust me. I’ve gotta get some sort of info from her. Because once Jamison hears she didn’t fix me, he’s going to take it personal. The same way he did when we were younger and he figured out the bruises were coming from my dad. I push away the memory. That life’s over. Gone. I’m someone new now.
“Allie,” I whisper. “What the hell are you mixed up in?”
She gives her head the slightest shake, presses the back of her hand against her mouth, and I know I did the right thing. A sudden burning sears my side and I have to take four deep breaths before I can talk. “I think I need a doctor. This...it was deep.”
Her brow wrinkles in concern. “It was.” The sheet she’d put over me is bunched in my lap. For the first time I see my shirt, the tear straight up the middle. Before I can pull the fabric aside, her hand touches mine. “Don’t,” she says quietly.
A small laugh chuffs from me. “You think it’s gonna gross me out? I need to see how bad it is.”
She licks her lips. She’s threading the bottom of her tank top through her fingers, up, over, twisting. “What’d he look like, this guy?” she says suddenly.
“Shaved head, no tats that I could see,” I say. “A little built. Jeans and t-shirt.” It’s a description for a hundred people, a thousand. But it also matches Jamison. I glance up at her. There’s a quiver to her chin. She bites her lip and her face crumples, a slow tear tracing down her cheek. I freeze. “You’re crying.”
“Yeah.” Her voice cracks on the single word. She swipes a palm against her cheek and rolls her eyes, embarrassed. “I’m kind of in a heap of shit right now. And I brought you into it. We’ve got to call my aunt. I’m going to have to move away from here.” She drops her face into her palms, shudders once and then scrubs the palms across her closed eyes. “Damn it,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get clear of it.”
I give her a minute to get herself together. Granted, we haven’t exactly known each other long, but I’ve never seen her look so completely wrecked. I
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