I jerk back as if slapped, hundreds of images assaulting me at once—the dark-haired girl, the boy with the guns, huddling under the countertop… I cry out and press my palms into my temples. The memories are so real, so fresh, I can smell the gunpowder, the blood, the feel of the trembling girl in my arms.
And that’s what they are. Memories. Not images. Not dreams. Memories. They’re coming back.
Oh god.
“Britt? What’s going on?”
I try to focus through blurry, tear-filled eyes. Somehow, the envelope is in my hands, dotted with moisture as it drips from my cheeks.
“How—?” I whisper, the envelope crumpling as my fingers tighten around it.
When Keller doesn’t respond, I look up and stop breathing.
His eyes. My world spins off its axis, hurtling me straight into hell.
Silver eyes. Staring into mine as a bullet rips through her skull. I watch as the life drains out of the beautiful eyes of the girl in my arms. Then, a fraction of a second of fiery agony and… nothing.
I drop the envelope like a hot coal and clutch my head. “Britt? Why are you acting like this? Are you okay, baby?”
Keller’s sweet endearment goes unnoticed. He steps forward to comfort me and I let out a primal scream, thrusting my arms out, palms up. “Stay away! Don’t touch me!”
The memories keep coming, one after another. Now that the vault locked and buried deep in my mind has opened, they crash over me in a bone-chilling surge of death and darkness.
The parking lot. A girl with a crush looking for a cute boy. Disappointment when he isn’t there. Approached by a smiling girl with… silver eyes.
Silver eyes just like Keller’s.
“Britt.” Keller holds out his arms, as if trying to calm a frightened animal.
“Don’t!” I sob hoarsely, cries ripping from my chest one after another as the long-suppressed memories fracture my mind, Britt on one side and Britton Reeves, victim, on the other. “I can’t… I can’t be here right now.” Air becomes a precious commodity and I suck in one ragged breath after another.
“Britt, baby, don’t do this. Tell me what’s going on!” Keller sounds frightened and confused, but I can’t worry about him when my psyche is literally splitting in two.
“Just leave me alone!” I cry, flinging open the door and running for the elevator. Keller steps out of his condo, intent on chasing me. “Stay the fuck away!” I scream as loud as possible, my voice choked with tears.
Keller flinches, his expression devastated. He watches with those damn silver eyes, the same ones I stared into as a life was snuffed out.
I can’t. It’s too much. The elevator doors open and I step in, my heart breaking as they close, cutting me off from the only man I’ve ever loved and throwing me into the shadow of my past.
12
Keller
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
I punch and kick at a section of wall next to the front door of my condo until it’s pretty much pulverized into scraps of dusty drywall and battered studs. My hands are torn to shreds and my feet swollen and bruised, like I give a shit. Physical pain is something I can deal with. The gaping hole in my chest is another matter altogether.
I forgot how much it hurts—caring about someone. Watching helplessly as Britt cried and screamed, her eyes wild with terror… terror from looking at me. The agony is almost equal to what I felt when I lost Kinsey, guilt from her death rearing its ugly head as well. Whatever made Britt lose it was my fault somehow, just like Kinsey’s death.
Crumpled on the floor, exhausted and bleeding, I see a flash of white out of the corner of my eye. Ignoring the shooting pains in my limbs, I crawl a few feet and retrieve the object from under one of the barstools and turn it over. My hands clench around the thick paper, sending fresh streaks of pain through my busted knuckles.
The invitation. Britt was holding it when she flipped out. Is this what caused the strong woman I know to fall to pieces in front of me? Why?
Not knowing is driving me insane.
Hours later, my head is throbbing. I’m sitting on my couch in the middle of the night—or is it early morning?—feeling confused and sorry for myself. I managed to clean up my hands and am pretty sure one knuckle might be broken, but could care less. The invitation sits on the glass and chrome coffee table in front of me, unopened. Taunting me with its secrets.
Why would this letter frighten Britt? My mind churns through the possibilities. Maybe she recognized my name from the papers? Maybe she knows I’m the asshole that killed his little sister.