Dangerous Boy (26 page)

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

“Ask me. Ask me what his name is.”

I swallow. “What’s his name?”

And now the grin is wide, ear-to-ear. “Trent.”

Ice grips my veins, turns my insides out. “You’re lying. You’re Trent. I saw the articles. I know what you did.”

“Do I really have to spell it out? Look around, Harper. Does this look like a bedroom to you?” He stares at me, that same proud smile on his face.

I look around the empty room. Look at the bare hardwoods, the blank walls. This is supposed to be Logan’s room.

But it’s empty.

Horror washes over me, and like the last piece of a puzzle, this empty room snaps into place, and in an instant, I see the whole picture, and I know.

I know why Logan didn’t tell me about his brother at first. I know why he hid everything from me, why he lied over and over and over. I know why the boy at the dance—the boy who held me close and so right—has the same scar as the boy in the basement.

I know why Logan never wanted me to sit down with him and Daemon.

He didn’t want to because he couldn’t.

There is no twin brother.

I think I might be sick. I think I may vomit right there. “But I saw the pictures of you two.”

He laughs. “Don’t look so nauseated,” he says, his voice cool, calm, collected. “See there
were
two of us. Once. Trent—who you know as Logan—he just loves to cart those pictures around. No one ever questions why we don’t have any recent ones of us together.”

“Your mother’s accident.”

I’d assumed the pictures stopped because the happy times died with his mother. Not because one of them died too.

He nods. “Yes. We were in the car
together
when dear old Mom careened off the road. I was behind her. The driver’s side took the brunt of the damage. And stupid, spoiled Trent was in the front passenger seat.”

I blink, stare. So there were two of them…and now there’s one? But if Trent lived through the accident and Daemon died, why is he the one standing in front of me?

My head is spinning so hard I can barely process it.

“See, Harper, some souls just don’t want to let go. I was supposed to die; he was supposed to live. But I couldn’t quite handle that. Call it unfinished business. Call it revenge. Trent got everything he ever wanted. He had all the friends, the girls, the sports trophies, even my dad. And he was the one who got to stick around while I was supposed to die? Wasn’t going to happen.”

Behind me, the rain intensifies, pounding against the window as another bolt of lightning flashes across the sky, making dark shadows on his face. “So I hung around for a while, biding my time. Call me a ghost, a soul, whatever. But I had unfinished business, and I wasn’t going to let it go. Then when Trent was under the knife so the doctors could repair his injuries from the accident, I took my opportunity and just…slipped in. He never liked sharing things with me. Rather poetic that I forced him to share a body, eh?”

I grind my teeth. “That’s not possible.”

“Oh really? And you would know…how?”

“Because it’s ridiculous!” I say, my voice rising, hysterical.
I hold my arm tightly against my body as I climb to my feet. Blood rushes to my head and my temple pounds harder. “A person can’t just die and take over someone else’s body! He’s still here, and his name isn’t Daemon or Trent. It’s Logan.”

Daemon twists his head at a funny angle, his glare slicing through me. “Now you’re pissing me off, Harper. And you don’t want to do that.”

“Please—”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “The Logan you know doesn’t exist. And Trent is…let’s call it taking a nap.”

I nod. I’ll do anything to pacify him, calm him down. “Daemon, I’m sorry—”

“How badly do you think he wants to keep you? He can never just tell the truth, can he? He’s so desperate to cover me up he’d do anything. He doesn’t want anyone to know his brother is still here. He always did think he was better than me.” He pauses for a second, his eyes sweeping over me. “He probably likes you, even. Never did have good taste in girls.”

He purses his lips, then shakes his head. “Some of those stories he made up just to keep you…ridiculous. Then again, you bought it, didn’t you? Today’s story, on the way to the masquerade, before I took over? Bravo. Academy Award winning speech, really.”

I glance around, trying to figure out the best escape route. There are only two: the window—across the roof, and down the round columns to the ground—or the bedroom door. “So you can…see us? Even when…” I swallow. “Even when he’s the one in control?”

Daemon beams at me. “Yep. I don’t think he’s figured that one out yet. He has no
idea
what I do, I can tell. But I always was the stronger one. It’s frustrating when I can’t totally control him, but at least I can watch.”

I glimpse hopelessly at the window. We’re on the second floor. I can’t escape over the roof either.

Daemon slips something out of his pocket, and I realize with horror it’s the rusty hook from the basement. He twists it in his hands, and the panic doubles. If I scream, would anyone hear me? I need him to keep talking. Need him to turn back into Logan somehow. If that’s really how it works…

“This town is too small,” he says, surprising me.

“Huh?”

“There’s not a lot of things to do, havoc to wreak.”

It dawns on me, what he’s saying. “You did more than the stop signs and the car accident.”

He nods.

“The bloody cow bones?”

He grins. “Genius, right?”

“The birds?”

He nods. My breathing turns shallow.

“Bick’s quad?

He scowls. “See, that one was meant for him. Didn’t expect you to be the one on it, so I had to go back and wreck his truck just to get him. Guess it all worked out, though. That collarbone must hurt like a bitch.” He lights up. “Would have been better had you died, but I suppose that’s asking too much.”

He looks past me, out the window.

“What do you have against Bick?”

“He likes you.”

I blink. Huh?

“See, it’s like the world playing out on a big screen, except I’m seeing it through Trent’s eyes. And I saw you two that day in the parking lot. Saw Bick spring to your rescue, try to go knight in shining armor and get the blood off your window.”

He slides a finger over the hook, playing with the point of it. “But you couldn’t get together with Bick. I needed you to be with Trent. He’s always been such a stupid sucker for love. If Bick got in the way of that, I’d have less to use against Trent.” Daemon shrugs. “It was Trent who cleaned your window, you know. I think he knew it was me. He didn’t realize you’d already seen the handprint.”

“How’d you do it? How’d you get the handprints on the windows in the middle of the day? Logan—” I gulp, catching myself. “Trent must have been in charge of your…” My voice trails off. “Your body. I had class with him. Ate lunch with him. He was totally normal.”

“Fifty bucks and a couple of freshman,” he says, laughing. “Shockingly simple, I know. Trent was a little confused by that one. I usually take care of things on my own.”

Lightning crashes outside, and I look out at the branches of the trees whipping together in the wind. Why does Logan—Trent—have to live so far away from everything? If I get out of this house somehow, do I even stand a chance? “Why’d you bring me here?”

Daemon shrugs. “Because I can’t
physically
hurt Trent, but
destroying you would kill him. One of these days, he’s going to join me on the dark side. If he would just stop fighting me, I think we could figure out a way to share this body, but he’s not convinced. He keeps trying to walk a tight line, play by society’s rules, when I’d like to do anything but.” He lights up, staring down at me with a look of such perverse pleasure, I want to shrink into myself. “The less he has to live for, the less he’s going to fight me for dominance. How much of his life do I have to ruin before he gives in?”

I glance back at the window again, then turn to Daemon. The window will never work. I have to get past him, somehow, and down the stairs. The only way it will work is if I catch him off guard.

“Do you remember when he told you how our dad died?” he asks, stepping toward me. I scoot back on the floor.

“A heart attack,” I say, nodding.

Daemon’s bark of laughter is so abrupt I jump. “See, dear old dad was
poisoned.
Same stuff I used on the birds, actually. A little harder to get my hands on oleander up here, but I managed.”

I can’t breathe as the room seems to close in, pressure building in my chest. If he’s willing to kill his own father, he won’t mind killing me.

“Lucky for me, I had no motive for killing dad…or at least no motive those dumb cops could figure out.” He grins.

“They’ll find out eventually,” I volunteer, but my words are hollow and even I don’t believe them.

“Hah!” Daemon cackles. “Not likely. And let’s not forget about mommy dearest,” he says.

My throat burns with unshed tears. “He said it was a car accident,” I choke out. “A deer ran out.”

He shakes his head, tsks. “He’s right about the accident. But she swerved because I told her what I’d done to Dad. Just to see the expression on her stupid face. She favored Trent too, you know. Hid it better than Dad, but I could see it. I just didn’t count on her reacting like that. She just completely blanked out, didn’t even attempt to turn at the next curve.”

Tears glimmer in my eyes, make it hard to see him. There’s gotta be some way to get Logan—Trent back. If I say something, do just the right thing…

“Just tell me what you want from me,” I say. “I’ll do anything.”

“Me? I want nothing from you. But Trent wants you, which makes you rather useful to me. He gets everything he wants and blames all the bad stuff on me. I was never good enough for him…for
anyone
when I was alive, and I’m not good enough when we share a body.”

When he runs his hand through his still rain-dampened hair, I get the barest glimpse of his scar, hidden in the thick, wavy strands. How could I have spent so much time with Logan and never seen it?

“I get to punish Trent every day for the rest of my life. Either he gives in and we share this body fair and square, or I ruin everything he has.”

He stares straight at me with that intense smile of his, and my heart lodges in my throat. “Your time is nearly up, Harper.”

But it’s not. It can’t be. I scramble to my feet and lunge past him, tearing through the doorway and into the hallway. I scramble down the stairs so fast I trip over my own feet, grabbing at the banister to save myself. But as I yank myself to a stop, my body swings around and my shoulder slams into the wall. Tears, instant, well in my eyes as my breath disappears.

I turn back to the stairs and rush down the last few, to the first landing, but he’s on me, grabbing my hair and yanking me back. I elbow him hard in the gut, and he grunts, releasing me as he stumbles down a few steps and doubles over. “You bitch,” he grinds out.

He’s blocking the stairs. When he stands again, anger blazing in his eyes, I whirl around and race back up the steps. I hit the top step, skidding on an area rug, barely saving myself.

I cross the empty bedroom, putting my foot through the windowsill just as he darkens the doorway. My dress rides up as I duck under the windowpane.

I’m only halfway out when he grabs my ankle, yanking hard. I scream and pull away, desperate. I lean back and kick violently, and my toe catches him on the chin. He curses and lets me go, and I tumble onto the roof.

My heart, already scrambling, turns into a thunderous roar as I skid on a leaf, tumbling down the slope of the rain-slickened, moss-covered rooftop. There’s no way to stop myself. I scramble, grabbing at anything in sight as I roll toward the edge, catching myself on an attic vent near the gutters, but it’s not enough to stop my body’s movement. My legs swing out over the edge and dangle toward the ground as rain slides
past me, pours over the edge of the rotten soffits. The darkened clouds make it hard to see into the light blazing from his bedroom window.

I blink, trying to see through the raindrops, searching the roofline for his shadow.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he says, spitting the words as he steps into view, looming high above me. I must have split his lip, because blood trickles down his chin, making him look all the more sinister. He’s on the roof above me, stepping slowly down toward the gutter. The muscles in my left arm tremble as my grip slides, until I’m hanging on with scarcely more than a fingertip.

I wonder if this is how my mom felt before she died. If she hung on desperately, hoping someone would come in time to save her. If she knew, as her fingers slid, that she was about to die.

I glance over my shoulder. There are no shrubs here, just too-long grass at least a dozen feet below. He takes another step toward me as the lightning flashes, and then my fingers slip, and I’m falling.