“I . . .” I swallow. “My friend’s been . . .” I don’t know what to say. Mutilated? Tortured? Skinned? I swallow. “My friend’s been killed. Please come.”
I give them my address, then hang up the phone. For a long moment I stare down at it, stunned. Riley was right. The reality of that hits me, and I almost can’t breathe. She was right all along—Brooklyn’s possessed. She killed Mr. Willis. And now she’s killed Grace. If my mother hadn’t come along, she would have killed me.
Maybe she should have killed me. Maybe I deserve that.
“Diablo.”
I freeze, shocked to hear my grandmother’s voice for the first time in years.
Diablo—devil.
I walk to my bedroom door, my cell phone clenched in my hand. The thick carpet in the hallway muffles my footsteps, and the red-tinted lamp from Grandmother’s bedroom casts the only light. A violent, hacking cough rattles behind her door. It sounds like death.
I ease one foot into the hallway, searching the shadows around me for the outline of a body. I can’t blink without picturing Brooklyn holding that pocketknife, Brooklyn dipping her finger into the pool of Grace’s blood—then licking it off. Your fault, my brain whispers to me. Your fault.
I push the images and accusations away. The shadows seem to move around me, but I know it’s just my imagination. Brooklyn isn’t here.
Grandmother’s face looks like a melting candle. Her skin droops so badly that it’s difficult to pick out her features. Her rosary beads click against her table. She releases a rough, raw-sounding cough.
“Grandmother?” I hover near her door, almost afraid to go inside. Grandmother inhales. The sound is like a crumpling paper bag. She moves her thumb along the row of beads.
“Are you okay?”
Grandmother turns her head very slowly. The rosary beads shake in her fragile, trembling hands.
“Diablo,” she whispers. A shiver creeps down my spine. She hasn’t spoken since her stroke. The doctors weren’t even sure she could speak anymore.
She focuses her cloudy eyes on me. It’s like she’s looking through me.
“Diablo,” she says.
“It was an accident,” I hiss.
“Diablo,” Grandmother says, like a prayer.
“It wasn’t my fault. It was an accident, just like last time.” The words rush out of my mouth before I can think about them.
“Diablo!”
I look past Grandmother, to the Virgin statuette on her windowsill. It glows white in the red-tinted room. Grandmother used to tell me confession absolved you of guilt. By admitting our sins before God, we are no longer held responsible for them. God takes the blame from us. He makes us pure again.
More than anything in the world right now, I want to be pure. My dream echoes through my head. I hear the roaring train race down the tracks, and Karen’s distant voice. Why can’t you tell the truth?
I drop to my knees next to Grandmother’s bed and fold my hands in prayer.
“Blessed Mary, mother of God,” I whisper. “Forgive me for I have sinned.”
I close my eyes, and I’m at the party with Karen, humiliated and crying.
• • •
I stagger when I push my way out of the party and reach the porch. I almost expect the other kids to chase after me, throwing more Q-tips. But they don’t. They’re probably too drunk.
I’m not entirely sure where to go next. I don’t want to go home—it’d be too humiliating seeing my mom and grandmother after this. Tears prick my eyes and spill onto my cheeks.
Then the high-pitched sound of the train horn blares through the night, followed by the distant roar of an engine. I stumble down the porch steps and into the backyard. It’s dark, but the train’s headlight flickers through the trees. I start to run.
The sound calms me. It’s so loud, so all encompassing that I can’t think of anything else. I step out of the trees and into the clearing just before the train tracks. Adrenaline fills my blood, making me reckless. The laugher and the Q-tips are far away now, almost like they happened to someone else. Like they were a dream.
The train’s headlight shines through the trees as it curves around. Without thinking, I step onto the tracks. They shudder and quake beneath my sneakers. I close my eyes, and the world fades away. It’s just me, the shaking earth, and the thunderous noise.
“Sofia!” My eyes snap open, and I turn to see Karen stumble through the trees. She’s still holding her beer. As she runs toward me, the foamy liquid sloshes over the side and spills to the ground. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” My eyes linger on Karen’s face long enough to see the blood drain from her skin, and her eyes widen with shock. Good. After what she did, she deserves to be afraid. I turn back around. I want to face the train head on. The light moves closer.
Karen stops a few feet away from the tracks. “Jesus! It was just a joke.”
“A joke?” I say. “How funny do you think it’ll be when they find my body tomorrow and everyone blames you?”
The tracks tremble violently beneath my feet. It’s almost hard to keep my balance, like I’m standing on the high dive and peering over the side, preparing to jump. The train honks again, and a wave of doubt crashes over me. What am I doing? I don’t want to die.
Karen’s face crumples. She drops her beer and grabs my arm. “Sofia, get off the tracks!”
Her cold fingers tighten around my wrist, disgusting me. Maybe I don’t want to die, but the alternative—letting Karen save me, going back to the party where I was humiliated—is even worse.
I blink into the headlight, frozen. It’s close enough now that I can’t look at it directly. . . .
• • •
“Karen jumped in front of the train,” I whisper in Grandmother’s red-tinted bedroom. “She pushed me off the tracks. She . . . she saved my life.” I sniff and reach for Grandmother’s hand. “And it killed her.”
Lights flash from the window, painting the Virgin red and blue. I cross Grandmother’s room and push the curtains aside. An ambulance pulls up to the curb. Paramedics leap out and race for Grace’s lifeless body.
I step back, and the curtain slides back into place. Grandmother stares at me with those glassy eyes and slowly raises a finger.
“Diablo . . .” she croaks. My skin prickles with horror, not at what she’s saying, but at the rasping emptiness of her voice. It’s not my grandmother speaking anymore. The voice doesn’t even sound human.
“Diablo . . .” she says, pointing at me. I back away from her bed.
“Grandmother, no,” I say. But she’s right. I let Brooklyn go, so Grace’s death is my fault, just as much as Karen’s is. If Brooklyn gets to Riley, I’ll be responsible for that, too.
I feel like I’m standing on the tracks again, blinking into the headlight of the oncoming train. But this time I know exactly what to do. I can’t be responsible for another girl’s death, even if it’s Riley’s. I have to find her before Brooklyn does, and I have to save her life. It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for the blood already on my hands. It’s the only way God will ever forgive me.
I turn, stumbling as I race from the room. Grandmother’s whispery voice follows me down the stairs.
“Diablo . . . Diablo!”