As Dead as It Gets by Katie Alender Page A

didn’t think so.” He traced his finger in a short line under the smaller cut.
    The simple chandelier over the dinner table was the only pocket of light in the house. Even the kitchen was dark. I felt oddly like Jared and I were the only two people in a hundred-mile radius.
    He sat back and neatly folded the bloody washcloth. “People don’t do this, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “You think there’s something you can’t tell me.”
    “Jared,” I said. “It’s bad.”
    “Whatever it is…” His voice died out. “Alexis…you…you lost someone. I know that.”
    I took a sharp breath. I don’t know if you could say I “lost” Lydia. I’d never had her to begin with—I mean, we weren’t friends, or anything. I just happened to be there when she died a horrible, scary, painful death. And now she was out to destroy me.
    It would probably be more accurate to say I’d lost myself. But how lame is that ?
    “What I mean to say is, you’re not the only one who—” He shifted in his chair. “I mean, I feel connected to you because…I know what it’s like.”
    I stared at him, wondering whether he’d gotten his deep brown eyes from his mother.
    He got up and walked out of the room.
    I studied the crisp, white crown molding and waited for him to return. But he didn’t.
    I got up and went into the kitchen. Empty. The blank silence pressed in on my ears as I walked through the kitchen into the living room, which looked like a page from a furniture catalog. But he wasn’t there.
    Where did he go?
    “Jared?” I pulled my hoodie tighter around my body and tucked my hands into the sleeves. I briefly considered leaving. I even started backing toward the foyer. But something stopped me.
    Running out—just as unexpectedly as I’d run in—wouldn’t accomplish anything. It wouldn’t solve the current awkwardness—it would just set me up for double the awkwardness in the future. And possibly cost me the only friend I had left.
    Not only that, but it wouldn’t be fair to Jared. He didn’t deserve to be treated that way.
    Behind me, the refrigerator began to hum, startling me and setting my nerves on a knife-blade edge.
    “Jared.” In the darkness, my voice sounded like the woof of a frightened dog.
    Fair or not, I turned and took another slow step toward the front door.
    Behind me, there was a soft sound—a rustle, like someone had crossed the hardwood floor in socks.
    I spun around. The room was empty.
    A pair of windows overlooked the backyard, which was still buffeted by torrential rain. Lightning struck nearby—and in the brief instant of light, I saw a figure silhouetted against the windows—right up next to them, like it was watching me.
    Then the house was dark again.
    And again, no thunder.
    I was past taking Lydia’s powers for granted. My breath forced itself out in a gasp, and I turned to run, colliding with Jared.
    “Whoa, whoa.” He switched on a lamp that sat on a side table. “What are you doing?”
    “I saw—” I looked back toward the window. “I mean, I thought…”
    There was another flash of lightning, a real one. This time all I saw was the yard. No eerie figure looking in.
    You’re imagining things, I told myself. You’re seeing what you expect to see. There was a tall shrub that waved and swayed under the falling rain.
    See? That’s all it was. A shrub.
    Not Lydia.
    He glanced at the window, then held out a bundle of fabric. “I brought you some dry clothes.”
    “Thank you. That’s sweet, but I can’t wear those home.”
    He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t have to leave yet, do you? Put them on for now.”
    I hesitated, then took the clothes and headed toward the bathroom, where I had a chance to look at my injuries in the light.
    The bruise on my jaw was a well-defined purple line, but I could probably cover it with makeup. The line across my throat could be hidden with scarves or turtlenecks. The gash on my forehead would be under my bangs. And the cut