We were released, or that was the word the cops used. We weren’t allowed to go back into the house. We had to give them a list of what we needed to stay at a hotel. After they looked through our phones, we got those back.

Channing came moments later, and he hadn’t left Heather’s side since she came back out from wherever the cops had taken her.

The ride to the hotel was the quietest, longest, and worst ride of my life. I’d remember it forever: the moment when we pulled away from the house, away from the flashing red and blue lights. I looked back and it was like I was seeing it in slow motion. Channing drove Heather, Mason, and me. Nate drove Logan.

I couldn’t deal with it. Any of it.

Once we got to the hotel, a hot shower didn’t help. I kept seeing her. The screams were ricocheting in my head. Heather’s scream. Logan’s. Mine. They all melded together and became Taylor’s voice.

I shook my head; I was curled up in a hotel robe on the bed. I’d finished my shower, but left the light off. Felt appropriate.

Channing and Heather got their own room, but Nate, Logan, Mason, and I all got a suite together. We had a main living area with our own bedrooms. Our bedroom door was open, just a small inch, and I could hear Mason’s voice. I didn’t know who he was talking to. I guessed Logan, because Logan wasn’t responding. No one was responding.

God.

I choked back a sob, burying my head in the robe’s sleeve.

How had this happened? It wasn’t supposed to, at least not to her.

I didn’t know how to handle this grief.

Hating my mother. The knowledge that your father isn’t really your father. Losing friends. That grief was mine. I was an expert at handling that, but this—really losing someone—I was floundering.

Big fat tears were rolling down my face, but I didn’t move. What the hell would I do? What now? And Logan—I couldn’t face him. He thought she had been with me. That made her my responsibility. He was my family, the third member of our fearsome threesome, and I’d done this to him. It was like I’d gutted him and left him to bleed out.

“Sam?”

I looked up. I didn’t sit up from the bed. I remained in my curled fetal position, but I merely moved my head back so I could see who stood in the door.

Channing glanced over his shoulder, then back. His hesitation was obvious. “Uh.” His hand curled around the doorframe. “Mason said I could just come over and knock.” His eyes fell to my robe. “I can come back, if you want.”

“No.” I was dressed underneath. It didn’t matter. I sat up now, pulling my knees close to me. “What’s up? How’s Heather?”

“That’s why I came in. She . . .” another pause. He looked down. “She’s not doing that well. I was wondering . . .” His hand went to the top of his head. It rested there before falling back down. “I shouldn’t be asking this of you. You were closer to the gi—her. Never mind. Sorry.”

“No. What?” I wanted something to do. I needed something to do.

He hesitated. He seemed torn, but asked, “Could you come over and just hug her or something? She’s just crying. Her brothers are coming, but you were with her . . . I thought it might help.”

I frowned. There wasn’t a word to describe how drained I felt. “She doesn’t want you there?”

“It’s not that. I’m not leaving, but I hold her, and she doesn’t react. I just wonder if I’m the person she wants right now.”

“You are.” I nodded. I said it with such certainty. “You are. No one else can replace you in her life. She needs you.”

His eyebrows were pulled together, but relaxed at my words. He nodded, blinking back some wetness, and coughed. He cleared his throat. “Okay. Thank you.” He frowned again. “Are you okay? I mean . . .” He looked over his shoulder again. “Mason seems busy with Logan, and you’re in here alone. Are you sure you don’t want to come to the room, so you’re not alone?”

He and Heather were family. Logan and Mason were mine. I should be with mine.

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to join them. I just needed a moment.”

“Okay.” His lip twitched up in something that might’ve been a smile, or a small grin. I didn’t know what. Everything looked off to me now. Nothing was right.

He left, and I was alone again.

I could still hear Mason’s murmurings, but still nothing from Logan.

Where was Nate?

But even as I thought it, I knew: he was probably with them. He was probably in the same room with them. Or maybe he was doing what I was doing—sitting. Being alone. Listening to them. Or maybe he was like Channing, not sure what to do. Feeling helpless. Trying to find out what to do, how to help, who else to maybe help.

I closed my eyes and lay back down, curling into a small ball. I wanted to be as small as possible. I wanted to disappear, if that was possible.

I waited.

I didn’t disappear. I couldn’t.

Lying here wasn’t helping. My insides were still in shreds. I just didn’t want to think about why. It would make me go insane.

I stood, going to the door. I wanted Mason, but I couldn’t be selfish and demand him. Logan was hurting the most. He needed his brother. Did Logan need me too? I was like his sister. I was his sister.

I was Taylor’s killer too. She died because I didn’t save her.

Maybe I should go and comfort Heather? Anything to tear me away from where I was.

I started to leave, then remembered to grab the key card on the table by the door.

“Where are you going?” Mason was behind me.

I couldn’t look in his eyes. If I did, I’d collapse. I looked away. “I’m going to check on Heather.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I swallowed, but I still didn’t look up. “How is he?”

“Hurting, Sam. He could use you.”

“He has you.”

“He needs both of us.”

No. My heart squeezed together. He didn’t need the person who would always remind him of her. But Mason wouldn’t understand that. He wasn’t thinking about it, not really. I didn’t have the heart to explain it to him.

I shoved my hands in my robe’s pockets, my shoulders hunched down, my head still hanging low. “I’ll be back,” I whispered. “I promise.”

Before he could say anything else, I reached behind me, opened the door and slipped out.

I rushed to Heather’s room, but only because it was away from that suite.

I knocked on their door. “Heather? Channing?”

I waited. No response. I knocked again. “Hello?” No response.

I tried the door.

It opened, and I stepped inside, just one foot.

The room was cold.

The lights were off.

A breeze swept through the room, giving me the shivers.

“Heather?” I raised my voice. Were they in the bathroom? My stomach sank to my feet. Would everyone be in the bathroom now? Was this the beginning of a perverted joke? But I crossed the room. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I ignored the pit in my stomach, and I knocked on the bathroom door.

There was no response.

I knocked again, then checked. The door was unlocked.

I held my breath and pushed it open.

Nothing.

I didn’t even feel the warmth that lingered when someone had just taken a shower. I turned back around. There was nothing in the room. There was no reason for me to believe they’d even been in here.

Did I have the wrong room?

That was it. Had to be it. I started for the hallway again, then heard a dash of footsteps in the hallway. Someone ran past where I was.

I darted forward. Who was that? I got to the hallway, it took two seconds, but they were gone. The tan-and-black floral pattern on the floor stretched up and down the hallway. No one was there. I started forward.

I heard a soft click to my left, ahead of me.

A door closed.

My head snapped around again. No. The sound was away from the suite.

I kept going.

I didn’t have shoes on. I wasn’t dressed to leave the hallway, never mind the hotel. I’d have to go back if I didn’t find anyone. Still. I pressed on. I didn’t even know what I would find, or if I would find anything, but I kept going.

I got to the end.

Nothing. No one.

I was sick of this.

I let out a breath of air and started back for the room. I’d go back and call the front desk. I’d have them ring me to Heather’s correct room.

Another soft click.

I knew I’d heard it this time. My head whipped back around, but still nothing in the hallway. Not even the sound of the ice machine.

The hairs on my neck were standing up. Then again, I don’t think they had ever relaxed.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, like that would calm me. It did nothing. I knew it wouldn’t, but I had to try. I was walking back to the room. I hadn’t realized how far I’d gone. I had four doors to go. Three. Two. I was at Heather’s room again.

“Sam?”

I cried out, rounding, and falling to the floor. My heart leapt out of my chest.

It was Heather. She stood right behind me, clutching an ice bucket.

I pressed a hand to my chest, making sure everything was still intact there, that nothing had exploded. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Me?” She pointed to me with the bucket. “What are you doing? You’re being all creepy and sneaking down the hallway. I followed you from the stairs.”

“The stairs?”

“Yeah. I went down there to get ice. Ours is out of order on this floor.”

“Did you take the elevator?”

“No. Why would I? It’s just one floor.”

So that had been the door click. “My heart is still racing.” I got up, but still held my hand over my heart.

But what about the second door click? The thought nagged me. I would’ve seen her. I was looking up and down the hallway. And come to think of it, where was the exit sign? I didn’t see it. “Where are the stairs?”

She motioned to the door I’d just passed. I widened my eyes. It looked just like another bedroom.

Wait. That didn’t make sense either.

I shook my head.

None of this was making sense. Those hairs—they were standing straight up, ramrod straight. There was no slouching. They were at full attention. I asked, “How’d you know that was the stairs?”

“Channing told me.”

“What?”

“He said that they switched the signs around, something about not letting media up here, and that this is the door I needed to use for my smoke breaks.”

“Where is Channing?”

She frowned. “He said he went to talk to you. I went to get ice after that.”

“Oh.” I could relax again. “He probably went to look for you like I just did.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shrugged, and went to the room. I followed her, but stood in the doorway. She looked fine, unlike what Channing had claimed. I asked, “Are you doing okay?”

She half-laughed at me. “Are you serious? I should be the one asking you, not the other way around.”

“Oh.”

There was no reason for me to stay here. I looked over my shoulder at the suite door. Maybe I should go and see how Logan was doing? Maybe he actually did need me? I let out another sigh. I just wished I knew what I should do.

“But how are you doing?” Heather put the ice down, then reached for her cigarettes. She folded them into her pocket and pulled on a sweatshirt.

“I—uh.” I looked back at the ground. I didn’t want to think about her. Then I wouldn’t even be able to stand. “I think I want to process it later.”

“Okay.” She held up her cigarettes. “I have to get out of here. I need a smoke. You want one? You look like you could actually use one, but don’t get addicted.” She grinned, the smile not reaching her eyes. “I’ve heard they’re bad for you. She used to tell me that. Ta—” She stopped, clasping her eyes tightly shut. She bit down on her lip and her head hung low. “Oh God.”

All the feelings came rushing in. I started to slide down to the floor. I could feel the sobs coming. I wrapped my arms around myself, warding everything off. I did not want to fall apart.

Heather rushed to me. She slid an arm around me and helped me stand. “I’m sorry, Sam.” She tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t talk.

We stood there, her arms around me, my own arms around me, and I took a moment. Just one. I had to keep going after that, and after a few moments passed, I nodded. I stood straight again. Heather pulled away, still frowning. “You better?”

I flashed her a grin, knowing it was broken. I didn’t care about that. I couldn’t. “Enough.”

“Okay.”

We stepped back into the hallway. I went toward the suite. She went to the weird stairway door. She opened it and put one foot inside, pulling her cigarettes out again. “You sure you don’t want one? Not trying to push bad shit on you, but.” The little light she had in her eyes dimmed. “You know.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but no.”

“Okay.”

“Hey.” I stopped her.

She looked back up.

I gestured to my door. “Find Channing and come in when you get back.”

She started to nod. She started to say, “I will—” when a gloved hand appeared around her head. Her eyes bulged out. Her mouth opened to scream, but the hand covered her mouth.

I had one second of warning before the knife was brought to her throat, and in a nanosecond—her throat was slashed.

“NO!”

Blood spewed from her throat, and her body slumped to the ground. I froze.

Her eyes, like Taylor’s, had been alive. They had been alarmed. They had been frightened. And then, like Taylor’s, they’d become lifeless.

And I couldn’t look away.