The Lies That Bind

35: Snow White

"I'm sorry. I just...you can't be serious."

Rachel's soft chuckle floated by her ear. "I think she is."

For all her talk of let go of your hate and live and blah-blah-blah, Rachel sounded rather amused by Astrid's panicked antics. Not quite so forgiving as all that, eh? Calla wanted to ask, but she'd look like a lunatic, talking to empty space. Not that she didn't already look like a lunatic, what with the dead body on the floor.

Semantics.

Astrid's eyes shone with tears. She swiped at them with the back of her hand. "You've officially lost it, Calla."

"Eh." A careless shrug. "I never really had it, if we're being honest."

"Fuck." Astrid scrubbed at her eyes. Calla's were also beginning to sting. "What is that smell?"

"Bleach." Calla stepped away from the door. "Dead people stink. Gotta cover it up somehow."

"Whatever," Astrid snapped.

Cold air brushed the back of her neck. "She's scared."

"Good," Calla mused. "She should be."

Astrid looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "What?"

Whoops. Talking to the air. "Oh, nothing."

More buzzing from the bracelet. Calla had half a mind to rip it off, but—she couldn't bear it. She needed him here, with her. If only for a few more moments.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" Astrid asked, miserable.

Calla contemplated her, the shine of sweat at her brow, the slight wobble in her lower lip. She'd worn heeled boots and red lipstick and—my God, had she planned on going out after this?

Why did you ask me to come here?

Calla could've given her a great many answers. Because you killed my best friend. Because you're a loose end. Because I hate you and that hate will never go away, no matter how Rachel begs and begs.

It was true, every bit of it. The hate she held in her heart urged her onward, even now, to its inevitable, bloody end.

But more than that, Astrid's death was a necessity.

"I asked you to come here," Calla said, taking another step away from the door, "to kill you."

Astrid didn't so much as flinch. After seeing the dead body on the floor, Calla supposed she wasn't all that surprised. "I thought...Cooper said he would talk to you."

Calla stroked the bracelet's metallic band, savoring the periodic vibrations against her skin. "Oh, he did." The further she moved away from the door, the more Astrid began to stiffen, taking notice. Calla could practically see her measuring the distance, calculating the odds she could make it in time.

In those ridiculous boots, no less.

"Don't forget," Calla said softly, recapturing her attention. "While you and Jessica were waving your adorable little pom-poms, I was out on the track, running down the competition." She smiled, sharp as glass. "I wouldn't try it."

"You said you wanted me here to talk," Astrid accused, voice watery with tears. Or maybe her throat was just choked from all the bleach.

"We are talking."

Astrid looked pointedly back down at Michaels, clearly disgusted to be so near a corpse.

"Oh, him?" Calla braced her hand against the back of the couch. "Don't mind him. He was a very naughty boy. Threatening to tell all kinds of secrets."