Cresent Moon

Chapter Twelve

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

©2007 – 2011 Katrina Meade

Laurel

            I watched Lindsay walk away from us, before I turned to Erich.

            “What do you mean Terry didn’t come home?” I asked.

            “Well, usually I have to run Terry away from my room, but last night not once did he bug you,” he explained. “And Terry never passes up a chance to…you know.”

            “Why are you so worried?”

            Erich cleared his throat. “Well that means he was doing god knows what all night long.”

            “Ah,” I murmured. We started walking towards the school.

            Erich laughed. “Hey Laur, about last night, I’m sorry.”

            I shot him a confused look. “What do you mean? What happened last night?”

            He cocked his head. “Don’t you remember?”

            I shook my head. “I just barely remembered that Lindsay was at your house.”         

            “That’s odd,” he murmured.

            I nodded in agreement. “Odd.”

            Erich grabbed my arm suddenly. I stopped, shocked, as he pulled down the neck of my jacket. “Hmm,” he whispered to himself. Then he spoke louder, “Do you feel a need to honestly attend class today?”

            “Why?”

            “Just tell me,” he demanded softly.

            “Not necessarily,” I answered.

            “Good,” he pulled me back in the direction of his car.

            “Wait, where are we going?” I asked.

            “I need to speak with Steven,” he explained.

            We were in the car when I asked, “Why?”

            Erich reached over and flipped down the visor. “Look, look at your neck.”

            I pulled down the collar of my jacket and gasped. There were four scratches across my neck. Four long dark burgundy marks that moved from the front of my throat to the back. “What happened?”

            “I’m not sure,” Erich whispered. “But I think I was the one who did it, even though I don’t remember touching you last night. The last time I remember touching you was to help you into bed.”

            “Speaking of that,” I interrupted. “Why doesn’t my leg hurt anymore?”

            “I gave you some medicine last night,” he informed me quietly.