The Devil Inside

1: Under the Oak Tree

Cooper Daniels stared down at the murder weapon in his neighbor's sock drawer, wondering—not for the first time—how the hell he'd gotten here.

The world will never know what really happened that night. And I'd like to keep it that way...for now.

The knife stared back at him innocently, all serrated edges and gleaming steel—a stark contrast to the fuzzy green socks shoved in the back corner of the drawer. Cooper knew that knife well. Too well. He knew what it would feel like in his hands.

Just as he knew what it would feel like when he drove it through someone's back.

This isn't the same knife, Cooper reminded himself, slamming the drawer shut. That knife—the one he'd buried in Cory's spine—would have been sealed away in storage, evidence for the gruesome string of murders that had haunted his sleepy town over a year ago.

I can't believe she kept this, he thought angrily. And then, aloud, he hissed, "What is wrong with you?" But his red-headed neighbor, lounging beneath the oak tree outside, could not hear him.

His fingers skimmed the top of the dresser; there was no dust, no spare gum wrappers or hair ties or bejeweled picture frames, or whatever else a normal teenage girl might have accumulated over the years. Because this dresser didn't belong to a normal teenage girl.

Cooper tried the second drawer down. But—nope. T-shirts. No sign of the black notebook he was supposed to be retrieving.

Look in the dresser, Calla had instructed, waving him away with a flick of her fingers, as regal as a queen on her throne—if the tangle of roots she leaned against could be considered a throne. The notebook's in there. Somewhere.

"In there. Somewhere," he repeated to himself, sour. "Very helpful."

Between the three of them—Cooper, Calla, and Vincent, his charismatic best friend—Calla took the best notes. Notes he would sorely need if he wanted to pass the summer reading exam Mrs. Gable would have waiting for them in two weeks' time.

Grumbling, Cooper opened the next drawer—and nearly tore it off its hinges at the sight of all the frilly, lacey things staring back at him.

Wrong drawer. Wrong drawer.

"I have seen too much," he groaned, ignoring the heat in his face as he yanked open the middle drawer, found the black notebook he needed, and left Calla's bedroom as quickly as possible.

Her room unnerved him. It was empty. Immaculate—save for the carefully placed sock in the corner, the shirt draped against the edge of the bed, the slight tilt to her pillows. Intentional mishaps. Clues that were meant to scream I am your average teenage girl.

Cooper might never have noticed. But he knew what to look for.

It was a relief to step out into the blazing summer heat. August had slammed into the town of Greenwitch like a freight train. But the bright sunshine and sweltering temperatures masked the embarrassed flush on his cheeks—which only grew worse as he thought of the pile of lacey underthings buried in Calla's drawer.

He rounded the house. A massive oak tree shaded most of the backyard. And there, sitting on the largest tangle of roots—Calla. Her dark eyes tracked his progress across the yard while her fingers ran through Vincent's sweat-soaked hair, his head in her lap and a book in his hands.

His eyes were closed. Another productive day of studying.

Cooper dropped onto a particularly gnarled root just below Calla. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd chosen the high ground on purpose.