9.
Finn texts me Saturday morning, an abbreviated comment about how the party Quinn invited him to wasn't all that fun. I'm sure he means it to be almost apologetic, like he's trying to assure me that I didn't miss anything by deciding not to go but it doesn't make me feel much of anything aside from relief over the fact that Quinn didn't kill and eat him last night. But that feeling of relief quickly turns to one of foreboding and I feel fingers of ice slide down my spine. I am the mouse in this game, I am the one being played with; Quinn knows that I know that her intentions with Finn are far from innocent and she's enjoying making me wonder when the ball is going to drop. But, at the same time, her procrastination fills me with a little bit of hope; she might think she's playing with me but she's giving me the time to figure out how to stop her once and for all.
I spend the weekend helping Dad with his upcoming cases and helping Daddy decide how he should decorate their bedroom. They don't ask why I'm spending my weekend doing homework and devoting all my time to them and they don't ask where Quinn is and why they haven't seen her since the beginning of the week and I really love them for that. Even though they've been more light-hearted since Quinn's reappearance, like they no longer have the burden of hiding a murderous daughter on their chests, they don't act like they find it weird that Quinn and I are in the same place and not together. That hasn't happened since we were three years old.
The week progresses almost like normal, as though there is nothing out of the ordinary in my high school experience. Quinn is still the center of attention but at least she's not (currently) eating any of her suitors, though Finn is still spending too much time with her for my liking. Maybe I should purchase some pepper spray or a gun for him to carry around with him. In glee, Mr. Schuester is allocating most of the class time to rehearsing for the duet project, turning us over to 'independent study' as though he's still unsure of how to conduct the group without Sam's presence. Noah and I have yet to decide on a song ("I'm not singing any of that prissy Broadway shit," he so eloquently informed me Monday) and my attention is often distracted by watching Finn and Quinn rehearse the song they have chosen: "Lucky." Which I think is just another one of life's ironies because Finn is anything but lucky.
Wednesday morning, I notice a definite change in Quinn's appearance and demeanor. Her skin has lost the resonating glow and her hair hangs stringy and limp from the ponytail she has it pulled back in. There are bags under her eyes like she hasn't been sleeping and she doesn't even bother to smile when Kurt compliments her outfit and Mercedes fawns over her boots. She is sluggish and listless and no one mentions the change, as though they are too afraid to do anything to insult Queen Quinn. I meet her eyes across the lunch table and smirk when she narrows her eyes at me. We both know it's not a lapse in beauty regimen that has caused the change.
At that afternoon's glee practice, I overhear Quinn talking with Brittany and Santana about joining the Cheerios, which twists my stomach into knots. If Quinn is signing up for after school activities, that means she plans on sticking around Lima for a prolonged period of time. Instantly, I feel like an idiot. Of course she is planning on staying in Lima, that was always her plan. Lima is where I am and she's not going to carry out her reign of terror somewhere where I can't be witness to it.
Quinn leaves with Brittany and Santana and the football players after practice and I make small talk with Daddy on the drive home, my thoughts turning toward the research I need to do when we get home. It has nothing to do with school work and everything to do with Quinn and stopping her before she can hurt anyone else and take up permanent residence in Lima. I can feel that time is running out now; I wonder if I am still connected to Quinn somehow and if the sudden anxiety and restlessness is from her and not myself. Either way, I can't shake the feelings.
I'm surprised when, shortly before dinner, my phone starts ringing and Noah's name flashes on the screen. I gave him my number so he could contact me when he had ideas about the duet but somehow I have the feeling that he isn't calling to talk about glee club.
"Berry, your friend is really starting to freak me out." Noah says without preamble.
I raise an eyebrow even though I know that he can't see me. I close the webpage about demonic possession I was carefully reading so that I can give him my full attention. "What are you talking about, Noah?" I question.
"There's something wrong with Quinn."
His words surprise me. "You have no idea how true that is." I say without thinking about my words and quickly question, "What makes you say that?" just so he won't ask me to elaborate.
Noah is silent for a minute and I wonder if he's gathering his thoughts or changing his mind about calling me in the first place. "We were at practice, right? And Quinn was going over some routines or some shit with Santana and, you know, sometimes those little skirts can be pretty distracting," I roll my eyes, "and Hudson isn't the most coordinated guy out there anyway so when Quinn does this little turn and her skirt flips up," another eye roll, "Hudson does a header into the water table and totally just busts ass." I'm sure this isn't the story that Noah called to tell me so I just sit quietly, waiting for him to get to the point and to explain his comment about Quinn. "So Quinn and all the other cheerleaders go running over there like it's this big crisis but really Hudson's fine, he just cut his hand. And then…shit Berry this is going to sound so crazy," my ears perk up because I have thought that same phrase so many times before in regards to Quinn, "but Quinn she…she takes his hand and she licks the blood off. Just licks it off. And it looked…shit…like she was enjoying it or something." He chuckles humorlessly. "That sounds so fucked."
"Noah…" This is my opening, the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth about Quinn and everything that's been going on. After having seen her display for himself, he might be more receptive to hearing what I have to say. So why are the words freezing in my throat? Why am I still unable to bring myself to tell him exactly what Quinn is?
"I know, it sounds crazy." Noah chuckles but the sound is forced, like he's trying to make light of the situation and to alleviate the tension. He must think that I'm silent because I don't believe him, that I don't take kindly to what he just said about my friend. How untrue that is. "She's not like a, shit, like a vampire or something?" I can practically hear him rolling his eyes.
I can't help but laugh. "No, Noah, she's not a vampire." I almost wish she was. I know how to kill a vampire.
"Just checking. I know they're, like, all popular now and shit." He laughs again and I roll my eyes at his words. "Look, I know it sounds crazy. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing. Sorry I called you."
"Noah, it doesn't sound crazy." I assure him. How many times have I thought/wished that I had just imagined the changes I was seeing in Quinn, how many times did I convince myself that nothing was going on because it was just too crazy to imagine what my eyes were showing me? "I…thank you for calling me." What a ridiculous thing to say. Should I thank him for being my friend next? Honestly. I roll my eyes at myself. I seem to be rolling my eyes a lot lately.
Noah chuckles again. "See you tomorrow Berry." He hangs up and I set my phone down on my desk, staring down at the screen like I'm hoping it will light up again with a message or phone call from Noah. But I just find myself staring down at my background: a picture of myself, Jesse and Quinn pressed cheek to cheek in order to fit into the frame. We'd taken it outside of the theatre showing Spring Awakening, hoping that some of the building would show up in the picture but there was barely enough room for all of us, let alone any landscape. I really should change it but I just can't bring myself to do so.
Sighing, I push my phone out of eyeshot and turn my attention back to the computer. I wish there was some sort of message board or website that I could go to for advice, but I hardly doubt there's a my best friend has been possessed by a demon and is killing and eating the boys in my school chat room. Or if there is, I probably don't want to be a part of it. So, I just keep Googling, hoping to find something that I haven't before, something that will give me the information I so desperately need.
No amount of surfing provides me with the information I've been looking for. What does is simply showing up to school the following morning and seeing Quinn standing at Finn's locker, looking much more like her old self than she did yesterday. Her appearance isn't exactly Vogue worthy, but she doesn't look like she peeled herself off the highway to come to school. Her skin is brighter, her hair has more of a bounce to it and her eyes are dangerously bright with an ominous glint. She doesn't look the way that she does after she's fed and replenished her energy but she does look better. Maybe she's been getting more beauty rest.
Suddenly it dawns on me. Noah's story from last night, how Quinn went all Queen of the Damned on Finn after his football injury. His blood wasn't enough to fully replenish her demonic strength but it was enough to give her a little extra charge, to keep her going for the time being. The time in between, when she starts to grow pale and weak and looks like every other teenage girl out there, that's when I can stop her. The first time I tried to kill her didn't work because she had just fed, she was too strong. But she has periods of weakness, I just have to strike when the time is exactly right.
But how much time, exactly, do I have? How long before Quinn grows weak enough to need to feed again? I remember what she said that afternoon at my house: it's happens so much faster than it used to. Maybe I will get my chance sooner than I think. I just have to watch for the signs again, I just have to wait for Quinn to lose that shine and bounce and then…what? Lure her away, stab her in the heart again? Even standing in the hallway at school my hands shake at the idea. I acted the first time out of sorrow and anger over what she had done to Jesse. I still hate Quinn, make no mistake about that, but will I be able to kill her all over again?
I decide not to waste time thinking about that. I just have to trust that I'll do what needs to be done when the time is right. Instead, I decide to focus my attention on charting when I think Quinn is likely to become weak and susceptible again. I can barely pay attention in my classes, I'm too busy writing down everything I can remember about how Quinn acted and looked over the past few months and how much time passed each time she killed one of our classmates. I feel guilty about not dedicating the appropriate attention to my classes or glee rehearsal but, in my defense, trying to stop my murderous best friend might be a tad bit more important than conjugating verbs in Spanish or the Boston Tea Party.
It isn't until the following day that Noah mentions my sudden lack of an attention span. He snatches my carefully plotted notes and graphs away from me while we're supposed to be having a partner discussion about symbolism (or something, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure) and I practically lunge at him to take them back before he can read them. Noah's eyes get wide and he raises an eyebrow. "Whoa, Berry, who spiked your coffee this morning?"
I shove the notes into my backpack. I was foolish for even having them out in school; someone easily could have seen what I was writing. "I don't drink coffee, Noah," I inform him frankly, "caffeine is horrible for vocal cords."
Noah just rolls his eyes. "What I mean was that you seem a little uptight." He pauses. "More than usual. You're wound up way too tight, Berry, you need to relax before you go completely crazy."
I huff, rolling my eyes. "I don't think you're qualified to decide whether I am crazy or not." I point out. "I just have a lot on my mind."
"I've noticed." Noah remarks. "You weren't even on the same planet as the rest of us during glee yesterday and something tells me that's out of the ordinary for you. What you need is to take a night off from all that thinking, actually relax for once." He winks at me.
I purse my lips, hoping that Noah doesn't actually see the color that has suddenly brushed across my cheeks. "Why do I get the feeling that you're proposing to be the one to help me relax?" Did that come out flirtatious? Why did it sound like I was propositioning him? Why does this suddenly feel more important than figuring out how to stop Quinn? A night letting Noah unwind me certainly sounds more fun than another night spent trying to figure out how to kill my friend. Unwind me, did I really just think that? Oh boy.
Noah grins and it's almost like he can read all the thoughts that are running rapidly through my mind. "How 'bout I pick you up tonight and you can find out." Has he always been leaning this close to me? If only we weren't sitting in the middle of class…
I really shouldn't. I don't have much time before Quinn is too strong to kill and I have to wait all over again. I really need to focus my attention on Quinn and my notes… "Okay, I'll see you at eight o'clock sharp."
Noah smirks and gives me a salute. "Yes ma'am."
Something tells me this isn't just a friendly meeting to talk about our duet or glee club. What if this is a date? Oh God, what should I wear? Too bad the perfect person to ask that question is a demon-possessed man-eater. Life can be so complicated sometimes.
TBC
