Page 145 of Stalkers Anonymous

Then he looks at me, and I swear there’s an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“You know,” he says calmly, “maybe we should consider rebranding to Killers Anonymous.”

A noise comes out of me. I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob or something in-between. Cole’s hand tightens on my shoulder. Jessica presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“Tyler,” she calls down.

“What?” Tyler throws his hands up.

“Read the fucking room.”

“I am reading the room. The room needed that.”

She doesn’t answer, because—God help us all—he isn’t wrong.

I drop my forehead onto Cole’s shoulder.

Behind us, Stalkers Anonymous gets to work.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Cole

If Hailey hadn’t accidentally killed Lars Winters, I would have. I was ready to fucking strangle him before he attacked her, and the second his hands touched her, I was ready to rip him limb from limb. But everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. It all happened within seconds, and I couldn’t get there fast enough. The fucker is lucky she ended him quickly, because I would have kept him alive for as long as possible.

I would have made him beg for death.

Hailey walks under her own power, which is the only reason I’m not carrying her, broken ribs be damned. She would have hated it. As it is, she keeps her arm around my waist and her head against my shoulder and lets me do half the work of moving her up the slope.

Austen has pulled the van closer to the path, so the walk isn’t too far once we’re out of the creek bed. Tonight, the van is an oasis in what has become a desolate landscape.

I get the side door open. The interior light comes on, and right above the workstation, the pink neon glow of Stalkers Anonymous flickers on with it.

I lift Hailey carefully onto the bench seat, and that’s when I see what’s on the floor of the van. A small cooler. Two folded blankets. A plastic grocery bag containing chocolate cupcakes, a packet of beef jerky, two bottles of water, and a single banana.

“Austen.” I look toward the front of the van. “What is this?”

“Snacks.” Austen is yet again typing away furiously, and doesn’t look up. The driver’s seat is fully reclined, and his keyboard is in his lap. “Aftercare snacks. We always have aftercare snacks.”

“You always have aftercare snacks,” I repeat, because I have to hear it out loud.

“Aftercare is very important, you know.” He just shrugs.

“He’s not wrong,” Hailey says sarcastically beside me, making my attention snap back to her.

“I’ll have you know—”

Austen cuts me off. “Cole, please get in or out of the van. You’re letting cold air in.”

Hailey, on the bench seat, is already peeling back the liner of a cupcake.

“Hailey. You have blood all over you, and you just—”

“Cole. I’m a doctor with three broken ribs and low blood sugar. I just watched a man’s skull fold in half and tried performing CPR on him. I am eating the cupcake.”

“Stay with Austen. I’ll be right back.” I close the side door of the van, leaving her with the aftercare snacks.

They’re very important, you know.

Jessica is waiting for me on the path back down to the bridge. She’s already changed clothes. I do not know when or where that change happened. She came to the footbridge in jeans and a flannel, and she’s now in head-to-toe black. There’s a backpack on the ground next to her, and she has a pair of latex gloves in her hand.