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His brows arched almost comically high. “Me, the ghost? You’re the one who isn’t real.”
I sighed. “You can be as convincing as you like. I’m not stupid. You’re part of my subconscious and its anxiety at the fact that someone’s decided to murder people the same way you once did.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Even if you didn’t, doesn’t matter. It’s happening again. And if it’s not you, then maybe Brayden is right, and it’s the work of your old gang.”
“Impossible.”
“How would you know?”
“Because every member of Trikillz is dead. I am the last one.”
“Are you? How do you know they’re all gone?”
“I just do.”
“Well, maybe you’re wrong. After all, people around here thought you’d croaked, too.” Knowing I dreamed and technically argued with myself didn’t stop me from stating it.
“I think I’d know if I died,” he opined.
“If you say so. What about your gang? How did they bite the big one? I thought some of them were in prison.”
“They were taken out behind bars. “
“How? Rival gang retaliation?”
He snorted. “No one would dare.”
“Don’t be so sure. From what I heard, your gang was pretty hardcore. You must have had many enemies.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, since I got out.”
“Did you? Maybe they didn’t want to let you go so you killed them.”
He arched a brow. “Why would I do that? I quit the gang. That didn’t stop them from being my friends.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Listen, lady, don’t you think if I was a killer, I would have ended your annoying questions a while ago?”
“I’mannoying?” I almost shrieked. “You’re the guy who keeps showing up inside my head, bossing me around.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You are not flipping this around.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “You are the one who keeps invading my spaces. Go away. Play your seductive games with someone else.”
I had to admire how my dream version of Mahoney had such autonomy. Felt so real. Until he claimed seduction. Ha. He wasn’t anything close to my type with his square, rugged looks and abrasive manner. The kind of guy who liked it rough.
Mmm…
A cramp hit me, and I glared at my stomach. Couldn’t I escape the period from Hell even in sleep? Another spasm hit me, along with a gush of wet heat between my legs.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” It was like being fifteen again, wearing white jeans to school, and my period deciding to come five days early.
Then, as now, it went through fabric and stained. In this case, the bike bracket. Back then? My seat in class. Everybody saw it. I became Bloody Allie, and people said my name seven times while slamming locker doors when I went by. I wore that name for two years until Patricia, a grade under me, had it happen on a recreational class trip to the pool. The pink water had the boys screaming, “shark.” And after that, guess what theme song got hummed when Patricia passed by.
When I swung my leg to get off the bike, the metal strut I’d been straddling glistened with my menses as if I wore nothing to halt it. So gross. I made it a few steps to grab a shop towel before the spins hit, and I had to kneel on the floor.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mahoney barked and yet crouched beside me, a heavy hand on my shoulder to steady me.
