The Lies we Steal (The Hollow Boys Book 1)

Briar

I had officially hit extreme sleep deprivation. I’d started to heavily feel the effects of no sleep after forty-eight hours. Anxiety, irritability, and even begun to hallucinate at the late hours of the night. Hearing the sounds of footsteps, creaking of doors, seeing shadows in my empty dorm room. 

Even as I laid down in my bed, my eyes refused to close. My brain hellbent on staying awake and alert. I didn’t want to give them a chance to catch me vulnerable or at a disadvantage. 

I felt like if I was always awake, I’d be ready at any given moment. 

It’d been a few days since the commotion of my dead rat on the door. The whispers were still very loud and people talked about me behind my back in class, but I’d learned to revert back to my old self. Blocking out everything that was being said, and really just started relying on Lyra for support who thankfully, was fine with it, and leaned on me as well. 

She took care of the mess on the door, quickly placing Ada in a box and wiping up the blood she’d leaked. Together we buried her at the base of a tree behind one of the school buildings, throwing her a little funeral in the process before returning to our dorm and binge watching the Harry Potter movies. 

I tried to remain optimistic, but it didn’t help. Every day felt like another waiting game, another day of catching a shadow move in the corner of my eye but turning to see no one was there. 

Yesterday I’d had lunch with Uncle Thomas, who was full of energy and talked the entire time. Which was fine, it meant all I had to do was smile and nod my head. He’d heard from my teachers I was good student, and he was glad I was adjusting well. 

And even though I wanted to tell him, I had promised Lyra I wouldn’t. So I kept it all to myself, swallowing it down with tasteless food as he continued talking about an upcoming annual school event that I didn’t want to attend. 

However, I told him I would go, hoping it was just an assembly of some sort. I wasn’t in the mood to do anything but classes and hide in my dorm room. 

I was living my life in a constant state of limbo now, always wondering when it would end. 

After classes today I’d went to the library to study, quickly realizing the warmth of the heater inside the large building, mixed with my tired eyes trying to read was a terrible idea because I’d ended up falling asleep on one of my books and dreaming. 

And as always it was about him. 

Not his wicked friends who walk with their heads high and grin like Cheshire cats as they strut around campus. Not even the one who thinks flipping his zippo around is a personality trait who I share a class with. 

I only dream of him. 

I’m unsure of what it is about his demeanor that sets my spine straight or how he’s able to make my senses heighten like a scared kitten. I’d never been fearful of a person the way I am with him. 

There was just something about Alistair Caldwell that made me panic. Something inside of him was so dark, so damned, that it called to the deepest parts of my soul. The way he stared at me from across the courtyard, like he knew every single detail about my life. 

What made me jump, what made me tick, my past, where I came from. He looked at me like he knew everything. What I would do before I even did it. 

And he knew I’d stolen from him. 

In retrospect I wasn’t sure I was making it out of his grasp alive and needed to have something on my body so they would know who killed me, I wasn’t stealing because I wanted to. But because I had to. 

I also couldn’t walk up to him and throw the ring at him. 

I liked having that edge on him. 

I had something he wanted. Something he needed. If he wanted it back, he’d have to pry it from my dead hands. I felt like I had him at a disadvantage, maybe on a lesser scale than he had me, but a disadvantage, nonetheless. 

After I jolted awake from my quick slumber, I went for a swim, the cold water of the school pool had woken my muscles and given me a much-needed boost of energy. It felt nice to do something normal from my old life. I’d been a great swimmer in high school, not like it mattered to be a starter or anything because I didn’t have the correct last name, but I was good. 

My hair smelled like chemicals when I was finished, my fingers pruned, and even though I was nervous a shower would make me sleepy, I needed to wash off the pool water. 

So I’d slipped my clothes on over my damp bathing suit, planning to run all the way back to the dorms before I slipped beneath the hot water that would soothe my muscles. I shivered at the prospect as I pushed the door open from the pool hall starting my walk across campus. 

The wind bites at my skin harshly, goosebumps appearing automatically. My feet rushed across the grounds covering as much ground as I possibly could with my speed walking. I could see the light escaping from the top window of my dorm hall door, almost to safety when a different cold chill fell upon my shoulders. 

I’d felt it too late, the presence of someone behind me. The sun was gone, I was all alone, and the urge to scream bubbled in my stomach. I quickly turned around, prepared to see what I always do, nothing. 

He doesn’t let me see him. He just stays long enough for me to know he’s watching.

I am prepared though. I’m ready. 

I ball my fist up, spinning around on my heels when I feel him close in on my body, 

“Br—” I hear the beginning of my name from his mouth only a second before I slug my fist upward hoping I make contact with something on his face. 

My knuckles instantly throb, my face flashing hot when I see a swoosh of golden strung hair. 

Oh God. 

“What the fuck!” Easton hisses, holding his jaw where I’d thrown the best right hook of my life. Ronda Rousey would be proud. 

My heart beats rapidly, nerves and the quick come down from being frightened is a rush to my head. I place my hands over my mouth, 

“Oh my shit. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I mumble. 

He turns his head to face me, still holding his face, rubbing the red area on his cheek bone. 

“Damn girl. Wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley.” He jokes through the pain and I laugh nervously. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just, I thought you were—” I freeze, thinking it’s best not to finish that sentence the way I wanted to. 

“Thought I was…? A mugger?”

“Something like that, are you okay?” I ask worried, I feel like I’d just punched a guy who relies on his face more than most. Taking breaths, trying to calm myself down. 

“I’ll survive. Better question, are you okay? You looked seriously spooked.” 

I run my hands down my face anxiously, sighing, “I’m tired is all. Haven’t been sleeping well, my head is all over the place.” 

He nods in understanding, the redness growing, and I know it’ll bruise by morning. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I broke my knuckle.” I raise my hand so he can see the already swollen joint. 

With ease, he grabs my hand, not giving me enough time to even flinch. Lowering his eyes to exam my knuckles. His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin and I wince slightly. 

“I think you might have broken it; do you want me to go grab you some ice?” He breathes his words onto my hand, his lips closer than they need to be. I can feel the warmth of his skin near my own, quickly retracting my hand. 

I’ve stolen a lot of things. 

A blender, a TV, a watch, I even stole batteries out of remotes. 

Boyfriends isn’t one of the things I plan on adding to the list.

“I’ll be okay, just a little scratch is all. You can just tell Mary the other guy looks worse than you do tomorrow.” I slide in, smiling softly. 

“Yeah,” He nods, scratching the back of his neck in a boyish way, “I’ll try that. It’s all good though, I shouldn’t have run up on you like that, I think everyone is a little freaked out right now.”

There it is again. 

The panic. 

“What for?” I ask the question I’m positive I know the answer to. 

“The teacher assistant, Chris? The one for our applied mathematics class, he’s missing. Has been for the past few days, and now Coraline Whittaker has gone missing. Her parents reported it yesterday, everyone’s bugged out. This town loves to fuel rumors and scare nonlocals with their ghost stories,” He smirks, “They probably just ditched this place, wouldn’t be the first time the pressure of Ponderosa Springs got to someone.” 

I’d already punched him in the face and now I was feeling the urge to upchuck on his shoes. This was the first time since we’d seen the murder that someone had mentioned it to me. 

My mouth dried up completely. My head filling with images of the snakes crawling all over his body, their sharp teeth sinking into his skin. Watching the blood pour like a waterfall from his throat. The sounds of him gurgling for his life. 

I quiver, stepping back from Easton, needing to get to my dorm room. 

“Yeah, probably just needed a break from the school or something.” I reply, “I’ve got to get back to my room, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” 

Clutching the strap of my bag, “And I’m sorry about your face! I’ll make it up to you with homework answers sometime.” I rush, wanting to leave this conversation. 

He furrows his eyebrows in uncertainty. Probably thinking about how weird I am, considering I’d socked him in the face and was running away like a chicken with my head cut off. 

I turn my back, moving my legs towards my hall. 

“Briar!” He calls behind me. 

Shifting my neck to look at him, “Yeah?” 

“Be careful. Not everyone here is who they pretend to be.” He lifts his hand in the air, rubbing his middle finger in reference to the ring that’s adorning my own. I’d forgotten about it, forgotten that I’d slipped it on after my swim because I didn’t have any pockets. 

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” I call back, disappearing into the safety of my dorm hall. 

Great. Perfect. 

He now thinks I’m with Alistair. Let’s just add that to the list of things that doesn’t need to be happening in my life right now. 

I nearly sprint to my room, fumbling my way into the door. Everything begins to spin, I can’t seem to catch up with the speed of things. The room is dark, besides Lyra’s bedside lamp, the dim light casting a shadow onto her sleeping face. A book she’d been reading resting on her chest as she sleeps peacefully. 

What I would give to do that. 

To not dream of him. 

To not think of him. 

I lock myself in the bathroom, rushing to the toilet where I collapse hard on my knees. They dig into the tile as I empty what little food I have in my body out into the white bowl. 

My ribs tighten, my throat already sore from the stomach acid. My eyes shut as static flickers behind them. All the snakes. All the blood. The sound of them howling with laughter as they chased us through the woods. 

It was a game to them. 

They’d probably only killed Chris for fun. A joke. So bored with all their money and status they had to up the ante. Knowing their last names would save them from any backlash they received. 

They wouldn’t even come close to getting caught, because in all the chaos is calculation. They have a reason for everything, a plan, always plotting their next move. 

I don’t stand until I’m sure I’m done, only then do I begin shedding my clothes and hopping into the white titled shower. 

Pulling the starch, plastic curtain closed I close my eyes, lifting my head up to the shower head as my fingers turn the cool metal to scorching hot water. I wanted to melt the memories off me. 

“Uh.” I gasp sharply, the water is a shock to my system, my freezing toes stinging underneath the heat. I almost moaned at how good it felt. Dropping my head, letting the stream cascade down my back and coat my hair. 

I felt every drop bounce off my skin, silence besides the pitter patter of water smacking the tile beneath my toes. I focused on my breathing, on the liquid, how warm I felt. 

Since it had happened, I thought about why they’d committed murder. Were they truly that bored? Or had something else happened? 

Were people really born monsters? Or were they conditioned to be that way? 

And that girl, Coraline, they wouldn’t have done something to her, would they? Which led me to wonder, if they had done something to her, were they the reason Silas’s girlfriend wound up dead? All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

I couldn’t imagine someone being so cruel they’d murder their own girlfriend, but I’d also never seen anything like these four boys, so anything was possible. 

Anything. 

I was an outsider looking in on the secrets and treachery of this town. I was at a major disadvantage, Lyra knew the ins and outs. All I knew was what I was learning from day to day and it wasn’t enough to prepare me for them. 

My fingers raked the tangles out of my hair, the steam from the water clearing my chest. I opened my eyes, my intention was to grab the shampoo for my hair, but I was blinded by red, literally. 

At first I thought my knuckles were bleeding, but it was too much, there was so much blood surrounding me there was no way it was from me, I would have been dead. 

It was like something out of a nightmare. 

My hands were veiled with a thin layer of dark red fluid. It poured down my face, falling into my eyes making everything blurry. The color of blood enshrouds me. 

I whip my hair to the left, watching it splatter on the white tiles leaking down to race towards the drain. I smeared it down my arms, across my stomach gaping at how much there was. How thick it felt against my smooth skin. 

My heart raced, pounded, thumped and tried running for its life.  

Even though it was almost scentless, the smell of iron and old pennies burned my nose hairs. It felt too real. All of this felt so real. 

I remembered Chris and all the blood that trickled from his neck. This was my karma for not telling, for letting him die like a slaughtered animal. 

Tears mingled with the crimson water, my throat clogged from too many emotions. But soon animosity swells. It bubbles and froths in my stomach because I know this is not karma. This was done by someone with two arms and two legs, not destiny or some devine intervention. 

I felt stupid for doubting them. For doubting the lengths they’d be willing to go to in order to ensure our cooperation. They had been inside our dorm again. Showing how easily they could sneak in and out of our home, proving how unprotected we really were. 

My hands reach for the shower nozzle, unscrewing and yanking it into pieces. Five fake, plastic pods are shoved inside, dripping with false blood. I sling the nozzle onto the ground, not caring if I wake Lyra. 

I find the tiles for support, resting both of my hands on them as I drop my head down, breathing deeply. 

It cascades down me in rivers and puddles, crashing against my skin and seeping down the drain. The red color taunting me. 

Their way of telling me I have blood on my hands. Showing me that I’m not innocent in this. I watched them do that to that man. I didn’t scream for help or shout at them to stop, I just let it happen. 

Chris’s blood coats my hands just as much as theirs. I was guilty. I was no better than them and that’s how they wanted it to be. 

They wanted us to be dirty. Liars. Murderers. They wanted us to feel the guilt on our souls. 

We are the puppets laced with their strings. Waiting for their next move. Our entire lives in their hands, who knows how long they’ll continue to remind us of that with these small antics. 

They have us right where they need us. 

There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. 

No way out.