Chapter Eighteen
We were running blind, chasing the horizon.
Chelsea was in my arms, a blanket from Andrew’s car draped over her. I could feel her blood soaking through as we trudged up the stairs to Nicole Remay’s apartment. I was sure that seeing me with a bleeding and comatose teenager was not how she wanted to start her Sunday morning, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
I kicked the door several times. In my arms, Chelsea let out a murmur. It was weak, but a clear indication that she was still alive. Ten seconds passed, so I kicked the door again, louder this time.
“It’s Blume,” I shouted. “Please, Nicole … let me in!”
Light footsteps approached the door. It opened and Remay appeared, her ash blonde hair was in disarray and her usual nose stud was missing. She was wearing a tatte
