Nightfall (Devil's Night, #4)

by Penelope Douglas

Cold Point was a part of the cliffs that jutted out into the sea a little more than the rest of the coastline between here and Falcon’s Well. With the theme park in the way, it was nearly inaccessible now. And for good reason, given its history. “Do you know that story?” he asked me. “Murder-suicide,” I muttered. He was quiet, and then I heard his soft, “Maybe.” I turned my eyes to him as he leaned his head on his hand and stared ahead. “In 1954, Edward McClanahan was my age,” he told me. “Senior, basketball star, bit of a bad boy, but only where it counted…” He smiled, teasing me. “He was good to people. He showed up for people, you know?” I didn’t know much about Edward McClanahan, other than the basketball team made an annual pilgrimage to his grave. I never really cared. But I stayed quiet. “That season was supposed to be their greatest,” he said. “They had the team, the coach, the years of training… They could anticipate each other’s moves, even their thoughts.” He met my eyes. “That’s what years of playing together had brought them to. They were a family. More than family. They were in perfect symbiosis.” Like the Horsemen. Watching them sometimes, the other players didn’t exist. Michael, Kai, Damon, and Will were like the four limbs of a single body.