Prologue

Taking a deep breath, I stare at my reflection and start to remove my tiara. I stop, reaching for the pins securing my French twist instead. Platinum ringlets spill over my shoulders, framing my high cheekbones and curling beneath my narrow chin. I smile as I watch myself slip out of my sequined ball gown, revealing honey skin, freshly waxed this morning.

My hands tremble as I hang the gown. I promised Mark an intimate celebration if we became Prom King and Queen. As if there’d been any doubt.

Everything has gone exactly as planned. We left the dance an hour ago and came to Mark’s uncle’s lakehouse for the after-party, along with about fifteen or twenty friends. We’d made a pact to be sober our first time, so we came upstairs when the jocks started passing around the pink pills.

“Baby,” Mark calls from the bedroom. “I left my wallet in the truck. Be right back.”

“Hurry back,” I respond.

Perfect timing. I wait for him to leave before I come out to set candles from the nightstand drawer around the room and put the Kenny G CD in his uncle’s old-school boombox. With the mood set, I pour two glasses of wine from his uncle’s cabinet, taking a sip from one before lying across the bed to wait for his return. I can’t wait to see his face when he comes in to find me in nothing but my tiara and lace panties.

Mark is taking his sweet time coming back upstairs, and my nerves start to crumble. I finish my wine and pour half of his into my glass. At some point, I fall asleep, only to be jolted awake by screaming from downstairs. The party must be getting out of hand. I look around and see the candles have melted several inches, so I must have been asleep for some time. Where is Mark?

The door bursts open. Mark’s silhouette looms in the doorway. The screams from the party have died down, leaving a tense silence as he stands, one hand on the doorknob and the other behind his back.

“Mark? Is everything okay?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer but steps inside, candlelight revealing his white dress shirt soaked in blood. He draws closer, his expression vacant.

“Mark, what happened?” I run to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“I couldn’t...” he mumbles.

“Couldn’t what?” The silence downstairs starts to sink in.

“I can’t...” Mark shakes his head, tears running down his face.

He doesn’t seem to see me, so I place my hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look into my eyes. “Can’t what, Mark?” I ask. “Tell me what happened.”

A brief spark of recognition flashes in his eyes, replaced instantly by horror.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t stop. You have to stop me.”

Candlelight flashes off the knife in his hand, and I back away. He grabs me with his free hand, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. With my back pressed against his chest, I feel his ragged breathing.

Blood drips from the knife as he raises it above me. I scream.

“Please stop me,” Mark sobs, plunging the knife into my chest.

I struggle, but his grip is too strong. Blood pours down my abdomen as he stabs me again and again. When he finally lets go, I crumple, too weak to crawl away.

I watch him knock the candles over, igniting the curtain and the mattress where we were going to make love.

This can’t be Mark, I think as he turns the knife on himself. He wouldn’t do this. The fire reaches him first, and the last thing I see before I die is his body engulfed in flames.