“What?” I ask shakily. Rosaline shakes her head, her eyes wide as saucers. “She’s dead, Adrian.” “Are you sure?” “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t go back in there.” “Where’s Lucy?” “In the bathroom throwing up. She checked on her a moment ago and… Oh God, Adrian. Her eyes.” I push past a Rosaline to hurry into the bedroom. We have two beds set up in here. One larger bed to fit two of us, usually Alice and Rosaline, and one small, cramped one for myself. Alice is on my bed lying on her side facing the rest of the room. I know she’s dead the moment I see her. There’s vomit on the floor beside her and she’s curled into the fetal position, her skin sharply white and tight over her bones. But it’s her eyes that let me know she’s gone. They’re colorless and empty, staring off into the distance blindly.
