In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

  Two cops caught up to Jack and wrestled him back, but his eyes stayed on me, desperate with apology.

  Jesus. Jack had been in on it the whole time. He and Eric, two of the only people in the world who thought Jack was innocent, plotting to use Homecoming to unmask Heather’s true killer. And Jack had almost warned me, excluded me from the suspect list. Then he’d thought better of it.

  I tilted my head back and laughed, so loud it stilled the medics. They eyed me warily, but I kept laughing, the sound filling the small space.

  “Jack,” I called, right before the ambulance doors swung shut. “You have good instincts.”

  Chapter 44

  The summer before high school

  I woke to soft Virginia sunshine and the sensation—the finely honed human instinct—that someone was sneaking up on me. I had only enough time to register my brightly lit bedroom ceiling before they pounced.

  “Happy birthday,” my father yelled, landing next to me in bed.

  “Ah,” I shrieked, rolling away from him.

  He laughed. “It’s just us.”

  I lifted my head, heart hammering. Sure enough, there was my dad, stretched out on my bed, grinning, and my mom, standing in the doorway with a cake, candle flames flickering light over her face.

  “It was your dad’s idea,” she said, scooting into the room. “Blame him.”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” he said happily. “Cake for breakfast. It’s not every day my princess turns fourteen.”

  His princess. The words were hollow. I wanted to be his princess too badly for it to be true. That was the way life worked, a lesson he’d taught me himself: Wanting is dangerous. The less you want, the safer you’ll be. He was better nowadays, on a serious upswing, but the lesson had stuck.

  My mother placed the cake in front of me, and I sat up straighter on the bed. “Make a wish,” she said.

  I looked at her, then my dad, closed my eyes, and blew. All the flames disappeared into tiny swirls of gray smoke, the smell faintly sweet, like burned sugar.

  My dad bounced on the bed. “What’d you wish for?”

  “You can’t ask her that,” my mom admonished, setting the cake on my desk. “If she tells you, it won’t come true.” She turned to me. “I’ll cut that up in a second. First…”

  Shockingly, my mom jumped on the other side of me, rocking the entire bed.

  “Ah!” I shrieked again. My mother never played. What kind of alternate universe had I woken up in?

  “Torture her until she tells us,” my dad suggested and descended on me, tickling my sides. My mom joined him, and then I was gasping, rolling side to side, trying to protect myself but finding no recourse.

  “Okay, okay!” I shouted.

  They paused midtickle, my dad’s hands curled like cartoon claws.

  “I didn’t wish for anything,” I said.

  My mom’s face fell. “Nothing at all?”

  My dad scooped me against his side. “I think that’s great.”

  Alone on her side of the bed, my mom looked at him and raised her brows.

  “You, princess, won’t need to wish. You’re going to earn.” My dad looked down at me, beaming. “You’re off to high school in a month. And you’re going to work until you’re the best student in the whole damn school. After that, the good things will come to you. ’Cause you’ll deserve it.”

  “Stop it,” my mom said softly. She was looking at him with the strangest expression.

  “What? I’m telling her to work hard to achieve things. That’s a good lesson. I’m not saying things will get dropped in her lap. I’m saying if she’s talented enough, and works hard enough, the world will deliver. It’d better, huh? I’m counting on it.” My dad squeezed me tighter, and I let him, let myself think about how nice it felt, even though there was no guarantee he’d do it tomorrow. “Come on, you’re going to make me proud.”

  I wanted to. A fierceness came over me. I would. If hard work and being good were what it took, I could do those things. If that could keep us in the sunlight, keep the darkness at bay, I would work at it every day.

  “I promise,” I said.

  My dad laughed and kissed my forehead. And before my mom could say anything, he’d pulled her in, making us a three-person sandwich, me in the middle, my parents hugging me on either side.

  Warmth flooded me.

  “Just try your best,” my mom whispered into my hair. “That’s all you can do.”

  My dad pulled us closer. “My little family,” he said. “You two are the best things in my life.”

  I caught my mother’s eyes. She was smiling, telling me it was okay. “It was your dad’s idea to surprise you,” she said, tucking a strand of my hair.

  “This is just the beginning,” he said. “We’ve got a whole day of fun. I remembered a certain someone loves the zoo.”

  My mom rolled her eyes. “When she was eight. She’s fourteen now.”

  He only laughed.

  This version of my dad was surreal. I didn’t know how to make sense of it, how to square it with the other version. Then a thought struck me: my dad was the angry man in the dark place, true. But maybe he was also this man—this bright and funny father. I’d always thought it was one or the other, fixed and definite. But maybe it was more complicated. Maybe he was both.

  He kissed my forehead. “You’re going to do great things, I’m telling you.”

  I buried my face in his shirt, and he put his arms loose around me, like he was making a basket with me in the center. If this upswing ever ended, and the darkness swallowed him again, maybe all hope wasn’t lost. Maybe I could find a way to keep this version of my father with me. Then, no matter how bad it got, I could remember how he was now. Maybe that way he could keep being this person, even when he wasn’t. Maybe then he could stay mine, stay warm and solid in my arms. Even one day, when he wasn’t.

  Chapter 45

  Now

  I woke with wet cheeks to the five of them standing around my hospital bed, watching me. I jerked back, snapping the restraints that kept me bound to the bed, tugging painfully at my newly stitched side.

  “Easy,” Jack said, holding out his hands like he was placating a scared animal. “Didn’t mean to startle you. We need to talk.”

  I’d spent two days lying in this bed, staring at the white walls, giving one-word answers to a fast-talking lawyer who swore he was a friend of Coop’s and would keep me out of jail. Two days of skipping past the local news, first with its nonstop coverage of the Homecoming Queen Killer, the Femme Fatale of Blackwell Tower—my picture flashing, a wildly unflattering photo someone must have pulled from the depths of social media. And then the one-eighty flip to Breaking News: Shocking Developments in the Heather Shelby Cold Case, an image of Mint, one of his professional headshots, and then Heather, looking so unbearably young. Two days without my phone, without word from anyone, wondering where the hell they were, what they were doing.

  Last night I’d finally given up on seeing them. Fallen asleep with the understanding that I’d made my choices, and now, as a consequence, I was going to be alone for a long time. Maybe forever.

  And that’s when it happened. Sometime in the night, the final puzzle piece fell into place, and I remembered the whole truth of the night Heather died. But “remembered”—that wasn’t right, was it? After this weekend, I knew better.

  I’d had the pieces inside all along, a quilt of light and dark, but for years I’d refused to look. When had my body first tried to tell me the truth? Was it the moment in Blackwell when Mint confessed what he’d done, and I felt the heart-quickening pang of sameness? When Eric shoved him out the window, and I was flooded with adrenaline, with the urge to offer myself in Eric’s place? Or was it when I jumped off the float and ran through the crowd, legs driven by a guilt I was only just finding words for?

  Wha
tever the answer was, I woke after two days of solitude with the last memory in my head, only to find the five of them staring at me. And my first thought was: They know. Every horrible, incriminating detail I’d just dredged out of the black hole, like a bloated corpse from a lake, they knew, and they’d come to see me punished.

  “The police aren’t going to charge you,” Coop said, filling the silence. I could only stare, heart pounding. “It’s a solid case of self-defense, and Davis—your lawyer—is working his magic. It should only be a day or two before you’re free to go.”

  Coop’s face, like Frankie’s and Eric’s, was still pink and shiny from the fire. When he spoke, his hand hovered almost unconsciously over the place in his chest where Mint stabbed him. But his expression was neutral—like he was taking pains to be businesslike. I looked closer at each of their faces. No accusatory stares, no We know what you did hinted on their faces.

  I calmed. They didn’t know. But of course not; how could they?

  Frankie adjusted his tie. He was wearing a sharply tailored blue suit, dressed like he was headed to the ESPYs. “We all told the cops the same story. You pushed him in self-defense.”

  There was a moment of heavy silence, and then Jack stepped forward, lowering his voice. “We can talk openly here. The cop guarding you went for a cigarette.”

  Jack, Eric, Coop, and Frankie studied me grimly. Caro, whose arms were crossed tight over her chest, wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  I sat up straighter and wiped my eyes. “Where’s Courtney?”

  “Rehab,” Coop said. “Her parents came and shipped her off. Apparently extreme stress didn’t mix well with the pills she takes. That’s why she fainted in Blackwell. They’re trying to hush it up.”

  “Good luck,” Eric muttered. “It won’t stay buried forever.”

  It felt like a warning. I bit my tongue and tasted iron.

  “Courtney can follow Mint to hell for all I care,” Caro said suddenly. “After what she did, drugging Heather.”

  The room chilled. The words were harsh, but maybe the harshest part was that they came from Caro. I remembered something I’d said to her once when I was annoyed—maybe sophomore year, maybe junior: Caro, toughen up or the world is going to chew you.

  Well, she’d toughened. After we’d broken her.

  Frankie spoke carefully, eyeing Caro. “It’s a good thing Courtney’s hiding, anyway, with the media shitstorm over Mint. I gave her mom the number of my PR guy, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re the wife of a famous murderer.”

  I looked at him. “Everyone knows Mint killed Heather?”

  He nodded. “We told the cops first, but then we talked to the reporters.”

  “We went to the Journal,” Jack said, “and found the reporter who’d covered Heather’s case ten years ago.” His face darkened. “The one who was so convinced I did it. Who smeared me and would never take down those old stories. Boy, was he surprised to see me.”

  “We didn’t come here to chat,” Caro snapped. “Let’s get on with it.”

  Jack glanced at her. “Right.” His voice lowered. “We’re the only people alive who know what happened at Blackwell. We need to swear to each other we’ll take the truth to our graves. If the cops ever found out the real story, Eric would go away for a long time. The law’s pretty black and white when it comes to killing people, even if they killed your sister first.”

  What would the law say about me?

  “Not to mention,” Eric said, “the minute the cops got hold of my laptop, with all my research on it, they’d have a strong case for premeditation.”

  I studied him. His tone was dry, like this was all vaguely amusing. What was he feeling, now that his sister’s death was solved, her killer dead by his hands? Peace, or purposelessness? His face was drawn, like he hadn’t slept for days. Was he still haunted?

  “Before you ask me, yes, Jack and I have files on you all,” Eric continued. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “And it’s not the nicest stuff.”

  Frankie, Coop, and Caro shifted almost imperceptibly away from him.

  “Are you planning to delete those files?” Coop asked.

  Eric shrugged at Jack. “His decision. He’s the one who supplied most of the real damning stuff. You know, the little tidbits about what made you all tick, what your vices were, who you were jealous of. Helped me put the pieces together.”

  Quid pro quo, I guess. For ten years we’d blamed Jack and ignored Eric. In return, they’d combed through our faults and orchestrated a plan to extract our confessions.

  Jack rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “We’ll delete the files. This is a cease-fire. Nobody wants to see Eric in prison, or any of your secrets leaked.”

  Our secrets. I looked at my friends. For all our closeness, I’d still missed so much. How well had I ever really known them?

  “I swear to let Jessica take all the blame for Mint’s death,” Caro said curtly. “Can I go now?”

  “I swear, too.” Coop’s eyes slid toward Caro, but she kept her gaze carefully averted.

  “I won’t say a word,” Frankie promised.

  “And I vow to take it to my grave,” Jack said.

  They all looked at me, waiting. “It was me,” I whispered. Saying the words was intoxicating. So close to a real confession.

  Eric nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Thank you.”

  Caro straightened. “I’m done. From here on out, I want nothing to do with the East House Seven. I never want to see any of you insane, terrible people for the rest of my life.” She turned her glare to Coop. “Any of you.”

  She moved to leave, then twisted back to look at me. Her dark eyes burned holes in my face. I became acutely aware that I was an accused criminal, chained to a hospital bed. “You want to know the saddest part?” Her voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was speculative. “Even now, to this day, I think you were the love of my life. You were always talking about your dreams, back in college. Harvard this and DC that. Well, you want to know what my dream was? You. A real best friend.”

  My eyes burned. Caro’s voice softened. “I would have done anything for you.”

  Before I could say a single word of apology, Caro spun and stalked out of the room, leaving all of us staring at her back.

  I met Coop’s eyes for a second. He drew a sharp breath. “I have to go, too,” he said. “Davis will let you know when the police officially clear you.”

  “Coop, wait—” I sat up, struggling against the restraints, but he ignored me, clutching his hair and following Caro out of the room.

  I sat, stunned. I’d risked it and lost them both.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Despite what Caro thinks, you should know they think you’re a hero.”

  “What? Who?”

  He smiled. “Everyone. The girl who saved herself and avenged her friend’s killer.”

  “I thought I was the ‘Femme Fatale of Blackwell Tower.’”

  Frankie snorted.

  “After the Journal published the real story,” Jack said, “there was immediate outcry. Some stranger set up a GoFundMe account to raise your bail in case you needed it. Reached the goal in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  He looked at me incredulously. “Because you were almost killed by your ex-boyfriend. The same man who killed one of your best friends. See yourself through their eyes. You did the only thing you could to save your life. You’re the victim and the hero. No one wants to see you behind bars.”

  See yourself through their eyes. It was all I’d ever wanted. To see who I was, reflected back at me. Jessica the victim, Jessica the hero. Exceptional Jessica. But everyone was wrong. Now I knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Eric scrubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. “My parents said to thank you for getting justi
ce for Heather.”

  The wrongness of it was searing. If Heather’s parents only knew the truth.

  “Will you ever tell them you’re the one who pushed Mint?”

  He turned away. “Maybe. I don’t know. Two years ago, they told me to stop investigating her death because it was ruining my life. They were ready to accept we’d never know the truth, but I wasn’t. It caused a divide.” He sighed. “I thought I’d want the vindication, but now, I’m just tired. It feels like I haven’t slept for years.” He cleared his throat. “I have to pick them up from the airport. They wanted to be here in person during the Mint investigation. They sounded so…young, on the phone. When I told them the news. Like ten years just fell away. Maybe I should let them have that and not complicate it.”

  “But what will you do now?”

  He gave me a weary look. “Quit the Alumni Office, for one. Get the hell out of North Carolina. After that, I don’t know. Heather always wanted to travel…”

  He turned to Jack and held out his hand. “Thank you for helping me after everything I did to make your life hell. I owe you.”

  Jack ignored Eric’s hand and wrapped his arms around him. “Thanks for believing me.”

  Eric nodded at Frankie, and with one last glance down at me—at the restraints, tying me to the bed—he took a deep breath and walked out the door.

  I struggled with what to say, how to express my lingering worry about Eric, but before I could, Frankie blurted, “I’m going on the Today show.”

  Jack blinked. “What?”

  Frankie’s cheeks turned red. “To talk about being out in the NFL. During the parade, I—”

  Jack waved a hand. “I saw.”

  A beat of silence. Frankie took a deep breath, and so did I.

  Jack looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I was proud of you.”