This is a different kind of lie, though—a secret life kind of lie.
I’ve been running all over this town looking for her, and now I’m starting to question if she is even missing. I have zero answers to what happened to her, Asher, and even what the hell happened to me.
I can’t take this anymore. I need to go home. I can’t be here any longer. I did what I could. Maybe Quinn doesn’t want to be found like Hubbard suggested.
I don’t feel well. I want to vomit. Yep, my stomach is churning. I can’t swallow it down. I quickly open the car door and it all comes out on the pavement.
Screw Quinn! Look what she is doing to me.
I’m going to head back to the hotel, gather my things, and head back to Bend. I have my own life to live, and I can’t let Quinn and her lies control me. If I stay here and try to find her—the ‘her’ that she clearly isn’t—then I’m playing her game and letting her win.
I think I might even take her suitcase with me. In case she comes back, she can figure it out, and she can come find me and her belongings.
CHAPTER 45
Charlie
May 2012
“Can you believe it?” Quinn says as she barges into my room and throws my blinds open. I pull my arm over my eyes to avoid being blinded by the sunlight.
“God, woman, what time is it?” I groggily ask.
“It’s seven a.m.! Get up! Can you believe today is the day?” she says, pouncing around my room.
I stare blankly at her, still half asleep.
“Our party, dum-dum,” Quinn says, giving me a pitiful look.
I watch as she tosses items from my closet. “Nope. This won’t do. Can’t wear that. No way in hell.” A pile of Quinn’s rejected clothes piles up outside my closet. “You will have to wear something of mine.”
“Quinn, can this wait? The party isn’t until this evening. I need more sleep. We just finished finals, and I’m exhausted.” I bury my head under the sheet.
“Even more of a reason to get up. We just finished our senior year of college. We need to celebrate now. We can’t waste another second sleeping. We only have our apartment for three more weeks, our home for the past four years—doesn’t that mean anything to you? Who would have thought that we would have stayed here that long? I’m going to miss the crap out of this place.”
“I’m going to miss this place too, but can’t we just have a chill night in?” I plead.
Quinn shakes her head at me. “Nope, wheels are already in motion and this party train can’t be stopped.”
I catch Nash out of the corner of my eye. He is shirtless and making his way down the hall. I hear the bathroom door close. I’m not going to miss Nash walking around like he lives here.
“Come on, get out of bed. I need help getting the last of the party supplies for tonight,” Quinn says, pulling at my arm, attempting to drag me out of bed.
“OK, fine. Give me a second to wake up at least,” I say, giving in to Quinn.
“We are going to have so much fun tonight! This will be a party we will never forget.”
CHAPTER 46
Charlie
August 2012
I haven’t been in here in four years. Four long, hard years without Jenny. I need to be close to her right now. She would know what to do about Quinn. She would have helped me through this. I need my aunt Jenny right now. Jenny, help me.
I feel like she is still here. Everything is exactly how she left it the morning she went for her run. A few things were removed by the police for their investigation, but for the most part, all her belongings are here, like she is here. My parents could not bear to move her things. I think they thought that if they did, then she would really be gone. They pretty much locked the door and pretended the house didn’t exist the moment after the police ended their investigation. That is how they coped. I cannot blame them. I ran halfway across the country to deal with it. The pain from missing her stings every inch of my body.
I pull a bottle of vodka from off her shelf. I wipe four years’ worth of dust away with the inside of my shirt, Quinn’s shirt. I pull a few swigs from the bottle. I used to think vodka tasted like hand sanitizer, but I’ve grown accustomed to the taste. I just need to numb my pain. The pain of Quinn, Jenny, and all the questions running rampant in my brain. The drive home did a number on me. I let my mind wander and it took me to dark places with even more questions needing answers. I take a few more pulls from the bottle and stumble over to Jenny’s couch.
“Jenny, I could use some fucking help here!” I shout to an empty room.
I half expect her to walk through the front door with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. When one of us had a problem, we would talk it out over ice cream. I stumble back into her kitchen. I open her cabinet; her ice cream dishes are sitting on the second shelf, with a few layers of dust resting on the top bowl. I reach down and pull open the drawer below the counter and, as I expected, see our Micky Mouse ice-cream spoons still there. Jenny bought them at a garage sale as a joke, but we ended up using them each time we had our evening indulgence. We would laugh and eat as we found solutions to our problems together. I pick up one of the spoons and grip it tight. This stupid, ugly spoon that now has such sweet memories attached to it. The day we brought them home from that crappy yard sale, I never thought I would be sitting here getting sentimental over them. I take the spoon and my vodka back to the couch and I let my entire weight plop down, and particles of dust puff up from my abrupt movement and make their way into the air. I watch as they float past me in what’s left of the daylight that’s shining through her living-room window. I lie down and stare up at the ceiling. I feel like one of her patients. Liam once sat on this couch. How did things go so wrong?
I picture Jenny over at her big oak desk, asking her patients questions and taking notes. She always wore these white glasses that made her look smart. Not that she needed them to add to her smarts. She was an intelligent person. The smartest person I knew. She helped so many people and could have helped so many more if she were still here. A tear rolls down my cheek.
My eyes search the room for something to wipe my face with, and I spot of box of tissues, conveniently placed, just as Jenny left them, on the end table for her patients. I pull the box off the table.
The table wobbles. An eerie creak echoes through the empty house.
This creak would have annoyed Jenny. She would not have tolerated this noise each time someone grabbed a tissue from the table. I don’t remember ever noticing it before. She preferred everything neat, tidy, and perfect. I know she is gone but I feel I have to fix it for her.
The table and couch sit on top of a beautiful ivory rug. I lift the table up and place it on the hardwood floor behind me. It is sturdy. It must be the floor. I pull the rug back to expose the flooring underneath, and a loose floorboard creaks again. If Jenny had ever noticed this, she would have asked my dad to fix it. He enjoyed repairing things around the house. Maybe Jenny didn’t mention it to him because she broke it and didn’t want my dad to be mad at her.
Something feels out of place about this board.
I reach back to the couch for my spoon. My swift movement makes me a little dizzy. Too much booze already. I jam Micky’s little head under the floorboard. It is surprisingly easy to jimmy up and with only a little damage to the spoon.
I remove the board and set it next to the couch. I’m shocked when I see there is actually something in the floor.
A small, dusty cherrywood box is sitting inside the ground. I pick it up and use Quinn’s shirt to dust off the top.
Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
I’m horrified and my heart stops when I see the label on the box.
In Jenny’s perfect handwriting.
Charlie’s Sessions
CHAPTER 47
Charlie
August 2012
Charlie’s Sessions. The words are there, but the meaning is not. I have no idea how long I’ve been staring at this
box, but the fading daylight gives me some indication. Charlie’s sessions. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I keep studying the words, hoping for clarity, but clarity does not come. Nothing but confusion and tipsiness here. I shouldn’t have drunk the vodka. I desperately want to have a clear head right now, but it’s too late. What’s done is done, and I have to see the contents of this box.
My hand vibrates in fear as I flip the top open, rattling the contents.
Inside the box are three cassette tapes, the kind Jenny uses for her patients’ sessions so she can transcribe her notes later after the patients leave. On the spine of each tape is a number.
One. Two. Three.
Tucked tightly next to the tapes are four little white envelopes. I grab them and lay them on the floor next to me. Each one is addressed to Jenny in extremely sloppy handwriting. I don’t recognize the handwriting at all. I carefully open each envelope. Some are more tattered than others.
The first note is water-stained and sticks to the inside. I’m careful as I pull it out.
To Jenny,
I know what you’ve been doing, and it’s wrong.
Who saw Jenny do what? What on earth is this person talking about? It couldn’t be my Jenny they are talking about. They must have the wrong person. It couldn’t be my Jenny. I repeat over and over.
The second note comes out easier, but I want to shove it back inside when I see the hateful words on the page.
To Jenny, the whore,
You slut. I know what you did. You’re still doing it. I’ve seen you.
Someone was watching Jenny. But who?
The third note twitches in my hand. I’m afraid of the can of worms I’m about to open with the next one.
To Jenny, the bitchface,
Now I’m just pissed. How could you do this? You fucking slut. You might be pretty, but you’re fucking dumb.
The words are so harsh. Tears flood my eyes and run down my face. I feel them dripping off my chin. I don’t even want to look at the final one. Each note gets more hateful than the last. I don’t know if I can handle what’s inside of the last one. I wipe my tears and I’m in complete shock when I see the final note.
To Jenny, the nasty slut whore who ruined my life,
The pretty ones deserve what they get. The pretty ones deserve to die.
Oh, my fucking God. These notes have something to do with Jenny’s death.
I rub my eyes to ensure that what I’m seeing is actually real. I can’t believe it. How can this be? My lungs inflate with a long, panicky breath. The stagnant air burns my chest. I grab the bottle of vodka and take another drink. I know I said I want to be clear-minded, but I don’t think it matters anymore. Everything is fucked up. I stare back down at the notes and cry. Aunt Jenny. Wonderful, sweet, pretty Aunt Jenny.
CHAPTER 48
Charlie
July 2008
Main Suspect in Psychologist Murder has Been Cleared.
We heard the news from the cops last night. They were kind enough to pay us a visit and deliver the news in person. When the newspaper hit our door this morning, we already knew what the headline would be. However, seeing it in print made it more real.
Liam Sutter, 21, was cleared this morning as the main suspect in the murder of local psychologist Dr. Jenny Morrison, 33, due to a lack of physical evidence.
Sutter had been romantically involved with the suspect before her murder back in May. Morrison’s body was found in the Deschutes River under the footbridge by local joggers. When police were made aware Liam Sutter was involved with the victim, he immediately became a person of interest. Later evidence showed that Sutter was a former patient of Morrison’s. He admitted to dating Morrison during his treatment, but they kept their relationship a secret because of the nature of their involvement. He was later quoted saying he didn’t think anyone knew that they were dating. They both kept a tight lid on their relationship.
The deep bruising on Morrison’s windpipe suggested old and new damage. Sutter eventually admitted to choking her when they played sex games during their consensual sexual encounters. All evidence concluded that he did choke her, but police were unable to produce any conclusive evidence that he murdered Morrison. The old bruises matched up with his testimony, but the new ones didn’t.
This is absolute garbage.
The article goes on to show the timeline of Liam’s involvement with Jenny and his supposed “witch hunt” by the media. They have also interviewed his sister, roommates, co-workers, and anyone else who knew Liam and would only have nothing but good things to say about him. After all the months of trashing him, the paper wants to cover their ass, now having to redeem him and attempting to give him his life back.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. This is not right. Not fair and not accurate.
The people they interviewed shared sob stories about how his life was now ruined, and he’s been devastated by the accusations. The family mentioned me a few times and how I ruined his life by giving his name to the police. The article stated that I only met him once, which he lied about.
Liam, you fucking liar!
Now, his friends and family are defending his love for Jenny. The poor guy lost the love of his life and was a suspect in her murder. They justified his secret romance with his once therapist by saying things to make him look like a saint. Their forbidden affair would have gotten Jenny in trouble, and he helped her guard her secret. He needed to protect her; that’s why he didn’t even tell his closest friends. He did it all for her. He’s a fucking saint now.
The pity for this murderer practically falls off the pages and pools beside my feet as I continue reading.
All I feel is anger rising from within. I’m struggling to read on, but I owe it to Jenny to continue so I can defend her if asked. Why did he do those awful things to her? I doubt it was consensual. He admitted to having erotic sex with her, but he is getting help now. His current therapist was permitted to say in the interview that her client is making great progress and is not a threat to women and that all of his past actions were consensual.
His therapist sounds like a real quack.
The article goes on to paint Liam in a better light, and now the paper needs someone to blame. The police have no new leads, so they focus on my poor sweet aunt Jenny and the girl who cried wolf. Me.
How did I know those things? Does it even matter? It led them to a sexual predator, and in my opinion, a murderer, so what does it matter now? I can’t keep going on. It’s too painful. Sorry, Jenny. They had him and they let him go.
CHAPTER 49
Charlie
August 2012
My heart feels like it’s going to jump through my chest and land on the floor in front of me.
I gather everything up in one long swoop and drop everything back down on Jenny’s desk. I’m having a hard time understanding what I’m looking at and there is a pounding in my head that won’t stop. I run my hands through the contents again, trying to comprehend what I just uncovered.
The words are so hateful. Someone really hated Jenny, but why? What was Jenny doing that was so wrong to this person, and did this have something to do with her death? What if it really wasn’t Liam and he is innocent, like the police say? I always suspected the investigation was tainted and they had it wrong when they cleared Liam, but what if they didn’t mess up and these notes are from the real killer?
Or are they from Liam, and I was right? I don’t know what to think anymore.
I push all the notes to the right of the desk and my tapes to the left side, where Jenny’s tape recorder is still sitting since her death. I open up the recorder and find another tape inside. This one is labeled Cindy Evans—Session Five. It’s normal for Jenny to tape her sessions, but I wasn’t a patient, and what did she record that would have my name on it?
I take out Cindy’s tape and put the cassette labeled Charlie’s Sessions—One in the recorder.
I lean back into Jenny’s brown leather chair, trying to muster up the
courage to hit play. My body is lifeless as it molds to the leather chair, becoming one with it.
I can’t do it. I just can’t bring myself to press the dang button. My finger hovers over it, shaking. Just then the double beep of my parents’ car door locking shakes me from my debate.
Shoot! My parents are home. I know it would be upsetting if they found me disturbing Jenny’s things. That was the last thing I wanted to do to them, especially now that we may have some new evidence. I don’t want to upset them until I have a chance to think things over, until I know a bit more. I don’t want to get their hopes up again. I have to know what is on my tapes first, before we go to the police. I can’t share this information just yet.
Quickly I gather all the original content back into the box and toss everything back under the floorboard and cover everything back up, leaving Jenny’s house just how I found it.
“Crap!” I yell as I trip over Quinn’s suitcase. Another reminder of yet another mystery. It has to stay here for now. I tuck it into the pantry, so I don’t have to lug it over to my house. I will be back tomorrow. It will be fine. My parents won’t notice it if they happen to look in the window.
I quietly sneak in through the backdoor of our house before my parents come in through the garage. Cautiously, I tiptoe up to my bedroom. Tonight isn’t the night to chat with them. I’m more confused than ever and I’m drunk. I really don’t want to show them this side of me. I can’t worry them. I don’t bother to turn on the lights and I stumble to my bed. I crawl in with my clothes still on and gawk blankly at the dark ceiling above. Thinking, wishing, and praying for answers as the room starts spinning.
The Pretty Ones Page 17