The Pretty Ones

by Jamie Lee Fry

  Back inside the guest house, Quinn pulls the suitcase from the pantry. “Open it, Charlie. These are not my clothes. They are Jenny’s clothes that you packed yourself from Jenny’s closet.”

  “No, that can’t be. This is your suitcase, your clothes,” I scream.

  Quinn doesn’t skip a beat and continues. “After your failed internship this summer, you came back here for a couple of days. It stirred things up inside you. You began to drink a lot. You wanted me again. You longed for our friendship that you shut out because I tried to remind you of the truth when I showed you the contents of your nightstand drawer. The Jenny drawer. But then you forgot and needed me again. You made the reservations at the hotel. You dressed yourself up.”

  I can’t breathe. I can’t think clearly. She is messing with me.

  “Charlie, don’t you get it now? You created me. Think about it, I showed up when you needed a friend. I always show up. I showed up in sixth grade when you bullied that little girl, Sophia.”

  “No, she bullied me, and I only met you four years ago,” I shout to Quinn, defending myself.

  “Charlie, remember you block out what you don’t want to remember. Your parents know the truth. They know the kind of things you are capable of. They’ve always known you have a dark side that you can easily tuck away. You bullied that little girl so bad her family had to move. You scared little Sophia. The cute girl with freckles. Remember that now? Your parents never told Jenny, but they suspected Jenny would eventually figure you out, especially when she became a doctor. They were ready for it this time, but they didn’t want you to tell your secrets to a stranger. They had Jenny now to help you, but Jenny was too blind to see what you were capable of until it killed her. If she only saw it coming sooner. She loved you too much to see your truth. Your grandma was sick too, just like you. It’s probably genetic. She didn’t get the help she needed. She drove her car off the road. Granny killed herself and your grandpa. At least that is what your mom suspects happened. You heard her and Jenny talking about it once. Your family sucks at getting people the help they need. Jenny really should have seen this coming sooner. She should’ve helped you. Some therapist she was.”

  None of this is real. I’m dreaming. I pinch my right hand with my left and I feel a teensy prick. Fuck.

  “I taught you that little trick. Pinch yourself to see if it’s real. Charlie, it’s always real but you need a little reminder.”

  “I still don’t understand how you know all of this. All of my secrets and all of my memories. You couldn’t have been there.”

  “Charlie, I know, because you know.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not real, Charlie! You created me in your head. Like I said earlier, I come out when you need me and always have. This time I was here longer, and you made me your new Jenny out of guilt.

  I look like her. I’m pretty like her. You watch me do the things you want to do and then sometimes you pretend to be me. Don’t you see now? Nash was your boyfriend, not mine, because I’m not real. You wanted him at the frat party. You used your new friend, me, to gain confidence and talk to him. It worked for you, but I’m not real. You are. Nash is, but I’m not. When I’m with you, you get more confidence, and you got a guy like Nash.”

  “What happened to Asher?” I ask with caution in my voice. Afraid to hear the truth.

  “You were in Seattle. I wasn’t with you. You got Asher all on your own, but then you started to get confused with him. You upped and left when he said he had to leave for San Francisco. You accused him of cheating. You found yourself back in Bend, back in your old habits and drinking again. He called to check in on you and tell you he was coming back to Portland. You made hotel reservations and brought your Jenny suitcase of clothes. You snuck out to meet him and got confused again. You guys fought, but he still came the next day to make sure you were OK. You freaked out on the poor guy again and when you ran away, he eventually came back to find you. You punched him in the nose and broke it. That’s why you were covered in blood. You got scared, and you ran away and ended up in that random alley. And poor Asher probably ended up in the hospital.”

  Quinn stands directly in a ray of light, and it bounces off her perfect blonde hair. If she isn’t real, then how come I can see her? How can she be here and continue to talk to me?

  “I thought the detective in Portland shattered things for you when he said my phone number wasn’t in use, but you took it to a new level and presumed I was lying. Look at your phone, Charlie. All those undelivered messages. You chose to see what you wanted.”

  I stare at Quinn. I have no words.

  Quinn continues. “And the one person besides me who knows the truth, that poor drunk homeless man by the river. He saw the real Charlie Faye that day. Luckily for you, he was a drunk mess, but your subconscious fear of what he saw has never left you. The booze, the urine, the cigarettes mixed with the truth. Those smells will always stir up a memory and stay with you forever.”

  Her words linger in the air like smoke from a blown-out candle. The stale air from Jenny’s unopened house, unnoticed to me until now, is putrid. The ambiance of the home has changed in an instant. I want to be here with Jenny. I want to go back to the days of takeout and movies. I long to hear her college stories. My heart aches for Jenny at that moment. I fucked up. I took Jenny away. I miss her. I need her to be here with me. I need her to help me understand, but she isn’t here, and the stale reminder of that keeps creeping in as everything in this place turns dustier and older the longer I sit here. I try to focus on the tiny dust particles that shimmer through the soft sparkle the sun is bringing into the living room. I want to shut all of this out. I want to forget again. I’m in my own personal penitentiary.

  “Shut up!” I shout as my entire body trembles. “Shut up!”

  I begin to pace the room. I’m angry. I’m enraged, and I can’t believe what Quinn is saying. “I can’t fucking believe you, Quinn. You are such a liar. I don’t believe anything that is coming out of your mouth. None of this can be true. Jenny didn’t know what she was talking about. You don’t know what you are talking about. I hate you all,” I scream.

  Quinn stares at me. She is just an arm’s length away from me, but she doesn’t offer me any sort of sympathy or a hug, only continues to watch my break-down.

  “None of this is true. That’s not how it happened. No, no, no. That’s just not right. I don’t believe you.”

  Quinn continues to watch as I process all this information.

  Rage is building and moving through my body, starting in my toes, then into my legs, up my torso, and now running through my arms. Before I notice what I’m doing, my weight is now in my right arm and it’s pulled behind me, I’m twisted at the hip, and with all my power and rage rushing through that one arm, my palm smacks Quinn against the face with enough force, knocking her to the ground.

  “You lie, Quinn. It’s all lies. None of this is real,” I shout. “You are full of shit! I can’t believe you. I’m so tired of your bullshit. I wish you would go away.” The room is spinning and I’m dizzy. I feel like the floor is moving below me.

  “Get out!” I shout again. “Get the fuck out of here, get the fuck out of my head.” My vision is beginning to get darker. A ringing in my ear is getting louder. My eyelids are pulling down against my will.

  As my vision is tunneling to a close, I think I see my mom through my darkened haze and hear her crying out for help. Is this real?

  “Frank, help, the guest house. Charlie’s having another attack.” The voice calls out.

  My body is lifted and engulfed by a familiar embrace, and soft hands run the length of my head.

  “It’s OK, my sweet, pretty one, everything is going to be OK. It’s all going to be OK now.”

  “Frank, I think Charlie’s little friend is back.”

  The tunnel is closing in, and all I see is darkness.

  EPILOGUE

  Charlie

  One year later

  I�
�ve got a lot to sort through after the terrible news I was given today. I don’t know if I can handle any more heartbreak. My heart is just not strong enough to endure anymore pain. I’m not sure how long I’ve been walking, but I find myself down at the park. The park that we used to come to together. I take a seat on an open bench to help clear my mind and try to process what happened.

  A pretty girl is walking toward my bench. Please don’t sit here. Pick another bench. I want to be alone.

  The girl plops down right next to me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I hope I’m not bothering you. There is nowhere else to sit,” the girl says and smiles.

  I have a hard time telling her no. I should just get up and leave.

  “Beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

  I nod. It would be rude of me to get up now.

  “Is everything OK? You look like you need a friend right now,” she says kindly.

  I don’t want to tell this stranger what’s going on, so I just smile back and say, “I’m doing OK.” I lie because I’m not ready to talk about it and definitely not to a stranger.

  “Well, I’m just going to sit here and if you want to chat. I’m all ears. My name’s Quinn by the way.”

  “I’m Charlie, nice to meet you, Quinn.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The Pretty Ones wouldn’t be a reality if it weren’t for all the wonderful people in my life who encouraged, helped, and supported me on this journey.

  First, I have to thank my husband, Jeremy. You are my rock, and there is no way this book would have made it to publication without you. From the first day the story was born, you were there through my ups and downs and my constant indecisiveness. You always knew just what to say to keep me going. You believed in me, and for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  To my mom, who has always encouraged me to keep going no matter what hurdle I had to jump over—your words of encouragement on more than one occasion meant the world to me. Thank you for reminding me that it is OK to take a break from time to time.

  To my dad, for passing down his love for books and always believing in me.

  A huge thank you to my early readers, Rachel, Cody, Pam, Taryn, Stacey, and Sarah. Your excitement and kind words gave me a reason to keep writing. Rachel, I also thank you for your constant ear. Stacey, for your generosity to help a fellow author.

  A special thanks to my dear friend Tess, who saw The Pretty Ones in its roughest form and still loved it. I couldn’t have come this far without your enthusiasm and love for my storytelling. Thank you.

  Another special thanks to my friend, Alexis. I will never forget your help getting The Pretty Ones over the finish line. Your advice and feedback have been invaluable.

  I can’t write my acknowledgments without thanking my lovely editor, Rebecca. Thank you for pressing me to see things differently. Your advice and work on my novel really took it to the next level, and for that, I’m beyond grateful.

  Another talented soul that I must thank is my cover designer, Natasha, a.k.a Miss Nat Mack. You are brilliant. Thank you for creating the perfect cover that brought The Pretty Ones to life.

  Finally, I have to say thank you, to you, the reader. You picked up a book from an unknown author and gave me a chance. I am forever grateful. Thank you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jamie Lee Fry is an adventure blogger turned psychological thriller writer. When she’s not hunched over her desk writing, she’s exploring the forests of Oregon with her husband and three dogs. Jamie never says no to a good adventure, as long as mountains and waterfalls are involved. Jamie also enjoys stand-up paddle boarding, kayaking, baking, and documenting life with her camera.

  Connect with Jamie:

  Instagram: @Author_JamieLeeFry

  www.authorjamieleefry.com

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