by Jill Cooper
“Why?”
“I’ll give you two guesses, and the first guess doesn’t count.”
So, he was under some sort of gag order? “There must be something you can do.”
“Dig around, but be careful. It’s been seventeen years, but they’re not going to want someone digging up the truth and stirring up trouble.”
“Some evidence and official police reports sure would help me.”
Bruce sighs and settles back against his chair. “Row six, bay five.”
I stare at him questioningly.
“Police evidence room. You’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
I rise from my chair and shake his hand. “Thank you.”
“If you decide to take this further, watch your back. And a word of warning, you don’t have any friends at Gregory Prep. Keep what you’re doing from Mr. Davis.”
His words chill me straight to my bone, but I can’t say I didn’t see them coming. There’s a deeply hidden secret in Bay Harbor, and I think I’m ready to pick up my shovel and dig.
Chapter Seventeen: Amber 2003
“I can’t wait to see it!” I place the giant box down on my white and pink bedspread. I pull the lid off and hand it to Carolyn and lift the dress out. It’s layer upon layer of pink and white taffeta. I spin, holding the dress up to my torso and show it off to my friends.
Jenny has long blonde hair and is always in short skirts or a short dress. Her sense of fashion knows no other, so when she claps her hands together, I know I have a winner. “That dress is perfect for you, Amber. Just perfect.”
“Just wait until Jackson sees you,” Carolyn agrees and puts the lid back on the box. With her short bob haircut, she looks severe, but it fits her personality. Carolyn never met a rule she didn’t like, but maybe that’s why we were such good friends. I need someone to keep me grounded when my head is already floating through the clouds.
“King and queen of the ball. It’s all but guaranteed.”
I don’t know about that anymore, but I appreciate the compliment. I never told Jackson about his mother’s threats. We’re going to the dance together. I’ll be happy. He’ll be happy. It’ll be the best night of our lives. I’m certain of it. We’ll be able to face his mother together, somehow. My arm pins the dress to my waist while I fiddle with my auburn waves to frame my face. “This is good tiara hair, don’t you think?”
“Maybe you should pin it up.” Carolyn pulls a few strands of my hair and pulls it back into the rear. “There, a true princess.”
My apple cheeks round up as I blush. I swat playfully at her and put the dress back into its box. “Just a few more weeks to go. I don’t want to get it dirty.”
“Let’s go on out to the Dirty Dozen. I could use a donut like you wouldn’t believe,” Jenny says.
I shake my head. “Did you hear what I just said about the dance? This isn’t the right time to be eating donuts. Besides, Jackson is on his way over soon. I need to get pretty.”
“Like you need any help in that area.” Carolyn fluffs my hair. “Your loss, if you’re sure.”
“Absolutely, but you guys have fun.”
Jenny hugs me. “Call me tonight. I want to hear all about this date. Maybe it’s the one.”
Carolyn snorts. “We’re much too young to be thinking about marriage—even if you do plan to wait until after college.”
“When you know, you know.” I wave goodbye as they exit my bedroom. I open the French doors to the balcony and step outside. The trees are swaying, and I glance down at the rose garden in the yard. Taking a deep breath, I fill my lungs with that brisk fall air I love so much. I can smell the ocean, and it calms me.
The homecoming dance is getting so close. Martin is keeping his distance now, but I worry he’s up to something. I worry about a lot of things, and half of them are named Sinclair.
I realize I’m not alone and turn around. “Did you say something, Mother?”
Her angular face is set in a permanent frown. While I’m bubbly, jubilant, and spontaneous, she’s anything but. Her white collar is buttoned all the way up to her neck, and her brown hair is pinned back tight into a bun. “I’ve said a lot of things that you’ve never heard. Why should today be any different?”
“Oh, c’mon!” I tug on her arm and drag her outside. “It’s a beautiful day! Can’t you feel it?”
“The only thing I can feel is the onset of allergies,” she mumbles.
I laugh and kiss her cheek. “You’re ridiculous! Life is about more than allergies.”
She smiles despite herself. “My ray of sunshine.” She strokes my cheek. “You always have been, even when you’re maddening. Why are you so happy today? Every day it’s something new.”
“My dress for the dance was delivered. Would you like to see?”
“Of course I would,” she whispers and takes my hand. For a split second, she’s as giddy as I am.
I pull the dress out and hold it against my frame, spinning for Mother and giggling again as I did only a few minutes ago with my friends. “It’s great, don’t you think?”
“You look beautiful. I’m pretty sure you know that.” Playfully, she snickers, and there’s a happy glint in her eye. It’s nice to see and a rare occurrence. She clasps her hands together. “Tonight, your father has some special guests stopping for dinner. The cook is planning a feast. I’m afraid I’ll need you home early so we can get ready.”
I resist an eye-roll but only just barely. “I have a date. Jackson is coming to pick me up.”
“Well, he can come, too. We’ll have more than enough food. Plus, you know as well as I do what a good impression he makes on your father.”
Daddy was a typical businessman, and it was all he ever thought about. “I’m nothing but a pretty face, is that it?”
Mother pinches my chin. “He doesn’t feel that way, and you know it.”
But do I, really? I can’t say much of anything other than to cross my arms and pout.
“Honestly, Amber. You’re no longer a child. That look does nothing for you.” Mother pats my shoulder as she exits the room.
Nothing but a pretty face, and I play the part well. Mother buys it, but I’m getting sick of being that girl—even as I await homecoming and love my dress. It’s so easy to play the role we’ve been groomed to play. Will I ever feel strong enough to break out of my box?
When my cell phone rings, I jump. The front display glows with Jackson’s name. I flip it open in a hurry. “Hello?” I sing-song, even though I know who it is.
Jackson’s warm chuckle comes across the receiver. “There’s my girl.” My heart flips whenever he calls me that. “You ready for our big date?”
“You know I am. Where are you taking me again?” I run my hand along my dresser before flopping myself down onto my bed.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve been going out of my way not to tell you that.”
I smirk. “Oh, damn. Here I thought I could catch you.”
“Sure, you did. I’ll see you in a half-hour. If you’d like to wear that blue dress I bought you last Christmas… You don’t have to, but it’d be a nice touch.”
“If you like that dress the best, I’d love to wear it for you.”
“See you in thirty.”
I can barely wait.
I pull myself together fast in the blue paisley dress Jackson loves. It falls right above my knees and has cap sleeves that show off my toned arms. My wavy auburn hair is loose around my shoulders, and I don’t need much makeup. I hurry down the front staircase as the doorbell chimes, and I can hear the butler pulling it open.
“Jackson!” I call out, but who I see at the door isn’t him at all. My eyes narrow at the suave boy standing in the foyer of my home with his perfectly wavy brown hair. It’s Martin. I feel the color drain out of my face, and I sway on my feet.
“What are you doing here?”
The butler turns. “I’m sorry, Ms. Chetwood. He said he had an appointment with you.”
Like teens make appointments with each other before getting together. “It’s okay. I’ll handle it. He was just leaving.” I grab Martin by the cuff of his sleeve, and I open the front door.
“I just wanted to talk to you. You do nothing but avoid me at school.” He turns back to me and puts his hand on the doorframe so I can’t toss him out onto the cobblestone path.
The nerve of him. “About what? You know I chose Jackson. He chose me. There’s nothing left for you and me to talk about. You tried to ruin me, but it didn’t work. Now you’ll leave me alone.”
He leans into my face. “You liked it. I know you did. The way you screamed, the way you felt as I—"
I slap him across the face. “You’re a pig! You know what happened that night. I know what happened. That’s enough. You’re a predator. Newsflash—people know. Girls warn each other about you, and if I just find one who is willing to go to the authorities with me—”
Martin grabs me roughly and yanks me down the front steps. I yelp as I fall down to my knees, and he grabs my hair, pulling my head back. “You even think of that, and you’re dead. Do you understand me? You’ll be dead,” he hisses right in my face.
“What’s going on out here?” Mother opens the doors and races down the stairs. “Amber!”
I sit up and rub my head as Martin backs off. Before Mother reaches us, he’s running for his car. I’m numb as Mom helps me up, and she inspects my arms. My dress is ripped, and my elbow is torn up, bloody.
Mother’s eyes are stark, and her face white as a sheet. “You were telling the truth about him.”
I nod, and a cry ekes out. I try to control it as she puts her arms around me. “You’ll come inside for the night. Tell Jackson you’ve gotten sick. We’re going to talk about this. Figure something out with your father.”
“The dinner party—”
Mother grows cool. “Fuck the dinner party, Amber. You’re in trouble. We’re going to fix it. Same as we always do. Come. I’ll have the cook prepare your favorite hot cocoa.”
I have to agree it sounds nice. I wonder what Mom means about fixing things. What have my parents had to fix? Maybe she’s exaggerating, but the scary look on her face makes me believe there’s something else.
Something else entirely.
Chapter Eighteen: Amber 2003
My parents take the events more seriously than ever, and I almost wish they didn’t believe me. Mom talks about skipping the homecoming dance, and Father talks to a police officer he knows down at the station. Officer Carl Evans comes to the house after dinner, and we all sit together on the sofa. He takes my statement.
I put down my teacup, and it rattles on its saucer. Pushing my hair out of my face, I try to keep my hands from shaking out of control. “I don’t want to press charges.”
Mother holds my arm up. “Look at the cut he caused. The bruise. He knocked her down the stairs and had a fistful of her hair. Who knows what he would’ve done if I hadn’t been around to get in his way?”
“I won’t settle for anything less, Carl,” Father says in a stern voice.
Carl keeps his eyes on me, and I waver under their intensity. “Is this true, Amber? Did Martin hurt you the way they say he did?”
I swallow hard and look between him and my parents. “Yes. But…I just want it all to go away.”
“You can file a report on what he did to you the night he took you home if you want to. I have to tell you that filing after the fact makes your case that much harder. If he’s been keeping tabs on you and showing up at your house the way your parents say, you could file for an order of protection.”
Panic begins to mount. My life had just recently gotten back together. I’m with Jackson. I don’t want to do what my parents are suggesting, and I want Carl Evans to just leave the house. “No. I don’t want any of that. I want life to go back to normal. That’s all I want. Please. Mom, please,” I beg her.
She turns her head away, and my father sighs. “Damnit, Amber. This is serious. Carl, can you compel her to do what is necessary?”
“I saw him hit her. I saw him push her. I want charges to be filed against him.”
Carl sighs. “What I can do is go over and talk to the Alistairs. I can warn Martin to stay away, put the fear of God into that kid. And I’ll keep an eye on Amber. Drive by here a few times a night. Escort her car to school. That will be enough to scare off a rich boy like Martin.”
Everyone agrees that it’s the best course of action, and I relax. I head off to bed and send a text message to Jenny about what happened. I send one to Jackson, but I don’t tell him about Martin. Instead, I tell him how I can’t wait to see him tomorrow at school.
And I head to bed.
Not knowing what waits for me in the dark.
Thump, thump, thump.
The noise beats on. I try to ignore it. I try to go back to sleep.
Thump, thump, thump.
It grows louder with each pound until finally, I can’t ignore it any longer. My eyes open, and I stare at the wall.
Thump, thump.
The bed rattles beneath me. I sit up and hug the comforter to my waist. A shadow moves along the wall from the French doors outside my window. The leaves shudder in the wind and tap on the glass. Maybe it’s just a storm, but I feel a shudder beneath my bed.
I slip my slippers on and sink to my knees by the bed. I look underneath and don’t see anything. I put my hand on the leg of my bed and feel a shudder. Like it’s coming from inside the wood.
I rush to my feet and back up. A shadow moves across my wall, and I hear a child scream. The voice is so small, so young, and a rush of footsteps as the shadow races toward my door. I pull it open and peer out into the hall. It must just be a bad dream, but I grab my bathrobe and tie it around my waist.
The shadow of a tall man grows across the way by the stairs. “Come back here, you little brat!” I shudder. It sounds like…it sounds just like…
The girl shrieks, and there’s the sound of a tumble down the stairs.
“Rudolph!” My mother’s voice screams, but she’s not here. She’s asleep, same as my father. So what am I hearing? What’s happening to me?
I rub sleep from my eyes and hurry down the stairs. The little girl’s shadow is leading me somewhere. I rush through the living room, and as I approach the atrium, I see someone sitting on the floral rug. Her legs are curled under her, and she’s holding one of my old trains from when I was a kid.
The atrium’s beautiful flowers and floral arrangements have never looked so scary. Outside the glass walls, shadows shift, the moon shines and throws shadows across the floor, and the little girl looks up at me.
Her hair is brown and pulled into pigtails. She wears a soft pink dress and black Mary Jane shoes. She can’t be older than three, and I know that dress. There are pictures of me in the very same dress.
Who is she?
Could she be me? Could any of this really be happening?
She smirks at me, but there’s no happiness or joy in her face. It’s pure sadness. “You almost found me,” she says with despair. “I’ve been so cold. Alone in the dark. Outside.”
Outside?
I crouch down beside her. “Where?”
She turns her head and points through the window and right at the shed. Thunder crashes, and a shadow of a tall figure travels through the shed.
“I can’t go in there. I’m scared.”
“Please,” the girl begs. “No one else will ever help me. No one remembers.”
No one remembers her? No one deserves that, whatever it is that’s happening. I have to see. I have to know. Could she be the shadow and the voice I’ve seen in the halls all my life?
I slip on my mother’s rain boots, and I grab a flashlight from a drawer by the wicker furniture. I hurry along into the rain and toward the shed. The door to the shed blows open and slams against the wall. Fear grows inside of me. I take a deep breath and step inside. Shining the flashlight on the broken bricks, I bend down, pulling the piec
es aside. Beneath them, there’s a burrowed hole, like something had been there. But it’s not anymore. Whatever had been there has been moved.
What am I looking for? What is it?
I cast my flashlight around the shed, looking for something out of place. There’s a ladder, a rusted old filing cabinet, gardening supplies, hoses, and old planks of wood. Everything seems to be in order. What am I even doing out here? I stand back up when thunder crashes outside, and I see a figure standing at the window. He turns, and I can make out his face.
Martin.
He rushes toward the door, and I slam it shut just as he pushes on it. “You sent the police to my house! Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
I push hard against the door to keep him out. “I didn’t! My parents wouldn’t let it go. They invited the police in.” He pushes harder against the door. I wedge my feet firmly behind me, but I have no traction in the rain boots. Martin bursts through the door, grabs me by the waist, and pushes me back.
I scream and slam into the ladder. A shot of pain travels up my back, and I cry out as he grabs me again and pulls me up to my feet. “Help!” I cry out as his hands grip my arms hard, and he throttles me against the ladder.
A growl comes from the walls of the shed. Martin removes his hands from me and backs away, gazing up. “What the hell?”
I duck and shield my head as a rusted green toolbox falls from the rafters. The lid opens, and a dingy blanket falls out. It’s covered in years of dust. The old pattern of baby ducks and bows long hidden under gray. I touch the blanket, and when I feel what’s inside, I pull my hands away.
“What is it?” Martin asks.
“Just get away from me. Get away from this. Just go!” I shudder and shake my head. I’m not sure, but I know it’s bad, whatever it is. I also know I don’t want to be anywhere near Martin.
He bends over and unwraps the blanket, no matter how much I scream at him. A tiny skull rolls out into view. “My God,” he whispers and stares up at me.