“They didn’t give me any choice,” he said.
“Who didn’t?”
“Them. Her managers. They kept calling and I kept ignoring but they’re persistent, those bastards. They started following me, taunting me. Threatening me.”
“Jesus, Arnold. Threatening you?”
He nodded. “And my family.”
She grabbed his arm, could feel the brittle bones beneath his sleeve. “Come on. We’re going to the police station. You don’t have to stand for this. I’m sorry if I was a bitch. I had no idea.”
He batted her away, fell onto his backside. He winced in pain, sucked air through his teeth. “Like I said. It won’t matter in the end.”
“The end? What end?”
He managed to pull himself up, declining her help. “Whatever you do, don’t resist them. Maybe they’ll leave you out of this.” He laughed, though it was the least funny gesture she’d ever seen. “If that’s even possible. Once that thing’s built . . .”
“You mean the stage? The one up on Gallows Hill?” She wasn’t sure why her mind automatically traveled in that direction but once it set sail, she couldn’t reverse its path. She’d taken a drive up the hill just to confirm it was there. Every inch of her skin had buzzed when it came into view. Now it did so again.
“Just let them have the signing and stay out of their way. And please, whatever you do, don’t tell them you came here. I’m begging you. My daughters . . .” His bottom lip trembled and a single tear made its way out of his left eye before he slammed the door in her face.
“Good morning to you too,” she said, fixing her dress and walking back to the car.
Before sliding into the driver’s seat she flipped Arnold’s house off, hoping it would make her feel powerful, as if she had some semblance of control over the situation. If anything, she felt more exposed, more attractive to the hidden eyes she was certain lay nearby.
Back inside the car, she locked the doors once, twice, three times before driving away from the curb too fast. On the passenger seat lay a forgotten hash brown. Though the smell churned her stomach, she ate it in two large bites.
Her worries remained.
Sitting in homeroom, minding her business as usual, Shawna heard Derek Sorrentino snicker. He whispered something and his little fan club giggled in response. It was no secret that Derek’s father liked to drink and loved to smack his boy. Shawna often wondered if that was the source of his tormenting. Didn’t they say all bullies had some unresolved issue causing their behavior?
Or maybe he was just an asshole.
Mr. Fuller looked up from his desk, eyes narrow, went back to grading papers when the snickering stopped.
She considered removing her hearing aids, basking in the silence, when there came a tap on her shoulder.
“Check this out,” Derek said.
She tried to ignore him, hands caught halfway between her desk and her ears.
Before she could make a move, someone set a phone onto her desk. There was an image on the screen. A naked girl. Eighteen or nineteen, she wore only a pair of barely-there panties. Her breasts were perky and even, nothing like her own. Despite her annoyance, the picture excited her. Skin pleasantly tingled in response, the way it used to when Mia would send her pictures, but the moment passed quickly. She recognized the girl's face.
It was Angie.
Derek and his friend laughed in response. “That’s right,” he said. “Everyone’s seen it. You’re never going to live this one down. You thought you had it bad before?” He grinned, yellow teeth churning her stomach. “You ain’t seen nothing.”
She fought back hysteria. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears.
How could her sister do this? She’d ruined Shawna’s life a thousand times over. First, the talent and the spotlight and the fame, but now this. Sometimes, Shawna daydreamed Angie turned out to be a one-hit wonder, her number one single fading into obscurity. Her albums would collect dust in bargain bins. But thus far, the opposite was proving to be true. And with the spotlight shining even brighter on her, Shawna, too, received more attention. Only not the same kind.
And you had to go and take a picture of yourself topless.
Who had it been intended for? She had no boyfriend as far as Shawna knew. Had she done it on purpose? Had she giggled while snapping the photo, thinking how much worse her twin sister’s life would be once the image went viral?
She looked around the classroom. Though there were a few outliers pretending not to overhear, it felt like every set of eyes bored into her. Every index finger pointed. Every tongue stuck out.
“When’s the sex tape come out?” Derek said, taking back his cell. “She’d look good with a pearl necklace.”
More laughs. More taunts. More insults.
“That’s enough.” Mr. Fuller stepped into the crowd, slammed his fist onto Derek’s desk. Derek finally stopped laughing, the rest of the class following suit.
“Hey,” Derek said, “you can’t do that.”
Mr. Fuller brought his hand down a second time. “I beg to differ. If there’s one thing I won’t tolerate, it’s bullying. So do me a favor—do us all a favor—and cut the shit. Leave Ms. Everstein and her sister alone or you won’t be able to count the number of detentions on both hands. Does that sound like a plan, Mr. Matheson?”
Derek nodded slowly. He didn’t look defeated exactly, though his trademark grin had faded to something like a half-frown. She’d take it.
The bell rang. The class grabbed their bags and books and hurried into the hall, staring at Shawna as they went. Derek was the last to leave. He said something under his breath, some threat or warning. The only words she made out were fuck and cunt. How charming.
“I’ve never heard you swear before,” Shawna said when she and Mr. Fuller were alone.
“That won’t be the last time.” He fixed his hair, straightened his collar. “Not if this shit keeps up.” He stopped pacing. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. But what shit do you mean? The bullying? Thank you, by the way.”
“No swearing. Do as I say and all that.” He forced a smile. “It’s not just the bullying. And it’s not just the kids. The whole school has been acting strangely. The whole town, for that matter.”
“Strangely how?”
“They seem to have forgotten about things like manners and morals and everything else that makes them civilized human beings. It’s like they’re . . . like they’re—”
“Changing,” Shawna said, not quite knowing what it meant but certain just the same.
He nodded, eyes wide like he’d just received terrible news. “Exactly. I know it sounds crazy but this all started when . . . never mind.” He waved away the rest of his sentence, though she knew exactly where his thoughts were headed.
Angie. It all started with Angie.
She stood up too quickly, the room spinning. “I have to go.”
He said something else but it was obscured by the second bell.
Shawna stepped through her front door and slammed it shut. There were voices in the kitchen. Her mother was talking to someone. She faked a laugh, her signature move whenever a stranger was in her presence.
Shawna stormed into the kitchen, ready to tell her mother she’d had enough. Angie could not stay under the same roof. Not after what she’d done. The semester was still in its infancy and the school year was bound to get worse now. She imagined the image of Angie floating around the Internet, downloaded countless times. Someone was probably jerking off to it this very moment.
And the drawings—oh, the drawings. They’d be on her locker every day. Cartoonish tits, nipples like googly eyes, and more stick figure drawings of the ugly Everstein sister.
“You’ll never guess what your daughter did.” She stopped short when she saw the visitor. A woman with a clipboard stood by the table, sipping what appeared to be a Frappucino through a straw. Behind her stood two men, one holding a camera, the other a boom mic. “What the hell?�
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The woman groaned, signaled to the men. “Cut.” She set the clipboard on the table.
Kristen apologized on behalf of her daughter. “Shawna, sweetie, I think you just ruined the take.”
Sweetie? It sounded almost convincing. Her mother should’ve taken up acting.
The woman held out her hand and Shawna shook it. Her skin felt cold and rough, almost reptilian. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Your mother is proud.” She spoke too loudly. Whoever she was, she must’ve been briefed on Shawna’s hearing problem, though not properly. “We’re filming a documentary on behalf of your sister. For her homecoming. To show her family and home life.”
Shawna let go of the sandpaper hand, turned toward her mother. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
“I could’ve sworn I did, honey.” Another fake smile.
Shawna shook her head. “No, you didn’t. Just like you didn’t tell me she was coming home so soon.”
“The date was pushed up,” the woman said. “We wanted to hold the concert in time for Halloween. It seemed fitting, considering your sister’s hometown.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Shawna studied the woman’s eyes and wished she hadn’t. There was something distinctly wrong with them. The irises were shaped incorrectly, more octagonal than circular, and the pupils were far too large. They reminded her of Angie’s eyes.
“My name is Glenda. I’m Angie’s manager.” She pointed to the two men behind her. “This is Tim, our camera man, and William, our audio engineer.” The men grunted in unison. Glenda looked at her watch, an expensive model that likely had Kristen salivating. “We’re almost done with your mother’s interview and then we can get started on yours.”
Shawna shook her head, stepped back. “No way.”
“Dear,” Kristen said through gritted teeth, the concerned mother veneer beginning to crack. “These people are guests in our home.”
“Our home? This place hasn’t felt like our home since Dad got smart and left.”
Kristen apologized for the second time, though Glenda did not seem fazed. Her eyes stared, unblinking. “Not a problem, Ms. Everstein. We can come back later.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure she’d love to be interviewed. She’s just tired is all.” She turned her head. “Isn’t that right, Shawna?”
“Yeah, I’m tired. Tired of you and tired of Angie. Do you know what your little angel did, Mom? Your daughter’s tits are all over the Internet.”
“That was unfortunate,” Glenda said. “But these things happen to most artists her age. It will pass in time. Besides, you know the old saying about publicity.”
“She’s right,” Kristen said. “It’s really not a big deal.” She pulled out a chair. “Now sit and let them ask you a few questions, okay?”
Shawna’s mouth hung open. “Not a big deal? I don’t know why you bothered having kids. You don’t have a motherly bone in your body.”
Glenda and Kristen exchanged a few words, discussed whether or not they ought to reschedule the interview. Neither of them consulted Shawna. Neither of them seemed aware of how fucked this all was.
That’s because they’re all in on it.
Her heart stopped at the thought.
Mr. Fuller had been right. There was something strange going on in Salem, something that kept pointing back to the same source.
She left the kitchen. Her mother called her name but she ignored her. On her way out something caught her eye. A pile of clothes lay on the living room couch. At first she thought they were sweatshirts but the fabric seemed different somehow. Unnatural. She picked up the closest and studied it. It was not a hoodie, though it did have a hood. The material was worn by time. Heavy and rough, not unlike Glenda’s hands.
Robes. There were three robes and three strangers in her home.
Had the crew showed up dressed in these? It was broad daylight. The temperature, though chilly, did not call for such garb. The clothing seemed better fit for trick-or-treating.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Shawna nearly screamed at Glenda’s voice. She did not dare to turn around, lest she catch another glimpse of her eyes. “I could give you one if you’d like.”
She dropped the robe and it fluttered to the floor, landing in front of her feet.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us for an interview?” Shawna sensed the woman moving closer. Her feet clattered along the hardwood, sounding more like hooves than shoes.
“Positive.” Shawna stepped toward the front door, her only escape route.
“That’s a shame. We’ll get you to join in the fun eventually. If you haven’t noticed, your sister is quite persistent. Angie doesn’t take no for an answer.”
Shawna left without another word. She took slow, deliberate steps down the drive, showing that she wasn’t afraid.
But at the corner of her street, when she was no longer visible from the living room windows, she broke into a run.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AN AUTOGRAPH, A KIDNAPPING
THERE WAS A CROWD GATHERED on Derby Street and, for a moment, Josh thought they were lined up to enter his store. Had there been a sale he’d forgotten about? Not out of the question, considering how exhausted he was, but these didn’t look like his normal clientele. Missing were the leather jackets, the band logo patches, the ripped jeans. Instead there were jeggings, spandex, and worst of all, what he referred to as the herpes of the fashion world: glitter. The tiny dots sparkled in the sunlight, almost blinding.
“Not for us, boss.”
Josh nearly screamed at Trish’s voice. He held his chest. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“What’s the matter? Up too late?” She smirked as she took a drag off her cigarette.
“Something like that.” He thought of his conversation with Dan and tried not to shiver. “I thought we talked about you not smoking out here. Pushes customers away.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because crust punks are so squeaky clean. And besides,” she pointed toward the mass gathering, “we don’t have any customers to push away.”
“No sales today?”
“Not a one. These glitter critters are scaring them off.”
“Glitter . . .”
“Critters. That’s what they call her fans.”
“Whose fans?”
“Angie Everstein. Who else?” The tip of her cigarette fell to the cobblestone, the ash taken away by the breeze. It landed in a teenage girl’s hair, though she didn’t seem to notice. She was staring toward the front of the line, complaining about how long she’d been waiting.
Josh’s throat constricted. “You mean she’s nearby?”
“Over in the magic shop.”
“Esmeralda’s? No way in hell would she agree to something like that.”
Trish shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is what I heard. And what I heard is our little pop princess is signing autographs by the potions aisle.” Josh admired how she kept her cool. Not for the first time he wished she looked at him the way she looked at some of their customers—when they had customers. She liked her men rough around the edges. While Josh might’ve been a metal head himself, he was, in every sense of the word, a glorified nerd. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of his favorite bands, could recite all of their lyrics and album catalogues in chronological order. But despite that, he wasn’t her type. He ought to give up any thought of them ever being anything other than boss and employee.
Assuming the shop didn’t close its doors before year’s end.
“More of them,” Trish said.
Josh shook his head, rubbed his eyes. “What?”
“I said there are more of them. The CDs, I mean. Even got a shipment of vinyl.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She did not smile. She never smiled. But the longer he stared at her features, the more he began to suspect she wasn’t as relaxed as she let on. He wasn’t sure what to make
of the revelation but it was there nonetheless. Her hands fidgeted, nearly dropping the cigarette, and her feet tapped.
Almost as if she was anxious to go somewhere.
Anxious to step in line.
He pushed the thought aside. Trish? Go meet the queen of everything she hated most? Fat chance of that.
“Watch the store,” he said. “I’m going to talk to Esmeralda.”
“Gonna grab yourself an autograph?” Did she sound jealous?
“No, I’m going to see if we can get the line away from our front door.”
The crowd shouted with excitement, singing a cappella versions of Angie’s songs that made Josh’s scalp tingle. From his backpack he retrieved his headphones. The lyrics vanished as he turned on his iPod. “Forever with You” was replaced by Helmet.
Now that he could think clearly, he studied the line more closely. At first he’d only noticed the teenage girls. The closer he got, the more out of place some of the attendees became. A small group of bikers smiled as if riding through Laconia. Their leather jackets displayed skulls and American eagles, yet they held in their hands posters and CDs of a teenage pop star. Josh was all for listening to whatever you wanted. Hell, he’d been criticized over his musical tastes (mostly by Melissa) for years, but the bikers seemed . . . wrong somehow.
In front of them stood two postal workers, older men with graying hair and deep wrinkles. Then there were waste removal workers, what looked like surgeons, and perhaps the strangest of all: a police officer. Josh thought the man was working security but as the line inched forward and the officer stepped up, it was clear he was just a fan.
Josh followed the line around the corner and stopped suddenly in front of Esmeralda’s Ye Olde Magic Shoppe.
Two robed figures stood on either side of the front door. The sight should not have bothered him. This was Salem after all. And it was Halloween season. There were costumed street performers everywhere you went. But these two didn’t seem like performers. They seemed as though they took their jobs quite seriously.
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