Influenced

by Eva Robinson

  Time seemed to zoom along these days, rushing like the wind over the Atlantic. And right now, she was wondering how strong that punch was, because she felt faintly euphoric and dreamy.

  As soon as she opened the back door, Nora yelled, “Mama!” Then, “I love you.”

  Hannah leaned in and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “You need to go to sleep for Dada. Okay? He’ll tell you a story, and you need to go to sleep.” But she didn’t want to let Nora go.

  “Sleep soon.” Nora touched her face. “Mama cheek.”

  Hannah had an overwhelming urge to pull Nora out and take her back to the party, but knew it was a terrible idea. She’d be a wreck tomorrow, and she’d probably try to wander into the pond anyway.

  “I’m going to give you a bottle of my homemade wine tomorrow,” said Luke. “It’s ready.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “Good. I was hoping to impress you.” He held her gaze for so long that she could feel its intensity washing over her like the sun.

  Was her new, glowing life making him interested in her again? Was he flirting with her? “Impress me?”

  He still held her gaze, like he was trying to search her soul. “I always like to impress you.”

  “Well, you always impress me.” And now she was flirting back. She’d better put a stop to that.

  Then he asked, “Is everything okay at the party?”

  He seemed to be finding ways to prolong the moment—or maybe he was starting to get jealous, too, sensing that she was moving on.

  “Everyone’s fine,” she said. “I’ll talk to you in the morning. Have a good night. Good luck. And call me if anything goes wrong, or if she needs me to say goodnight again.”

  “Of course.”

  She gave Nora one last kiss, then closed the door and stepped away from the car.

  As she watched them drive away, she stared at them, then at the darkness. Her mind seemed to go blank…

  The car was gone now, and she wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, gaping at the dark street.

  When she turned, her heart sped up. Someone moved in the shadows behind her—someone who had been watching her stare off into space. Maybe even watching her talk to Luke.

  But whoever it was slid off into the darkness, and a shiver danced up Hannah’s nape.

  Twenty-Eight

  Rowan swayed in the breeze, staring out at the glittering pond in the distance. How much did she have to drink? Punch, then wine. Even the coke wasn’t helping her feel sober tonight.

  But maybe tonight had been a night of pure abandon. A night for Dionysus. Because she had to forget about Arabella. First came death, then ecstasy.

  She lifted her glass of wine, twirling it to watch it glint in the moonlight. Was the earth shifting beneath her feet?

  And even with all this wine, she still had those voices in her head, the commenters who’d invaded her own thoughts. Skank. Desperate. Underfed. Old. Nasty. Pathetic. No wonder Marc dumped her. YIKES she has hollow eyes now—why does she always look so SAD?

  Murderer.

  She’d once read about English ivy—a plant that aggressively took over forests, choking out the native life. It clung to the bark and branches, smothering light with its infestation, suffocating evergreens and flowers.

  That was what those comments were—an invasive species in her thoughts. They reproduced until they became part of her own ecosystem and killed everything else. They’d even grown over the terrible words her mom had used to describe her: Disappointing. Not very bright, this one. Not like her sister. Had to pay thousands just so she could read by fourth grade.

  And they’d grown over the lovely words Marc had used to describe her. You make people feel alive. You make me feel like the volume has been turned up on life…

  She realized that tears were sliding down her cheeks.

  Clutching the phone, she dove back into the vitriol.

  Do you think she poisoned her out of jealousy? Because Arabella was clearly more successful in every way that matters?

  She’s been falling apart. I think she finally snapped. That disgusting naked photo made that clear.

  She definitely did it. She’s just that kind of jealous psycho. Her new friend Hannah should stay far, far away.

  Hot anger cut through her drunken haze, and she started to type a response. They had no reason to think she killed Arabella, apart from a few photos together. They just loathed her so much that she had to be guilty. She stumbled back, mashing the keys.

  Then she snapped a picture of the pond, dark and glittering under the moonlight.

  Under no circumstances was she supposed to reveal that she read the hateful comments—that only made things worse. But she could no longer stop herself.

  She posted the picture of the pond. I havejt snaped..; Im perfecly san;e. I didn’t kill any one. It was hard to type when she was this drunk—not that spelling was her strength even sober.

  Vaguely, she knew this was a terrible idea, but she hit Share anyway.

  But that would bring the mood down, wouldn’t it? Her feed was supposed to be about fantasy, not death. Death would ruin everything.

  And like she’d been saying all night, this was a night for celebration. So she lifted up her phone, tilted her head, and snapped a selfie.

  This time, she wisely decided to dictate her post instead of typing.

  Thanks to everyone who helped raise money for the teen center it will mean so much to the students and Cambridge and I’m glad I could be part of it.

  Swaying on her feet, she shared the selfie to Instagram.

  Still, her secrets weighed on her, and she felt a perverse desire to confess everything. Like they did in churches in the old days—a confession to cleanse the soul. Maybe that was what it would take to get Marc’s attention in a positive way. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

  None of the vile comments would matter if Marc still loved her. She dropped to her backside in the grass, then crawled over to a patch of mossy earth. She lay down, arms out wide. How much had she drunk? Whatever happened, she would not post another nude.

  When she shut her eyes now, she felt like the vines were crawling around her brain, choking out the light. She makes me sick. This is just sad now, isn’t it?

  She turned, her vision blurry as she looked at the party behind her. Hannah was dancing with Daniel, leaning into him, swaying. Was that Hannah or Stella? It was hard to see from here, but she wanted to be over by them now.

  How had she gotten so far away from them?

  On her hands and knees, she started crawling closer. “Hannah!” She tried to shout her friend’s name, but it came out slurred, too quiet.

  The grass felt amazing beneath her, and a breeze was skimming up her short dress. The ground was marshy here, but that was how the earth was supposed to be—damp and healthy, full of green grasses. The magic of the earth charged into her body.

  Vaguely, she had the feeling that someone was watching her, but she didn’t mind. Why had she ever been ashamed of that nude photo? What was wrong with the human body? People were so uptight. Puritans.

  Now, at last, the English ivy was receding from her brain, leaving behind a wonderful serenity. Music floated on the wind, maybe Peter playing something—a sad, slow song.

  It was all so funny, though, wasn’t it? The best and brightest here from Cambridge, and they were all smashed.

  Wild laughter bubbled up in her, and she dug her fingers further into the soil. If Marc were here with her now, she’d wrap herself around him like a morning glory.

  The world was tilting beneath her. Maybe a little rest was in order. On her back, she laughed as she imagined Marc moving over her, a smile curling his perfect lips.

  There it was—her phantom life, the one with Marc. It was where she had conversations with him when she poured her morning coffee, when she took baths. In her phantom life, they lived in a beautiful house in the south of France, and they had breakfast together in their garde
n in the mornings. Their Labrador bounded through the wildflowers. She didn’t even like dogs, but Marc did.

  She was there now, her head on Marc’s shoulder, the scent of his strong coffee wrapping around her. She’d stay out here all day with him, and they’d jot down notes for their books as they soaked up the sun. Sunlight gilded them. Music played—trumpets, violins—and she was dancing with him, pressed against him. They twirled in the beams of light until they glowed like stars.

  When her eyes opened again, she was flat on the ground, so dizzy it was like her head was on a seesaw. She found herself looking up at a craggy tree above her, its branches silhouetted against the starry sky. She’d stay here forever…

  But it was only a temporary respite, because the voices were coming back again, climbing in her mind.

  Will she sleep in the mud like a pig? Seems fitting. She snapped… At least I can’t see her disgusting, warped feet.

  YUCK. Her greasy hair makes me want to vomit.

  This is just sad. She’s completely unhinged. She had so much going for her and now she’s just rolling around in dirt. What happened to her? She needs professional help.

  Pathetic. No wonder Marc dumped her for someone better.

  Loud shouting pulled her from the chorus of derision in her mind. Distantly, Peter was playing his guitar, but the music sounded off.

  Anyone who’s paying attention could have seen this coming. She’s VILE. Pig. I can’t wait to see what she looks like after three months of jail.

  It was no longer a quiet voice in her mind.

  The voice was right next to her. “Shut up,” Rowan snarled.

  The world seemed to be tilting on its axis. Even through her drunken haze, she knew there couldn’t be any more missteps, any more controversy. One more scandal would send her completely over the edge.

  Her life was a complete mess, and she needed to fix things once and for all.

  Didn’t I tell you this would happen? the commenters said. Rowan is dangerous to be around. She’ll kill anyone who gets in her way.

  Twenty-Nine

  Hannah’s head throbbed and a rushing sound filled her ears, like she was underwater. Her heart seemed to be beating too fast, and she was sure something was wrong. It took her a moment to realize what it was. She wasn’t at home in bed, which was the appropriate place to sleep. She was lying flat on her back in the grass. Where was she? And where was Nora?

  Her damp dress chilled her skin. Nausea swirled in her stomach, and she rolled over onto her side, trying not to be sick. The wet grass tickled her cheek, and she had the sensation of ants crawling over her.

  She didn’t remembered drinking that much. She rolled over onto her hands and knees, shivering.

  If she was lying here on the grass, still drunk… where was Nora? It took her a few moments to remember that she was safe, with Luke.

  Hannah turned her head, looking down toward the pond. As her vision began to slowly clear, she saw three figures standing in the distance, bodies silvered in the moonlight.

  She was still at Stella’s house, wasn’t she?

  When she stared long enough, she could just about make out who they were—Rowan, Daniel, and Stella. They stood in a huddle between her and the pond.

  A sense of embarrassment electrified her. She’d passed out completely in the grass—like a college freshman with self-esteem problems—and they’d left her lying there. Why had no one taken care of her? Moved her inside, or at least covered her with a blanket? At least Daniel could have helped her out.

  Her vision focused a little more, and she started to get her bearings. By her foot, a chair had tipped over, and she wondered if she’d simply tumbled over out of the chair and onto the grass, and they’d left her there. How funny that must have been for everyone. To her left, the table of food and punch loomed over her; she’d been sleeping in its shadow.

  She sat up, but her head was swimming so badly that she thought she’d vomit if she pushed it too much. Her mind was screaming again—that high-pitched noise like someone was shrieking in her skull.

  She wasn’t sure she could face the embarrassment of this situation. She wondered if she could just sort of sneak out and call an Uber home, and hope they’d forget all about it.

  The others were too far away for her to hear. She imagined they were talking about her, what a complete mess she was.

  From her spot on the ground, she tried to listen in on what they were saying. Stella’s voice rose, and Hannah heard something about her brownies.

  Hot shame spilled through her. They were talking about her. She’d brought brownies like it was a kids’ party, then she’d passed out like a sad, drunk mom. Her blood was pounding hard, and that high-pitched noise was drilling into her skull.

  The air smelled faintly of vomit. Had she thrown up somewhere?

  A chill rippled over her skin, but the world still seemed so uneven that she couldn’t put anything together.

  “I told you we should have called nine-one-one,” said Daniel, his voice rising.

  She leaned forward on her hands, working up the strength to stand. She needed to stop them before they really did call an ambulance, and she spent the rest of the night having her stomach pumped. What exactly had she drunk? She remembered the punch, but she always stopped before she got too trashed. She hated being drunk.

  Her mouth felt dry, with a sour taste. “I’m fine,” she said. But her voice was so quiet that she didn’t think anyone noticed.

  “Well, once we started moving the body, we couldn’t go back,” Stella shouted.

  “I know, but I told you from the start this was wrong. Now it looks like we’ve done something terrible.”

  Hannah had no clue what they were talking about.

  “It’s Hannah’s fault,” said Stella, her voice hysterical. “It was Hannah. Where is she?”

  Panic flared in Hannah’s chest. What was she being accused of? She was sure she’d missed several hours.

  “Calm down, both of you,” Rowan snapped. “You’re far too loud. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take any more heat. People already think the worst of me, and I’m going to lose my mind. Can you just be quiet?”

  Hannah swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up all over the grass. Panic throbbed in her mind, and she rose, slowly, wavering.

  Their voices had gone quiet again, and she wanted to hear what they were saying. Swaying, she started to move closer, hoping they wouldn’t notice. She wanted to keep eavesdropping. She walked quietly, barefoot in the grass, trying to listen in.

  “This is a nightmare,” said Daniel.

  “We’ve all had too much to drink,” said Rowan. “Obviously. Or none of this would have happened. But there’s nothing we can do now, is there?”

  Hannah felt as if she were hearing this from a distance, from the other end of a tunnel. She only understood she was being blamed for something, and that she felt like she’d been run over by a train.

  Whatever had happened seemed far worse than the embarrassment of passing out under a table.

  “It’s done now,” said Stella. “We’ll have to live with it.”

  Hannah realized that Stella was slurring her words, too.

  Her foot crunched on a stick, and Rowan whirled, hand to her chest. “Hannah? What are you doing lurking there in the shadows? You scared the crap out of me.”

  “What’s happening?” Hannah slurred.

  “We didn’t know where you were!” Rowan’s voice sounded sharp, accusatory.

  “I never get this drunk,” said Hannah.

  Rowan stared at her, strangely still. The night sky was just starting to fade to a pale blue—dawn already. Hannah could see that mud covered half of Rowan’s body. “But where were you?” Rowan asked.

  “I was… there.” Hannah pointed back to the table. “I guess I feel asleep. But what were you talking about?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Rowan.

  “You said something about a body. And something being my faul
t.”

  A heavy silence fell over the group, and Daniel dropped down to the ground, sitting cross-legged. He dropped his head into his hands. “Nothing is your fault. What happened is we just made a terrible mistake.”

  Hannah’s pulse echoed in her own skull. “But what was the mistake?”

  Rowan cheeks glistened. “Look, we woke up, and Peter was… Well he was cold, and—”

  “He was dead,” said Daniel, looking stunned. “Completely.”

  Hannah felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, and she held out her arms to steady herself.

  “He’s by the pond now,” said Stella. “In the pond, really. He’d passed out near it, and, you know, died. And we brought him a little further over to it. It was probably a bad idea. It was actually a very bad idea.”

  “Oh, now you agree it was a bad idea,” said Daniel. “After you both persuaded me to do it.”

  Hannah’s jaw dropped. “Why would you do that? Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

  “I panicked,” Stella shot back. “It’s hard to think clearly. If we’d called an ambulance, when they showed up they would have known I was hammered. We were all hammered—you’re not the only one who woke up in the grass. And that’s how Melody’s kids were taken away. I don’t remember drinking that much, but apparently I did. And Rowan’s always on coke. My ex-husband would have my kids within days, and he’s a monster. And not to be a total bitch, but this is your fault.”

  “Why is it my fault?” Hannah shouted.

  “Shhhh.” Rowan was by her side now, grabbing her arm. “She thinks it was the brownies.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Hannah.

  Daniel stood and crossed to her. “Forget it. She’s being ridiculous.”

  Stella rubbed her eyes. “Let’s think about this rationally. We know the grant is going to save lives. Didn’t we spend all night talking about that? Young people’s lives. And it’s in Peter’s name. The funding comes through to our account in a few days, but not if he’s dead, because it’s in his name on the grant. It’s how we get the teen center. So what do you think Peter would want?”