On Sunday, I text Officer Young to let her know that I have a free hour or so before my husband needs his dinner. Eye roll. Having to pretend that I’m some weak cow, sniveling before the power of Havoc, is infuriating. I hate every second of it.
“Bernadette,” Sara says as she opens her door and smiles at me. It takes the power of every molecule in my fucking body to force a smile back. Why are you following me, woman? What the fuck? “Come on in.”
I nod and step inside Sara’s sweet-smelling little house. She’s very clearly a fan of Hobby Lobby—fuck that store and everything it stands for—because there are decorations on every available surface and crammed onto every single white wall in the place. You know the kind, the ones that say Beautiful Disaster or God Bless This Mess. I gag a little but manage to keep my shit together.
This place is literally the opposite of everything I know.
There’s a small, formal looking living room to my left, a dining room on the right, and a hallway that leads down to what’s probably the only bedroom and bathroom in the place. Sara takes me right, and I see that the kitchen’s semi-open to the dining area.
“Have a seat,” she tells me, gesturing at the country-white stools in front of the kitchen peninsula. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“Coffee, if you have it,” I say, and she gives me a very patronizing sort of look.
“Caffeine isn’t good for teens, Bernadette; you’re not done growing.”
I just stare at her.
“Uh,” I start, trying to figure out how to explain myself without coming off as a raging cunt. “I once got locked in a dark closet for a week with a bucket, some bottled water, and some granola bars. I’m not sure that I give a shit about the effects of caffeine on my growing brain.”
Sara just stares back at me, and this chasm looms between us, one that shows me exactly how difficult it’s going to be for me to connect with her. She likes inspirational signs and thinks coffee is unhealthy for growing kids, and I shot Billie Charter in the shoulder during a drive-by on Monday.
Hmm.
“Is that something you want to talk about?” she asks, dropping the whole coffee-convo and starting a pot without further prompting. I notice she buys Starbucks beans, and I frown even harder. Please. The coffee in South Prescott is next level; no corporately owned coffee place could ever compete.
“Not really,” I respond, trying to keep my lies to a minimum. My eyes rove around the cute, little kitchen with its Joanna Gaines influence and over to an exterior door that leads onto a small deck. Since there are no trees, all I can see are the sides of the neighbor’s houses, all of them in pastel colors. I turn back to Sara, itching to ask why she thought to start following us around. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to know she was there or not, and I won’t reveal my hand so easily. “Mostly, I was hoping you’d have some good news about the Thing?”
“The Thing?” Sara echoes, pouring us each a mug of steaming coffee.
My cup says Good Things Come to Those Who Wait on the side of it. I look at it instead of Sara as I respond, uncomfortable as fuck in the hideous yellow dress Oscar made me wear. The look of sheer triumph on his face when he handed it to me made me want to strangle him again. Or let him strangle you, you perv.
I sip the coffee black and Sara goes completely still, freezing with her container of Candy Cane creamer poised over her cup.
“You drink it black?” she asks, clearly surprised.
“You drink it filled with a chemically composed sugar syrup?” I retort back, and she sets the container down.
“What does ‘the Thing’ mean, Bernadette?” she asks, and I notice that she’s been careful to only call me Bernadette after I corrected Constantine about saying Bernie.
“Sorry, Neil,” I correct, taking another sip of coffee. “He isn’t worthy of a name, in my opinion. But then, I’m sure you think of him differently.”
This time, it’s Sara’s turn to just stare back at me, like she’s trying to test my mettle.
“Your stepfather is … a complex man,” she tells me, like she’s trying to be careful with her words. Sara sets her mug down—it’s covered in sparkly butterflies, gag—and sighs heavily. “Look, Bernadette, I want to tell you something, assuming you’re mature enough to handle it.”
Oh, here we go. She’s trying to play the tough savior role with me. It’s beyond annoying. Sure, Sara Young is nice enough, but she doesn’t understand me or anything about my life.
“Hit me with your best shot,” I say, my lips twitching as I remember listening to Pat Benatar in the Ferrari with Hael. Those memories just make me hot and sweaty, and I really don’t want to deal with wet panties right now. Must sip coffee. “Let me guess: you were fucking him too?”
Sara rears back like she’s been punched in the gut.
“He’s married to your mother,” she hisses, clearly furious. It’s obvious from her expression that it’s not that she doesn’t believe Neil would cheat, just that she, herself would never sleep with a married guy. I shrug, and Sara exhales sharply. I’m wearing her patience thin. “Honey, he told me that if anything were to happen to him, that it would be you who did it.”
I pause then, the coffee mug held tight between my tattooed hands. My nails are matte black right now, with coffin tips. I got one of Stacy Langford’s girls to do them on Friday before I … met Cal at his studio. Before he fucked me into the old warehouse floors with his lean dancer’s body, his muscles sweaty beneath my hands, his scars rough but intriguing.
Jesus.
I am not following this Do Not Soak Your Panties rule very well.
“He told you …” I start, and then I set my mug down and just start laughing. Oh, Neil, you fucker. One last hurrah from the grave, huh?
He just couldn’t die in peace, could he? Swear to god, I feel his evil spirit clinging to my shoulders and digging obsidian-tipped claws into my skin. “You will never be free of me, Bernadette; I will haunt you until the day you die like a dog in the gutter.”
For the same reason that Neil would not kill himself with the knife Aaron gave him, he also just couldn’t transition into the depths of hell without leaving a few choice nuggets of bullshit behind for me to deal with.
“What a delusional nut,” I murmur when I finally get control of myself. This time, I don’t look at Sara, staring instead at a brown and cream Siamese cat that’s sitting nearby and staring at us. The cat looks pissed to be honest, tail flicking violently. It reminds me of Oscar. Another sip of coffee. “I plead not guilty to all charges.”
“Bernadette, I’m trying to help here,” Sara says as I glance back at her. She’s wearing this very pale pink lip gloss that looks like it belongs in the nineties. “I know you didn’t hurt your stepfather, but you’re not a lone wolf, now are you?”
I let out a little howl and grin.
“Cry 'Havoc!,'” I murmur, realizing that she must’ve heard the howling in the halls during the last week. I’ve started a trend. Look at me go. “Is that what you’re suggesting? That my husband or one of my boyfriends might’ve had something to do with Neil’s disappearance?”
“One of your boyfriends?” Sara asks, like the terminology is confusing her. I should’ve said, one of my boyfriends or Oscar Montauk because he still doesn’t act like he wants anything to do with me outside of strict business transactions. “Boy … friends. Got it. Male friends.”
“No, no, like boys you have sex with and spend time with and—if you’re into this kind of thing—hope to make babies for at some point.” I finish my coffee and pass the mug back. I know I’m being a snarky, little shit, but I can’t help it. I don’t have a mom to trade verbal quips with, no girlfriends. It’s fun, hanging out with another woman once in a while. The energy’s different. “Anyway, they didn’t do anything; they wouldn’t.”
Sara sighs and taps her French manicured nails on the counter. They’re cut short, but they’re clearly recently done.
“Look, I’m going to cut right to
the chase here,” Sara starts, and the shift in her tone causes me to freeze up. She’s staring right at me, her blue eyes much lighter than Callum’s, almost too pale for my liking. “I’m not saying you didn’t have reason to want Neil hurt or dead. I’m telling you that I believe you, Bernadette. I wasn’t your stepfather’s partner for long, but there were things that he did that just made me wonder if he was in law enforcement for the right reasons.”
“But?” I suggest. “Because I hear a but coming for sure.”
“But there is no excuse for vigilante justice in society. If you did something to Neil, you have to tell me now. We can make a deal with the DA in exchange for information on your lovers.” I’m just sitting there flabbergasted as fuck that this woman has as much backbone as she does. Even though she’s terrifying me slightly, I start to develop some newfound respect for her. Also, she just jumped in headfirst and started calling the Havoc Boys my lovers. Kudos. “You are not the sum of your mistakes, Bernadette, but the exponential increase of your future.” Okay, that one definitely belongs on the side of a mug with some glitter.
“I see that you’re trying to help me,” I tell her, getting real for the first time since I walked in here. It’s hard for me not to harden up against a potential threat. That’s the reaction that’s saved my life many times, protected me from rape and molestation and pain. It’s what I do now, to keep me and the boys safe. “But I don’t need your sympathy or your pity. My boys are small-time pot dealers and total assholes. That’s it. We’re in high school; get over yourself.” I stand up from the stool and head for the door.
I expect Sara to call out and ask me to come back.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she waits until I’ve walked down the block and climbed into Hael’s Camaro to start tailing us.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“What happened?” Cal asks, leaning between the two front seats. The way his proximity affects me has completely changed. When Callum moves, it’s as if he vibrates the very molecules in the air around me. My skin ripples with the need to feel his touch, and I exhale.
“Neil told her before he died that if something were to happen to him, then I did it.”
Hael curses under his breath at my statement, raking his fingers through his red hair.
“Yeah, well, that was one of our concerns originally, about killing him. Oscar said it would be different this time.” Hael glances my way, raising his brows. “Victor said it would be. I guess we just have to trust that they know what they’re doing?” He smiles at me, but the expression isn’t entirely mirthful. “If we get caught, you know who the fall-guy is, right?”
“Stop that,” I growl out, because I’m not sure if he’s actually worried or just playing with me. “You guys better have a backup plan for Officer Young.”
“We’re not worried about her,” Cal tells me, pitching his voice nice and low. The fingers of his right hand knead my shoulder slightly, and I shudder with pleasure. “She might be able to follow a trail, but she’s still a pig. We have plans.” Callum pauses briefly and gives a small sigh, like he’s prepping to tell me something he isn’t sure I’ll like. “They involve your mother.”
Ah.
One of my darkest shadows; one of my biggest disappointments.
Pamela.
By Monday, it’s clear that Sara Young is interested in Havoc, but mostly … she’s interested in me. If I ride with Hael, she’s behind us. If I walk with Callum, there she is. Doesn’t matter which Havoc Boy, as long as I’m there, she’ll follow.
She’s still trying to be the good cop to Constantine’s bad, but it doesn’t make any difference because she’s already laid out her intentions loud and clear. She doesn’t have any evidence … yet. But she’s going to keep digging.
By Thursday, I’m so done with her shit that I don’t even bother trying to start class with Mr. Darkwood; I just storm into Ms. Keating’s office and fling the door against the wall.
Apparently, Principal Vaughn was about to lock it, because I appear to have ripped the doorknob from his one remaining useable hand.
In one of two chairs in front of Ms. Keating’s desk, I see Kali Rose-Kennedy.
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, eyes widening slightly before narrowing.
“Bernadette,” Officer Young says, smiling and holding out a hand to indicate I should take a seat. “Funny you should show up here, right now. What a coincidence.”
“What’s going on?” I ask as I slip into the room and stop next to Kali’s chair. The empty one is on her other side, but that’s not my point. I stay where I am, looming over her. “I just figured since you’ve been calling me in here so damn much, I’d jump the gun and come myself.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Constantine suggests as Kali shifts slightly in her seat and then flips her hair. Her eyes take me in from head to toe as my tongue tingles with the taste of gossip. If she was in here squealing, god help her. Prescott always knows a snitch. “Bernadette?”
After an awkward period of silence where I just stare at Kali until she gets uncomfortable again, I finally take my seat. Looking back over at her, I take great pride in seeing that she’s still bruised and swollen in the face.
“Kali here wanted to talk to us about a few things,” Sara says, and I can see it in her eyes that she’s just laid an awful trap. It’s too obvious for my liking, but it also makes me sick to my stomach at the same time. What Officer Young has just done is this: look, Bernadette, here’s a snitch; if something happens to her, I’ll know you did it.
Because seriously, no police officer—not even one as ignorant as Sara Young—would make the mistake of outing a student informant in front of a possible suspect.
I resist the urge to clench my teeth.
I’m not sure if Kali knows what Sara’s doing; she looks a bit disturbed by the whole situation.
“Kali was telling us how you, her, and Neil had a conversation on that Friday he went missing. She said she saw you getting violent with your stepdad.” I smile and do my best not to blurt out that Kali could very well be carrying Neil’s baby. His or Mitch’s, I guess. Definitely not David’s, I’m sure about that.
David explains how Kali might’ve run into Tom Muller and, by consequence of that, Ophelia Mars. She hates her son; Kali hates me. It might’ve seemed like a match made in heaven. Oscar might think I’m making a jump of logic, assuming Kali went after my stepdad because of his connection to me, but that’s only because he didn’t see the way she was looking at me and Aaron together.
She still has it, that awful, writhing tentacle of jealousy. It’s wrapped around her throat, squeezing the life out of her. I’d feel bad for her, you know, if she hadn’t called Havoc on me.
“I only know what I saw,” Kali says, crossing her legs at the knee. She’s wearing hot pink lipstick today, along with jean shorts that show her ass, and peep toe pumps. Guess she didn’t learn a lesson the last time I stomped her toes with my boots. “Sorry, Bernie, but I couldn’t lie.” She gives me a sympathetic sort of look, but I ignore her.
Her obsession with me shouldn’t have to be my problem.
I’m starting to think she’s legitimately crazy which almost makes me feel sorry for her. Almost, but then I’m also dead certain that she has no soul.
“And me and Ms. Keating only know that he pistol-whipped her in the face and sent her to the hospital. If you’re trying to use Kali against me, you’ve made a mistake.” I look from Sara to Constantine and sigh. “What you have done is ensure that Stacy Langford and her girls are going to jump Kali after school. Nobody likes a snitch.”
“I’m not snitching,” Kali scoffs, like that didn’t even occur to her. “The detective”—she gestures at Constantine, gold bracelets jangling—“asked what happened on Friday, and I told the truth the way I know it to be. I’m sure you did the same.”
“Please don’t be surprised when you find her lying in a ditch tomorrow morning,” I say, shoving up and out of the c
hair. Once in the hallway, I find Oscar waiting again. He seems to like hovering around to see if I’ll fuck up.
“What?” I ask, but he just shakes his head slightly.
“Not everything is about you, Bernadette; I’m here to monitor Kali.” Oscar leans back against the rusted lockers and crosses his arms over his suit jacket, button-down, and tie. He watches me carefully as I approach but keep my distance at the same time. “Anything to report?”
“Officer Young’s using her to pick at us. She basically admitted that Kali was a snitch, to see if we’d move on her.” Oscar just smiles at my explanation, his lips a razor-sharp slash across the bottom of his wicked face. He knows as well as I do that we won’t have to do anything to see that Kali gets a spanking from the students of Prescott.
“Fantastic. I’d hate it if something were to happen to the good officer, after all the hard work she’s putting into this case.” Oscar keeps his gray eyes focused on Ms. Keating’s door as he lounges in the shadows, his feet encased in a pair of those pretty loafers with the metal skulls on the tops.
“You can’t hurt her, you know,” I tell him, and he shifts his unyielding attention over to me. “Sara Young. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“And you are not the morality police,” Oscar explains as my nostrils flare with anger. Motherfucker. “When it comes to your list, we are on your schedule and your whim. Otherwise, you are the same as any of us: just one sixth of a slice of Havoc.”
“You’re so fucking rude, you know that?” I snap back at him, knowing this isn’t the time or place for us to have a conversation about anything personal. Oh well. “Why did you run out on me? Seriously. I thought we were getting somewhere. You told me you were trying to keep my flame from being snuffed out; you said I was incandescent.”
He stares back at me like he’s trying to decipher a complex chemical reaction.
“I think I know why you ran,” I say, and he extends a pale hand, his palm the only part of it that isn’t wrapped in ink.
“Do tell then, Bernadette. Enlighten me on my own motivations.”
Mayhem at Prescott High Page 23