Gulping back a sob, Emma scanned the room and all the familiar things that she knew so well: the shag carpet and water bed that the four of them had spent countless hours hanging out on, the bean bags and seventies posters on the walls, and the border of shelves filled with VHS tapes, the spines organized by color. Cassandra's bed was neatly made up, her usual knick knacks left as is on her desk, along with various school supplies. Louise had kept some of Cassandra's things as she'd left them, a pair of white scuffed-up Vans sitting next to her desk, her favorite blue cashmere sweater draped over the chair, as if she might return at any moment. Emma's eyes lingered on these items, a lump forming in her throat. On Cassandra's desk was the Disney snow globe tumbler depicting the characters from Frozen, Elsa facing out.
Emma's stomach churned sickeningly. Her eyes lingered for a long moment on Elsa's fawn-like gaze, a small smile on her red lips. Was it just a coincidence, or had Cassandra tried to leave a message? She'd once remarked that the conflict and tension between the sisters in Frozen, Anna and Elsa, reminded her of the sort of relationship she had with Samantha. "I'm Anna, and Sam is Elsa. That's why Anna always faces out." Emma stepped back into the hall and closed the door before making her way to Sam's room.
She paused in the doorway. The once olive green walls were now a creamy off-white. A self-portrait of Sam hung in the place of the serial killer poster, the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen horror picture removed as well. The room was messy, with several coffee mugs littering her desk and nightstand, blue jeans discarded on the floor, a strappy sandal at the foot of her bed, missing its mate. Several tops were strewn about, an open makeup bag nestled in the mussed covers of her unmade bed. The journal Cassandra had mentioned with the letter to Hunter from Poppy tucked into it was nowhere to be seen.
Emma strode over to Sam's desk and tried the long skinny drawer to the right. It slid open a crack and then wouldn't move any further. She yanked harder, and the small desk wobbled, an open can of Coke toppling over and spilling its contents.
"Shit," Emma hissed, righting the can, the opening red from Sam's lipsticked mouth. Emma gazed around for something to soak up the black puddle of liquid as it traveled across the surface of the desk and dripped onto the carpeted floor. She ran into the bathroom and grabbed a wad of toilet paper, mopping up the spill and dabbing frantically at the wet, dark spots on the carpet.
The front door unlocking had Emma freezing in her movements as she listened to the door open and shut. Then, coming to life, she darted for the bathroom, but her foot caught on a metal wastebasket, and it crashed into the wooden leg of the desk. The sound was explosive to Emma's ears, and she froze again.
"Hello?" Sam's voice carried from the living room. "Is someone here?"
Emma's heart was in her throat as she heard Sam's footsteps coming closer. She scurried into the bathroom, hiding behind the open door. Through the crack, she could make out Sam pausing in the doorway between her room and the hallway. Emma's heart beat so hard she was almost sure Sam could hear it as her dark eyes swept the room. She didn't come in but turned and left, and Emma could hear her moving back toward the living room and kitchen, the sound of a drawer opening.
Was she making something to eat?
Emma crept out of the bedroom and stopped in the hall, silently cursing as the wood creaked under her feet.
"Who’s there?" Sam called out.
Emma bit down on her lip. The den was only twenty feet away, but she didn't dare move. There were clattering sounds, like silverware knocking together. Seizing the moment to move under cover of the racket, she jogged on tiptoe toward the den, pausing when it became suddenly still and quiet. Chancing a look over her shoulder, an electric jolt of fear shot through her body. Sam stood in the living room with a large kitchen knife in her hand. She was looking away from Emma. Grabbing the door handle to her left, Emma opened it and slipped into a small dark space, realizing that it wasn't the den but the hall closet. Her temples pounding, she pushed herself further behind the rack of coats, trying to hear over the crashing sound of her heart as Sam's footsteps moved closer. Emma leaned her head against the back wall as the footsteps stopped and she heard breathing, a faint whistling noise, like Sam was breathing heavily out of her nose. The footsteps started up again, a door opening. A minute later, another door opened and then the footsteps were coming closer again. Emma held her breath. The footsteps moved past the closet, and Emma felt a bit of relief, thinking that as soon as Sam went into her room or back into the living room, she would make a run for it. She strained her ears, listening for sounds of Sam moving about, but an eerie stillness had settled.
Was she nearby?
Emma waited.
Where the hell was she?
Minutes went by, the silence stifling.
She must have gone to her room, Emma thought and reached for the door handle, turning it a little. Nothing happened. She turned it more, then edged the door open. An empty hall. Emma stepped carefully out of the closet, making a dash for the den, but something made her glance back, a feeling more than a sound. Behind her was Sam, the knife gripped firmly in her right hand. She lunged toward Emma, who screamed, a metallic taste flooding her mouth. Throwing her hands over her head, Emma wrenched herself away from the expected thrust of a sharp blade slicing through her flesh. But it never came.
"What the fuck?!" Sam yelled. Emma flinched, letting out a whimper of a cry as she tried to scuttle with her hands still over her head toward the den.
She felt one of Sam's hands grab hold of her arm, wrenching it down and away from her face.
"What the hell are you doing snooping around our house, Emma?"
"I'm sorry," Emma whimpered.
"Fuck," Sam hissed. "You're going to tell me what the fuck you're doing here." She yanked Emma almost off her feet and pulled her back toward her bedroom, Emma jogging behind her. Inside Sam's room, she swung her around with such force that Emma felt the muscles in her shoulder protest. Sam shoved her toward the chair at her desk, eyes hard and flat.
"Sit," she ordered, the knife swinging at her side.
Emma sat mute with terror.
"Talk!"
"Please don't hurt me."
Sam's brows drew together, and then she glanced at the knife in her hand. Her expression changed, grew more menacing as she pinned Emma back to the chair with one of her hands, the other bringing the tip of the knife to rest under Emma's chin. Indescribable terror raced through her body as she met Sam's penetrating, hateful gaze.
"You little shit. You're the one, aren't you?" She said, her voice low.
"The one?"
"Did I stutter?" The point of the knife broke into her skin, creating a sharp sting. Emma panicked. Reflexively, she shoved Sam's hand away. The blade sliced across the surface of her skin, just under her chin, before it fell to the floor. Emma jerked up from the chair but was met with Sam's fist slamming into her face, and she heard the terrible cracking noise of her nose breaking. Emma screamed, and Sam's fist rammed into her belly. For a moment, Emma thought she'd never breathe again, as she doubled over, shocked and sure she was going to die. Sam grabbed her and threw her to the floor.
"You framed Poppy, and you killed my sister, didn’t you?!."
Her voice was as low as a man's, all feminine aspects of her tone gone in that single moment.
"What?" Emma mouthed, still trying to regain her breath, her brain frantically trying to put order to the accusations lobbed at her.
"Isn't that why you're here? To frame me, too?" Sam demanded.
Emma wanted to scurry away but was too afraid to move, worried about the next violent action Sam might do.
"Talk!" Sam ordered again.
Emma squeezed her eyes shut. She'd never been so afraid in her life. "I thought it was you," she whispered.
"What?"
"Cassandra told me she thought it was you," Emma said, louder.
Sam said nothing, and Emma squinted up at her. A warm liquid oozed from her nose and dripped on the carp
et.
"Hold your head back," Sam said. "You're getting blood on my carpet."
Emma did as she was told and felt a clot of blood slide down her throat. "I saw Cassandra the day before she died," she said, swallowing back more blood. "She asked me to meet her at the bakery on the corner. She said you had the letter Poppy sent Hunter, that she saw it sticking out of your journal on your desk. You were in the shower." Emma spoke fast, hoping that something she said would prove her innocence. "But then you got out of the shower and there was no time, so she left. She said you'd been acting weird and that your mom was suspicious, too, and had you take down those serial killer posters from your wall."
Sam said nothing.
Emma kept going. "Cassandra said you used to paint your nails different colors and go to the beach when you were in a good mood, that it had to do with this old movie, La Dolce something, and that you knew Wren. I was trying to find the letter to see what was in it. I didn't want to say anything to the police until I knew for sure."
"Get up," Sam said.
Emma struggled to follow her command but was too weak, and her stomach cramped painfully.
Sam bent and took her arm, gently this time, pulling her up. "Fuck," she hissed. "I'm sorry. I've been on edge. Someone's trying to blackmail me." She grimaced, looking at Emma's face. "Let's get you some ice."
Emma stumbled after her.
In the kitchen, Sam pulled out a soft blue ice pack and gave it to Emma. "I think I might have broken your nose."
Emma gingerly placed the ice pack on her throbbing face, staring curiously at Sam.
When they returned to her room, Sam kicked off her shoes and sank down to her bed, running her hands over her face.
Emma stood against the wall, continuing to ice her nose, which felt like it had swollen to double its size.
"My mom had me take those posters down after they found Hunter," Sam said and shook her head. "I can't believe all this is happening. I feel like I'm living in a nightmare." She glared for a moment at Emma. "But just because I had a fascination with psychopaths, which, by the way, half of America does, doesn't make me a murderer. What the hell? I can't believe Cassandra even entertained that for a minute."
"You were kind of a bitch to Cassandra," Emma said in a small voice.
"Well, Cassandra could be a pain in the ass, and so could the rest of your squad." Sam made a face. "But murder? Really? That's what she thought?"
Emma closed her eyes.
"What else did she say?" Sam asked.
Emma told her everything she and Cassandra had talked about, as well as the picture Posie had of Sam in her phone.
Sam's face paled. "Wren took that picture. I took it off the wall after Wren was found. It made me look sus. I remember catching you studying our family pics, and I thought, what if you come over and start examining all our pictures again?"
Sam shot to her feet and marched toward her closet. She opened the door and rummaged around, then emerged with the letter in her hand, pulling the paper from the envelope, and handed it to Emma.
"Why do you have this?" Emma asked.
"Hunter called me when they couldn't get ahold of you."
"Why would Hunter call you?"
"Because they trusted me. Hunter couldn't get ahold of you. They were terrified and worried. Considering what happened, they had every right to be."
Emma blushed at the memory of ignoring Hunter's call, but she still felt confused. "I didn't even know you and Hunter were friends."
"We got to know each other after Donovan dumped me." Samantha rolled her eyes, but Emma could see the hurt in them. "I was on lunch break from work, crying over that bag of tools in the alley." She shook her head. "Pathetic." Hunter was walking by and stopped to talk with me." A tiny smile broke out on her lips. "They sat with me. Helped me feel better. I'll tell you one thing, Hunter was mature beyond their years. They're the only one out of your crew that didn't get on my last nerve." Sam sighed and collapsed onto her back, throwing her arms over her eyes in a way that reminded Emma of Cassandra.
"Hunter never mentioned being friends with you," Emma said.
"That was Hunter. Never a gossip."
Emma hugged herself, a feeling of sadness sweeping over her as she thought of them. No. Gossiping hadn't been their style. They'd been there for their friends. Yet when Hunter needed help, Emma had gone MIA.
Sam removed her arms from her eyes and stared at Emma. "Don't guilt yourself out," she said. "Anyway, read it. I've wanted to talk to someone about this letter."
Emma unfolded the paper from its well-worn creases, her hands trembling a bit.
Hunter, you're the most level-headed person I know and the kindest.
So many times, I almost told you what was happening with me when you came by today, and I lost my nerve. It's easier for me to put it in letter form.
Someone's trying to blackmail me. I'm too freaked out to even text about it or talk on the phone because I don't know what's been compromised. Someone hacked into my computer and my phone. They somehow got ahold of personal pictures of Wren and me. They're trying to build a case to make it look like I had something to do with Wren's death.
They have pictures of me sexting with Ethan and my history on this site called Candy Porn and videos of me watching it. Every day, they send me something new, and always with the message: I'll let you know when I need something.
I can't take it anymore. I'm thinking of going to the police. Will you go with me? I haven't worked up the nerve to go to my parents, although I'm afraid they'll find out, anyway. I'm scared and sad. You know how conservative my dad is. Half the things I do, he has no clue. He'll never see me the same again. He'll never forgive me.
Let me know when you get this. Hopefully, I can talk to you first before my parents find out everything. But don't mention anything on the phone.
Poppy
"Jesus," Emma muttered.
"Yeah," Sam said.
"So Hunter came here and gave this to you?"
"No. I mean, yeah, but they didn't mean to leave it. By the time I realized they had, I tried to call them, but they never picked up."
"Where was Hunter going?"
Sam gave her an odd look. "Your place. Wasn't Hunter's phone found there?"
Emma nodded. "Why didn't you give this to the police?"
"I was going to, but then..." Sam's voice trailed off and her face seemed to crack, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Someone's blackmailing me, too."
And Emma knew. "Does it have to do with porn?" She asked softly.
Sam's blush grew deeper. "Yeah."
"Me, too," Emma whispered.
Sam's eyes widened.
"It's the Candy Porn site, isn't it?" Emma said.
Sam nodded forcefully. "Yeah. It's fuck all embarrassing as shit. And then I thought, you know, in all the supposed suicides, their nails are done up like how I used to do my nails, right? And the more I thought it over, the more I realized it wasn't a coincidence, and I wondered about this person who was framing Poppy. Remember that video that went out of Wren screaming at her little sister?"
"Yeah?"
"Someone has stuff on us. Someone we know well. If you think about it, they can anonymously send compromising information to the police that can make any of us look guilty. I've just been trying to lie low, waiting for clues. The police have already grilled me about Hunter's call history that night. Some of the last calls on their phone are Hunter calling me and me calling Hunter back."
"What did you say?" Emma asked softly.
Sam shrugged. "The truth. What else can I say? The police have a record of the calls. They could probably retrieve the conversation if they wanted. No sense making up something and having it come back to bite me. I told them that once Hunter got here, they got cold feet and left with the letter—wanted to look at it later."
"They bought that?" Emma asked.
Sam made a face. “No, but so far they can't tie me to anything.”
Emma's f
ace felt numb and she lowered the ice pack.
Sam clicked her tongue. "I really fucked you up. You should get your nose set as soon as possible."
Emma touched her nose. There was a bony protrusion at the bridge, and it felt extremely tender. "My mom's going to lose it," she said. "I wasn't supposed to leave the house."
Sam looked worried.
"I'll tell her I fell," Emma said. A thought came to her then. "A man's been lurking around our place, watching my dad's house in Malibu, and taking pictures."
Sam rolled her eyes. "That obvious, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"My mom hired a PI to investigate Cassandra's friends and Gumption. I met him briefly. He seemed like a dufus."
"Well, that explains that. My mom guessed as much." Emma put the ice pack back on her nose. "I should go to my Santa Monica house, call my mom, and have her pick me up there to take me to the doctor."
"I'll give you a ride," Sam said.
"But what do you want to do about that letter?" Emma asked.
Sam was quiet.
"I don't want to, but I think we should go to the police. I mean, it's murder, right? Someone's picking us off,” Emma said.
Sam chewed her lip. "But why?"
Emma shrugged. "Obviously, we're dealing with a sicko. People like that aren't known for being reasonable."
"That's not what I mean," Sam said. "Of course murdering kids isn't reasonable, but serial killers have their reasons, even if those reasons are twisted. Okay, look. You, me, and Poppy all have one thing in common. We've been using that Candy Porn site."
Emma nodded, her stomach churning. Here she was, discussing her most shameful secret with Samantha Baker, a girl she'd always disliked, and who, up until the past half hour, she had found suspicious. Yet Samantha was a victim as much as Emma in this strange unfolding of secrets and deception.
The Ugly Girls' Club: A Murder Mystery Thriller Page 32