by S. Massery
A friendly neighborhood watchdog.
I take the card. Much like McAdams’s partner’s, I tuck it into my pocket. All I want right now is a hot shower. My limbs are numb, and a chill has settled into my bones. It takes me two tries to unlock the front door, and another few attempts at my apartment door.
Weakly, I type in the alarm code and then reset it. The apartment feels different. Quiet, for one. There’s a note on the fridge from Whitney, telling me she’s gone home for the weekend and she’ll be back for classes on Monday.
Nice of her to leave a note, I suppose.
It means the apartment will be mine for the foreseeable future, so I make quick work stripping off my clothes and turning on the shower. A rinse and then a bath sounds like a good afternoon.
It’s already almost four o’clock.
We lost hours in the woods, and it felt like only moments.
I set my phone on the counter and hop in, groaning under the hot spray. I used to think that showers would solve all of life’s mysteries—or at least unlock the mysteries hidden in my brain.
Alas… that never happened.
Those boxes in my head stay sealed up.
Once my hair is thoroughly washed, the cut avoided, and my body somewhat more pliable, I plug the drain and fill the tub with hot water. I exhale slowly as I submerge, stopping when the water reaches my chin.
I close my eyes and try not to replay my afternoon. The fall was bad, but finding Natalie is something I don’t think I’ll ever get over.
I brush my fingers on my throat, imagining how it would feel to be flayed open, pumping out blood. Tears burn behind my closed eyelids, and my throat closes. Soon enough, it’ll be all over the news.
My phone’s ringtone is jarring.
I lean over and dry my hand, then pick it up. An unfamiliar New York City number flashes at me. Or it could be someone from Rose Hill. Same area code.
It could also be a spam caller.
After a moment of debate, I answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Skylar?”
I bite my lip.
The man continues, “We met a long time ago. My name is Jim Masters, I’m a detective with the Rose Hill Police Department.”
His voice sounds vaguely familiar, but anxiety pricks along my skin.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I heard what happened.” He pauses. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
I sit up, and soapy water sloshes around me at the violent movement.
“You heard? How?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on the case,” he admits.
“Of Natalie’s disappearance,” I confirm.
“Of the three missing girls.”
I squint. “There’s only been two. And neither are missing anymore.”
“The third has been kept under wraps from the summer,” he says evenly. “She hasn’t been found.”
Maybe I didn’t actually find Natalie.
Hope surges through me. It could’ve been the other girl—the one missing from the summer.
“Skylar?”
“Sorry, what?”
He sighs. “Jasmine was an international exchange student. Her parents only just now got clearance to fly into the country. There hasn’t been a big fuss because no one pushed for the police to give a shit.”
“How could that possibly be?”
“She has a history of abusing pain medication. No sign of struggle. No one reported her missing except her roommate.”
“Like Amber?” I ask.
“The only thing found in Amber’s blood was a strong sedative.”
I shiver.
The prick of a needle going into my skin is too real. I rub at my neck, trying to imagine away the pain. A sedative. That’s how the kidnapper—the killer—must’ve got her into his vehicle. Or maybe she went willingly, and it was only later that he drugged her.
“Are they checking Natalie for the same thing?”
“I can’t confirm…”
“Bullshit, Detective,” I snap. “Pretty sure this whole phone call is outside your legal operating procedures, right?”
“We had met,” he repeats. “I came to your house, and you were very upset. Do you remember?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve had enough remembering, enough traumatic thoughts, to last a lifetime.
“I don’t,” I say. “Thank you for the information. The school has already advised us to be vigilant, so I’m not sure what else there is to be done.”
He grunts his affirmation and wishes me a good evening.
I drop my phone to the bath mat and sink fully under the water.
Tomorrow, things will be better. The news will come out, and I won’t have to lie anymore.
I’ll go back to being insignificant and invisible.
18
Sky
My doorbell rings, and automatically my suspicion escalates. Whitney would have a key. Liam would pick the lock. And Jake probably would’ve told me he was coming.
I step up to the door and lift the little metal plate that hides the peep hole. My hand is trembling, and I press it against the door for a moment. I have to concentrate on stilling it.
When I finally look through the hole, I blink. “Mom?”
“Open the door, honey. Please?”
I can’t get over how put together she seems. Her hair is immaculate. White coat, a burgundy scarf. Makeup, even.
Was it only months ago that she struggled to brush her hair?
She went through a bout of depression after her divorce was finalized, but then she began therapy. She saw the doctor two times a week, and the difference in her confidence is crazy. Inspiring, too.
I sigh. “Okay, um, one second.”
I check my hair and the fresh bandage on my forehead. I’ve been in my pajamas all day: gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Liam’s, actually, but I try not to think about that. I contemplate changing for half a second but dismiss the idea. My head still hurts, and dealing with the bruises of my fall… Mom will understand if I’m not dressed to impress.
Besides, she’s been rebelling against my style for the last year and a half. Once I realized I wasn’t going to fit in, I decided to dive headfirst into that mindset. Liam made me an outcast, but I completed the look.
I glance around the apartment and sigh. It’s not nearly as much of a mess as it could be, and that’ll have to suffice.
Except, when I open the door, Mom isn’t there. Her voice drifts from down the hall, so I step out of my apartment. She’s walking away from me, her phone pressed to her ear.
But apparently, Mom didn’t travel alone. Liam leans on the wall next to my door, arms crossed. His muscles bulge in his white t-shirt, and my gaze wanders against my will. He’s pure, lean muscle.
All the times he ignored me in high school comes to the forefront of my mind, and I wish more than anything that we could go back to that.
It would beat the glare he’s giving me.
I square my shoulders. “What are you doing here? Again?”
This is my safe space.
Except… he’s made a habit of violating that over the years.
He pushes off the wall and gestures for me to go back into the apartment.
Not wanting to cause a scene—because he will, whether it’s in the hall or out of reach of my prying neighbors—I do it. He follows me, moving like a predator. All sleek and silent, not taking his focus off me.
It’s been twenty-four hours, and I haven’t left the apartment. Whitney hasn’t returned, either, and I know she’s avoiding me. Her parents, too. Her door was left open, and in a fit of desperation this morning, I went in.
Everything about Whitney is black and white. She keeps a very organized personal life, social life, and she’s involved in a hundred things at school. But her room? It always resembles the aftermath of a bomb going off. Clothes on the floor, makeup and water bottles scattered across her desk. Her backpack hung from the
back of her chair, and her comforter was in a ball in the middle of her bed.
I had the news playing on my phone as I laid in bed this afternoon, heard that the body was discovered by another Ashburn student. There hasn’t been an identity released of the body—investigators were waiting to confirm, apparently, and weren’t inclined to share with the media. The news outlets also didn’t name me, but a few people had to know where Taryn and I were going yesterday. Liam, mainly. That’s why he’s here.
I search for something else in his eyes, but all I see is anger.
“What did you feel when you found her?” He presses his forearm to the wall next to my head.
He’s boxed me in, and I didn’t even realize it.
I narrow my eyes. “You want to know how I felt?”
He smirks and tugs on a lock of my hair that’s come loose from the tie. He winds it through his fingers.
I hold perfectly still.
His knuckles brush my jaw, and I hold my breath. He wraps his hand, still tangled in my hair, around my throat.
If this is worry, I don’t think I want to see indifference.
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“About not doing anything stupid? Or was it something else?”
His fingers tighten, and I force myself not to react.
“I remember,” I force out.
“So then you go on a little hike alone?”
I meet his eyes and say nothing. There’s no point in arguing that I wasn’t alone. Because being with Taryn was almost worse, in a way.
He isn’t even squeezing my throat—and we’ve been in this position before. I hold still and hope he can’t feel my rapid pulse under his fingers.
This is worse than the times he kissed me, because I want him to kiss me. I want him to take out his anger on my mouth, but my mother is in the hallway.
He suddenly grins. “Don’t worry, angel. You’re going to regret that decision in about two minutes.”
His hand drops away, and he steps back, leaving me pressed against the wall. Breathless.
Mom pushes the apartment door open and glances around, taking stock, before her attention lands on me. “Skylar. You and Liam getting along?”
He’s moved away from me, putting a few feet between us, and he’s watching me carefully. Is this a test?
My heartbeat skips, and my limbs decide to follow my direction again. I skirt Liam and rush to Mom, throwing my arms around her. I haven’t seen her since the summer.
Dad moved me into the apartment, and he’s been up once since Labor Day. Most of the decorating fell to Whitney and her parents, but I didn’t mind that so much. I picked out pieces for my bedroom, trying to develop my own style.
Liam probably had to show Mom how to get in, since every time she’s been in the city, we haven’t made it back here. Weird to think that this is her first time in my apartment.
“So, um, why are you here?” I blurt out.
She narrows her eyes. “I can’t visit my daughter?”
“Towing around my mortal enemy?”
Liam chokes.
Mom flushes. “I came up as soon as I saw the news, honey. You said yourself that the girl was your friend.”
“They don’t know it’s her. And Natalie isn’t my friend.” I grab a glass and pour myself water, then frown. “Wasn’t.”
“But…”
“She’s my roommate’s best friend. So, not really mine. Didn’t you hear that the detectives haven’t released the name of the girl yet?” I don’t want to think about Natalie, because then the image of her body will be front and center in my head. And if that happens, there’s no chance I’ll be sleeping tonight.
“Maybe you should come home,” Mom suggests. “Just until they catch whoever is doing this.”
I almost protest, then catch myself. I was going to say it couldn’t be just one person, but even the detective on the phone yesterday thought it could be a serial killer.
A serial killer in Boston, abducting college-aged girls before slitting their throats.
Well, not Amber. She was sedated and beaten death, then dumped in an alley. That’s why they suspected her boyfriend, after all.
And Jasmine… I’m not sure.
He probably shouldn’t have told me about the sedative.
“Stop.” Liam takes my hand.
I shake myself and look down at the hand he holds.
“You were scratching at your neck.”
I tilt my head. “Right.”
“It’s a bad habit,” he continues, narrowing his eyes.
I glare back. “And you’re the boss of which parts of my body I can touch, huh?”
“When you’re just—”
“Enough,” Mom chides. “Arguing will get you nowhere, right? I raised you better than that.”
I wince and pull my hand from his grasp. “Are you hungry? I don’t know if I have much, but I could make something…”
“We could do dinner,” Mom offers. “My treat.”
Liam sighs. “I can’t. My brother is heading back to college tonight, so I need to see him off. But perhaps you can tell her what we discussed?”
My gaze bounces back and forth between them. “Um, discussed? With each other?”
“I want you to keep an open mind,” Mom says carefully. “Can you promise that?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “No. I want to be able to freak out without breaking a promise.”
Liam rolls his eyes.
“We’ve offered Liam a job,” Mom says.
I narrow my eyes. Yeah freaking right did she offer Liam Morrison a job. Is it April Fools’ Day? Am I being pranked? “Uh-huh.”
“To…”
“Babysit you,” Liam inserts.
“No!” Mom and I say at the same time.
“No,” she repeats. “To make sure nothing bad happens to you again.”
I straighten. “Again.”
Now she fidgets, picking at the hem of her coat. She’s been inside for the past ten minutes, and she’s still buttoned up. Ready to flee into the cold, I suppose.
“Recent events may trigger your CPTSD.”
Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Emphasis on the complex, since it doesn’t abide by normal PTSD rules. And it’s a diagnosis my Dad fought for eternity.
Well, since I was thirteen.
It explained away the amnesia and my aversion to certain things. Why I sometimes have panic attacks or feel like I’m suffocating.
Nightmares, although I haven’t had those for a while.
“Recent events,” I repeat.
“He’s a fighter, Sky,” she says in a low voice. “And he cares about you. If anyone is well suited to watch your back, it’s him. And his mother let me know he needs the money—”
My gaze goes to Liam. I had no idea he still had financial struggles. But why would I know? It isn’t like we’ve talked more than a handful of times. All of those times seem to have taken place in the last week and a half.
“I think we’ve had enough of this conversation,” he says to my mother. He pivots toward me. “Sky?”
I glance at Mom, trying to piece it together. Dr. Penn had strived to get me to think outside my diagnosis, but the fact of the matter is: it’s there. It exists and it affects me, even if I try to forget about it. It could explain my odd behavior. The way I went numb after I found Natalie—a detail Mom still doesn’t seem to know about. She didn’t mention the woods, my fall. Her hug didn’t hold back. She didn’t even blink at the bandage on my head, except a small crinkle of concern. She has bigger things to worry about, after all. Namely, my CPTSD. That I might hurt myself?
The news hasn’t released any details about Natalie, not the slit throat or her bound wrists. No mention of a sedative, if she was even given one.
Which reminds me…
I pull on Mom’s arm. I’m not sure why, except I have the feeling this next bit would incite in her the urge to run. Right now, I really want answers. “I talked to someone
from Rose Hill yesterday. I think you know them.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”
“Detective Masters.”
She visibly shudders. And even if I didn’t see the revulsion cross her expression, I would’ve felt the cringe through my hold on her arm.
“Did you contact him?” she demands.
“Guy’s an asshole,” Liam adds. “He put Caleb in jail.”
“What?” I stare at him. I must’ve missed that. “When?”
“Senior year.” He shrugs. “The dick thought Caleb kidnapped Margo.”
“Skylar,” Mom snaps. “Did you—”
“I don’t even remember him.” I release her. “He called me. To see how I was doing. He was following the case, and I don’t know if he pulled strings to check up on me or what.” I narrow my eyes. “You know what? That would explain why the captain didn’t want Detective McAdams questioning me.”
I’ve completely flummoxed Mom now. She gapes at me.
It dawns on me how much I haven’t told her.
But… “You brought the captain in,” I accuse Liam.
He holds up his hands, shooting me what’s probably meant to be a soothing smile. Instead, buzzing sweeps through me—the kind of feeling you get when you stand too close to an electric fence.
“You didn’t need to talk to them,” he says flatly.
It’s more than that, I almost insist. But I can’t force the words out. They lodge in my throat, stalled by the silent conversation passing between Mom and Liam.
And suddenly, I’ve had enough.
“I’m tired,” I announce. “I’m going to bed.”
“We were going out to eat,” Mom protests faintly.
“We can get breakfast.” I slip past her and open my door for them. I’m so sick of secrets. It’s infuriating.
They seem to be keeping a lot of them.
“Goodnight.” I reach out and hug her. She’s solid beneath my palms, warm against my body. I wish we had an easy mother-daughter relationship, but our situation is complex. Heightened by the divorce, and Dad’s desire to still be there for me… We’ve struggled.
She shut me out for a time, too.
Neither of us can shoulder the blame, though. It was pure coincidence, circumstantial evidence that seemed to point us in the wrong direction.