#FashionVictim

by Amina Akhtar

  “I was busy dealing with a few things, but I’ll be sure to get back on the wagon,” I said, gritting my teeth.

  “Great, let’s not have this talk again, Anya.”

  Cassie and Sarah made up. I don’t know how or why. But they were back to planning their weekend. My sabotage had been ineffective. I had been ineffective, only managing to bring them even closer together. I hid in the computer closet and sobbed.

  “Fucking failure! Goddammit, do better! Anya the Asshole.”

  I wouldn’t be disturbed here, and if anyone heard me, they pretended not to. Everyone avoided the Murder Hallway still. There were rumors of it being haunted. Mulberry was the only one around to comfort me. She was sweet. She didn’t have any dirt on the intern, though. Sweet but useless. I was sick of seeing that damn shoe in her face.

  To make myself feel better, I did some online shopping. Retail therapy always worked. Some jewelry, a vitamin C serum, and a new hunting knife. I couldn’t wait to put my new toys to use. A sharp knife could handle anything, even a plagiarizing intern. I know, I should have just asked Evie for some serum, but she was the worst.

  * * *

  Cassie was a squirmy little thing. Thankfully, the park closed at night so no one was around to hear her thrash about. It was one week before Halloween, and if anyone saw us, they’d think this was a weird prank. Cassie was stronger than I expected. I really wish those boot-camp classes would go out of style—they made my life so much harder.

  But do as many push-ups as you like, I will persevere. I parked the rental van in a field past Avalon Park outside the city. Hikers would find her in a few days—I was counting on it. I dragged her out and threw her on the ground. She groaned through the duct tape.

  I sat on top of her and slapped her. “Cassie, wake up. Wake up.”

  She was groggy from the bump on her head. I would use chloroform, but it takes more than five solid minutes of inhaling to knock someone out. (TV shows are so misleading about that.) I picked up my hunting knife and carved a two-inch slice into her right cheek. She bucked under me, her eyes opening wide. She wanted to scream, but her lips couldn’t move through the tape. I had bound her arms too. Better to be careful, right?

  “Hello, princess! Good, you’re up.” I glared at her. Usurper. I watched the blood drip down the side of her face and into her hair. Her dyed-blonde locks looked muddy with the blood.

  “Did you know that in 1982—way before you were born, I know—there was a serial killer here? Well, not here. But in Long Island. Anyways, he liked to call himself the Raptor because he hunted his prey like a bird.”

  She blinked at me. I was counting on her confusion from the head bump to chill her out. She couldn’t move anyways. I had triple-taped her arms. Try squirming now, intern.

  “Anyways, his real name was Joseph Landon. And like so many pathetic male killers, he’d leave a calling card. Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?” I laughed.

  Cassie’s eyes searched for help.

  “He’d carve the word Raptor into girls’ faces. What a nutjob, right?”

  Cassie nodded. Finally, she was getting me. We were on the same fucking page.

  “He finally got caught, but he’d killed, like, way more women than anyone ever found.” She made a noise against the duct tape over her mouth. “Don’t fucking rush me! What is your damage, anyways? Like, you’re my intern—you work for me. And you’re going to stay still and keep quiet until I’m done. Got it?”

  She nodded her head slowly. Ugh, she was so annoying. I put the knife down next to her head.

  “The reason I’m telling you all this is because you are a total copycat. All you do is copy people. You copy Sarah, you copy stories. You even copied Lisa by joining the fucking trinity. And the whole Greg thing. Gross! You’re so damn pathetic!” I wanted to laugh, but listing each of her offenses enraged me more and more. Cassie was a shitty intern.

  Her eyes opened even wider, pupils dilated. She was gearing up to fight. Bring it, bitch. She tried to shake me off her, but my hands were already around her throat. Her arms were still tied, but even if she could free them and scratch me, I wore long sleeves and gloves. For added fun, I was wearing my blonde Sarah wig.

  “I wish you’d put this much effort into your work! Do you know how far you’d have gone?”

  I slapped her hard just to punctuate my sentence. Body language really helps get the message across. She was crying now, just as we were starting to have some fun. Cassie always had to ruin things. I had never loathed another human as I did Cassie Sachs.

  Do you know just how much pressure it takes to choke the life out of someone? More than you realize, and at the same time, so much less. It’s almost shocking, like that moment you’re holding an egg and it breaks in your hands. Or squeeze a glass too hard and suddenly you have shards everywhere. It’s so easy to extinguish a life this way. It’s a wonder we all don’t do it more often.

  Watching her eyes bulge only pissed me off more. Who the fuck was she to make faces at me? This was who Sarah wanted to take to Miami? Ugh, I couldn’t even. I let go and grabbed my knife again.

  “You’re making me do this.” I raised my arm and brought the knife down over and over again. “Why [Stab!] did you [Stab!] have to be [Stab!] such a loser? [Stab! Stab! Stab!] You’re not Sarah’s BFF! [Stab! Stab! Stab!] I am! [Stab!] You’re never [Stab!] going to work [Stab!] in this industry [Stab! Stab!] again! [Stab! Stab! Stab!] Fucking intern. [Stab! Stab!]”

  I was out of breath by the end. Between lifting her and killing her, Cassie was working me out. At least I could skip the gym now.

  “You’ll never take my place with Sarah again.”

  I felt relief when it was done, when she was more blood than person. Her torso was riddled with wounds, her head nearly decapitated. I was finally getting rid of one giant problem in my life. No more idiotic intern not following my rules. No more bullshit. No more sucking up to Sarah, trying to be her bestie. Sarah had only one BFF, and that was me.

  “It’s me!” I screamed. No one heard me. I heard Dr. M’s voice in my head, suggesting I was only trying to hurt myself by doing this. Transference or some shit. Ugh, I was not looking forward to our next session.

  Killing Cassie was over so fast. I wanted it to last longer, to feel the endorphins for as long as I possibly could. I breathed in deeply, trying to make it last, feeling a wave of bliss wash over me. This was everything. I felt calm and content. No more seeing red, except for the blood. No more panic at being found out (for the time being). My head didn’t hurt. Chest pains gone. And then, like most happy moments in life, the euphoria was gone. Disappointing and yet satisfying at the same time. Like a quick fuck done well.

  I carved Raptor into the left side of her face. On her forehead, I added the word Intern.

  I sat back, looking at my work. It wasn’t bad. Her outfit was covered in blood. What a waste. I was pretty sure she was wearing Wes Gordon for Carolina Herrera. Chic. I stripped her naked, took her clothes, and pulled out her nails for later. I poured bleach all over her, making sure she was clean. Purified. Then I posed her with arms spread like wings.

  Satisfied, I took a photo with a burner phone and then drove to the beach. No one ever notices a bonfire on the beach. Watching her clothes burn reminded me of Meredith. I wondered what she was up to now, all charred and dead. I wish I had marshmallows. I wiped the car down and left it in the city. I wondered if it was too late to kill Frou-Frou and bury them together.

  Steps taken: 8,276. Calories burned: 2,200.

  11

  My eyes cracked open. Last night’s workout with Cassie had left me sore and exhausted. Muscles I didn’t know existed hurt every time I moved. I wanted to stay in bed. Sleep it off. But not today. Today was fashion Christmas. It was the Manolo sample sale.

  The line already stretched down the block, but La Vie girls never wait in line. I went up to the door. Jack and Sarah stood two people front of me.

  “Um, we don’t know
her,” Sarah muttered to the Lauren-bot with a clipboard. (Jack still waved.)

  “Where the hell is Cassie? Wasn’t she meeting us?” he asked. Sarah only shrugged.

  The Lauren-bot in charge smiled at me. “Good morning! The VIP room is through there. Just show me your ticket, please.”

  I waved my sacred golden ticket like this was a chocolate factory and breezed in, ready to begin piling up my treasure. My idea of pure heaven: shoes everywhere. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of leather. I love the smell of freshly made shoes. This was zen.

  I decided on a pair of black suede pumps and another pair of blue ones (to replace the ones Diana ruined); patent ones in red, aubergine, and black; a pair of loafers; and two pairs of boots. All things in moderation.

  I waved at Sarah, who was giggling with Jack. Go say hi, Anya. Stop being a weirdo. I took a deep breath, psyching myself up to spar with Jack when the ankle boot I was holding was snatched out of my hand.

  “Oh, were you going to buy that?” A tall glamazon was waving my precious shoe in the air. She had almost a whole foot on me. I’d never be able to reach. She looked all of nineteen and chock full of attitude—an assistant.

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “Too bad. It’s mine now.”

  Was there no etiquette left in this world? I couldn’t believe it. She turned to keep browsing, her bag full of shoes. The buzzing was back. Every second she held my boot, it grew louder. Sarah would never tolerate this shit. I glanced to make sure no one was watching before kicking the back of Glamazon’s knee with my sneaker, sending her tumbling down, howling in pain. She was lucky I wasn’t in boots.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! My bag must have hit you!” I said in a loud voice, leaning down to help her and snatching my shoes from the ground. Quietly, I added, “No, I think it’s mine now. Learn some fucking manners.”

  As I turned to leave, I spied Mulberry filling up her bag, her Marc Jacobs shoe popping out of her head like a fascinator.

  “Well, that’s one way to get what you want.” Jack smirked at me. His perfect eyebrows waggled, as if they were laughing at me. “Who knew you were so vicious, Anya?”

  Where had he even come from?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I continued browsing. Fuck. I needed to be more careful. My lust for boots made me sloppy.

  “Yeah, okay, babe. But, like, that was hardcore. I approve.” He did?

  “Approve of what?” Sarah asked.

  “Of Anya turning shopping into a contact sport. Is that girl’s knee broken?”

  “No, but she’ll be limping for a while.” I said it without meaning to. I covered my mouth.

  Jack looked at me shrewdly. “Interesting. You know, there’s a lot more to you than I thought.”

  “Oh, please, Jack. Hey, hold my shoes, A.” Sarah dumped four more pairs on top of what I was already holding. “But she’s such a good minion. Right?” She grinned.

  “I dunno. I wouldn’t push her.” Jack knew. I looked at his face. His eyes. He was grinning at me. “I mean, she did just kick a girl’s ass for stealing her shoe. That’s so maje.” He winked at me. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

  “Come on, she’s a teddy bear. Right, Anya?” Then as if to demonstrate my cuddliness, Sarah hugged me. She actually hugged me. I froze. She had never hugged me before. I knew it was for show, but it still felt heavenly.

  “I’m gonna go pay,” I muttered, turning my fiery face away from Jack’s all-seeing eyes.

  “Don’t hurt anyone, Anya!”

  “Oh, I have to pay too.” Sarah trailed behind me. “Don’t you just love Jack?” she asked.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t feeling love at the moment. Panic, fear, annoyance, and anger, perhaps. But love?

  “Sure, he’s great. We ran into each other while you were gone.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Wouldn’t it be great if he worked with us?”

  With us? At La Vie? No way.

  “We don’t cover men’s.” It was the most diplomatic answer possible.

  “But maybe we should. I think it’d be fab.”

  “What would?” I jumped at Jack’s voice. He was like a cat. I needed to put a bell on him.

  “You joining us at LV.”

  “Right? It’d be to die for, girls. But not literally. Especially after the Mulberry sitch.” He looked around, likely to see if there was anyone else he had to say hi to. Jack was the king of networking.

  “Whatever, it’s totally safe there.”

  “Well, yeah, if you have body-slamming Anya with you!” Jack snorted. “Seriously, is that girl’s knee okay?”

  “She’s fine,” I muttered.

  Jack reached out and grabbed each of us. “Girls, aren’t you freaked? There’s a killer in your office. Or he, like, came to your office. Whichever. Still creepy as fuck.”

  Sarah nodded in reply. I shrugged.

  “What if,” Jack continued, dropping his voice, “what if the killer is someone we know? Like in the biz?” Sarah and I both gasped, but for different reasons. “Mulberry gets offed. Then Lisa. What if some sick serial killer has a hard-on for fashion girls? O-M-G, that means you two could be next!”

  He clapped his hands. I don’t think he wanted us dead, but the excitement of it all was too much.

  “Gross, Jack. No. That’s not what’s happening.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “We’re so beyond safe. Right, Anya?”

  “Of course. Besides, do we even know if Mulberry and Lisa are linked? I mean, let’s wait to hear from the police.” My head hurt. The buzzing was getting louder. I wanted to rub my temples, but my hands were holding all the shoes. “Anyways, there’s a thirty-three percent chance the murders won’t be solved.” They both stared at me. “I heard it on NPR. Just, like, statistics.” Crime shows make you think every homicide will be solved thanks to a stray hair, a random skin cell. It wasn’t real. Nothing was as advanced as what we saw on TV.

  “Dark, Anya,” Jack said. “I’m just saying something is really messed up around here. I still think it’s someone we know.”

  A hysterical bubble of laughter came out of me. I didn’t mean for it to. But it did. Sarah and Jack stared at me.

  “Oh, come on! Who is smart enough to pull that off? Obvi not one of us.” I laughed again, to show how absurd it all was.

  Mulberry waved from across the store.

  Sarah glanced back and forth between me and Jack. “You know, Anya’s right. A fashion girl could never pull this off.”

  Jack shook his head. “Y’all aren’t giving yourselves enough credit.” But he dropped it.

  * * *

  I paced my living room. It wasn’t really a full room. My apartment was one big box with a closet splitting it down the middle. I walked from my front door to my windows, which faced the East River. Walk and breathe.

  Jack knew. I don’t know what he knew, exactly. But he knew a little. He saw me kick that girl, and it clicked or something. Shit, what if he had followed me to Lisa’s? Seen me leave her apartment? What if he’d gone to the police? He wouldn’t be able to resist Detective Hopper’s dreamy eyes. I could barely resist them. Hopper would get to him, force Jack to dig up dirt on me. I couldn’t even blame Jack for it. Ugh, Detective Hopper could get me to spy for him if he asked nicely enough.

  I was suddenly positive that Jack was recording each and every conversation we’d ever had. I called Dr. M.

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit paranoid?” he said slowly, cautiously.

  “Paranoid? Dr. M! He said one of us was the killer. What kind of person says that?”

  “Maybe Jack’s trying to rattle you. Or is it possible he’s the one the police are looking for?”

  “Huh. I never thought of it like that. He could be the prime suspect. He never cared for Mulberry. And Lisa was one of his closest, but you never can tell.” Was Dr. M onto something? Did the police think Jack was the root of all fashion evil?

  “What if, and hear me out, what if he just wants to be
friends with you? It seems like so far he’s been on Team Anya.”

  I tilted my head. Was Dr. M right? In the loud clutter that filled my thoughts, Jack’s smile and wave from the Highline party jumped out. Jack defending me in the car. I didn’t know if I could trust him yet. You couldn’t let your guard down with anyone in fashion. But maybe, just maybe, I could get Jack to be my friend. Then Sarah would fall in line. The trinity needed a third.

  “Maybe. I mean, that would be great. But it’s so hard to know who to trust in this industry.” There was an awkward pause.

  “Are we going to talk about Cassie?” he finally asked.

  “Ugh, no. She won’t be a problem anymore.” I could hear him sigh. He was not happy with me. I was going to get a failing grade for everything this week.

  “Anya, do I need to point out that you’re transferring your feelings onto your intern?”

  See? Told you so.

  “That maybe you realize how unhealthy your obsession with Sarah is?”

  “No, Cassie was just annoying. We’re nothing alike. I did Sarah a favor. Cassie was screwing her boyfriend. I gotta go.” I hung up.

  Transferring. Pssh. Shrink jargon was such bullshit. Why do psychiatrists always try to force some big breakthrough on you? Didn’t they know it had to be organic? But he was right about something—Jack was confusing. I had zero idea what his intentions were. And until I did, he was majorly suspect. Jack complimented me a lot this morning. It made me feel warm and confused. Did he want to be friends? People only say nice things when they want something from you. But what could Jack possibly want from me?

  He texted Sarah for my info. He called me crazy and chic. Sarah stopped replying. The parental monitoring app had paid for itself. I felt happy and strangely nauseous.

  * * *

  Sarah was sulking at her desk the next morning.

  “What’s the matter, Sarah? Don’t like your shoes?”

  “No, it’s Jack. He’s being weird, is all. Sometimes his taste level is really low.” She grimaced. She meant me.

  “Oh? What’s he going on about now?” Play it cool, Anya.

  “Ugh, you. You’re all he talks about. Can you believe it?”