Nightfall

by Douglas, Penelope

  I called her every day, and I hadn’t spoken to him since I’d left after graduation. I interned in San Francisco for the summer, snuck into town in late July to visit her, and then promptly left again to move into my dorm.

  “You should’ve come,” Thea said. “For once, just say…‘yes’.” And then she moaned loudly. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  There were no shortages of parties and fun at Berkeley, but in the two months since school had started, adjusting to a new set of people and new surroundings proved harder than I thought it would be.

  Which was stupid, because I didn’t think anyone would agree I’d particularly adjusted to Thunder Bay, either, and I grew up there.

  I was kind of homesick.

  “I ruin the fun,” I told her with a half-smile. “Trust me.”

  I took out a pack of matches from my drawer and lit the tealight still inside the pumpkin, the warm glow peeking out of his eyes and mouth. We weren’t supposed to be lighting anything in the dorms, but they’d never know.

  I turned off my desk lamp, the darkness making the flickering candle a little spooky.

  Thea undressed and then pulled on her robe, grabbing a towel and her shower caddy.

  “Happy Halloween,” she sing-songed, leaving to take a shower.

  But I spoke up. “Devil’s Night.”

  “Huh?”

  I turned my head, seeing her grip the door handle.

  “Tomorrow is Halloween,” I told her. “Tonight is Devil’s Night.”

  “Like in The Crow?”

  I broke out in a laugh. Devil’s Night, Mischief Night, Cabbage Night…I forgot most of the world outside Thunder Bay—and maybe Detroit—had never heard of it before, other than in the movies.

  She leaned over, looking at the clock on her own desk. “Well, it’s after one,” she said. “It’s Halloween now.”

  She stuck out her tongue and then left, heading down the hall to take a shower.

  Touché.

  I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, closing my textbook for the night. Wrapping a rubber band around my flashcards, I tossed them on the desk and picked up the lid of the jack-o’-lantern and put it back on top.

  I stared at its face. “Emory Scott loves Will Grayson,” I murmured.

  My throat ached with tears.

  I’d never told him I loved him. Emptiness had spread through my insides over the months, and even though it made me feel stronger every time I looked away from him his last year at school—proud that I was surviving him and Martin and Thunder Bay—I never felt like I was winning.

  The longing just grew, and if he walked in here right now, I’d let him pick me up, and I’d wrap my legs around him and not stop touching him the rest of the night.

  My arms hummed with the need to hold him.

  I looked up at the Godzilla on top of my supply drawers on my desktop. I’d done the right thing. Right? I hadn’t wanted him to know what was happening in that house.

  I had to cut him loose.

  But I did regret not trusting him. Whatever I had to lose, I’d lost already. I should’ve told him I loved him, and it wasn’t his fault, and maybe someday…

  Maybe someday.

  I dried my eyes and picked up my phone, tempted to call or text—maybe to apologize, I didn’t know—but if nothing else, maybe he was in Thunder Bay tonight. Maybe he’d come back from Princeton to celebrate, even though he hadn’t come back home last year while I was a senior.

  Or maybe he wasn’t home and everyone else carried on the tradition after the Horsemen had left for college.

  I wanted to see home.

  Logging on to Instagram, I searched #devilsnight and clicked on Recent for anything posted tonight and…

  Images and videos assaulted me all at once, my heart starting to hammer as their faces popped up immediately, swarming the page.

  I smiled, warm everywhere as I caught a glimpse of his smile in one square and his beautiful face, a little thinner than I remembered, with eyes piercing the camera in another.

  I caught sight of Michael’s red mask, Kai’s silver one, Damon kissing some blonde in the shower, but then I spotted a video running in one of the squares, and my brother in the background.

  I grabbed my glasses, putting them back on and holding the phone closer to my face to study the video.

  What was this?

  Guys in black hoodies and masks beat my brother as he hung by his hands in a dark room. The light from the camera phone shone on him, blood streaming down his face and his dark hair matted and sweaty.

  My head spun. No, no, no…

  I glanced at the door, worried Thea would be back, and grabbed my earbuds, plugging them into my phone and clicking the post, turning up the volume.

  “Ah!” Martin growled, his face etched with pain.

  One of the men in black approached him, and I perked my ears to try to hear, but all I heard was mumbling between them.

  After a minute, I heard Martin’s dark laugh, and I winced, remembering that sound.

  This was from when my brother was attacked this past summer. He’d tried to tell me, but I’d refused to answer the phone, only hearing about it from my grandmother. He’d been hospitalized for over a week, but I hadn’t given a shit. He’d been lucky I wasn’t praying for his death.

  One of the men in black lost control, and I sucked in a breath as I watched him pummel Martin, bringing down his fist again and again, my brother’s silver badge glinting in the light.

  Jesus.

  I didn’t have to see his face to know who it was.

  Another one came from behind the camera and started in, the first guy turning around, facing the camera, and…

  My heart sank as I watched him lift his mask.

  Will.

  No.

  He smirked and flipped off the camera, the bile rising up my throat as I scrolled the comments. So many. The video was everywhere.

  It was everywhere. Everyone knew he’d done it.

  “Oh, my God,” I mouthed.

  Exiting out, I scrolled, seeing a video of Damon and Winter Ashby in a shower together, making out or something, and I clicked out of it and reported it to Instagram.

  She was a minor. What the hell? Who’d posted this shit?

  Had someone gotten a hold of their phone?

  The first video was posted an hour ago from a ghost account, by the looks of it, and the only person I wasn’t seeing was Michael in any of them.

  I pulled out my earbuds, dialing Martin and checking the time. After one a.m. here, so it would be after four a.m. in Thunder Bay.

  He didn’t answer, so I called again, still getting no answer. I hesitated a moment and then tried Will.

  Again, no answer.

  God, he might not even be awake yet.

  I sat there, my phone starting to buzz as the world back home started to wake with the news, and old classmates probably wanted to be the first to alert me about the video with Martin in it.

  I inhaled and exhaled. It would be fine.

  Right? They’d get out of this.

  But even saying it, I knew it wasn’t true. Whoever loaded the videos wanted a trial by public opinion. Even if they escaped without a charge, this could get them kicked out of their schools.

  It would undoubtedly embarrass their families on a massive scale.

  Michael.

  Why wasn’t Michael in any of them?

  Whoever posted the videos had the phone. Michael would be on there. He was pretty much the leader.

  And slowly, realization started to crystallize. Either it was Michael who’d posted them, or someone who didn’t want him embarrassed.

  Or his family embarrassed.

  I barely breathed, too many thoughts trying to come up my throat all at once as my brain started to finally catch up.

  If anyone had half a mind to, there would be no way to ignore their behavior if someone shared those videos in the right place, you know? Can you imagine the embarrassment?

  O
h, no.

  I closed my eyes, exhaling a single breath. “Fuck.”

  • • •

  The cab crawled into Thunder Bay hours later, barely able to go more than twenty miles an hour with all the people cluttering the streets.

  It looked like Mardi Gras, only no one was smiling.

  Cameras, news crews…Will was going to be the center of this. His grandfather was a senator.

  We entered the village where Sticks was packed with people and the sidewalks covered. Everyone wanted to be where the action was, and even kids were in the middle of it.

  This was all my fault. God, what had I done?

  After I’d failed to get a hold of anyone, I hadn’t even stopped to throw anything into a bag. I just dressed and dragged Thea out of the shower to take me to the airport since she had a car.

  I couldn’t get a flight out until six a.m. my time, and it was now after six p.m. Thunder Bay time. I’d been able to see bits of pieces on my phone during my layover in Chicago.

  They’d been arrested.

  And Martin was probably in heaven.

  I looked around, people I didn’t even recognize walking the streets. I swallowed a few times, trying to generate some saliva, but I just wanted him out. Back at school where he belonged.

  Will.

  But then I smelled it.

  The fire.

  I turned my head, looking around, and my gaze stopped, seeing the yellow tape on the hill.

  My stomach dropped.

  “Stop,” I breathed out.

  The driver kept going.

  “Stop!” I yelled, digging in my pocket for the cash.

  The car halted, people talking and yelling outside the cab. I threw the money over the front seat and jumped out of the car, racing across the street, through the crowd.

  I gazed up at it as I climbed the small incline—the wood charred, the roof collapsed, and debris everywhere.

  My gazebo.

  Why…who…?

  I spun in a circle, looking around the village and noticing the wood bolted over what used to be a display case at the front of Fane, the jewelry store.

  What the hell happened here last night?

  Tears wet my eyes, but I quickly wiped them away and charged back down the hill and across the street, pushing through the crowd of people until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  I’d built that. Nothing else seemed burned. Why that?

  Like they had to erase me from the town.

  I started running, taking a right down a quieter street and racing to the police station.

  I swung the door open, pushed through all the people inside, and shoved my way through the partition, heading to the offices in the back.

  “Emory!” someone barked.

  But I ignored him, probably a cop to tell me I couldn’t just barge in.

  “Emmy!” another person shouted.

  I dug in my heels, slamming my hands into the double doors and charging over to my brother’s desk.

  It was empty. I looked at Bryan Baker coming back to his desk with a coffee.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the john,” he said, taking a sip. “Have a seat.”

  I set off, heading down the hall and charging into the men’s room.

  Sweat covered my back, and I breathed hard, about to explode. This wasn’t his day. He wasn’t going to win.

  Martin stood at a urinal, the rest of the room apparently empty.

  I glared at him as he turned his head slowly, looking me up and down.

  But he didn’t seem surprised to see me.

  A scar stretched across his jaw as he spoke. “You disappoint me,” he said, turning back around and finishing up. “Of all the things to drag your ass back to Thunder Bay for, you came back for this.” He zipped up his pants and fastened his belt. “You didn’t come back for me when they put me in the hospital last summer.”

  “Let them go,” I demanded.

  He just chuckled, turning around and heading to the sink.

  Turning on the faucet, he pumped some soap and lathered his hands.

  I stepped up. “The video is a fake,” I stated, remaining calm. “Someone spliced in shots of their faces. Afterall, who would be dumb enough to show themselves committing such a heinous crime?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, listening to the story I’d pieced together on the plane ride here.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “I mean, why wear masks in the first place? The Graysons, Moris, and Torrances will pay for any expert you need to back up that story, and I’m sure they’ll be very grateful for your willingness to show their families support.”

  He rinsed his hands, a smile playing on his lips. “And Griffin Ashby?” he pressed. “Am I supposed to ignore the justice he wants for his daughter?”

  “She’s sixteen,” I growled in a low voice. “Not twelve. That law is laughable. Damon didn’t force her.”

  No one thought he did. That video was evident.

  Sure, he was kinda sleazy sometimes, and he was really good at coercion. Maybe he took advantage. She was blind, so…

  My brother certainly wasn’t anyone to ensure justice for young girls.

  “These charges won’t stand.” I inched closer. “All you’ll accomplish is making yourself the enemy.”

  Grabbing some paper towels, he dried his hands and listened, too at ease. Why was he so calm?

  Even if he were confident, Martin didn’t like me talking back to him. What was going on?

  “The town is in shreds tonight,” he mused, looking at me with a gleam in his eyes. “Have you seen the streets? Their heroes are dead. It’s beautiful.” He laughed again, tossing the towels into the trash. “I got each one of those little shits in a cell. Except Crist. My patience has paid off. I just need to be a little more patient.”

  What the hell did that mean? Did he know who posted the videos? Was he in on it?

  “I’m going to tell everyone the truth,” I said. “I’m going to tell them everything you did to me. Will Grayson and Kai Mori will be heroes.”

  He stepped closer, and I retreated a step, bracing myself, but then he said, “Come with me, Emory. I want to show you something.”

  He walked past me, out the men’s room door, and I couldn’t fucking swallow. Fear curdled in my gut.

  Too calm. He was never this calm.

  I spun around and followed him out the door and farther down the hall.

  He didn’t bat an eyelash at anything I’d said. Was he really going to charge a senator’s grandson for giving him the beating he deserved?

  Opening a door on the left, he walked into the dim room, and I stopped, looking inside.

  There was a glass partition and a table on the other side, handcuffs wrapped around a set of fists.

  I drifted in, Will coming into view in the next room as he sat secured to a table all by himself, Kai and Damon nowhere to be seen.

  I rushed up to the glass, pressing my fingertips to it.

  He looked like shit.

  But that bergamot and blue cypress wafted over me as if it were yesterday and he were right next to me.

  My chest shook, taking in the bags under his eyes and the smile that was no longer there.

  “I’m going to tell everyone you’re in love with him,” Martin said. “You’d say anything to protect him. I’m sure I could find witnesses to corroborate a time or two you both were all over each other. The Cove. The school bus, was it?”

  I stared at Will. I knew someone must’ve seen us that night racing through the parking lot.

  “Do you have proof of your allegations?” Martin asked. “Witnesses? Photos?”

  I curled my fingers into fists as Martin came to my side and looked at him, too.

  “He burned down your gazebo, Em.” His tone was steady. Planned. “He’s been fucking everything with a skirt, snorting anything that’ll fit up his nose, and drinking everything that promises him sweet oblivion for the past two years,” he told me.

  I
clenched my teeth, locking my eyes on Will. Look up. Just let me see your eyes.

  “And you still want to be his whore, you fucking sl—”

  I growled. “Their lawyers will get them out of this,” I said, cutting him off. “This entire town is on their side, and whoever isn’t, is on their fathers’ side. No one wants to see them pay.”

  He chuckled and then sighed. “It’s the ones closest to them they can’t trust the most.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But he just kept staring through the glass.

  What does he know? “Who uploaded the videos?” I demanded.

  He just smiled to himself.

  Something was going on. More than just some fuck-up of someone getting a hold of that phone.

  I looked at Will again. He sat back in his seat, staring at the table, something vacant in his gaze.

  He burned down my gazebo.

  He hated me. He didn’t want to have to look at me anywhere in this town.

  My eyes watered, but before I hardly had a chance to notice, Martin shoved an envelope at me.

  I took it. “What is this?”

  I opened it up and pulled out the document.

  “I can’t handle it anymore,” he said. “She’s yours now. You want to be free, you’re free. Take her.”

  What? I skimmed the paperwork—my grandmother’s power of attorney transferred to me, and all I had to do was sign.

  This was the one thing he still had to hold over me. The only thing that kept me in his life. Why would he turn her over?

  “Then give me my money, too,” I told him.

  I couldn’t care for her without it.

  But he just smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I shook my head. Her nursing home was over seven grand a month. Even if I quit school and worked three jobs, I’d never be able to pay that and support myself.

  And I didn’t have the money to take him to court. God knows where he could’ve hidden the rest he hadn’t used. It was gone.

  Walking over to the table, he picked up another envelope, this one white. He ripped it open and pulled out whatever was inside, tossing it onto the table. Pictures spilled, fanning out, and I recognized the Polaroids instantly.