Cassie sat up a little taller, and when Beck looked at her, she could see Cassie coming back to them.
“That,” Cassie said, “was Nico.”
“The bruises?” Vivian pressed on.
“I was talking to Ethan the other day. We were just . . . we were just laughing together. I tripped over his foot onstage during rehearsal, and it . . .” Cassie trailed off, looking out at the lake. It was so quiet in winter. Frozen on the edges. Still.
“Cass?” Beck asked, pulling her back to them again.
“He came down the hall while we were laughing, and he didn’t say a word. Just grabbed my arms. Grabbed them so tight. He pulled me into the closet and was screaming at me. Accused me of flirting with guys. Cheating on him. It was . . . it went on for a while, and he wouldn’t let go.” Cassie’s arms had crept up, holding the same places where Beck knew those bruises were.
“I thought he would apologize tonight. He’s always apologized before when he—when we fight. But when I told him that he’d hurt me, he started flipping out. Right in the living room, with everyone dancing and drinking. He started to yell at me again, said he wouldn’t have to be like that if I didn’t act like such a slut with every guy.”
“Jesus, Cassie.” Vivian sighed. “How long has this been going on?”
“Oh . . .” Cassie looked like she was thinking back, thinking back to the first time. Beck thought she’d say that was the first time. Or a few weeks ago. That something had happened suddenly, that Nico had changed into this . . . this monster. But that’s not what Cassie said.
“Always? He’s always been like this,” Cassie answered. “He’s gotten more physical. But the jealousy, the possessiveness, that was there . . . right at the start. And tonight, I just ran. I didn’t even know you guys were in the bathroom, I just wanted to get away from him, his ugly words. I’m so—” She hiccupped, stopped short. “I’m mortified.”
“Why are you mortified, Cassie? Nico is the fuck-up,” Beck said.
“Should have broken it off months ago,” she said. “Kept making excuses. Forgiving him.”
“We should have seen it, Cass. We should have helped you.” Vivian climbed into the back seat and sat on the other side of Cassie, sandwiching her in, putting her arm around her. “But we’ve got you now. And that fucker isn’t coming anywhere near you.”
“You don’t understand, he’s Nico Bell. He doesn’t get in trouble. And I can’t say anything, or I’ll ruin his—”
“His future?” Beck interrupted. “Cassie, he scared you. He hurt you. Those were his actions, his choices. Fuck him.”
“Cassie, I think you need to go to the police,” Vivian said gently.
“There has to be another way,” Cass said, with a hint of something like panic in her voice.
“Of course there’s another way,” Beck told her. “We cut his fucking hands off for touching you.”
Cassie looked to Vivian then for help. But coolheaded, practical Vivian was nodding right along with Beck. “Which of those two options do you think will fuck up his swimming career more?” Vivian asked.
Cassie laughed, a harsh, angry sound. Nothing like her usual one. But it was something.
“God, you’re right. I know you’re right. Okay. Let’s go.”
As Vivian drove, Cassie seemed to gain more confidence. Beck thought it was the way they were a united front—her and Vivian—never wavering for a second that going to the police was the right thing to do.
Vivian took Cass in, leaving Beck in the van because she was still drunk.
When they came back out, Cassie had a few slips of thin paper in her hands. It seemed like such a paltry little thing, to keep her safe from a boy like Nico. From a family like the Bells.
“Did you file a report?” Beck asked.
“No,” Cassie said. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Beck pressed. “What happened?” She directed that question at Vivian.
“They didn’t let me go back with her,” Vivian said.
“They listened to me,” Cassie said. “The officer said he’d go talk to Nico first thing tomorrow. And he gave me some pamphlets, for counseling, and resources and stuff.”
Beck wanted to protest more, but the van was freezing cold, and she was still drunk, so she let Vivian drive them home, insisting that they would all talk about it more in the morning.
They crashed at Beck’s house, climbing all together into her huge bed. Beck lay in the dark, looking up at the stars painted across her ceiling. They held Cassie till she was asleep, and then Beck felt Vivian’s hand slip into hers and squeeze. She didn’t have to say anything, but Beck knew she was remembering how the night started. Beck’s grief over her grandpa. She hadn’t forgotten, that squeeze said. But for now, Cassie needed them most.
But even then, they were scared of all the wrong things. Or maybe they just weren’t scared enough. Because the worst of Nico Bell was still coming right for them.
Cassie
There was something
about stepping into
the police station
that made me feel guilty.
It was gray and then more gray,
and I can’t explain
the urge I had to run
at the sight of the first officer.
Me, who had never so much
as taken a turn without
the signal
or slipped a lipstick
into my pocket
at the drugstore.
Cassie Queen was
a good girl.
But what good
was that for
in the end?
The chair they put me in
was too big
and that made me feel
so, so small.
They didn’t let Vivian
come back with me
and that made me feel
so, so alone.
He brought me water,
but it wasn’t as cold
as the chair I was in
or the table
my elbows rested on
and I shivered as I waited,
thinking maybe it was the chair.
Does sitting in the same
seat as a criminal
make you feel like one?
He took my statement
without interrupting
and said kind things
like take your time.
When I said that Nico
told me he’d kill me
if I tried to break it off,
he said, I’m sorry that this
happened to you.
It wasn’t until he asked
for the name of the boy
who did this to me that
his body language changed.
His eyes still looked concerned
but the concern was
no longer for me,
so he couldn’t meet my gaze.
He looked anywhere else.
He was worried for himself,
his job.
Because now I wasn’t
just any girl coming for help—
I was complicated, at best,
and at worst, a threat.
I was there asking them
to arrest the son
of their idol.
The man who pulled
all the strings
in town.
The next thing he said was
Could you excuse me
just for a moment?
It might have been an accident,
him leaving the door ajar.
Or it might have
been on purpose.
I could hear him
tell the sheriff who I was,
that I was there
to file against Bell.
Steven?
the sheriff asked first,
and the officer
said, No,
the son.
I remember how the sheriff
d
idn’t sound surprised
when he thought it was
Mr. Bell.
Just a report?
asked the sheriff.
Thompson. Or Thomas.
I remember his signs
on the Bells’ front lawn
when he ran for reelection.
It won’t be too complicated,
as long as she doesn’t
request a protection order,
the sheriff said.
We’ll see what she decides,
said the officer,
the kind one,
after she meets with
the advocates
from the clinic.
The clinic?
Why would we call them?
We always do,
for domestic violence,
said the officer.
This isn’t domestic violence,
the sheriff said.
And laughed.
I remember his laugh.
It’s puppy love. Theatrics.
No need to call them in
and blow this out of proportion.
And if she doesn’t file,
no need for a report.
I don’t want a paper trail
back to Bell.
The press would have
a field day.
Yes, sir,
said the officer,
the kind one,
who minutes ago
told me he was so sorry
for what I’d gone through
with Nico
(before he knew Nico’s name).
Who had encouraged me
to call him by his first name,
like that made us friends,
like that meant
he would help me.
But in that moment,
with the sheriff’s cold laugh,
I actually felt relieved.
I thought, maybe,
if they aren’t worried,
it’s not so bad.
Maybe he’s not dangerous.
So when the officer came back,
I told him I wouldn’t be
pressing charges
against Nico.
And then he looked relieved, too.
I told him I just wanted
Nico to leave me alone,
and he promised me that
he would personally go
talk to him.
Tell him to give me space.
I thought it was my path
out of the mess Nico
had made of my life.
A way forward
without ruining his.
Without theatrics.
Without the feeling of stares
aimed at my back
for going after
the beloved Bells’
beloved son.
But now I see it differently.
I see that while
they were protecting Nico
and while I was protecting Nico,
No one was protecting me.
Vivian
AFTER THE INCIDENT ON NEW YEAR’S Eve, it took Nico less than eight hours to come after Cassie again. Vivian woke to shouting, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the late night before, spent in the waiting room of the police station. Vivian rolled out of bed, checked her phone. It was early. She pulled aside the curtain of Beck’s window.
Nico.
“Cassie!” he was yelling. “Cassandra!”
His movements were volatile. Vicious. He circled around to his car, kicking at the wheels.
Beck’s grandpa was still in the hospital—he’d spent the night. So it was just the three of them at the house. Nico was wearing the same clothes as the night before. If Vivian wasn’t mistaken, he still looked half-drunk.
Cassie awoke, came to the window beside Vivian.
“Cassie!” Nico grew softer when he saw her. “Come down here. We need to talk. Cassie, please. There’s been . . . there’s been a huge misunderstanding.”
Beck had woken up, and was pulling Cassie back from the window, turning her in her arms, making Cassie look right at her.
“Do not come downstairs. Do not come outside. I’m going to get rid of him.” And then Beck pushed Cassie into Vivian’s arms. “Keep her here.”
Vivian and Cassie sat in the deep-set windowsill. They watched together as Beck stepped out into the yard with Nico.
She was holding a baseball bat.
Cassie leaned forward, easing the window open to hear what Beck was saying.
“. . . last time, Nico. Don’t come back here. Don’t go to Cassie’s house. Don’t look at her in school. Leave her. The fuck. Alone.”
“Seriously, Beck? A baseball bat? You think that’s going to stand up to what I have?”
Nico lifted his shirt, showing Beck the gun he’d slipped into the waistband of his jeans.
Cassie sucked air in sharply beside Vivian, and Vivian squeezed her hand extra tight in response.
They were silent, eyes trained on Nico.
He dropped his shirt back down. “You know exactly who I am. Don’t fuck with me, Beck. I can ruin everything you love.” He looked pointedly at Beck’s grandpa’s barn then. His shop. Their livelihood.
“The only thing I love is Cassie,” Beck said, her voice steady. “And you don’t get to have her anymore. Now get the hell out of here, or we’ll call the cops. Again.”
“You know what?” Nico spat, throwing his arms in the air. “Not worth my time.”
He looked up to the window then, right at Cassie, and raised his voice again. “Hear that, Cassie? You’re not worth it, baby!”
Then he got into his car and sped down the road.
When Beck came back upstairs, they all climbed into bed. The combination of the alcohol the night before, stress, and sleeplessness, and then the sharp spike of fear, had worn them out all over again. So they slept. Well past noon, far into New Year’s Day. Then they made coffee in Beck’s kitchen, and drank it sitting on the porch. They tried to salvage the day with painted nails and music, and discussing absolutely nothing of significance, because everything of significance hurt too much. Grandpa. Nico. Cassie.
Beck kept the baseball bat with her the entire weekend, and then in the van. As though that was enough. As though it was all she needed to take down Nico Bell if he reared his ugly, violent head again. Nico Bell, with his anger and his guns and an entire town eating out of the palm of his hand.
Vivian wished it had been true.
Vivian wished their love had been enough to keep Cassie safe.
Vivian and Beck let Merit take notes as they described what happened. She was focused in on the details of the New Year’s Eve incident, laying it out as a timeline of events.
When did they leave the party? What time did they arrive at the police station?
Did Cassie have any paperwork from the police? Was there a police report?
When did Nico arrive the next morning?
Vivian thought carefully and answered what she could. There were a few questions they didn’t know the answers to, though Cassie would.
But Vivian couldn’t exactly explain that they’d have to consult with their ghost and get back to her, so she just said she’d try to remember if Cassie ever said anything else.
“Did either of you know that there is a domestic violence clinic a half hour from here?” Merit asked, finally setting her pen down.
“No,” Beck said, and Vivian shrugged.
“The Bell police have worked with them for years. They bring in advocates to support victims of domestic violence, sexual assault. Cassie never mentioned them?”
“No, I don’t think she ever went to them,” Vivian told her. “We would have been the ones to take her, probably.”
“You don’t have to go to them,” Merit said. “The police call them, bring them in when there’s a case related to their work. Cassie never mentioned them?”
“She didn’t. She had a few pamphlets when we left the stat
ion that night. Maybe one of those . . . ?” Vivian trailed off when Merit shook her head.
“It should have been a phone call. An advocate would have personally come to be with Cassie for those interviews. Would have helped Cassie with a protection order.”
Beck shook her head. “That never happened.”
“Okay, thanks,” Merit said. “I know this sucks to talk about. I really appreciate your time.”
“Whatever we can do,” Vivian answered.
She liked Merit. She’d liked the show, too, even before meeting her in person. It was honest, and she didn’t shy away from calling out bad men by name when it was warranted.
And it was warranted a lot, Vivian was learning.
“One last question,” Merit said, leaning forward. “But it’s important. When Cassie was in the hospital in March, when she did finally get that protection order, the hospital recorded two visitors to her room that evening. I know one of them was Sheriff Thomas. But the other is just a scribble on the form, and the hospital won’t give me access to the security tapes. Do you know who went with the sheriff to Cassie’s room that day? Could it have been an advocate from the clinic?”
That question Vivian could answer.
Cassie never told them when she was alive, but when they asked for the entire awful story, she’d talked about the day she filed for a protection order. The day she went to the hospital.
Vivian only knew what happened next because Cassie, only mostly dead and haunting Beck’s van, had been able to tell them.
“That wasn’t a victim services advocate,” Vivian said. “It was Bell.”
“Nico Bell was allowed into that hospital?” Merit said.
“Not Nico. His father. Steven Bell.”
Merit’s face turned to stone at the words, her lips trembling with anger before they formed a hard, straight line. Vivian knew that look well. She knew the anger that shaped it. If someone had asked Vivian six months ago, she wouldn’t have recognized it. But now she knew it felt like a worm, dug deep into her. It filled her with things she never asked for—grief and loss, and the feeling of powerlessness that had frozen her since March. She’d wondered if it would be there always now, something she’d have to draw from, and looking at Merit, she thought, Yes, this she’d have to carry. She didn’t ask for this anger, but here it was, part of her, the same as her scarred leg, the same as her scarred heart, which she knew would long for Cassie after she left them for good. Vivian wished she could dig it out of herself, like the parasite it was, but it was rooted too deep. Tugging it out would only hurt her more. Some things you have to take with you, and hope you’ll get used to the weight of them.
We Can Be Heroes Page 14