A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I’m gonna have to ask you to stay right where you are.”

  My heart shudders to a stop. “Why are you doing this?” So confused. Mind reeling. Have to get out of here.

  “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

  I shake my head, bewildered and dazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The Brotherhood. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t take the hint—getting Kelsey Anderson all stirred up again.”

  Something falls into place in my mind. “The fire. That was you, wasn’t it? Did you break into my house?”

  He takes a step back, the gun still aimed right at my heart. “I thought maybe it would scare you into going back to New York. I wish it had. I wanted it to. I didn’t want it to come to this.”

  I can’t breathe in here. Can’t think. “You could’ve killed me. And my stepbrother. How could you do that?”

  He slams one hand on the table, and I want to bounce out of my skin. “I didn’t want to! Don’t you understand? Doesn’t anybody understand me?”

  “I can’t understand anything when you’ve got a gun aimed at me!” I scream back. No, I have to stay calm. He’s only growing more agitated. I have to calm us both down. “Tell me what this is about, Jared. I deserve to know.” Seeing how I’m going to die for it and all.

  “I know you went to Tulsa to meet with Reggie Lee. I know you talked to his girlfriend.”

  “How could you know that?”

  He shrugs. “Brittany Taylor. She may be annoying, but she’s useful. She’s been following you around for weeks.”

  Okay, that girl is just evil. “You and your boys planted drugs in Reggie’s locker, didn’t you?” Empty eyes stare back at me in response. “Why?”

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “Because he was going to talk.

  We’d promised—we’d all promised.”

  “Promised what?”

  “That no one would ever know about the Brotherhood. But . . .”

  His Adam’s apple bobs. “Things went wrong last year. It got to Reggie.”

  “I know about the night Zach Epps had the wreck.” Nothing like going out with a lie on your lips.

  Sweat bubbles at Jared’s temple. “It was a horrible night.” He shakes his head. He’s there. “We had the initiation for Reggie and Zach all set up. Then the storm came. But there was no turning back—that’s our way.”

  And it’s worked so well for you too.

  “So Reggie and Zach raced each other.” I fill in the blanks. “And Zach lost control.”

  “We had to keep it quiet. They could never know that we had been there, had been a part of that. We all agreed, just like when we lost Carson Penturf. But Reggie buckled. He came to me at the beginning of school, told me he had to go to the police and come clean. But you can’t go against the Brotherhood.”

  “So you planted the drugs in his locker, knowing it would get him suspended and end any chances of a college scholarship.”

  “It was a warning. And it worked. He didn’t want to risk jail any more than the rest of us.”

  “And Carson?” I can’t peel my eyes away from the gun. “He didn’t really commit suicide, did he?”

  “We decided his challenge was to climb down a cliff in the dark—no tools, no flashlight. Nothing but his bare hands.” His eyes swim with pain. “He was halfway there. Then his foot slipped and he fell.”

  “What if you had gone and gotten help? What if he could’ve been saved? Who gave you the right to play God to these people? They were your friends.”

  “Shut up! You think I don’t know that?” His wild eyes scare me.

  “Jared, it’s not too late to turn back. You’ve been pressured by Coach Dallas. It’s gotten to you. I think we should go to the police— together—and talk to them. Tell them what your stepbrother has driven you to do.”

  “Dallas?”

  “The parties? The initiations? I know this is his lake house.”

  Jared snorts. “He doesn’t even know we use this. He’s too busy with his girlfriend in Tulsa and blaming me for every mistake the team makes.”

  “He forced you to start the Brotherhood again so—so the team would win again like they did when he was in school and he could keep his job.”

  “I am so sick of hearing about his winning streak! Who cares?” he yells. “I’ve done everything—everything! I’ve trained, I’ve watched game films, I’ve done anything I could think of to make myself better. It’s never going to be enough.”

  My brain clears like I’ve been doused in ice water. I’ve been so blind. It’s been Jared all along. “Your brother knows nothing about your new little boys’ club.”

  “And he’s not going to know. The Brotherhood will go on as we are—a new breed of players. We will grow closer and stronger.”

  “And deader!” Okay, that’s not a word, but grammar is the least of my concerns. “This is crazy. It has to stop now. All of it. You have to come clean.” And put the gun down while you’re at it.

  “I liked you, Bella. I really did.”

  Did? Past tense?

  Walking backwards, he goes to the coffee table, opens a small drawer, and pulls out a pen and paper. He places them in front of me.

  “You’re going to write.”

  “For some reason I really don’t feel all that inspired at the moment.”

  He ignores me. “You’re going to compose a suicide letter to your mom.”

  “What?” I squeal. “I would never take my own life! Nobody would believe that in a million years. Look, I won’t say a word about the Brotherhood.” At least not while an unsteady weapon is in my face. “Just drop the gun. This isn’t worth it. What’s happened so far have been accidents. What you’re doing now? Um, yeah, that’s called murder. And I don’t think your stepdaddy’s going to be too happy that his star player has to miss a game because he’s in the big house for shooting someone.”

  “Don’t sit there and judge me. You don’t know what it’s like living with my stepdad and his wonder child.”

  “And how does asking your friends to bungee jump in front of trains and shooting me fix any of that? Honestly, your little group is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. Couldn’t you get your boys to bond over something a little safer—like a campout or . . . some Guitar Hero?”

  Jared wrenches my arm, his face contorted in rage. “Shut up! Nothing is going to get in my way!”

  “Okay.” I hold up my hands and slowly ease out of his grip and press myself into the back of the chair, wishing I could disappear into it. God, I need some serious help here. What do I do? If there’s a verse on dealing with psychopaths, I seem to have forgotten it. Totally need some guidance right now.

  “I’ve never been good enough for my stepdad. Can’t ever measure up to Dallas. Well, I’m sick of being the loser. Our team’s going to state this year. I will get a scholarship to play football, and then I’ll leave this town and never look back.”

  I try for a softer approach. “I know it’s been rough. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone—”

  My phone blasts in my pocket—the song I have programmed for Luke.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  Think! “I . . . It’s Luke Sullivan. I’ve been, um, seeing him.”

  Jared picks up the phone. “The theme from Jaws?”

  “Yeah, we’re going through a rough patch.” I swallow. “This is the time he calls every night, and if I don’t get it, he’ll send out a search party. He’ll know something’s wrong.” The phone continues to sing, and I feel my chance slipping through my fingers. “My step-dad’s a wrestler. Do you really want him tracking me down right now?”

  “Turn it on speaker. And get rid of him.” He jerks the gun toward my cell. “Tell him you’re okay. If you say one word, Bella, I will use this thing.”

  Please, God. I snap open the phone. “Luke?” I push a button and his voice fills the cabin.

  “Where are you? I have some really important news. It wasn�
��t—”

  “—Charmin toilet paper in the school bathrooms like we’d thought? I knew it.” I keep my eyes trained on Jared.

  Get rid of him, he mouths. He moves the pistol closer.

  “Um, Luke, sweetie, we’ll talk about the story for the paper later, okay?”

  “Bella, are you—”

  “In fact, right now I have to let you go because I’m working on the other article. But I miss you.” Please find this believable, crazy boy with waving firearm. “Talk to you soon.” I start to disconnect, but Luke’s voice stops me.

  “Bel, just one more thing. The piece you’re writing tonight.

  Would that happen to be the bird-calling story or maybe the one about the dangers of making out in SUVs?”

  “Hang up,” Jared hisses. “Now.”

  “Bird calling!” My voice is chipper and light. “That’s the one.”

  My lifeline to Luke is lost as Jared rips the phone from my hands and throws it across the room. “That’s enough.” He gestures to the paper. “Start writing.”

  “And then you’re going to kill me?” Anger begins to replace fear. Who does this guy think he is?

  “No, I’m not going to kill you.” He reaches into the pockets of his cargo shorts and extracts a plastic bag. “But these pills will.”

  chapter thirty-nine

  I would like to say that when I faced death I had all sorts of deep, inspirational thoughts. That poetry sprang from my lips, and God imparted timeless wisdom into my soul. That I greeted my imminent demise with grace and sweetness.

  “Jared, you’re a moron! Do you realize Fred Flintstone is in this bag? Are you planning on killing me with way too much vitamin C?”

  He grabs the ziplock and looks inside. His face flushes red. “I didn’t mean to grab those. There are just a few in there. I raided a bunch of medicine cabinets this week.” His voice shakes like he’s running out of steam.

  “At least tell me what I’m taking. Besides a prehistoric multivitamin.”

  His eye twitches, as if I’ve offended him. Like I’m really worried about his feelings at this point. “Most are from my parents. The white ones are my mom’s migraine pills. Those will make you really sleepy. And that’s a good thing.” Is he reassuring me or himself? “These purple ones are Dante’s acne prescription.”

  My pulse slows. The roar in my head ebbs.

  And some measure of peace fills me—because I don’t think this is going to kill me.

  Basically I’m going to take a really long nap and wake up with clear skin.

  Jared continues to take the pills out and set them on the table.

  “My stepdad’s antidepressants. Those are pretty good for stress.”

  I should probably eat those first.

  “And his blood pressure meds.” He sneers and I wonder how I ever thought he was cute. “Maybe if he’d back off on me, his numbers wouldn’t be so high.”

  “I can’t imagine him finding any fault with you.” Hysterical laughter bubbles up like lava.

  “Stop it!” He waves the gun like a slippery fish.

  “Are these—” I pick up a pill and inspect it close. Then double over in giggles. “Birth control? You took somebody’s birth control pills?” And this guy’s in AP? “Is there a high risk of pregnancy on the way to the Pearly Gates?”

  “I just grabbed stuff, okay?” he shouts. “Clearly I’m not cut out for this.”

  “No, hey.” I touch his arm. “I think you’re doing a swell job.”

  “Stop laughing.” His hand cracks across my cheek.

  My smile disappears and I taste blood.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Bella, I didn’t mean to—” He rests the gun on the table, his hands grabbing my face, holding my cheek. “Please forgive me, I—”

  I dive for the gun. My hands inches away. I can almost feel the cold metal on my fingertips.

  “No!” He pushes me onto the floor, overpowering me with his strength. When I pull myself back up, the gun is firmly in his grip.

  “Get back in the chair. You have a letter to write.”

  “There’s still time to back out of this. You don’t want to kill me.”

  “I’m not killing you. You’re killing yourself.”

  “And if I don’t take the pills?”

  His jaw locks. “I’m responsible for the Brotherhood. Nobody is going to get in my way. Bella, you can either do this the easy way or the painful way. If you don’t write the letter and swallow the pills, I will put this gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

  “And you’ll go to prison for the rest of your life.”

  “No, I won’t. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  Yet he doesn’t look certain at all. He looks scared—mixed with a little psycho. And a dash of nuts.

  I must stall him. Surely Luke got my hint that we were at the cabin. And surely he went for help. Like Jake. Or the police. Or the National Guard.

  “You realize Luke knows, don’t you?”

  “I suspected.” He waves away the idea, like it’s not worth discussion. “I’ll deal with him later tonight.”

  “With what? Vitamin E and cough drops?”

  Jared points the gun inches from my nose. “Enough talking!

  Pick up the pen.”

  It’s not so much that I’m scared he’ll actually pull the trigger. It’s more about being scared of his shaking hands accidentally pulling the trigger. I don’t want to die with an ugly eye. Even mortician’s makeup can’t hide this bruising. Nobody will walk past my casket and say, “Oh, doesn’t she look natural?” They’ll say, “It looks like markers pooped on her face.”

  “You need to start downing the pills. It will take awhile for them to kick in. Start with the white ones first.”

  For a full twenty seconds I don’t move. I study the room. The distance to the door. The location of the nearest heavy object. The number of steps to the kitchen for a knife.

  “Eat them!” Jared pounces on the table, grabs a handful of pills, and forces them into my mouth. I bite his hand, and he yelps. Then smacks my other cheek. “Get them out from under your tongue. Swallow them!”

  He cocks the gun.

  I force them down and my earlier confidence begins to fade. God, please help me.

  Jared passes me his water bottle. “The letter should be simple. Make it to your mother. Tell her that you’ve missed New York so much that you can’t go on. You’re miserable.”

  What a coincidence—so are you.

  “You miss your dad. Your friends. Your boyfriend.” He stops. “You’re cheating on your boyfriend with Luke?”

  “Yes.” My head bobs spastically. “I . . . um, just love the menfolk. Can’t get enough of them.” I can’t stop nodding. “Love me some boys.” And if I don’t walk out of here alive tonight, they’ll know something’s up by my mention of Hunter in the letter. Like I’d miss that two-timing sleaze.

  He gestures to the paper with his weapon, and I pick up the pen.

  Dear Mother, This freak of nature is holding a loaded—

  Jared rips the paper from the table and shreds it to pieces. He slams down a new piece. “I’m warning you, Bella.” He thrusts another handful of pills into my palm. I somehow choke them down.

  “How are you getting home?” I ask. “It’s not like you can take my car.”

  His smile is something from a Stephen King novel. “Brittany Taylor.”

  “Oh.” I scrape a film off my tongue with my teeth. “Isn’t she sweet.”

  In between forced servings of meds, I scribble out my first paragraph, telling my mom how much I miss New York and that Truman brought me nothing but pain. Next I include instructions for taking care of my cat and other hints that this letter was forced.

  I look up from my work and the room tilts to the left. That’s not good. “Have you ever considered medication?”

  I close my note, my writing growing sloppier by the letter.

  I love you.

  And then I add a line in case
these really are my last words to my mother.

  You were the best mom ever. Be happy with Jake. And tell Dad I love him—and he needs a new decorator.

  I lift my pen. “What if these things don’t kill me?”

  Jared taps the barrel of the shiny gun.

  I grab a few more white capsules. “I’m sure these will do me in nicely.”

  “Sign the note.”

  “I don’t feel so well.”

  He pops some red tablets past my teeth, leaving my mouth so full I have to breathe through my nose.

  God, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done. Forgive me for the way

  I treated Budge. For not giving Jake a chance. For hating every one of the bimbos my dad brings home.

  I’m vaguely aware of tears slipping down my cheeks.

  Forgive me for not getting involved in church here. For not being a good friend to Lindy. And for watching Sex and the City reruns.

  “I . . .” Why won’t my tongue work? “Can’t . . . finish.”

  Jared places the pen in my fingers and picks up my hand. Together we make the first letter of my name.

  The room swirls and twirls. Nap. I need to lay my head down. Oh, what pretty lights I see! I want to go to the pretty lights! Here I come! Who’s that giggling? Is that me? Oh, I love to giggle!

  “Hold the pen still!” Jared roars in my ear. But I don’t care! “Finish the letter or I’ll—”

  A loud crash explodes to my right. The door.

  And Luke’s there. He’s calling out something.

  “Bella!”

  How nice of him to come and visit. Helleww, Luke!

  Look how fast he runs. Like a linebacker. Or is it a quarterback? A quarterliner?

  Wait. The gun. Jared’s raising the pistol.

  Oh. That’s not right.

  Must. Stop him.

  But so tired.

  My legs—they’re in cement. So heavy.

  Focus, Bella. Focus. Move. Eye on the target. God, give me strength.

  With all that I have left, I throw my body toward Jared. “Noooo!”

  My limp form flops.

  Flails.

  Falls—right into Jared.

  The gun goes off. So loud. Hurts my ears.