[Bellamy and the Brute 01.0] Bellamy and the Brute

by Alicia Michaels

  “You aren’t exactly a basket of kittens,” I replied. “But I do like you, Tate.”

  He stared at me in silence for a while, taking his time before beginning his story, as if wanting to have a few more moments of me liking him. Whatever he needed to tell me must be horrible.

  “By my sophomore year, I had made the varsity football team,” he began, maintaining eye contact with me. “It skyrocketed me to the top of the high school food chain, and being a Baldwin didn’t hurt, either. I had girls all over me everywhere I went, coaches telling me I could be starting quarterback by my junior year, if not sooner, and scouts calling my dad with offers. Needless to say, it went to my head a little.”

  At my amused smirk, Tate sighed.

  “Okay, a lot,” he relented. “I was arrogant and cocky. At that point, I got pretty much everything I wanted, and very few people told me no. That sense of superiority was like a high or something. I liked it, more than I wanted to admit at the time, I think. It felt good being above people in my own mind—and maybe even in the mind of the people I hung out with.”

  “High school royalty,” I murmured. “I always wondered what that was like. Never been very popular.”

  “That’s because you’re smarter than most of those kids combined,” he replied. “And don’t let them make you feel differently.”

  I smiled at his compliment, but it didn’t take the sting away from being an outcast. I’d never made an effort to belong, but that didn’t stop me from wondering sometimes how it might feel to be like everyone else.

  “Anyway, I fell in with Lincoln and his crowd,” he continued. “Being popular wasn’t enough for those guys. They liked to rub people’s faces in it—lord it over people and force them to acknowledge it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I thought of Lincoln’s constant harassment. “I’m all too aware of how Lincoln operates.”

  He wrinkled his brow in bewilderment. “Something happen with you and Linc?”

  Shaking my head, I waved it off. “Nothing important. Sorry I interrupted.”

  Tate looked as if he wanted to press me for details, but decided against it. “We were all hanging out one day talking about homecoming. At first, the conversation centered around who could bring the hottest date. But that wasn’t much of a challenge for guys who could have their pick of the dance team or cheer squad. So, we decided to make things interesting.”

  Nausea began to boil in my stomach as I began to understand where this was going. “Oh, God. You didn’t.”

  He nodded. “We did. I entered a bet with Linc and a few others to see who could bring the worst date. There was this girl, Lindsay… I made her my target.”

  I widened my eyes at that. “Lindsay Barton?”

  “Yes, that’s her,” he replied.

  “She graduated as valedictorian of your class,” I said, for no reason in particular. I hadn’t known Lindsay well, but she seemed like a nice girl.

  “I’m not surprised,” he said. “She was smart—too smart to have fallen for the prank, but for some reason, she did. I laid it on thick… started talking to her between classes, flirting with her. I even took her to a movie on a double date with Linc and another girl, all the while priming her for homecoming. She said yes when I asked her, which didn’t surprise me.”

  “She found out about the bet,” I prompted when he got quiet again, unable to help the biting edge to my voice. I felt sorry for Lindsay, and I didn’t even have the whole story. Something told me it wouldn’t end well.

  “Oh, she found out what a jackass I could be, that was for sure,” he scoffed. “I don’t think she ever actually knew it was a bet. After the game, I went home to get ready for the dance, and then picked her up. I could see she had gone all out to look nice. New dress, hair done, makeup—which I’d never seen her wear. She even left off her glasses for the night. I hammed it up real good, giving her a corsage, posing for pictures, opening the car door for her. She never suspected a thing.”

  Hands shaking around my teacup, I took a deep breath and braced myself for what was next. “But then?”

  “But then, we pulled up in the parking lot to find Linc and the guys with their dates waiting for me. They surrounded us when we got out, and the guys told me I’d succeeded in bringing the ugliest girl to homecoming before putting a plastic tiara in my hands and telling me to crown my queen. I did it, like an idiot, because nothing was worse than losing face in front of my friends. I didn’t know they were planning this, but I went along with it anyway. I crowned her, then stood back and let them drape her in a toilet paper sash with the word ‘pig’ written on it in black marker. And it wasn’t enough that we humiliated her among ourselves… It was recorded and spread around on Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram… everywhere. Clips of her crying her eyes out wearing that tiara and sash while they stood around her, hurling insults. I didn’t join them, but I didn’t stop them either. I laughed, even when she took her crown off and threw it at me, calling me a jerk. Then, she ran, and I never saw her again. She was out of school for about a week, and by the time she came back, I’d gotten sick. It started with pain in my face and migraines, then before I knew it, my face started changing—like it was caving in. I missed so many classes that I had to start doing my work from the hospital. Once my condition got so bad I didn’t want to be seen, I switched to homeschool. I heard she graduated and went off to school in Florida.”

  I nodded, a tear streaming down one cheek. “She got a scholarship and was gone the summer after she graduated. Tate, how could you?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze. “I won’t make excuses, Bellamy. I told you, I was a different person then. The ghosts had already started haunting me, and I think they saw what I did. Because after that night, they would look at me with this gleam in their eye… it was like they knew. I always suspected it was their way of delivering karma. Lindsay wasn’t the only person I’d hurt with my arrogance and lack of care for anyone but myself. So, they made me ugly.”

  Sniffling, I swiped at my damp face with embarrassment. I didn’t know why I was crying over a girl I’d never really known. Maybe it was because I knew how it felt to face that sort of embarrassment. No one had ever crowned me as a pig, but I’d been branded a freak plenty of times because of Dad’s oddities. There were people who wouldn’t even sit next to me in class, certain my father’s disease would rub off on them.

  “What you did was ugly,” I said after I’d composed myself. “Who you were inside was ugly. But you… your face… you are not ugly.”

  He shook his head, still refusing to look at me. “Say what you want, but I have eyes. Mirrors don’t lie. They made me outside what I was inside, and they might also be the reason none of my treatments worked, or why I’ve never been in remission.”

  Running a hand over my face, I found myself feeling more tired than I had earlier, despite my nap. “That still doesn’t explain why they pointed at you earlier.”

  “I know,” he grumbled. “I still can’t figure out how they’re holding me responsible for what happened to that ghost. She was already dead when I did what I did to Lindsay.”

  “Maybe….” I murmured, thinking over what had happened upstairs. “It isn’t that you killed her. They’re mad at you for what you did and for avoiding them. Maybe this is about them wanting you to take responsibility for the things going on around you. You might not be involved, but you’re in a position to do something.”

  He sat up straight, eyebrows raised. “Is that it? They wanted me to intervene with them, and I failed. Then, they saw me do nothing to help Lindsay, and it made them even madder at me. Maybe if I help them now, it’ll end this… this curse on me.”

  I suppose his illness could be considered a curse. Maybe it had been deserved, but in two years, I knew he’d suffered for what he’d done. Not just because of his physical appearance, but also from the pain and shame it brought him. Perhaps, now, he understood how Lindsay had felt.

  “So, where do we start?” I
asked.

  “With me,” he answered, “or rather, with my family and this house. If they chose us specifically, there must be a connection.”

  I nodded. “I agree, and you’re right. That girl was obviously strangled or hanged, so someone murdered her. Somehow, it’s connected to you, so let’s find out how. We need to look into murders of young women that happened in town around the past two or three years, and try to find the link.”

  The sound of the front door opening interrupted our conversation, and Tate stood as his parents’ voices lilted to us from the entryway.

  “You do that, and I’ll try to dig up info on my parents or any strange occurrences surrounding the house,” he replied. “We’ll compare notes and try to figure this thing out.”

  Nodding in agreement, I stood as well, taking my cup to the sink to wash and return it to its place. “Sounds like a plan.”

  As I made my way from the kitchen, Tate reached out to take my arm. His voice was a rough whisper when he spoke.

  “Bellamy, I… I’m so sorry. The whole Lindsay thing… I’ve regretted it every day since.”

  Glancing up at him, I wanted to feel pity. It was hard, because I identified with Lindsay so strongly. “I won’t judge you for your past,” I said. “But you need to really think about the reason for your regret. Is it because you genuinely realize what you did was wrong, and know you shouldn’t have done it, or because you were made to suffer for it?”

  He released me as I continued past him, and I could feel his eyes watching me go. I couldn’t bring myself to look back.

  I spent my weekend investigating murders as far back as four years ago, trying to find some sort of pattern or connection to the Baldwin family. Wellhollow Springs was a small town, and things like that rarely happened here, so there wasn’t much to go on. After devoting Saturday and part of Sunday to reading through old newspaper articles online, I gave up and decided to do something to clear my head. I’d just opened one of my unread books on parapsychology when my phone rang. Frowning, I picked it up and noticed Tate’s name and number on the screen. That was odd, because he always texted, never called. Plus, we hadn’t spoken since Friday night and his confession. For a moment, I wrestled with myself over whether to answer. While I still wanted to help him, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lindsay.

  Finally deciding to answer, I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hey Tate. What’s up?”

  “I think I’m on to something dealing with our little… investigation. Can I meet you somewhere? The park, maybe?”

  Standing, I started searching for my shoes. It was eight pm and I hadn’t eaten for hours, closeting myself in my room with my laptop for research purposes.

  “Actually, I was thinking of going to grab some dinner. I’m starving. Want to meet me at Charlene’s?”

  Charlene’s Diner downtown served breakfast all day and had the best waffles I’d ever eaten, so I hoped he said yes. For a moment, he hesitated.

  “I don’t usually like to go out in public,” he said, his voice low.

  “At eight o’clock on a Sunday, the place will be dead,” I promised him, knowing from experience. “We’ll sit in a booth in the back. I’ll buy you dinner… or dessert if you’ve already eaten.”

  He chuckled. “I do miss their apple pie. You got yourself a deal.”

  “I’ll be there in ten,” I said, slipping my feet into a pair of flip-flops.

  “See you in a bit,” he replied.

  I ended the call and slid my phone into my back pocket before grabbing my purse. Halfway down the hall, I had a sudden thought. Turning back to my room, I glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair was in disarray around my head in frizzy coils, and I looked exhausted. Cringing, I took a few minutes to make myself more presentable, running a handful of moisturizer through my hair before pulling it into a high ponytail—making it slightly more appealing than the mess I’d been sporting a second ago. I applied my favorite lip gloss and slipped on some earrings.

  I couldn’t say why I bothered to make myself pretty to hang out with Tate—it wasn’t as if I wanted him to be interested in me. If anything, I should be turned off by the story of what had happened to the last girl he’d shown interest in.

  That’s not fair, I argued with myself. That was years ago, and he obviously regrets it. You can’t hold it over his head forever.

  Besides, I was definitely not interested in Tate that way. Did I like the guy? Yes, despite his less-than-charming traits. I wanted to help him, and he needed someone. That was all there was or ever would be.

  Satisfied, I left my room and made my way to the kitchen where Dad sat tinkering with yet another appliance. McGuire’s Appliance Repair was getting steady business, which seemed to make him happy and keep him busy. He hadn’t mentioned ghosts in a while, and there were no new drawings on his bedroom wall.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen. “I want to go meet some friends down at Charlene’s for dessert. Is that okay?”

  He looked up at me with raised eyebrows, shock dropping his jaw. “You’re actually going to do something normal on a Sunday night? With actual people?”

  I laughed. “So it would seem. I’ll bring you back a slice of pie if you want.”

  Rubbing his belly, he chuckled. “I don’t think I need that. But you go, have fun. What time will you be back?”

  “Oh, no later than ten, I think,” I replied. I didn’t think my conversation with Tate would take up much time.

  With a nod, he went back to work on the toaster oven in pieces in front of him. “Sounds good. Be careful.”

  “I will,” I called out, already breezing through the living room, keys in hand.

  The drive to Charlene’s was quick, and I found Tate waiting for me in the parking lot, seated inside his car. He came out when I approached the driver’s side door, appearing like a burglar in his black hoodie and matching baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Only his nose and the line of his jaw were visible, hiding a great deal of his facial deformity. He held a manila envelope in one hand and gestured toward the diner with the other.

  “Shall we?”

  I nodded, preceding him to the door. His long arm reached out, and he grabbed the handle before I could, swinging the door open for me. To my relief, the place was all but empty, with an elderly couple seated near the window, and a few men seated at the long counter. I let Tate choose our place—a booth situated in the back corner of the restaurant, where he took a seat with his back to the door. I slid in across from him.

  “Tate, there’s hardly anyone here,” I whispered, leaning toward him across the table. “You could at least let your hood down.”

  Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he lowered the hood slowly. “The hoodie makes people more comfortable talking to me, and it guards me from the staring.”

  “This is Georgia,” I pointed out. “You wear a hooded sweatshirt in June, people will stare.”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes, neglecting to reply. A moment later, our waitress appeared with menus, which Tate and I waved off since we already knew what we wanted. I ordered the pecan waffles, while Tate asked for his pie and a cup of coffee. The waitress smiled at us, oblivious to Tate or his condition as he’d conveniently situated himself so the smooth side of his face could be seen by her. She left us alone after bringing coffee, so Tate dove in.

  “Before I tell you what I found, have you dug up anything on your end yet?” he asked.

  Between sips of coffee, I shook my head. “Not yet. I’ve started looking into the deaths of women in Wellhollow Springs starting back four years ago, specifically seeking out murders. Nothing’s come up yet, so I’ll move on to the year following, leading up to when you got sick. I’m sure something will turn up if I keep digging.”

  Tate nodded. “Okay. Meanwhile, I started thinking about major things that happened in my family around that time, and I didn’t come up with much. But then, I started digging around for info on Baldwin & Co. I fig
ured, if anything has ties to this, it has to be the family business.”

  Considering the fact that his father’s multi-million-dollar real estate development company was responsible for most of the town’s housing districts, he might be right. Douglas Baldwin and his business had ties to everything and everyone in Wellhollow Springs. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before.

  “That makes sense,” I replied. “So, what did you find?”

  “It’s not huge, but I think there’s more beneath the surface,” he replied, opening the folder and dumping a stack of photos out in front of me.

  Glancing down at them, I flipped through the printed images. Most were of Douglas Baldwin, dressed in a dress shirt and tie, wearing a hard hat, surrounded by other people in similar attire. All around him, acres of undeveloped land stretched out. Behind him, a wooden sign surrounded by balloons read ‘East Valley Village, Coming Soon to Wellhollow Springs. Baldwin & Co. Real Estate Development’.

  “East Valley,” I murmured. “Isn’t that the neighborhood on the edge of town with the expensive houses?”

  Tate nodded and fell silent while the waitress approached with our food. The aroma of waffles drenched in butter wafted up my nose, making my stomach growl. Tate’s pie looked good too, with a scoop of ice cream on the side.

  “Anything else I can get you?” the waitress asked.

  “We’re good, thanks,” Tate said, obviously anxious to get back to our talk.

  Once the waitress was out of earshot, he answered my question. “Yes, that’s the place. Baldwin & Co. broke ground on that land two and a half years ago… about seven months or so before all this started.”

  “I don’t understand,” I managed between bites of waffle. “What does East Valley have to do with the ghosts?”

  “I don’t know for sure yet,” he answered. “But what I do know is that something isn’t right about the way East Valley came about. As you know, Baldwin & Co. is responsible for purchasing and developing a lot of the land around Wellhollow Springs, before selling it all off at a huge profit. East Valley was supposed to be my dad’s crowning achievement. A luxury, developed community for people with means—houses that start at half a million, in a gated community, with private schools, pools, clubhouses, tennis courts, gyms, the works. Everyone was excited about it, even the local government, because they saw it as something that could boost the economy. If wealthy people want to live here, it brings more spending power. He worked on his plans for the place for a year or so before striking out to make it happen. There’s only one problem with the whole thing.”