THE DIRTY ONES

by JA Huss

  “God, you’re stupid.”

  I push his hand off the doorknob and open the door myself.

  Everyone is looking somewhere else. Camille stares into the drink she’s holding. Bennett at his phone. Sofia is studying artwork on the wall and Kiera is pulling a book out of a shelf, her back to me.

  “Ready?” Hayes says, following me out of the bedroom.

  “How long do we have to stay here?” Bennett asks. “I have plans tonight.”

  “With who?” Camille snaps. She is definitely drunk. I thought for a second, earlier while she was talking, she might be sobering up, but I was wrong. She’s going to drink her way into unconsciousness, hoping she wakes up tomorrow morning with no memory of any of it.

  “My father,” Bennett says. “I can’t cancel.”

  “You can and you will,” Hayes says, unlocking the library doors and throwing them open. “Let’s go. And stay together, for fuck’s sake. If ever there was a time to use the buddy system, this is it. The last thing we need is one of us going missing.”

  There’s a nervous moment where we all look at each other without actually looking at each other, then—like I can almost feel this sense of… forgetting—we drop it.

  We’re good at that, I realize.

  We line up like kids. And it’s funny, kinda. Because we were all kids together. Except Kiera. But the rest of us went to the same schools all growing up. I think Sofia and Bennett came to all of my first seven birthday parties. Hayes was there on and off. Camille was shuttled off to Paris from age six through twelve, so I didn’t see her much. Louise was never one of us. Still isn’t. But Emily was. She was with us in upper boarding school. I didn’t know her well, but looking back I probably could’ve predicted her situation. Something was never quite right about that girl.

  Going down the wide, stone steps, I am reminded how pretentious this house is. I mean, yeah. We all—except Kiera—came up in a pretentious mansion. But this place feels like a fucking palace. Ninety-seven rooms. I just can’t even imagine it. My family estate is big. I’ve never counted the rooms but there’s definitely no more than forty. Fifty absolute tops. And that includes all the little rooms.

  Hell, the room count in this house could just be suites, for all I know.

  Down at the bottom of the steps there’s a group of doctors and nurses conversing quietly. Presumably about Emily’s unknown whereabouts.

  How do they even know she’s still inside? I mean, how many doors does this place have?

  “Where do you think she is?” Sofia asks me as we pass the search team and follow Hayes through a wide room that is still technically the foyer, but I know from first-hand experience that they’ve held balls in this hall.

  “Probably a thousand miles away by now.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  We’re all silent after that. Just the sound of footfalls across the polished marble floors as we follow Hayes into a wide hallway that leads to the south wing where the actual ballroom, kitchens, and formal dining hall are located.

  “Where are we going?” Bennett asks. “Do we really need to eat in the dining room? It’s stupid.”

  It is stupid. We all know this. Because the table seats twenty-six people.

  Which means when we finally get there, there’s six place settings at the far end and the rest of the long wooden monstrosity is bare.

  “Wow, Hayes,” Camille chortles as she crunches ice from her now empty glass and picks up a little white card with a name written on it in scripted calligraphy. “Seating arrangements? Really?”

  “It’s just how the staff does dinner, Camille. And you’re the one who insisted on eating down here.”

  “I’m tired of being cooped up in that stupid library. You have a bazillion square feet in this place and we’re stuck in three thousand of them. It’s not fair.”

  Kiera is next to me now. “Do you think she’s just… clueless? Or does she say that shit on purpose?”

  I smile at Kiera. She makes me happy and even though this whole book thing sucks and will suck even harder in the coming weeks when the full intention of this development becomes clear, I’m glad I went to her house yesterday. I’m glad we’ve reconnected. And I don’t care what Hayes says, we can be together. It’s taken me a while to see that, but now that I have I’m not gonna let her go again.

  “Definitely a little of both,” I say, answering her question.

  “OK,” Camille says. “I need to make a revision. Miss Peacock, in the dining room, with the revolver.” Then she cackles a drunk laugh as everyone stops to stare at her. “What? That’s funny.”

  “Not really,” Kiera says, unconsciously rubbing her shoulder where the bullet went through.

  I take Kiera’s hand, then shift my feet when I notice Sofia watching us.

  Maybe… fucking around with them both upstairs was a mistake after all.

  My problem—and theirs too, if they feel like being honest—is that I lose all sense of control when the two of them are alone with me in a room. And I have to wonder, did they condition me to feel this way? Or did I do that to myself?

  I’ve heard friends talk about cheating. How a woman they barely know can supersede the one they know so well. Can overtake their thoughts and consume them from the inside out. Take away everything they thought they ever wanted and replace it with divorce papers, and custody battles, and failure.

  And they don’t care. They can’t stop. This woman, these women, they eat them up and spit them out.

  Lust, I guess. It’s just lust.

  But that’s not what this is. It isn’t like that. It wasn’t like that. Sofia and I were forced into a situation that required we work together. And by work together, I mean fuck.

  Kiera was just… there. Watching. Writing down what we did. So when Sofia wanted to invite her in… hell, it was just hot. That’s all. That’s the only explanation I have for it. Having her in the room with us was hot. Even Sofia got into it.

  “Please,” Hayes says. “Take your seats.”

  “Can I get another Scotch and water?” Camille asks one of the servers as we all take our assigned seats. Hayes is at the head, Kiera on his right, me on his left. Then Sofia and Bennett on my side of the table and Camille next to Kiera.

  “How about we hold the Scotch? Hmmm?” Hayes tells the server nearest Camille, who turns her head to glare at Hayes with contempt.

  “Good idea,” Bennett says from the end. Then, “Hayes, why do you have to sit way up there and make this all uneven? I feel left out down here by myself.”

  I can see his point. So does Hayes. But he’s not giving up the head of the table. Not in his own house. This is his little plan, after all. He wants us to know he’s in control.

  “We should’ve brought the book,” Camille says, pursing her lips. “Have a little trot down memory lane and get it all out in the open.”

  “We don’t need the book,” Hayes says. “We have Kiera.”

  I look at her, and she’s looking at me. “I don’t want to continue the conversation over dinner,” Kiera responds. “We can pick it up later.”

  “No,” Hayes says. “We don’t have time. We need to come up with a plan and to do that we need to know what happened. How about I start?”

  “Hayes,” Kiera says.

  But he puts up a hand to stop her. “Relax, Kiera. There’s no judgement here. Right, Connor?”

  Something is happening, I’m just not sure what. Something between the two of them.

  “Yeah, let’s hear it, Kiera,” Sofia says. “What happened when Hayes and Louise came up to the tower?”

  Kiera repositions the napkin in her lap, looking down at her empty place setting.

  “Of course,” Hayes says. “We have all been reminded that Emily took herself out of the game, but of course our… what did they call themselves in that first communication?”

  “Associates,” Camille whispers.

  “That’s right,” Hayes laughs. “Associates.”

  “Wha
t are you doing?” I ask, suddenly pissed.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Hayes replies.

  “This fucking act you’re doing. What is this? Did you plan this shit? Was it you?”

  “Are you afraid of something?”

  “No, asshole. I’m wondering why the five of us feel sick inside and you’re sitting at the head of the goddamned table acting like you’re one of them. Like this was all your doing. Are you like… getting off on this?”

  “You’re the only one getting off tonight,” Hayes says, deadpan. “Oh, not true. Kiera and Sofia both got off with you.”

  Camille snort-laughs into her glass of ice water.

  I look across the table at Kiera. “Is there a reason he’s acting this way?”

  “Why are you asking me? He’s sitting six inches away from you, ask him.”

  “Yes,” Hayes says. “There is a reason. And if you’d let me finish, I’d get to the point a lot quicker than if you keep trying to put off hearing the inevitable.”

  “Which is?”

  But just as Hayes opens his mouth to speak, we look up to see six servers walking down the long dining room holding covered plates. Kiera, as the guest of honor on Hayes’ right, is served first. If she’s aware that her position at the table has meaning, it doesn’t appear to bother her. The silver dome is lifted off to reveal a bowl of consommé.

  “Would you like a bit of shaved white truffle, madam?” the server politely asks Kiera.

  And for some reason I imagine her declining the fine delicacy. But she surprises me and says, “Yes, thank you,” in an equally quiet voice.

  This night is full of surprises.

  I watch her as the server shaves off three slices, gently dropping them on to the top of her soup.

  Kiera smiles and politely says, “Thank you,” when the server backs away to stand behind her.

  My dish is placed in front of me, and that’s when Camille says, “Hey, where are my truffles?”

  It’s only then I notice Kiera was singled out for this privilege.

  I look at Hayes, who nods to the server behind Kiera, and she dutifully slices off three small shavings of the aromatic fungus for Camille.

  No one else asks. Bennett is already lifting his spoon of broth to his mouth. Sofia is still looking down at her place setting, ignoring everyone. And Hayes is motioning for Kiera’s server to pour her a glass of wine.

  “I hope I get wine,” Camille says.

  “Would you just shut up, Camille?” I say. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

  “Fuck off, Connor. I want wine. Why is Kiera the guest of honor here, anyway? I don’t get it.”

  “Someone has to sit there,” Bennett says, matter-of-factly. “Should we just leave the chair empty to make you feel better about yourself?”

  I can’t see Bennett because he’s on the other side of Sofia, but just what the fuck? I mean, yeah, we all know Camille is difficult, but he’s supposed to be in her corner tonight. That’s how this works.

  I catch myself in that archaic assumption leftover from college and take a deep breath.

  Amazing how easily we slip back into buddy system mode.

  “Fuck you too, Bennett,” Camille retorts, holding her wine glass up to be filled. Hayes must OK this, because she gets her wish. But she’s lost her shine, if she ever had it today. And I know Bennett’s curt response to her objection hurts her more than she’ll ever admit.

  “Shall we toast?” Hayes says, lifting up his wine glass.

  “To what?” I ask.

  “To us, of course,” Hayes says. “It’s nice to be back together, don’t you think?”

  “No,” Sofia says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I’d actually like to go home now.”

  “Got what you came for, Sof?” Bennett asks, still spooning his broth into his mouth.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say. “What are we doing? We’re supposed to be on the same fucking side here.”

  “We are,” Hayes says. “And no, Sofia. You may not be excused. We have many things to discuss tonight.”

  Sofia sighs, her broth untouched as the servers swoop in and begin clearing away the dish. Only Bennett ate his consommé. And Kiera’s white truffles are still gently floating on top of her broth. What is the point of a multi-course meal again?

  Oh, yeah. That’s right. It’s a pretense, like everything else in this world we live in.

  “OK, now that we’re all in the mood. Let’s move on,” Hayes says. “We left off at Louise, didn’t we?”

  He directs that question to Kiera, who looks at me from across the table with downcast eyes. She doesn’t answer him.

  “Louise showed up at the tower—well, why don’t you tell it, Kiera? You were the one who met her first.”

  Kiera isn’t looking at me. Something is going on between these two. And I know what it is. I just want to hear from her, not him.

  “Kiera,” I say. “You can tell me anything.”

  I want to reach for her hand. Give her support. Comfort her.

  But I can’t for reasons I know—and have always known.

  Hayes has deliberately separated us.

  She opens her mouth to speak, but it’s Hayes who talks…

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - KIERA

  “We killed someone that night.”

  “What?” Camille actually spits her wine across the table.

  “Camille, goddamn it!” Sofia protests, wiping drops of wine spit from her cheek.

  “Sorry… what?” Bennett asks. “Did you just say—”

  “We killed someone that night,” Hayes repeats.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Connor asks.

  I glance at Connor, but then quickly look away and take a deep, deep breath.

  “Kiera?” Hayes asks. “Do you want me to tell it? I know it’s hard for you.”

  I shoot Hayes a look that hopefully says, What the fuck are you doing? But he either doesn’t understand my glare or he chooses to ignore me, because he says…

  “Louise came to the tower…”

  And then the story begins and I’m the one telling it.

  Louise came to the tower. Hayes and I were already there, sitting upstairs in the partially furnished room. On the couch, I remember that much. So close to each other our legs were touching.

  “So, how’s this work?” Hayes asks. “You write shit down in that book and then what?”

  “I leave it behind when I’m done.”

  “And they come take it?”

  I shrug. “I guess. Someone does something with it. Because each week there’s a new chapter heading.”

  “Can I see it?” he asks, reaching for the book in my hand.

  “No.” I clutch my notebook in one hand and push his hand away with the other, scooting farther down the couch so we’re not so close. “I’m not allowed to show anyone.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or maybe I’ll get shot again, Hayes. And this time it won’t be in the shoulder. I’m not fucking playing around with you, OK? Not when I already got hurt. I just want to do my part and get through this fucking school year. So back the fuck off.”

  He puts his hands up in surrender. “Chill, killer.”

  “Did I miss anything?”

  We both turn to look behind us where a girl is standing.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask.

  She smiles at me. Indulgently. Like I’m a small child she needs to be patient with. Then directs her gaze to Hayes.

  “Hayes,” she says. Like she knows him.

  “You wanna tell us why you’re here?” he asks.

  “Same reason you are, I suppose.” She says it like she’s bored. Oblivious to what’s been happening to us these past several weeks. “I’m glad you’re not hurt, Kiera.”

  I squint my eyes at her. “I am hurt,” I say. “Emily Medici fucking shot me last month. Or maybe you didn’t hear?”

  “I heard,” she says. Her voice is harsh and matches her sharp face
. Her hair is blonde and stylish. One of those cuts that has no personality built in, it needs to be added daily. Her curls are defined. Not tight ringlets, but soft and wavy. Like someone from those old, glamorous days. Back when women wore dressing gowns to bed and fast-talked into princess phones that lived on vanity tables in large mansion bedroom suites.

  Her clothes are old-fashioned as well. Some might call them classic, but it’s not a look I’ve ever aspired to. A subdued mint-green swing dress made of chiffon with pleats in the skirt and an off-white belt. I have a hard time picturing her walking through the woods in the heels on her feet. Same color as the belt. She’s carrying a little matching purse, for fuck’s sake.

  What does she think is happening here tonight? Some grand party?

  “But you’re OK now,” she adds. And it’s not a question. I’m OK now, is what she’s saying.

  I want to protest and say, No. I’m abso-fucking-lutely not OK.

  But I am OK. I’m alive. My shoulder is healing. I’ve even stopped taking the painkillers to get through the night.

  “So listen,” Louise says, walking around the couch to take a seat in the chair off to the right of Hayes. “And don’t ask a lot of questions because we don’t have much time.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hayes asks.

  “I know it’s hard for you to take orders, Hayes. But we really don’t have time. There is a man in the bottom floor of the tower and we need to take care of him.”

  “What?” I ask, standing up and looking at the doorway that leads downstairs. “Where? I didn’t see anyone down there.”

  “Please,” Louise says. “There is no time for a Q and A, Kiera. He’s in the basement and in about five minutes he’s going to leave. So we need to catch him on his way out.” She pulls a pair of tennis shoes out of her purse, toes off her heels, and slips her feet into them. “I hope the woods aren’t too muddy.”

  It occurs to me then, looking down at my own filthy shoes, then at Hayes’… she didn’t get here through the woods.

  Her new footwear now adjusted, she stands and sighs. “If you want any chance of escape, you’ll just do what I say. Because I’m warning you now, if we take a stand they will ruin our lives. All of us. Camille, Bennett, Connor, Sofia. Us.” Hayes opens his mouth but Louise puts up a hand. “Later, Hayes. I promise I’ll tell you what I can once it’s done.”