“I don’t know why she even compares us. I love my brother, but I’m not him.”
“I totally get it. My mom—” I stop short. Once, when my mom was high on morphine after a surgery, she said that Autumn got the pretty genes and I needed to try harder with my appearance. She probably didn’t even remember saying it. But I remember. I kick a rock, and it clatters into a storm drain. “Yeah. I get it.”
We trudge along in silence until the giant smiling bagel comes into view, hanging over the entrance. I always tell Jason that he has to steal the bagel for me if they ever decide to change their sign. I will totally hang it up in my bedroom.
The bell over the glass door tinkles as we head inside. I inhale deeply, savoring the doughy, garlicky aroma of freshly baked bagels. It’s got to be in my top three favorite smells, right up there with Maine beaches and Christmas trees.
Patrick quickly excuses himself to the bathroom, and the second he’s gone, Jason emerges from the kitchen.
“Whoa, sexy outfit.” I try to wolf-whistle at him in his bagel-making uniform, but it just comes out a gust of air. “How do I get me one of those bagel hats?”
“Get a job here?” Jason darts his eyes toward the kitchen, then back. “Hang on,” he mutters, adjusting the white-and-blue apron tied around his neck. “Wait outside.”
“Nice to see you, too!” I roll my eyes and push back through the door, making the bell chime again. I swear, Jason better not be in a grumpy mood today. I need his help.
Within seconds, he strolls out, still wearing his apron and hat. “Sorry about that—my boss was up my ass today. You would not believe what Alexa and Sophie did to me.”
“Oh no.” I slap my hand over my mouth to block the giggles. “Please tell me they got revenge for Operation Trojanscan.”
Last month, Jason and I pranked Alexa while she was working at CVS. We brought twenty boxes of condoms up to the register to buy. Then, after she scanned them all, we insisted on returning them—which meant she had to call a manager, over the intercom, to come return twenty boxes of condoms. She swore she’d get even.
“At least, I think it was them. Someone called and ordered fifty raisin bagels under the name Mike Rotch.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh man. She got you.”
“Picture me calling that order over the microphone for ten minutes.”
“I will be eternally sad to have missed seeing this.”
“We’re gonna need to start plotting revenge. Here.” He throws a round paper package at me. “Sesame, extra cream cheese.”
“Yes!” I hold it to my nose. “Oh my God.” I close my eyes and inhale. “It’s still warm.”
“Don’t let my boss hear you having a foodgasm, jeez. He already thinks I’m the store perv after the whole ‘Mike Rotch’ thing.”
I unwrap the paper, enjoying a deep whiff. “He should take it as a compliment that I love your bagels so much.” I take a monstrous bite, exaggerating my reaction just to mess with him. “So. Good.”
I open my eyes and Jason’s staring at me. We both crack up.
The door tinkles again and Patrick plods outside. “Sorry about that. Hey, man.” He nods at Jason. “What’s up?”
Jason’s smile sinks. “Oh, hey. Sorry. I only brought one bagel. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “He can have half of mine.”
“Thanks. I’m starving.”
I rip off a chunk of bagel for him.
Jason shuffles his feet. “So, what’s this dangerous mission?”
“Okay, so.” I swallow a giant bite of bagel. “How do you feel about breaking into cars?”
AUTUMN
I’m about ready to slap someone. And by someone, I mean these two losers my sister insisted on dragging along. We had to walk all the way back to the parking garage for Jason’s car, because Mr. Someone Might See Me in This wanted to ditch his ridiculous bagel apron. We then had to make a detour to the candy store, and finally—finally—we got into Jason’s car and he drove us back to the lot.
Ivy should never have brought these two distractions along, and I’m a little miffed she’s not taking this as seriously as she should be.
“Okay, here’s her car.”
Jason circles my Civic the same way Ivy did earlier. He’s got his hand buried in a bag of gummy lobsters from the candy store.
Come on.
“I don’t think she’s been here in a while,” he says.
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. We’ve established that.
“Go to the warehouse.” I cup Ivy’s cheeks with my hands and look into her eyes. “Go. Into. The. Warehouse.”
“This is going to sound super weird.” Ivy unknowingly pulls away from me. She takes a few of Jason’s lobsters. “But I really feel like we need to go into that building.”
Patrick watches the warehouse like it’s a bomb ready to detonate. “It looks like it should be condemned.”
Jason glances at him, which Ivy doesn’t seem to notice, and puffs out his chest. “I’ll go in.”
I roll my eyes so hard, I’m surprised they can’t see the back of my invisible head.
“I’ll stay here and watch the car,” Patrick says. “So if it gets dangerous, just shout and I’ll call 911.” He keeps his eyes glued to the ground, as if we all can’t see right through that flimsy excuse.
“Why did you bring these dipshits?” I snap, wishing they could hear me. I follow behind my sister, staying a short distance away.
I didn’t realize how badly this ghostly body would betray me. My heart rate speeds faster the closer we get, until it’s full-on pounding in my ears. I picture that Nick guy standing here, lying to me. Right outside the rusty metal doorframe, I stop walking and close my eyes.
It’ll be over soon.
They’re going to find my body, call 911, and everything will be fine.
The weird thing is, the closer we get, the more it looks . . . different. There’s no padlock on the door, and I could’ve sworn I saw one when I went into my body. No chain around the handle, either—it’s just that piece of plywood. Maybe I imagined the lock. At least now I won’t need to teach Ivy how to pick it.
Ivy steps inside the warehouse first, using her phone as a flashlight. I’m now close to her, my hands hovering at her back. In the daylight, it’s a bit brighter. Narrow strips of light seep between the roof boards, shining thin beams onto the dirt beneath our feet. A few lines of illegible graffiti mar the gray concrete walls. The whole thing gives me the eerie feeling that we’re on a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean.
I bob up and down on the balls of my feet. “Okay, shine your light on the ground. I’m here somewhere.”
The gravel crunches beneath Ivy’s and Jason’s shoes, but my footsteps are silent. Like I’m not even here.
Where’s my body?
“It smells kinda funky.” Jason wrinkles his nose. “Like piss.”
I pick up my pace, speed-walking along the length of the wall and into the middle of the room. I’ve got to be here somewhere. The warehouse isn’t that big.
“Do you spend lots of time smelling piss?” Ivy shines her phone around the small square space.
I strain my eyes in the dim light. All I see is dirt.
“What are we looking for, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” Her light beam traces the edges where the walls meet the ground, illuminating cigarette butts, empty beer cans, and a ratty old blanket balled up in the corner. “A clue. Something.”
My pulse races. No. What the hell? Where am I?
This can’t be happening.
I can go into my body and call for help. Ivy will hear me then.
I close my eyes and concentrate, thrusting myself back into my mangled body. The familiar cold, hard surface below me feels eerily like a tombstone. I groan, forcing m
y eyes open. My blurry vision takes a moment to adjust.
Wood. I see wood. A low wooden ceiling. Four wooden walls, boxing me into a space the size of a bathroom.
I suck in a breath, wincing at the throbbing pain that stabs into my ribs. This isn’t possible. The warehouse is a cage of concrete.
A rusty metal shelf hangs high over my head; I can barely make out its silhouette. Light creeps in through cracks and spaces between the wooden boards.
Wood. Wood. Everywhere is wood. The smell of dank cedar fills the air, seeping into my pores.
And there, slung through a small hole in the wooden door, the thick-ringed chain locks me in.
A sob chokes in my throat, burning all the way down.
I’m not in the warehouse. They moved me.
Where am I?
Footsteps outside jerk my attention.
“I didn’t sign up for this, man,” says a deep male voice. “This has gone too far.”
“Stop freaking out.” Another guy. “It’s fine.”
I hold my breath, every inch of my broken body alert.
“What if she saw our faces?”
“We’ll figure it out. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Their footsteps fade. I wasn’t abandoned and left for dead—they’re holding me hostage. Somewhere.
I blink.
Ivy and Jason circle the warehouse, seeking something they’ll never find.
“I’m not here.” The words escape softer than a whisper. “Ivy, I’m not in here.” I blink back tears. “They’re going to kill me, and I have no idea who they are or where they’re keeping me.”
I swallow down a hard lump. She has to find me.
Neither voice sounded like Liam’s, but somehow, he has to be involved. Abby said the police were questioning him, and O’Riley had his picture—maybe he thought I snitched. Or maybe he was worried I would snitch sometime in the future.
That sick fuck. I hate Liam. He’s behind this somehow, and if I see him again, I’ll kick him right in the sack.
I’m so focused on Liam—his name, his stupid face—that the second I open my eyes, the scenery around me changes, and there he is.
I’ve never been inside a county jail, but I recognize it as that immediately.
“You’ve got five more minutes,” barks a guard in a gray uniform.
Liam slumps on a wooden bench in a loose orange jumpsuit. He’s got a thick black phone pressed to his ear. “In a holding cell. Yeah . . . I know.” Defeat weighs down his words. “They already took my prints . . . Criminal trespass, burglary . . . They had camera footage . . . Yeah, I will . . . They’re providing one, I can’t afford that shit.”
How long has he been in jail? Abby was right—they dragged him down to the station, but that was Friday afternoon, before I got attacked. I steady my quickening breaths.
He has a lot of friends. Connections. People who are shady as hell. Even if it wasn’t him, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind it. So who did Liam’s dirty work?
Liam’s frown is pure misery, and it brings me a tiny speck of joy.
“Enjoying prison, dirtbag?” I ask, even though he can’t hear me. But my smugness at Liam’s current circumstance is overtaken by a blaring realization: in this body, I can visit anyone I think of.
Okay. I can figure this out. I can find out where I am. I just need to spy on the right people.
I close my eyes and focus on Nick—his name, his face, his shitty wannabe goatee.
Nothing happens.
Anger rages hot inside me. Fuck.
I think of my sister, and when I blink, the scenery changes again and I’m back in the warehouse with Ivy and Jason. It hits me—“Nick” must have used a fake name. I try to picture the faces of the other guys but keep coming up empty; I didn’t get a good look at them.
A glint on the ground catches my eye. Embedded in the dirt beneath a sneaker print, my purple lanyard lies forgotten, along with the attached keys.
“Ivy!” I grab her hand and tug; of course, she doesn’t even feel it. “Ivy! Look!” I point my invisible fingers at the keys.
As if on cue, Ivy turns, her eyes unknowingly following my hand. “Holy shit.”
I back up to let her through. Ivy crouches and grabs my lanyard, dusting off the dirt. “These are Autumn’s.” She cradles it in her palms so Jason can see. I gently brush the keys with my fingertips, savoring the cold metal. It’s proof I can still feel.
“Whoa.” He flares his hands out. “Okay. So she was definitely here.”
“I thought she’d just parked here and switched cars, but . . .” Ivy’s brows draw together. “She wouldn’t have left her keys.” She touches my car key, then my house key, then my CVS rewards card and my key chain of a smiling pig holding an I’M YOUR BUDDY, NOT YOUR BREAKFAST picket sign, and finally trails her finger up the length of the lanyard.
“If they’d fallen out of her pocket, she would’ve come back looking for them.”
“So how’d they get there?”
“I don’t know. Why was she even hanging out here?”
It’s a good question. I’m humiliated to admit the answer was that I’m too gullible.
“I didn’t wanna go there,” Jason says, “but wasn’t she . . . dealing? What if she comes here to sell drugs or use them or something?”
“It’s possible.”
“Maybe she got really high and went to a friend’s house and will come back for her keys later. I mean, hasn’t it only been a day?”
I’m holding my invisible breath, watching the conviction fade from my sister’s eyes.
Ivy fidgets. “Yeah. Technically.”
“No,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.”
“I mean, maybe she got high and wandered off,” Jason continues. “I don’t want to be a douche, but . . . stuff like that happens to people who use drugs all the time.”
It’s like the fact that I’m a dealer nullifies the fact that I might be in danger. That it’s something everyone should expect. A druggie got her head bashed in and left for dead? Just part of the circle of life. Cue Lion King music.
“I mean, doesn’t she do a lot of weird shit?” Jason keeps going, and I’m stuck listening to it. “She has no self-control, no filter. Like, didn’t she sleep with your stepbrother? Who does that?”
I’m thrown off my balance as if ripped by the undertow of a wave and smacked with a memory.
It was something Chris had said to me the morning after the party. I was walking around the house in a hungover haze, trying to make sense of what happened and put a stop to the full-on revolt happening in my stomach. I’d spent the morning scrubbing the remaining eye makeup off my face and gulping water like a fish to stop myself from throwing up. He stopped me in the foyer while I was pulling on my boots.
“So, last night.”
I couldn’t look at him. The night before felt like a dream. I’d blown off all my friends to go to the party. I’d put my head on Chris’s shoulder on his friend’s couch. I’d laced my fingers with his. I’d done way too many shots. And now, in the daylight, it all felt so wrong. He was my stepbrother, and I’d slept with him, and more than anything in the world I wanted to take it back.
“We probably shouldn’t tell anyone what happened,” he said. “I mean, your dad would flip if he knew we’d been drinking. And we’re technically related now, you know?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to pretend it never happened. It was a bad, drunken mistake and I couldn’t believe I even did it.
“You just kept looking at me in that way all night, and the way you kept saying my name, it just . . . you were really hot in that outfit. One minute we were heading home, and the next you were all over me.” He laughed. My face flushed and I kept my eyes down. Shit, I must’ve been so wasted. How embarrassing. “I guess we both
kinda lost control. But we probably shouldn’t do it again, you know?”
He was right; people would get the wrong idea. So I just smiled at the floor and nodded.
And now, staring at the asphalt, without words to speak, that powerless feeling returns.
“Please don’t give up,” I whisper in my sister’s ear. “Don’t leave me out there to die.” I’m begging. My own voice replays in my head, calling me pathetic. If you need to beg for mercy, it’s too late—mercy’s not coming. “Please don’t go.” I take Ivy’s hand, a gesture she can’t even feel. “Please, Ivy.”
Ivy focuses on my keys. “I’m not leaving until I check her car.”
Relief floods through me. If they get into my car, they’ll find my phone and read my texts. They’ll know about “Nick” luring me here—if that’s even his real name. It’s a start.
I wait for Jason to protest. Instead, he nods and gestures toward the door. “After you.”
The bright sunlight accosts us back outside, and we all shade our eyes. I follow Ivy and Jason back across the vacant lot.
“What are you hoping to find?” Jason asks.
“I’m not sure.”
My mind races. I don’t leave drugs, or cash, or anything suspicious in my car, and I always text in code. I deleted the burglary messages the second I received them. I spent years perfecting my evidence-free lifestyle; now I’d give anything to have made a mistake.
Patrick leans against my car, tapping his foot against the ground. “Phew. I was worried about you guys. What’d you find?”
“Her keys.” Ivy clicks the button, unlocking my car.
Patrick cocks his head. “Are we gonna drive it?”
“No.” Ivy rips the door open. “We’re searching it.”
“What are we looking for?”
Ivy scrunches her mouth to the side. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Phone,” I shout. “You’re looking for my phone!”
The three of them spend a good ten minutes digging through my schoolbooks, old coffee cups, and random crap, while I stand here shouting myself hoarse, screaming the word “Phone!”
“I’m going to try calling her again.” Ivy puts her phone on speaker, and the boys wait with bated breath.
The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly Page 10