“I didn’t kill anyone,” I protest. “I didn’t start that fire in the warehouse.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Jenny. I’m the queen of bullshitters. I can smell it a mile away. So here’s the deal: Until this project is finished, you are going to go to school and come straight home. You aren’t going to take any late-night walks or have any friends over. Once the ribbon is cut on the project, you are packing your bags and returning to your mother.”
I shrink back at the force of her words. There’s no way around it now. I’ve lost. I’m going back to Ohio. Everything that has happened here has been for nothing. People died because I came here. Overwhelming feelings of grief and guilt and horror wash over me. I slump down in the chair, wishing it would swallow me and end this hell.
“What if Brian won’t let me come home?” My voice cracks, and not because of my sore throat.
“You better think of something to convince him, because you know what I found stuffed in the bottom of the trash? The clothes you were wearing on Saturday, covered in ash and burn marks. I bet the police would love to send those to their forensics lab.”
She walks to the door and turns the knob. “Do we have an understanding?”
“Yes,” I croak.
I take a deep breath, pick up my phone, find the number I need, and press call. Mom answers on the second ring. “You scared your sister to death the other day. What were you thinking, talking to her with no adults around?”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t remember what I said to Hailey, but whatever it was, it’s not going to help smooth things over with Brian. “I want to come home.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. It’s not the reaction I expected. She should be making soothing noises and getting her credit card out to buy a plane ticket.
“The project’s almost complete. Dad’s going to have to move. Please let me come home. I miss you guys and my friends and my old school.”
“I don’t know, Jenny.” Mom doesn’t sound mad anymore. She sounds tired, like this conversation is sucking out all her energy.
“Please, Mom.” I give up pretending she doesn’t know about the fire in the abandoned house in Ohio. “Tell Brian I’m better. I promise. It won’t happen again.”
A sigh. “Let me talk to your father about it.”
* * *
—
The next day, I’m the best and most attentive student the world has ever seen. I sit up straight in my desk. I smile at incoming students. I don’t have feelings. I’m a robot.
In homeroom, we’re working on our final project reports. After what happened at the clinic, I don’t have to turn one in, so I sit with my eyes stuck to the back of the head of the girl in front of me.
Teresa walks up and down the aisles. She stops at my desk, places a folded piece of paper in front of me, and keeps walking.
I slap the paper off my desk and slide it into my lap. I look around. Everyone is working.
Teresa is watching me. I don’t understand the look on her face. I unfold the paper, cringing at every crackle it makes.
It’s a note that says From Doc: Ben’s in the hospital. He would like to see you.
I whip my eyes around the classroom, as if the message has been broadcast over the intercom. Teresa sits down at her desk. She nods at me.
* * *
—
I leave school at lunch. I’m taking a huge risk. Monica could be bluffing, or she might go straight to the police if she finds out I disobeyed her.
I walk out the back door and onto the street. At the corner with the traffic light, I pull out my phone and call what must be the only cab in all of Las Piedras.
It shows up a few minutes later. The driver looks me up and down like I’m one of his more interesting customers.
“You got money?” he asks.
I pull out my debit card and pray that Mom didn’t cut me off after my FaceTime with Hailey.
“Okay,” he says. “Where to?”
* * *
—
The hospital serves all the surrounding communities, so it isn’t in Las Piedras. It sits in the middle of the desert off the interstate.
I swipe my card, which, thankfully, goes through, and ask the cab driver to pick me up in an hour. He shrugs and pulls out a newspaper. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
I get Ben’s room number and stand in front of the elevator. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. Apologize? Yell at him? Dissolve into a soppy mess on the floor? One thing I can’t do is tell him about Cam. Not now while he’s hurt in the hospital.
The elevator door opens, and Mike Vargas is standing in front of me. “Shit,” I whisper under my breath. I might as well call the police on myself. As soon as he goes back and tells Monica I wasn’t in school, it’s all over for me.
I stagger back a step as he comes forward. He smiles. “He’s in room 413. At the end of the hall.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He moves past me. “Mr. Vargas?” This is the only shot I have. “Could you not tell anyone that I came here?”
“Sure,” he says, but then he straightens up. “Thank you for caring about my nephew.” He buttons his suit jacket and marches away with his usual I-have-somewhere-important-to-be gait.
I find room 413, and I stick my head inside. It’s a private room with a big window that looks out at distant mountains.
“Pretty nice digs for a junkie, huh?”
When I see him, I can’t hold it together. I spin around and cover my face with my hands.
He says my name. There’s no anger in his voice, just concern. It doesn’t help me pull myself together.
“Please, Jenny.”
I turn and rub my eyes. Ben’s face is lined with pain and exhaustion. He has oxygen tubes in his nose. An IV line pokes into his arm. But he’s still beautiful. Still Ben.
I move over to his bed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”
“You saved my life.”
I have to look away again.
“I don’t remember much of what happened, but the firefighters said that someone pulled me out and a girl called 911. It had to be you. There’s no one else who would do that for me.”
“But it was my fault in the first place.” I point to the tubes. “This is my fault.” My fault for showing up in Las Piedras, my fault for falling for him, my fault for going on that stupid date with Allen.
“No.” Ben takes my hand. “This is on me. All of it.”
I have to change the subject before I start sobbing into his white hospital sheets. “I saw your uncle downstairs.”
Ben’s face shows a hint of a smile. “He came to see me.” He points around the room with his free hand. “That’s why I’m still here and haven’t been kicked out onto the street.”
“That’s great.” An awkward silence fills the space between us.
Ben breaks it. “I have to tell you something.” His tone makes my heart stop. I swallow and my still-raw throat screams at me.
“What?”
“My uncle got me a bed in a rehab place near Taos. It’s supposed to be the best in the state. I’m leaving tomorrow.” He twists the sheet around and around his hand. “You know I care about you, Jenny, but—”
“But you need to get healthy,” I finish for him. He needs to get healthy without me. I’m a reminder of this world that he doesn’t want to live in.
“After the raid on the clinic, I felt like my whole world had been pulled out from under me. They’re my family. When I saw the look on Doc’s face, I knew the clinic wasn’t going to survive. I couldn’t think straight. So I did what was familiar, what I knew would take some of the hurt away. But this time, I didn’t care if I died.”
What he’s not saying is that he came to me for help and saw me with Allen.
Ben narrows h
is eyes, like he’s trying hard to remember something. “What happened at the warehouse?” he asks. “I remember Cam showing up and yelling at me. Then there was someone else. A woman, maybe? Cam thought she had given me the drugs. She didn’t. It was me. My choice. Then I woke up in the hospital, and the doctor said I had been in a fire.”
I nod. I can’t tell him about Ro—even though it would make me feel better to tell someone. This isn’t about me. It isn’t his job to make me feel better this time. It never was, or at least it never should have been.
He sees that I’m not going to say anything. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” He looks down at the twisted sheet.
I stand up. “I’m going back to Ohio,” I say, as if instead of ending our whole relationship, I’ve just canceled plans to go to the movies. The hurt shows on his face. But being a first-class bitch is the only way I know how to deal with my pain.
I lean over and wrap my arms around his neck. I kiss him on the forehead.
“Maybe someday…,” he says. I nod, but I know it’s a lie.
This is goodbye.
For another week, nothing happens. I become the robot again. Unfeeling, uncaring. I go to school. I come home. I do what Monica wants.
Dad knocks on my door on Wednesday. When I open it, a giant, fake smile is on his face. He steps inside.
“I spoke with your mother.” The smile gets bigger, faker. “She thinks it would be best if you were to go back to Ohio.” He shrugs. “You know I never could win an argument with her.”
His smile turns into a cringe. He doesn’t know how I’m going to react. “When?” I ask.
“The final inspection is tomorrow, and—”
“Tomorrow? I thought it wasn’t for another week.”
“Mike got it moved up. If everything goes well, the ribbon cutting will be Saturday morning.”
“I want to leave Saturday afternoon.”
Dad jumps at the force in my voice. If Mom and Brian will take me back, I have to get out of here as soon as possible. I’ll find a way to deal with Ohio later. Right now I need to get away from Monica and Cam. Away from the swath of dry, crackly trees outside.
“But school isn’t over until Memorial Day,” he says.
“It’s a couple of weeks. Call the principal and ask him why they sent your daughter to work in a crack house. I’m sure they’ll be very accommodating.” Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly hate myself more, it turns out there’s still some wiggle room.
Dad and I have never talked about what happened at the clinic, but I know he knows. Everyone does. His face falls.
“Okay,” Dad says. He can’t win an argument with me, either.
* * *
—
When I come home from my last day at Riverline Prep on Thursday, the office door is propped open. A bunch of people are gathered inside. Dad waves me over. He puts an empty champagne flute in my hand and pours the tiniest bit of bubbly in it. “We passed. The project is officially done and ready to open for business.”
“That’s great.” I clink my glass around the room. When I get to Monica, she tips her head. I’ve fulfilled my part of the bargain. I already have my plane ticket for Saturday evening.
The lawyer appears in the doorway. His face is red and his slick suit rumpled. He looks through the crowd to Mike Vargas. “I held them off as long as I could.”
A police car pulls into the freshly paved parking lot. I don’t see Cam hiding in the corner until Mike Vargas walks over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He leads Cam to the door. “Don’t say a word without an attorney present.”
One of the police officers steps forward. “Cameron Vargas, you are under arrest for the murder of Kara Johnston and the murder of an unidentified woman.” The other officer steps around behind Cam and cuffs him as he’s read his rights.
Mike Vargas and the lawyer jump into a car to follow them to the station. As Cam ducks his head to slide into the police car, his eyes catch mine. Fear and confusion twist his face. That’s right, Cam. You’ve been playing us this whole time, but you got caught.
He may think his act now is convincing, but I know they’ve got the right guy.
He killed Kara and Ro.
* * *
—
I spend the night sorting through stuff. I’m only packing what I originally brought—minus the ultradown coat. As I put the new stuff into piles that are going to the charity shop or the clinic, I feel Ro all around me. The dagger of guilt, my scar, and the sadness won’t leave me alone. I keep hoping that when I land in Ohio, it will disappear and I can erase the past five months from my mind.
I hold up the dress—minus the belt—that I wore to the club the night Kara died. I drop it in the donate pile.
Nothing will ever erase the past five months.
I jump at a sound outside. It’s not the cops. But they could show up at any time—or not at all.
My hat and Ben’s lighter are missing. I went through all my drawers ten times, but they aren’t here. Cam must have them. I don’t know what he’ll do. Will he confess and take me down with him? Or will he plead innocence and save the info about me to use as a bargaining chip later?
I have to get out of here. If I can make it on to the plane to Ohio, I’ll be fine. Are they really going to chase me across state lines? That sounds messy and expensive—two things that the people of Las Piedras aren’t into.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, I fall asleep in the donation pile. I’m startled awake by another sound. I look around. I’m still alone, but a strip of paper is sitting in my lap. I jump up. It wasn’t there when I fell asleep. I glance over at the door. The dead bolt and the chain are locked.
With shaking fingers, I pick up the paper. It’s torn off a bigger sheet so the bottom edge is ragged.
It says, in that same red Sharpie, You almost fooled me.
My whole body convulses in a shiver. Cam’s in jail. It can’t be him.
I rip it into a million pieces and race into the bathroom. I flush it.
The bathroom window is unlocked. I’d been keeping it open for Ro, as if the open window would bring her back to life.
I slam the lock shut. That’s how he got in.
While I was sleeping.
I race around my room. There’s nowhere to hide, but I search anyway. Under the bed. In the wardrobe. In between the donation bags.
Someone’s still out there.
Watching me.
In the morning, I open my door a crack and look both ways. All the construction equipment has been moved out. The landscaping crew is fluffing bushes and planting flowers in the beds that separate the parking lot from the sidewalk. The ceremony is in twenty-four hours. Then I’ll leave, and I’ll be safe.
One of the landscapers holds a shovel. He looks up at me. I slam my door shut.
* * *
—
“Jenny, come have some lunch,” Dad calls from outside.
I undo the chain, unlock the dead bolt, and slide back the chair I had propped up against the door. I stick my nose out. “I’m not hungry.”
“Come on. Monica got us takeout from that fancy Italian place. This is one of our last meals together.” Dad looks remorseful, as if he’s actually sad about me leaving. I’m not sure why; I’ve barely seen him the whole time I’ve been here, but my heart can’t take hurting anyone else.
I step out and make sure my door locks behind me.
As soon as I can, I go back to my room. I’m stuffed to the point that my stomach feels like it’s going to explode. Monica was pleasant. Dad didn’t notice the coldness in her eyes every time she looked at me. She made a point of telling me that the dumpster got emptied that morning. I guess that means that my trash bag of clothes was in it. She upheld her end of the deal.
I unlock my door and hold it o
pen as I step inside. Everything is how I left it—except for the piece of paper in the middle of my bed.
I step back. The door closes in front of me. Dad exits the office and sees me in the middle of the sidewalk. “Did you lock yourself out?”
I shake my head. Part of me wants to tell him. Have him call the cops. Let me sleep on the floor of his room tonight. But I don’t. I won’t have an explanation for whatever that note says.
I rub my stomach. “I needed another breath of fresh air.”
He laughs. “Best lasagna I’ve ever had.” He walks away to inspect the flowers and chat with the landscapers.
I open my door and grope around the floor for something I can use as a weapon. The only thing I can reach is the black marker I was using to label things. I grip it like an ice pick.
I check under the bed and tiptoe to the wardrobe. I hold the marker over my head and scream as I rush forward into the bathroom.
No one’s here.
I drop the marker, and it lands with a click on the marble floor. I follow it down to my knees. The window is locked. It’s someone with a key.
I crawl out to the bed and pick up the note between two fingers. This one is torn off at the top and the bottom, letting me know that I won’t be done until there’s a straight edge.
This note says I thought you were afraid of fire, but I was wrong.
Rip. Flush. Bye.
I’m not going to sleep tonight. I hold the marker and stare at the door. The chain and the dead bolt are locked. The chair is pushed in front of it. All the donation bags are piled on the chair. I sit between the bed and wardrobe with my suitcases making a nest around me and count the seconds until my plane leaves.
* * *
—
I jerk awake. My head was resting on my blue rolling suitcase, leaving behind a dark drool mark. I jump to my feet. The door, the chair, and the bags are all untouched. The bathroom window is locked. There’s no new note on my bed.
Watch You Burn Page 24