When I roamed into the gym, I found Claire in the middle of a two-legged stunt. The boom of the music came to a grinding halt.
“Are you lost?” one of the cheerleaders asked.
“It’s okay, girls, I know her,” Claire bellowed. She jumped down and walked over to me.
“You’re not supposed to interrupt cheerleading practice, new girl.”
“It’s Hanna.”
“Whatever. What do you want?” she asked as she stood with her left hand on her hip. “As you can see, I’m a little busy here,” she grumbled.
“I need your help with something.”
“Of course you do,” she said, twisting some of her hair with her finger. “Spill it.”
The other cheerleaders were behind Claire, chatting to themselves, waiting impatiently for her to return. I caught a couple of them rolling their eyes.
“I need a ride to Brooke’s house.”
“Oh sweetie, are you sure you want to go to her house? I mean, you see how she dresses; imagine what the inside of her house looks like.”
“Well, you tell me. You’ve been there before.”
“That was a long time ago, before she became weird. Who knows what it looks like now.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Claire had a good point, though; I couldn’t shake the feeling that the inside of Brooke’s house probably resembled the one in Amityville Horror...I mean, she drove a hearse for goodness sake.
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I guess since you’re helping me with my essay, I can give you a ride. Meet me in front of the school in about half an hour.”
“Thanks.”
“Whatever. I have to get back to practice,” she said as she slowly backed away. “Don’t forget about Angela Blaine’s party Friday night, new girl,” she yelled before she turned around and walked away.
***
Claire steered into the narrow driveway of Brooke’s small house. It looked so different during the day. The exterior siding was dark green in colour, and the paint was starting to chip. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the wood porch looked like it could fall apart any minute.
“Oh. My. Gosh. Are you sure you want to go in there?” Claire said.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride. I’ll ask Brooke to give me a ride home.”
“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Bye,” I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt.
I got out of her car, and as soon as I closed the door, she drove off blasting her music. As I padded up the wooden steps to Brooke’s front door, I could hear Iggy’s song, Fancy, playing in the distance. I knocked several times, but nobody answered. I gripped the door handle and turned; it was unlocked. The chrome felt cold against my hand.
I slowly opened the door and entered her house. “Hello? Brooke, I’m here!” I yelled.
I closed the door behind me, then crept in the house. Ahead of me was a long hall, and to the right was the kitchen. I proceeded to the living room, but there was no sign of Brooke.
I slowly crept up the stairs. “Brooke?” I called out.
There was no answer.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw the bathroom door was slightly open. Nervous, I kept walking, and as I got closer all I could see was part of a leg dangling from the tub. My heart started pounding so loud, I could hear it in my ears.
A lump formed in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. I gently pushed open the bathroom door, and there was Brooke, lying in her own blood, alone and lifeless.
CHAPTER FOUR—WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME
“Ohmigod!”
I got closer to the tub and noticed Brooke’s wrists were cut. She was naked, and a couple bruises were on her forehead. Blood dripped from her wrists, which formed a pool of blood on the floor. The air was thick with a pungent smell similar to rusty nails. There was blood spatter on the wall, and one of her legs hung over the side of the tub. Her head lay at an oblique angle, and her long black wet hair fell to the floor. Her eyes were closed.
I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. I reached in my pocket for my Motorola to dial 911, only it wasn’t in there. As I looked around, frantic, my hands trembled. Police sirens echoed and began getting louder and louder, then suddenly I heard the front door burst open, followed by several thunderous footsteps up the stairs.
“This is the police! We have you surrounded!” a deep voice boomed. I immediately put my arms up. “Step away from the body!”
“I didn’t do this!” I shouted as I slowly backed away from the tub. My eyes were flooded with tears as they streamed down my cheek.
“We received a call that a girl was in trouble,” one of the officers said. At that moment, I realized I was set up.
One of the police officers put my arms behind my back and put handcuffs on my wrists. A man named Detective Walters then read me my Miranda rights. He was tall with a slim build. His head was oval-shaped, and he had short salt and pepper hair, dark brown eyes, and a long nose. He wore a dark grey trench coat and black shoes.
“I didn’t do this! I found her this way!” I protested, but no one seemed to care.
Within minutes, several cops were in the house and the outside of the home was surrounded by police cars. Some of the neighbours crowded around to find out what happened. Inside, yellow crime scene tape was draped across the bathroom door, and crime scene investigators were collecting evidence from Brooke’s body. Police officers stood outside the door to make sure nobody unauthorized entered. The forensic pathologist dusted for fingerprints and took photos.
As all this was going on, my whole body felt numb. I’d never seen a real dead body up close; the closest I’d ever come to a dead body was while watching CSI.
Detective Walters informed me that I had to go down to the station with him to answer some questions, then escorted me to his car. I couldn’t move my arms, as my wrists were still bound by the handcuffs. Everybody was looking at me like I was a criminal; maybe because in their eyes, that was exactly what I was. As I tread past everyone in the crowd, I couldn’t help wondering if the killer was among them.
***
When we reached the police station, an officer took off my handcuffs and put me in a pint-sized room with a table and two grey plastic chairs, one on each side. It was dingy, and a rancid smell similar to old shoes filled the room. The room was quiet, but I could hear the buzzing of copy machines and ringing phones from outside the door.
I sat down, folded my arms on the table, and rested my head on them; I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. A few minutes later, Detective Walters came in and sat down across from me.
I sat up in my chair. “I want to talk to my mom!” I exclaimed.
He raised his hand and gestured me to stop talking. “We’ve notified your mom, and she’s on her way.” I bit my lip. “Miss Clark, the forensic pathologist, found contusions on the victim’s body. It might suggest she was beaten before she was cut and left to bleed out in the tub.” My stomach began to churn. “The victim also suffered blunt head trauma. Whoever did this knew she was already dead and staged the scene to make it look like she killed herself,” Detective Walters finished.
Suddenly, it felt like the room was closing in on me. My breathing quickened, and it felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what happened,” Detective Walters said.
I sat up in my chair and bit my lip. My forehead was beaded with sweat. I tucked some hair behind my ears and took a deep breath.
“She was supposed to meet me last night at the bleachers behind the school, but she never showed up. I’ve been texting her since last night, but she didn’t respond until this afternoon.” I gripped my neck. “She texted me her address so we could meet at her house. When I got there, I found her…well…I found her…”
I tried to stifle my tears, but I couldn’t. I leaned over and put my face
in my hands.
“Miss Clark, we didn’t find the victim’s cell phone. Nor did we find the sharp object that was used to cut her wrists. Where is your cell phone?” Detective Walters asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I said.
He stood up and leaned over the table so his face was in front of mine. “Well, isn’t that convenient?” He pressed his hands into the table and furrowed his brow. “Where did you stash the weapon?”
I lifted my head. “What? You think I did this?” I straightened my spine. “I didn’t stash anything! I’m telling you the truth! I didn’t do this!” I cried, waving my arms. I could taste the salt from my tears.
He asked me the same questions over and over again to see if my answers would change, but they didn’t. He kept watching me, like he was waiting for me to break down and confess. It felt like I had been there for days, but it had only been hours.
I ran my hands through my hair. The door opened, and a man in a grey suit wearing a badge asked to speak with Detective Walters for a minute.
“I’ll be right back,” Detective Walters said, then walked over to the man.
The two of them whispered as they talked, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. At one point, Detective Walters turned his head and looked at me with his piercing brown eyes. He smirked and nodded his head as he crossed his hands over his chest. The man left the room, and Detective Walters closed the door and sauntered back to the table. He sat down and gazed at me with a crooked smile. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to look weak or guilty, so I held his gaze.
“So...it appears you spent some time at Hessner.” That word sent a shiver up my spine. “Why don’t you tell me about that?”
“I...I...”
Suddenly, the door cracked open and my mother walked in.
“Hanna! Oh my goodness! Are you all right?”
“Mom!” I jumped out of my seat and ran to her. “I didn’t do this, Mom! You have to believe me! Please don’t let them send me back!”
“That’s not going to happen, honey,” she muttered. “Just take a deep breath.”
I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my head on her chest. The beating of her heart made me feel safe; I didn’t want her to let me go. The tears on my face dried, making my face feel raw.
My mother looked at Detective Walters. “How dare you question my daughter without my permission?!”
“Mrs. Clark–”
“Ms.!”
“Ms. Clark, we didn’t force her to answer any questions. She could have refused at any time.”
“Are we done here? Can I take my daughter home, please?”
“She’s free to go, but make sure she doesn’t leave town,” Detective Walters said in a stern tone.
***
The drive home with my mother was quiet. The radio was shut off, and all I could hear was the humming of the engine. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes.
“I called your father to let him know what happened,” my mom said.
“Why? He didn’t really care about us when we lived together, so why would he care now?”
“He’s still your father, Hanna.”
“Well, I wish he would act like it more often.”
Shortly after we left the police station, we arrived home. I was jolted awake by my mother putting the gear shift into park and the car grumbling to sleep. I unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me. As I followed my mother to our front door, I encased myself with my arms; it was a bit chilly, and our street was so dark and ominous. There wasn’t a car or person in sight.
As I waited for my mother to unlock the door, I heard the bushes rustling. I looked over and saw a flashing blue light, similar to a cell phone. My mother turned around and looked at me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I snapped my neck in her direction. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
When I looked back at the bushes, the blue light was gone. I had a feeling somebody was watching me...maybe the killer.
CHAPTER FIVE—A DEVIL IN DISGUISE
The next morning after I got dressed, I sauntered down the stairs and was on my way to the kitchen when the sound of the television in the living room stopped me in my tracks. Brooke’s death was all over the news. A Latino woman wearing a grey skirt suit and holding a microphone was covering the story in front of Brooke’s house.
“This is Lucia Alvarez, reporting at the scene where Brooke Tillier was found dead in her home. Her body was discovered yesterday evening when she was visited by a classmate. The victim was found dead in her tub, and her wrists were cut. The police consider this a homicide and are investigating. Grief counselors will be at Willowdale High as staff and students mourn. Brooke was a senior. She was only eighteen years old. This is Lucia Alvarez, with Channel Five news.”
My mother walked in the room and caught me watching the television. “Oh Hanna, you shouldn’t be watching that,” she said, then darted towards the television and immediately turned it off.
“I can’t believe this is happening to me!” I exclaimed, then stormed into the kitchen and grabbed an apple off the table.
“Is that all you’re having?” my mom asked.
“I’m not really hungry.” I snatched my purse off the table.
“Can we just go to school, please? I want to get this day over with so I can come back home and lock myself in my room.”
My mother walked over and embraced me. “It’s going to be okay. If we could get through the Simon thing, we can get through this, too.” I forced a smile as my mother scooped her keys off the counter. “Oookay, let’s go.”
I opened the front door and my heart almost jumped out of my throat: lying there, in front of our door, was my phone.
“Oh, your phone!” exclaimed my mother.
“Yeah,” I said puzzled. I looked around to see if anybody was watching me, then grabbed it and immediately pressed the messages icon to retrieve all the messages Brooke and I had exchanged.
“Maybe somebody found it and left it there for you.”
“Maybe.” My breath caught in my throat: all the messages were gone! It felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs...any shred of proof I had was gone.
“What’s wrong?” asked my mother.
“Nothing.”
When I got to school, everybody was talking about what had happened to Brooke. As soon as I appeared in the halls, people were gazing at me and whispering to each other. I heard one girl say, “I heard she might have killed somebody.” Another girl whispered to her friend, “That’s the girl who stabbed her boyfriend at her last school.” Some guy said, “She’s like a celebrity.” I heard another guy say, “She’s hotter than Claire Miller.” That comment was totally random, but I liked it.
One girl jumped out in front of me. She had chestnut brown eyes and long thick raven black hair that was dip dyed a fiery red. She wore black skinny jeans, a sequined black tank top, and black leather knee boots. “Are you the one who found Brooke dead?” she asked in an eager tone.
I tossed some hair behind my ear and crossed my arms, covering my chest. “Who are you?”
“My name is Stephanie Bradshaw, and I write for the school newspaper, The Scoop. I’d love to write a column on what happened.”
“Now’s not a good time, okay?” I put my hand in her face and scurried through the hall in search of a bathroom when I ran into Josh.
“Hey…I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
“No…not really.”
“Well, if you need me, I’m here.”
He squeezed my shoulder, making my stomach flutter. I smiled, and he smiled back. Claire caught my eye and sprinted towards us, with Katie and Jessica by her side.
“Am I interrupting something?” she snapped.
Josh quickly removed his hand from my shoulder. Claire glared at me, and I looked down.
“Hi, babe,” he said, putting his arm ar
ound her waist and kissing her on the cheek. He then spotted a couple of his buddies. He gave Claire another kiss, this time on the lips. “Hey, wait up, guys! See you later, babe.”
“K,” said Claire.
“See you in geometry, Hanna,” he said, then wandered off with his friends.
“So, is it true? Is Brooke Tillier really dead?” Claire asked.
I gave a languid nod of my head.
“I heard her wrists were cut,” Jessica blurted. Claire shot her a stern look, and Jessica quickly looked away.
“Yeah, it’s pretty messed up,” I said, then bit my bottom lip.
“Well, whoever killed her did the world a favor...or should I be thanking you?” she said to me with a smug look on her face.
“How could you say that?” I shot back.
“Well, I dropped you off at her house last night, and now she’s dead. What would you think?”
“I can’t talk about this anymore!” I shouted. I turned to leave when I remembered where I found my phone. “By the way, I think I left my phone in your car when you dropped me off at Brooke’s yesterday. Did you leave it in front of my door this morning?”
“No, I didn’t,” Claire muttered while she fiddled with a loose thread on her top.
Then who did?
Suddenly, the first bell rang, warning students to make their way to class.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I said.
“Where are you going? We have class,” Claire said.
“I have to use the bathroom.”
“Okay, well, toodles,” she said before she whirled around.
Her long streaked hair swayed back and forth as she strutted away. Katie and Jessica trailed behind her like baby chicks following their mother.
I scurried through the hall and made a dash down the chemistry wing, where I spotted a bathroom by a row of orange lockers. I was about to go in the bathroom when Mark stopped me.
“Hanna!”
“Hey Mark.”
“I heard what happened. That’s craaazy.” He touched the back of his head with his hand.
Masquerade of Lies Page 4