by Aven Jayce
“Yeah, Finn Cornwallis.” He bends over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. “My name too, my real name, but they used my mug shot. I look fucking fierce. I bet I could be a Walmart model or some shit like that. No, even better, Cabela’s. Put me in some camo and give me a gun, then watch the chicks drool all over me.”
“Oh my God.” I fall back onto the stool and put my head on the cutting board. “Do they have my photo?” The wood muffles my voice. “If they do, Jack, go ahead and kill me now.”
“No, no photo. Connie said Finn’s with some girl named Tabby.”
“Tabby?” I raise my head. “Not Addie?”
“Nope. And she made you all fat and pimply with jumbo tits. The sketches don’t look anything like you two. What’s that chick on?”
“She did it on purpose,” Quinn says. “She’d never give them any real info. And she’s the only one who’d talk to them. Everyone else would be too scared that Rafe guy would hunt them down with more questions. She’s protecting us, although she could’ve used better names. Something more common; John Johnson would’ve been good.”
“Finn Cornwallis.” Dylan continues to laugh, opening the fridge. “Don’t worry about it, though. I’m the one who’s wanted for that Charlotte Jones chick and—”
“Charletta,” I correct. “That’s the prostitute you bought.”
“Yep her, and for Trent. Oh, and you shoulda seen how drunk Dad was on the news.
“What?” Quinn straightens his back. “He’s alive?”
“He was talking to some reporter about not knowing where I was, slurring his words, telling them I’m a jackass. He said that, man, right on camera. ‘My son’s a jackass. Don’t know where that boy is. Don’t know. Don’t care.’”
“No shit?”
“His robe was open and he was scratching his hairy beer gut, and his leg was bandaged up. I bet Jack cut him to teach him a lesson, the same way Dad cut you. See, I told ya. I told ya that’s what he was gonna do. I knew it. I’m the smart one that no one ever listens to.” He waves a finger at me like I’m a fool. “Trent and the whore are really dead though.”
“Duh, we know that,” I say to the idiot.
“The cops found Trent yesterday. His cousin said she last heard he was hanging with me and that’s why they’re talkin’ to Dad. But he doesn’t know what the fuck’s going on, doubt he can answer any of their questions... and he didn’t even mention you. No one has. Oh man, but I’ve been busy, on a big killing spree. Two dead.”
“Fuck,” Quinn says.
“Yo, no worries, the cops just wanna question you two as possible witnesses about the river whore, but they won’t find you with those sketches and names.”
“Knobhead, it won’t take them long to figure out Finn Cornwallis is Quinn Ellis, your brother,” I snap at him. “They’ll have a photo of him soon enough.”
“Nah.”
“His skin is under Charletta’s fingernails, not yours. And he’s got the scratches on the back of his neck to match.”
He leans against the counter and chugs a soda, ignoring my argument. He crushes the can and tosses it in the sink, letting out a long belch. “Fuck Jack, I feel like a god. Thanks, man.”
Jack rises and haughtily throws his head back in complete contrast to Dylan.
“Don’t show your prison tats or your face in any of these halls until we leave. Stay in Roxanne’s room and out of sight.”
He takes the two cells and starts to head out, but turns back, staring at us before deciding to move closer.
“Addie.” He stops next to me and places my cell on the counter, spinning it as he speaks. “My dad asked me that question when I was a kid... the question you asked earlier. What do you want to be, Jack? What are you gonna do with your life? I told him I wanted to be famous. A singer. That was my answer. It didn’t sit well with him. ‘Jamesons are businessmen, not celebrities,’ he said. Then, I had it in my head that I was going to be anything but a Jameson, until I started researching Jameson Industries, the porn company my Uncle Paul was the frontman for. That’s when I realized businessmen aren’t always stuck behind a desk with a pile of paperwork, they can also work from bed and have a pile of women, and I suppose in some ways that’s similar to being a celebrity.” He puts his elbows on the counter between us and speaks in a whisper. “But that’s not the question you should be asking. What you actually want to know is how we became who we are today, not what we wanted to be.”
I nod in response to his refreshing and insightful candor, keeping my mouth shut so he continues.
“And the answer to that question is the same for the three of us, which is why I like you guys.” He slides his hand across my back on his way out. “Lunch is over. I need a smoke then I’ve got to get back to work... make sure you call your aunt.”
The second he’s past me, I grab my cell and flip to my messages, seeing a screen full of missed calls and texts. There’s even a text from Nadine’s friend, Jess.
Two words...
Holy Moses.
Chapter Six
QUERULOUS?
WET FOOTPRINTS FADE on the stone patio from the shallow end of the pool to the back door as guests return to their rooms after a recent swim. It’s a humid night and the perimeter of the pool has retained the heat from a full day of sun, warming my bare feet as I saunter along the water’s edge on the side farthest away from the retreat.
I wave to Quinn as he heads into the woods to fetch his backpack and my duffle bag from the barn, while Jack’s on the opposite side of the water, near the deep end and the small waterfall, gazing at the starlit sky. He glows blue from the pool’s lights; his cig bouncing between his lips, straightening when he takes a drag, then flopping again. He lets the ashes fall onto his white tee, not giving a shit if his clothing becomes riddled with holes, not giving a shit that Quinn took off, and definitely not giving a shit that I’m out here loitering with a towel around my waist and a tight Charlie’s Angels shirt suffocating my torso. He’s in his own world again, somewhat distant, maybe depressed, oddly quiet, and as I might expect—alone.
He drops his feet into the water with palms down on the concrete, leaning back and looking upward.
He’s taking his time getting back to the office, and I don’t blame him... who would want to work alongside a woman like Roxanne?
And God, thinking about middle-aged women, what the hell am I gonna say to Nadine? Or an even better question—what the hell did Jack say to Nadine?
I start to pace, staring at her number on my cell before flipping through the string of texts one last time before making the call.
Dang it, Addie. Call me.
Trent’s dead? TRENT’S DEAD?
OMG, you’re in such big trouble.
Who’s Tabby?
Are you okay?
Answer me!!!
Tell Jack Jameson to stop bullying us.
Stay away from those boys.
Get away now!
Addie?
Tell me you’re okay.
I’m coming to get you.
WE’RE coming to get you.
Hours passed before she sent her final two texts...
We’re not coming.
Dang it.
The voice messages were about the same—frantic pleas, confusion, and something about a threat from Jack. Then, Jess’s holy Moses text was the last to come through.
“What did you say to my aunt?” I ask from across the pool.
“Call her,” he says, the movement of his lips sending a long ash to his thigh. He brushes it off, calm and poised, never taking his gaze off the sky.
“Fine,” I mumble, placing the call, listening to the ring... a second ring, then a third... a fourth, but no answer. I give the phone a pissy look then try again, getting the same response, about to hang up when I hear a click.
“Nadine?”
“Hold your horses. I said wait!” she shouts.
&
nbsp; A door slams and is reopened, like she’s following someone through the house.
“Don’t you get in that car.”
The engine of Brian’s BMW Coupe revs and I hear the garage door rolling on its tracks.
“Addie, stay on the line... Brian, wait!”
Tires squeal on the pavement and the engine fades as he races away.
“Good grief,” her friend, Jess, says.
Then, I hear the car return, barreling back up the drive and ending in a screeching halt.
“Get in this house before you wake up the entire neighborhood.” Nadine sounds like she’s scolding a teenage boy.
A door slams and hefty footfalls abound. The chain drive opener makes a jerking sound and rolls to the ground, then springs back to life and reopens.
“Stop this. Stop it right now!” Nadine yells. More footfalls, a car door slams, and the engine revs.
“He’s lost his marbles,” Jess says. “Yep, see, down he goes. And I bet he’ll come right back. He’s coo-coo. Coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.”
“See if you can talk him into coming inside.” She walks through the garage and back in the house. “Addie, how did you get mixed up with these people? What happened to Trent? Where’s Quinn’s brother, Dylan? The police are looking for him. Where are you?” She speaks quickly. “Are you with those boys? At the retreat? Did you know the owner of that place emailed us a video of Brian with his fictional woman? The cat. Did you? Answer me! And somehow... somehow that video magically disappeared from his server an hour after he opened it. How’d the guy do that? Does he have Brian’s password or is he a computer genius? This is a disaster.”
I turn to Jack, who’s smiling. “What video? Doing what?” I ask.
“With her,” she stresses. “With, with, in bed, naked, with. There’s a clip of her saying Brian’s name and that he purchased her for sex, then it cuts to them starting to get it on.”
“Jesus.”
“Yes, dear Lord Jesus Christ, what wickedness has my niece brought into our lives.”
“Me?”
“This would’ve never happened if you hadn’t gone off with that Quinn boy.”
“You took me to the retreat and you wanted me to fuck him. Stop saying these things. I got to know him and I’ve been falling for him ever since. I did nothing wrong.”
“Uh!”
“Uh!” I pout back. “Don’t try to say your sexual fantasies are my fault.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. And I thought Brian didn’t fuck her.”
“What he did do is quite enough,” she gripes. “I don’t even... where do I begin? You’re caught in a mountainous web of lies and deceit, and murder and lies, and evil and more lies.”
“Nadine.”
“With criminals and killers and vagabonds. And now we’re being threatened to stay quiet, stay away, say nothing, do nothing, or the video will go viral at the university and Brian loses his job and we lose everything.”
“That could’ve happened even if I hadn’t met Quinn.”
“That man has us smack-dab in the palm of his hand. Who is he? I want to meet this Jack character. I’m going to wring his neck. He videotapes his guests, has cameras in those rooms, that’s illegal.”
“Uh, hello? This whole fucking place is illegal. You knew that.”
“Keep it down over there,” Jack says.
“And I have a thing or two to say to Quinn. The life we built and worked so hard for can be gone. Boom. Just like that. What are we going to do?”
“Nothing,” I say softly, scanning the area to make sure no one’s around besides Jack. “Do nothing.”
She offers a short exhale in frustration, disgusted by my response. “Oh, okay. Yeppers, we’ll sit back, get a pizza and watch TV, and go on with our lives like none of this ever happened.”
“Why not?
“It’s a crime!” She stomps her foot and a gruff grunt rises from deep within her throat. “We’re being threatened. You killed a woman. And what happened to Trent? Did you... did you...”
“Are you serious? No, I didn’t kill him.”
“Well, I just don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.”
I hear her flip-flops slap the tiled kitchen floor, her breathing’s fast, heavy, and her pace is quick. I mimic her actions and sounds, marching beside the pool, winded, releasing sighs of disappointment about Brian and being caught in yet another conflict.
“Addie, hold tight while I try to calm Brian down. The last thing we need is an unhappy neighbor and a cop showing up at our door.”
“Jess is your neighbor.”
“The entire street can hear us, not just her.”
She plods outside with the phone, shouting at Brian over screeching tires. Sounds like he’s accelerating but not getting anywhere.
“Stop doing donuts in the street!”
Donuts with a “beamer,” what class coming from a grown man.
A dog barking in their neighborhood joins the commotion, along with Jack’s ringing cell on my end. He shakes his head at the screen, taking a lengthy drag of his cig before flicking it into the grass and answering the call.
“What?” He rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Fine...” he utters; his legs stirring in the pool, sending small waves in my direction. “I said I’m fine.”
“Addie?” Jess gets on the line. “What happened to Tyler?”
“His name’s Trent.”
“My gawd, did you see who killed him? I can’t believe he’s dead. I spent the night with that man.”
I try to listen to Jack’s conversation instead of answering Jess. I think he’s talking to his dad again. The man never seems to leave him alone.
“Dad, hold up. One dead. I told you I wasn’t at the river when they killed the whore... no, I didn’t know them then... I killed one guy named Trent... I said one, I already told you this. Uh-huh... three... Quinn, Dylan, and Adlyn... my age... why?”
I get back on the line with Jess, answering her question with a lie. “I don’t think Dylan and Trent ever left Albany.”
“This is totally uncool.”
“Hold on.” I listen to Jack again.
“Give me that guy’s name and number... for IDs... yep... why the fuck not? You want me to handle it, yes or no? Give me his number... give it to me... I am too old enough... am too. Give it... what does that mean? Querulous...? I’m not... shut up and give me the guy’s info so I can get what I need.”
“Get in the house, Mister,” Jess says, handing the cell back to Nadine. “If there’s a video of you, there’s one of all of us,” she says to him, smacking the garage door pad on the wall. The door lowers, and stays down as the three of them sound like elephants charging inside the house.
“Addie, you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Sit Brian... sit at the table. Jess, get him a beer from the fridge... Addie?”
“Yeah.”
“We don’t understand. You’re not the one on the news. There’s nothing about you being involved in any of this. Why don’t you come home? Leave Quinn behind and come home.”
I turn to the sound of a breaking branch, seeing him walk out from the woods, carrying our bags and holding my heart necklace in his hand. He lifts it up, the pendant swaying in front of his radiant face like a swinging watch used to hypnotize someone... used to hypnotize me.
“Leaving him behind to deal with this on his own isn’t an option,” I tell her.
“Of course it is.”
“I won’t abandon him.”
“But you’ll abandon us?”
“No.”
“But you are.”
“That’s not true. My head is telling me to stay away.”
“You’re vagina’s leading the way, not your head.”
“My God, did you really just say that?” I raise my voice. “I was protecting everyone by leaving—you, Brian, Quinn, me—protecting a
ll of us. Charletta’s death looks like a murder and—”
“Hey, lower it.” Jack reminds me to keep my voice down.
“And Quinn’s screwed if his name gets out there and he’s brought in for questioning. I’m scared, okay? I’m just scared. I don’t want to spend years in prison, although, if that’s what it takes to clear him if he gets hauled in, I will. That’s why we’re here, not because of my vagina. Don’t be so mean.”
“Dad, she’s not here... I left her at a motel... I’ll pick her up on my way back... no, we got in a fight... anal... I said the fight was over anal... then why’d you ask?... she’s fine, she’ll kick ass if anyone bothers her... give me the fucking info for that guy. Give it... come on.”
Jack snaps his fingers at Quinn, pointing to ditch the bags and sit next to him on the side of the pool.
Quinn groans at the thought and gets a beer from the bar first, then makes his way to the edge, rolling his jeans and dipping his foot in the water before sitting a yard away.
Jack pats the concrete for him to slide closer.
Pat, pat.
Sliding closer.
Pat, pat, pat.
Closer.
Pat... pat, pat, pat.
“Alright already,” he says, moving close enough that their knees touch. “Happy?”
He’s handed a cigarette and I get an inquiring look if it bothers me. I shrug, not surprised, since he took a drag in the barn and smoked in the Hellcat.
Jack flicks a lighter, the flame illuminating Quinn’s heart-shaped face as he tightens his handsome male model lips around the cig.
“Yum,” I surrender.
“Yum?”
Pay attention, you don’t want to prove Nadine’s vagina comment was right.
“Sorry... I wouldn’t worry about the video.”
“No? We shouldn’t worry? Hey Brian, in the world according to Adlyn Margo Moore, no need to worry about the video. I guess we can go to bed now.”
I stare upward, massaging the back of my neck, riled by her cynical remark.
“You listening?” I ask.
“I am.”
“Okay... so, I’ve spent the past few days with Jack. He’s quick at figuring out our weaknesses. He knows exactly what makes us feel helpless. It’s his thing.”