Wicked Charm

by Amber Hart

  “It was you,” I say.

  I take a backward step, unsure where to go.

  “What?” she says. “Me? I— No. It can’t have been me.”

  Her laugh is shaky and unconvincing.

  “Don’t you lie to me,” I say.

  “I’m not lying.”

  She is, too. And this time I see it—a flash of coldness in her eyes. How could she have hidden it from me for so long?

  She hates Beau. She knows the swamp. She knew all the victims, too. Suddenly, the answer is frighteningly clear.

  “You killed the girls.” I have never been surer of anything in my life.

  Jorie’s face transforms. Gone is the shy fear, replaced by a look I’ve never seen her wear. One of menace and cunning threat.

  “You really should not have said that,” she replies. “Damn you, Willow. Now look what you’ve done.”

  I don’t give myself time to falter, I simply run toward the boat. I don’t have much of a chance. I’m too far—several yards—and Jorie’s between it and me. But I try anyway. I need my phone. I need the shotgun.

  Jorie slams into me like a brick wall. We both go down, a tangle of limbs. Something sharp bites its razor teeth into my side, and I wince. Jorie is strong. I push and pull and kick to no avail. I claw at the dirt, searching for anything I can use. And then I feel a rock the size of my palm. I grab it and bring it down on her head.

  She grunts and loses momentum, allowing just enough slack for me to break free and run. It’s too late for the boat, I realize. Somewhere between me recognizing Jorie as the killer and my abundance of shock, she untied it. The boat now floats down the swamp unattended.

  “Damn it,” I say.

  Jorie is standing now. But I am fueled by adrenaline and instinct. I run toward the swampy waters. Gators or not, I throw myself in. But Jorie is impossibly fast, and she pulls me from the water by my hair.

  “Let me go!” I yell. “Help! Somebody help!”

  I scratch her arms. It’s a futile attempt. There is no one else here.

  “How could you?” I say.

  Jorie laughs, something dark and deadly, knocking me to the ground, faceup. She binds my hands to the tree with ties that she pulls from a pocket of her shorts. I never would have suspected her of being prepared for a thing like this.

  “Funny thing.” She tightens the zip ties to the point of pain. “I never leave the house without these. Or this.” She pulls out a pocketknife. “I haven’t had to use the knife until now, but maybe that’s because none of the other girls saw my attack coming. I didn’t want to have to use any of this on you, of course.”

  She laughs darkly, raising the hairs on my arms. There is something inherently evil about the way her eyes focus on me but seem to be looking at nothing at all. Her features shift, as though she’s just now letting her hair down after months of wearing it up. She’s relaxed.

  And it’s terrifying.

  “I tried to be your friend, Willow,” she says. “I really did. Well, not at first, of course. At first, I was using you. You see, I needed more details about Beau. Things I might be able to use against him.”

  She bends closer to me, her breath smelling of the bubble gum she constantly chews. I back up against the tree, which is difficult to do with my hands bound, but I need to get away from the small blade in her hand. My only chance is to talk her down.

  “You never caught on, Willow. You never suspected me. And what’s more is that Beau’s sister didn’t, either. She almost caught me. I snuck in their house, trying to frame Beau, to plant some of the drugs, solid evidence, in Beau’s bedroom. I was in the bathroom, where I planned to take hairs from his brush to leave at the next crime scene, when I got distracted by Charlotte’s jewelry. I was holding one of her earrings when she and Beau suddenly came home. Heard her outside telling him she had a funny feeling. She’s got a sixth sense, that one. I barely got out and didn’t realize until later that I was still clutching the earring. Stupid mistake. It’s cost me now.”

  “It was you in the forest that night, then!” I say. “You dropped the earring.”

  Jorie grips the knife firmly as I look around for anything I can use to protect myself.

  “I meant to get rid of it. I’d slid it into my pocket and forgot it was there. I was too busy trying to get close to you. Staying the night at your house let me see when Beau would be home, the right hours to kill so that it looked as though he had done it. Too bad I hadn’t anticipated the group of people he had over from the pool staying as late as they did that night, otherwise that murder would have been all the more convincing, all the blame would have been on Beau. Framing someone is a tricky thing.”

  Tree bark bites into my arms, and I can’t help but wonder aloud, “Why?”

  “If you’d paid better attention, you’d know exactly why.”

  But I don’t. For all the effort I put into thinking about why Jorie would do such a thing, I still don’t understand.

  “Do you love him? Is that it?”

  She laughs. “Don’t be stupid. Of course I don’t.”

  “Then why? What could you possibly get by framing Beau for the murders of innocent girls?”

  “Do you remember asking me about the girl who disappeared?”

  “Ericka?”

  There’s a flash of pain in Jorie’s eyes. “Yes, Ericka. My best friend.”

  Understanding dawns and churns my stomach with fear.

  Jorie has a vendetta.

  “We did everything together outside of school. She left because of him.”

  At this, Jorie’s voice drops dangerously low.

  “He broke her heart, her spirit, her life. She left town, and then she left this world. Swallowed enough pills to go to sleep and never wake up. The pain he caused her eclipsed all the years and memories we made together. She used to have fun, laugh at life, spin circles in the rain. She almost always wore a smile until Beau. He broke her spirit. Do you know what it’s like to lose your best friend?”

  “I have an idea,” I bite out.

  “No, you don’t. I told you the things you wanted to hear, and you played right into my hand. What I had with Ericka was something different. I couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving town. Then the call came that she had died. I thought about killing Beau myself, a swift and sweet revenge. But then he’d just get off easy. I couldn’t let that happen. He needed to suffer.”

  “So you tried to frame him,” I say. “Well, you did a lousy job.”

  She reaches out whiplike and hits me in the face.

  I wince but hold her stare.

  “You’re a coward, that’s what you are. You’re deranged. You didn’t have to hurt those girls. They never did anything to you!”

  “I cannot let Ericka’s death be in vain.”

  “You could have honored her death. You could have kept her memory alive in a positive light. Why kill innocent girls?”

  “Why not? Why should they be allowed to live when Ericka died? Why should you?”

  Her eyes are wide to the point of exaggeration, and an off-kilter gleam shines through them.

  “You know, Willow, I think for once in his life, Beau might actually care about someone. Now, he’ll have to swallow the understanding of what his world will be without you. He’ll have to lose what he loves best. Maybe that is the ultimate revenge.”

  She smiles wickedly and takes two steps forward, dead leaves crunching. She drops the knife just out of reach.

  “Better make this look just like the others,” she says. “This time Beau will take the blame. I’ll make sure of it.”

  She laughs darkly. I try hard to ignore the stab of hurt in my chest from Jorie’s betrayal. I search for any glimpse of the girl I called my friend.

  But she’s gone. Replaced by a killer.

  I breathe as deeply as I can and scream, and scream, and scream, hoping anyone remotely close can hear me. A boater, a fisherman, someone to help.

  Icy terror floods my veins as Jorie�
�s cold hands close around my throat, cutting short my cry for help. I try to breathe, try to fight.

  “Goodbye, Willow,” she whispers.

  40

  Beau

  “Willow!”

  I find her laid out on the swampy soil. Body fixed to the earth. Jorie crouched above her, hands around her throat.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Jorie warns.

  She lets go of Willow and grabs a knife from the ground. There’s something decidedly ominous about her tone. A wind whips around us.

  I ignore Jorie’s warning and move toward them.

  “Don’t!” she yells.

  My eyes dart to Willow, willing her to stand. I don’t know if she’s conscious or if she’s even breathing at all.

  “Let her go,” I say.

  “I can’t do that.”

  I eye the knife in Jorie’s hand. I didn’t bring a weapon. There was no time. A decision I now regret, considering that the station and its officers are a half hour out. Willow needs help now.

  “Why?” I ask.

  I don’t actually care why she did it. What I need is for her to keep talking. What I need is for her to be distracted. I hope she can’t see the way I shake with nerves. If only I could touch Willow, feel the warmth of her skin and her soft breaths, to know if she’s okay.

  A pinecone hits the side of a tree to Jorie’s left with a thwack.

  She turns, and I waste no time. I run at her head-on. But she’s quick, slashing out at my stomach. I crumple to the ground, nearly retching from the pain. I don’t have time to look at the wound. I need only to get back up.

  “Don’t fight me, Beau,” she says. “Don’t make me kill you, too.”

  A bitter laugh escapes me. It’s too late for that. She’ll kill me anyway now that I know too much. I stand, clutching my middle, feeling warm, wet blood on my skin.

  There’s movement behind Jorie, and I try not to alert her. Blending into the tree beside Willow is Charlotte. She grabs Willow’s hands and pulls, but the binding doesn’t budge. Willow’s eyes are closed, and I fear she’s unconscious. Or worse. Charlotte searches the ground, finds a rock, and begins sawing at the ties.

  Jorie spins around. It’s too late for Charlotte to hide.

  Jorie cackles. “Did you honestly think you could bring your sister and hope for an ambush?”

  I try again to get to Willow, but Jorie rises on the balls of her feet, her movements swift and calculated, swiping the knife at me once more, sending me sprawling backward. This time, she just barely misses.

  “Quit fighting me, Beau.” A simple command, full of menace.

  “The police are on their way,” I say. “They know you killed the girls. I told them so when the pieces clicked. You made a mistake, Jorie. There was a wad of gum left at the last murder scene and analysis came back that the saliva belonged to a female.”

  “You’re lying,” she says, but I see the fear in her eyes.

  “I’m not. How else do you think we figured it out?”

  For all the times I’ve lied, I’m actually telling the truth.

  “Is Willow alive?” I call to Charlotte.

  I can’t tell from where I’m standing, and not knowing is slowly killing me.

  Charlotte nods once, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I inhale another shaky breath and contemplate my next move. Jorie is alone. Willow is unconscious. It’s two against one, but I’m injured. I won’t be as fast or calculating.

  With each drop of blood that leaves my body, I feel more of my strength escape. I shudder and struggle to hold myself upright. The pain to my stomach is quick, sharp, and unrelenting, but I attempt to block it out. I have to get to Willow. The thought of losing her is more agonizing than any wound. I don’t want my arms to be empty of her. I don’t want to never feel her warmth.

  I focus on Charlotte’s assurance. Willow is alive. We still have a chance. I will never let Jorie win.

  “You’re done. Give it up.”

  “No.” She sneers. “If you’re telling the truth and the cops are coming, then I’m going to make damn sure you suffer the way I have.” For the very briefest second, her lip wobbles, and I swear I see a flash of hurt dart across her features. “The way Ericka did.”

  Finally, I understand. Ericka, the girl who disappeared. Jorie must have known her. Cared for her.

  “So you’ve come to return the favor?” I say as Charlotte creeps steadily closer to Jorie’s back. “You want to break my heart the way I broke hers, is that it?”

  It hurts to admit some of the blame.

  “I want you to know the pain of losing the person you care about most in this world! It’s time to kill Willow the way you killed my best friend!”

  “I didn’t kill her. She left.”

  “Right, but after she left, she killed herself, so you might as well have forced the pills down her throat. You are the reason she’s dead. You, Beau! And you’ll be the reason Willow dies, too.”

  She’s crazy, but she’s right. I am partially to blame. My actions led Ericka to feel desperate. Maybe if I had been kinder or cared more about how much the breakup affected her, she could have felt differently. I’ll never know now, and the guilt of that weighs heavily.

  Charlotte moves from behind a tree. I focus on Jorie and not on my sister.

  Just another second…

  Charlotte tackles Jorie from behind, a tangle of limbs. I try to run to them, but black eats away at my vision, darkness swallowing the trees. I glance down to find the front of my clothes coated in blood.

  I fall to my knees. I’ve lost too much blood. I’ll crawl if I have to.

  I look up just in time to see Jorie’s face contorting with rage. She slashes the knife at Charlotte, and it meets its mark. The skin at Charlotte’s forehead separates into a gash inches long. She wobbles and catches herself on a tree before slowly sliding down its bark to the ground.

  Get up. Get up!

  I silently will my twin to hear me, to summon all her strength and fight.

  I can’t leave Willow lying there.

  I can’t abandon my sister, either.

  I don’t have energy left to save them both.

  “Enough of this,” Jorie says.

  She averts her attention to Willow. “Your turn.”

  She approaches Willow, and dread makes the hollow in my stomach heavy. She slaps Willow’s face.

  “Wake up! I want you to look at him as I kill you.”

  Willow stirs, moaning. I’m not prepared to watch what will happen if I don’t get up.

  Jorie smiles and turns to me. “I would have made this quick, you know. But now? I don’t think so.”

  Willow is suffering because of me.

  Slowly, I rise. Agony shoots through my stomach in waves of torment, but still I get to my feet. I surge forward, walls of blackness eating more of my vision, unconsciousness threatening me with each breath I take. I hear a noise in the distance, a rushing river or maybe a sea of pounding footsteps, but I don’t stop to confirm what it could be. Jorie hears the noise, too. She looks wildly around.

  I promised to help Willow, to not let her become the next victim, and I meant it.

  I use Jorie’s distraction to close the dozen yards between us. She doesn’t see the discarded, fallen branch in my hand until I bring it down hard on her back, tearing a scream of agony from my lips and causing the cut to pump more of my blood onto the swamp floor.

  Jorie screams, too, a wail so high I wonder if the entire bog can hear it. Her legs are lightning fast, kicking out at me. And then she’s on me, tackling me to the ground. I wrestle her for the blade clutched in her hand. My movements are slow, wary, and unstable. Before she can drive the knife down on me, I grab for a small, sharp stick within reach of my other hand and stab upward.

  Jorie gasps. Her eyes bulge and follow the line of pain down to the point where the stick is embedded just above her left hip. It’s not high or disabling enough. My aim is as wobbly as the rest of me.

  She r
eaches for the stick, giving me time to catch my breath, to blink away unconsciousness. I clutch my stomach. If I could just get to Willow and Charlotte, if I could just pull them both away from danger. I spare them a look. Willow groans on the ground. Charlotte blinks in a daze.

  With a grunt and a quick pull, Jorie frees the stick from her side. I don’t understand how she’s still so fast. She favors her good side. Her blade nicks my shoulder. It would have met its mark had I not rolled out of the way just in time. I attempt to rise on shaky limbs, first to my knees, my palms flat against the dirt, and then to my feet. I sway like a leaf caught in the wind.

  With every ounce left, I charge her. It’s my final effort. It is the very deepest store of energy I own. I have nothing left but this. I meet her with an elbow to the face and a crunch of bone. Jorie screams as telltale silver flashes to my left so close to my ear that I hear the woosh the blade leaves behind, so close it nearly slashes my face in two. Jorie catches another elbow to her sternum. She groans, struggling to pull air into her lungs. I lunge forward and grab for the knife in her hand, and she uses my momentum against me, spinning out of the way and shoving me right where my flesh is already severed.

  I fall with the weight of realization. I can’t get back up. Bile rises to my throat, leaving a sick taste in my mouth. I have nothing, not even a drop of energy left to fight her. Jorie has won, and her cruel smile says she knows it. She stands over me, her eyes trailing my crumpled form. I only hope I’ve bought Charlotte and Willow enough time to get away.

  My eyes find Charlotte, who has come out of her daze. She’s near Willow, attempting to help her to her feet. Blood pours into her eyes, and she desperately wipes at it. Willow wobbles and allows Charlotte to lead her to the water’s edge, where a boat waits.