As Brooke took another step back, trying to make sense of it all, she saw something sticking out from behind the bed. Leather. A small boot with a leg attached. Brooke’s heart jumped into her throat, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.
Craning her neck sideways, she stepped carefully to her right where she could get a better view. On the floor, crammed between the bed and the wall, was a body. A female body. Who?
Stepping closer, Brooke placed her bloody hands on the bedspread and leaned over the bed to get a look at the person’s face. Even in the shadow of the lamp, she could see the shock of dark blond hair matted with blood against the pale, lifeless skin.
Maddie was dead.
Fifteen
The Killer Within
Brooke tried to scream but no sound came out of her mouth. She turned away, unable to continue to look at the body of her best friend wedged against the wall, discarded like a rag doll. The image stayed with her, though, burned into her mind. Maddie’s face, so still and inanimate. And those eyes. Glassy, like a doll’s. Maddie, Maddie, Maddie! Oh my god, oh my god.
A cold rush of air seemed to sweep through the room even though Brooke knew there wasn’t one. And the smell of blood became stronger, overpowering, like rusting copper. Caught somewhere between terror and disbelief, Brooke’s hands and feet turned ice cold. What had happened while she lay there unconscious? While she had been sleeping, someone had plunged a knife into Maddie and let the life slowly seep out of her.
Had Maddie tried to wake her? Had she reached out to Brooke with weak fingers, trying desperately to touch her, silently begging her to wake up and get help? Brooke’s hands flew to her mouth as she stifled a sob. The smell, oh god, the smell! Of crusted blood on her fingers. It was so strong, it made her gag.
Then it hit her. What if the killer was still in the house? Brooke’s heart began to race. What if her other friends were dead too? The thought paralyzed her as she realized she could be living a real-life horror movie. You’ve got to get out of this house, her brain told her, but her body didn’t want to cooperate. When she tried to move, it felt as if her feet were rooted to the floor.
Call. Call someone. Call for help. Scared to move, Brooke’s eyes scanned the room looking for a phone. There wasn’t one. Where was her cell phone? In her purse. Where was her purse?
Willing herself to move, she twisted around and looked at the closed bedroom door. She stood there for a moment, horrified at what she might find on the other side. You’ve got to walk, she told herself. You’ve got to get out.
Compelling her body to cooperate, she carefully crossed the bedroom. Her hand hovered, trembling, over the doorknob. You can do this. Just open the door. There’s nothing out there.
Mustering as much courage as she could, Brooke twisted the knob. The door opened with a deafening click that sent Brooke’s stomach into knots. Swallowing, she leaned forward and peered into the hall. First one direction, then the other. Empty. She tried to listen for movement but her heart was thudding so loud and fast, she couldn’t trust her own ears. From what she could tell, the house was quiet. Eerily quiet.
What now? Just get to a freaking phone and call 9-1-1. One of these rooms has to have a phone, she thought.
Brooke was terrified to open any of the closed doors dotting the hallway, though. What if that’s where the killer was hiding? What if there were more bodies? The best thing to do was get out and run to a neighbor’s house. Just get as far away from the danger as possible. Find someone who can help you.
Holding her breath, Brooke closed her eyes and slipped out of the guest room. Slowly and steadily she walked toward the spiral staircase that led to the foyer below, her senses heightened. She was almost halfway there, when she heard a noise come from somewhere downstairs—a strange guttural noise. Brooke’s heart stopped and she quickly darted into the only open door in the hallway.
A bathroom.
Brooke ducked through the half-open door, wedging herself against the tub, where she could see through the space between the door and the frame. Sure that the murderer was about to come creeping up the stairs looking for anyone he’d missed, she sucked in her breath and remained perfectly still. Her gaze flitted side to side as she listened intently. What was that noise? Was someone downstairs dying? Did they need her help?
She waited. Every moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. What should she do?
Brooke wasn’t sure how long she’d waited, but no one came up the stairs. Was the noise real or had she imagined it?
I can’t stay here forever, she thought. I need a weapon. Something to fight with if he’s still inside. She thought about the knife she’d left in the guest room—the one she assumed was used to kill Maddie—but there was no way she was going back in that room. Not ever again.
Brooke took one last look through the slit in the door and, seeing no one, turned her attention to the counter. Maybe there was something in one of the drawers she could use.
Then she gasped. Her cell phone! Thank god! It was lying on the counter by the sink. Brooke snatched it up, but as she brought it into the light, she froze. Her bright yellow phone skin was smeared with dried blood.
“What?” she whispered, trying to make sense of it. Had the killer used, or at least touched, her phone?
Brooke carefully touched the button with a bloody fingertip. The display lit up: 3:45 a.m. She pressed a button and was prompted for her passcode. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely type it in. 5-5-2, no. 5-5-3-6. No! Dammit! Come on. 5-5-3-7-1. There. Unlocked.
Brooke stared down at the screen, horrified. Staring up at her was a photo of Maddie’s dead body. Brooke gasped. Taken from above, she could see Maddie crammed between the bed frame and the wall. Her eyes staring up into nothing. Brooke went numb. She swiped backward and saw a second photo of her dead friend. Only this time she was lying on the bed, her shirt soaked with blood.
Shaking wildly, she scrolled to the photo before that. It too was a picture of Maddie—dead. All from different angles. All taken within one minute of each other, over an hour ago. What the hell was this? Why would someone take these pictures? And how? How did they unlock her phone? Or had they?
Brooke tapped the phone icon, trying to see if perhaps the person who had her phone called someone. No. The last call listed was to Jake. Hours before she’d left for the party. When he’d asked her to share a ride.
Her mind racing, Brooke tapped the texts icon. Maybe they texted someone?
All of her texts had been deleted. Not a single incoming or outgoing text to Jake or her mom or Maddie or Keisha remained. Just a bright white screen that illuminated the dark bathroom like a flashlight. What was going on?
Whoever had killed Maddie must’ve taken her phone, cracked her password, and deleted all the texts. The only person besides Brooke who knew the passcode was Maddie. Had Maddie somehow done it while she was dying? Had the killer forced her to give up the passcode? None of this made any sense.
Think, think, think! Brooke racked her brain trying to remember what happened the night before. There was a fight. The fight with Maddie. That’s all she remembered. She couldn’t recall what it was about or how it ended.
“Oh my god,” Brooke gasped. How did these pictures get on her phone? Could she have . . . ?
Gripping the counter, Brooke forced the thought from her mind as she began to entertain the unthinkable. No, no, no. Had she taken these pictures herself? Was it possible that she killed Maddie?
“There’s no way,” she whispered, looking away from the gruesome photo. There’s no possible way I stabbed my best friend, she thought as tears began to sting her eyes. We got into a fight. It must’ve ended and I walked away. Yes! She remembered. She walked away with Jake into the foyer. They fought too. Then what happened? Where was Jake? Had he gone home? She couldn’t remember how she’d wound up in the upstairs room. Did she and Maddie go up there to talk things out?
I’m not a killer, Brooke thought. I have an anger disorde
r, but I’d never take someone’s life. No matter how mad I got. Right? She wasn’t violent. She’d smashed that chair in her bedroom when she was upset at her mom, but that was a chair. It wasn’t a human being. She could never physically harm a person. And yet, she’d pushed Maddie hard at the karaoke bar. And Jake at school. But that was different than murdering someone, especially someone she’d known almost half her life.
Dr. Fenson’s warning shot through her mind. I need to warn you, Brooke. That’s very dangerous on this medication you’re taking. There are all kinds of side effects, including blacking out and increased anxiety once the alcohol is out of your system. All kinds of side effects. Like going into uncontrollable, homicidal rages? She’d drank a lot. Two shots? Three maybe? Yes, and a beer. One? More than one? She couldn’t remember. Oh god, oh god. What if she had done it? What if she’d gone downstairs and taken a knife from Riley’s kitchen and come back up and stabbed Maddie to death? How else would the blood get all over her hands and the pictures of Maddie’s body get on her phone?
Brooke flipped back and forth between the phone screen and the blank text screen, trying to find a way to explain it. But she couldn’t think of a single one. Everything she’d seen so far suggested she may have done this.
“Please no,” Brooke murmured to herself. “I drank when I wasn’t supposed to and I got angry and I killed my best friend.” Brooke slumped down to the floor under the weight of her realization. Maybe it was self-defense, she thought. Maybe Maddie attacked her first and Brooke managed to get the knife away and used it to defend herself. That was possible, right?
I’m the one with IED. I’m the one who got drunk when I shouldn’t have. I’m the one who took photos after she was dead. I took photos of her! I picked up my phone and I took photos of her dead body?! Why? Why would I do that?
Repulsed by the thought, Brooke felt the acidy contents of her stomach shoot up into her throat. Turning around, she puked into the bathtub. Nothing came up except booze and bile, but she just kept heaving. When there was nothing left inside her, she fell back onto the rug.
What am I going to do? she asked herself after wiping her mouth with her sleeve. She needed to think about all of this clearly and that was impossible to do with her head still pounding. Brooke was pretty sure she was still half drunk too. Once I can think, I’ll be able to make a decision. I’ll be able to figure out what actually happened. Maybe the memories of the night before would begin to come back. She needed time. And she certainly wasn’t going to wait here in a house with a dead body down the hall.
Brooke pulled herself to her feet and stuffed the phone into her pocket. But what about her purse? Had she taken it up to the room with her? If so, she couldn’t leave it there. If anyone found it, they’d assume she was guilty. She needed to take it with her.
Turning on the faucet, she squirted soap onto her hands and scrubbed as hard as she could under the hot water. The blood rinsed off and swirled down the drain except for around her fingernails. It stained her cuticles and nail beds.
Shutting off the water, Brooke twisted around and looked out into the hall. Still empty. Slowly, she stepped out and made her way back to the bedroom, wiping her wet hands on her jeans.
She stopped before looking in. She didn’t want to see Maddie again, or the bloody bed, or imagine the violence that she had most likely caused. Just go in and don’t look. Get what you need and get out.
Brooke stepped inside. Although she tried to avert her eyes, she could see the tip of Maddie’s boot sticking out from behind the bed. Prying her eyes away, Brooke scanned the room for her purse. She didn’t see it anywhere, but her gaze eventually landed back on the knife she’d picked up and then let fall to the floor. She’d touched that. She’d touched that knife. My fingerprints must be all over it, she thought. Panic began to churn inside her and she quickly grabbed up the bloodstained pillow and shook off the pillowcase. What should she do with it? She had no idea, but she knew she had to somehow get rid of it. Snatching up the knife, she wrapped the pillowcase around it before darting out of the room.
Brooke hurried down the hall and stopped at the top of the stairs. She leaned over the railing, listening to hear if anyone else was in the house. Just the faint ticking sound of the clock in the sitting room. Cautious not to make noise, Brooke carefully descended the stairs and made her way to the front door. She looked around. Maybe she’d left her purse outside by the pool and someone had stolen it. Or maybe Jake grabbed it before going home. In the light of the foyer, she could see the bloodstains that marred her shirt. Oh shit, she thought. She couldn’t walk into her house with blood on her. If her mother happened to wake up, she’d demand to know everything.
Had she hung her purse up on the coatrack? There it was! And hanging next to it on the coatrack near the door was one of Riley’s black hoodies. Brooke quickly put it on. Her hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to line up the pin inside the zipper, but once she did, she zipped the hoodie all the way to the top. Pulling the sleeves down over her hands, she grabbed her purse, opened the front door, and bolted into the darkness.
Sixteen
Sordid Details
What have I done? Brooke sobbed as she gripped the steering wheel, winding through the empty streets. I murdered someone. I killed my best friend! Not only that, now she’d left the scene of the crime. Is this what an innocent person would’ve done? Or would they have stayed and waited for the police to show up?
I’m a horrible person and I don’t deserve to live. She pushed the thought away, only to have a new one seep in. Maddie’s gone. She’s gone! Forever! I’m never going to see my best friend again!
The tears were coming so fast, Brooke could barely see. Overcome with emotion, she turned into an empty parking lot and slammed down on the brakes. She pitched forward as the car stopped, and Brooke realized she hadn’t even put on her seat belt.
Shoving the car into park, she shut off the engine and collapsed onto the steering wheel, digging her nails deep into the plastic. I killed her! I killed her! I’m evil. A horrible, evil monster! I even took pictures! Why?!
Brooke grabbed the wadded-up pillowcase that lay on the floor and unrolled it. The knife toppled out onto her lap. Bawling uncontrollably, Brooke raised the knife and turned it over in her hand. Its blade caught the pale light of a streetlamp and glinted ominously.
If I didn’t do this, please, please give me a sign. Tell me who did, Brooke begged the universe, trying to compose herself. No sign came and Brooke got an overwhelming feeling that there was no one else to blame. Her IED, this horrible, destructive disorder that she’d been wrestling with for a year, had finally turned her into something she never thought she’d be. A killer.
Brooke shoved up the oversize sleeve of Riley’s hoodie and rested the blade against her wrist. This is it, she told herself. If you can kill Maddie, kill yourself. You don’t deserve to live after what you’ve done.
She could barely see the blade in the dark but she could feel it pressing against her soft skin. All she had to do was yank it back. One quick motion and her veins would open up and she’d bleed to death just like Maddie had.
But Brooke couldn’t do it. As hard as she willed herself, she couldn’t end her own life. She was too scared to die.
Her grip loosened on the knife and it fell back into her lap. Another wave of guilt overtook Brooke and she bawled all over again.
Brooke wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she opened her eyes. She’d cried so much, there were no tears left. She raised her head and looked out at the frost that had formed on the trees. It’ll be morning soon, she thought, noticing that the sky in the east looked different now. The deep black had turned blue. Her mind seemed to clear, and for the first time since she woke up, she felt like she could actually think.
Eventually the police were going to come wanting to talk to her and the best thing she could do was give herself time to think, time to remember what really transpired so she could tell them the whol
e story. Maybe Jake could fill in some of the pieces for her. Should she go to his place? Tell him what happened and talk it through? There was no way she’d be able to get up to his penthouse without being seen. There was the valet and the doorman and Ben. Dammit!
She’d just go home, take a shower, and climb into her own bed, where she could calmly replay the entire night in her head. If she did that, she was sure the answers would come.
Brooke parked her car in the driveway and used her key to open the front door. Quietly shutting it, she tiptoed up the steps avoiding the areas of the floor that creaked. She could see when she made it to the top of the stairs that her mother’s bedroom door was slightly ajar and the lights were off.
Brooke quickly went into her own room. First order of business, what to do with the bloody knife wrapped in the pillowcase. She shoved it into the bottom drawer of her dresser to deal with later. All she wanted to do in that moment was take a shower and wash away the smell of booze and smoke and death. The hot water would calm her nerves. Slipping out of her room, she headed down the dark hallway to the bathroom.
“Brooke?” Brooke felt her heart stop at the sound of her mother’s voice. The light in the hallway suddenly came on and her mom stood there in her pajamas. “What are you doing home? Whose hoodie is that?” Brooke looked down at Riley’s oversize hoodie that hung off her small frame. Luckily, it completely covered the blood on her clothes underneath.
“It belongs to Maddie’s cousin. He said I could borrow it.” Her mind raced to come up with a story her mother would find plausible. She must’ve bought the first lie because she circled back to her first question.
“Why are you home? Did something happen?”
“No. I just started feeling kind of sick. I think I’m getting the flu. Wanted to take a shower and sleep in my own bed.” Her mother stepped closer and gently touched the back of her hand to Brooke’s forehead.
Murdered at 17 Page 12