“Go fuck yourself,” I tell my husband as he smiles, steps forward, and then kisses me on the cheek. Just like I did to him that day at the garage. And just like that day, I feel dumbstruck the way he did. “Have fun on your date with Trinity.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Vic says, still smiling. On top of everything else, he’s going to dinner at some fancy restaurant in Oak Park tonight with Trinity to discuss the details of our arrangement.
I ignore him as he leaves the room just before the bell rings.
“Stop punishing yourself and say something to him,” Aaron tells me as he stands up, looking down at me with an expression crafted of equal parts tenderness and violence. Only half of that look is intended for me. “Before I fucking kill him.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I quip, feeling my skin get tight and hot. A girl walks by, looking me up and down as she passes. She’s picked a terrible day to try her hand at climbing the Prescott High social ladder.
“Whore,” she whispers, and a few of her friends snicker. I let her go as I stand up and storm into the hall. But I’m in a terrible fucking mood.
And I need somebody to take it out on.
After school, I wait down the street and around the corner with Cal. When the mouthy bitch passes by, I step out from behind the hedge and hit her in the back of her knee with the patent leather heels on my feet. She crumples forward and crashes into the cement, skinning her hands and knees.
“What the fuck?” one of her friends chokes out before she sees me and Cal. That’s when the blood drains from her face and our eyes meet.
“That fucking hurt!” the girl on the ground wails, just before I nail her in the spine with my heel and push her into the sidewalk as she grunts and chokes in pain.
“I hope it hurt,” I tell her, grinding my heel into her back as she screams. When she stops to take a breath, drool leaks over her lower lip and ruins her lipstick. She doesn’t steal the right kind then because it isn’t waterproof; it’s cheap. I step back and crouch down beside her as Kali Rose whispers in my ear.
“You’re not good enough, Bernie. Even after everything, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t hurt me the way I deserved.” Kali laughs as I grab the girl by her hair and lift her head up so she can look at me with mascara running down her face. Callum just stands there and lights a cigarette while he watches me.
“The Charter Crew is gone,” I tell her as she sniffles. I recognize her as one of their nameless lackeys. “They are all dead. Do you want to die as well? Because if you’re that faithful, that loyal to your crew, then we can make that happen.”
“Please, please,” she whispers, sputtering and sniveling. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear to god. I swear, I swear, I swear on his name.” I shove her away from me and rise to my feet, accepting the cigarette that Cal hands me.
“She isn’t Kali,” he reminds me as I lift my eyes to his. I think mine are watering, but my makeup is legit as fuck. I only steal the best, sometimes only after checking reviews online.
“I know,” I whisper back as the girls help their friend to her feet and the trio takes off. “And I know what you said, that killing isn’t exactly a virtue, but I can’t shake her. Cal, she follows me everywhere.” I look past him to where Kali’s standing, but she’s only there in my mind. When I blink, she’s gone.
“You let her get inside your head,” he tells me, pouring the rest of his Pepsi over the small bloodstains on the pavement. The sugary syrup washes them away like they were never there. Doesn’t hurt that the sidewalk was already wet, that the sky looks like it might crack in half and drown the city. “You’re doubting yourself because of her. Because of people like Coraleigh. Or Trinity Jade.” He looks up at me and tries for a smile. It lands just right, turning his face into something very pretty for a moment there. “Us taking care of your list doesn’t change that. You have to exorcise your own demons.”
He takes out another cigarette, his hood pulled up as usual, blond hair covering his forehead.
“What about your demons?” I ask him, knowing that he’s still got them and that maybe he wants them there.
“I just feed mine to keep them quiet,” he tells me, lifting his head up as Sara Young’s Subaru drives past and she slows down when she sees me. I salute her with my cigarette, frowning as she continues on and leaves us in peace.
I’m dragging my feet here because I don’t want to go home and think about Victor going on a date with a rich girl.
“I still don’t trust Victor, I guess,” I say to Cal, standing there as the first bit of drizzle starts to fall from the sky. Doesn’t seem to bother him, so I pull my own hood up to protect my hair. I’m wearing my pink leather Havoc jacket over a hoodie, so no problems staying warm out here. “If I did, I might not be so …” I gesture loosely with my hand, making a fist and then opening it up again. “Cagey.”
“You should,” Cal assures me. “Because we all know just how to take care of you.” He moves up to stand beside me, cupping the side of my face with cool fingers. I lean into the touch and Callum smiles. “We’ve been doing it for years. Let us keep on doing it.”
“What’s going on with my mother?” I ask as Cal drops his hand to his side and then flicks his cigarette into a puddle. He chuckles at me and then turns away. I figure we came this way just to beat the crap out of that girl, but then Callum starts to back up into one of the yards, gesturing for me to follow after.
“Come in, Bernie,” he tells me, turning around and heading across the grass in his boots, shorts, and hoodie. When he pounds up the weathered front steps, I find myself drawn after him. My cigarette’s gone out, but I tuck the rest of it back in the pack for later. Can’t waste it, even if it tastes like shit the second time around.
I find Cal waiting at the top of the steps, the front door open in front of him. He gestures for me to go in, so I do, pausing in a small entryway and looking around at a house that seems frozen in time. There are pictures of Cal as a kid on every wall, but none from the last ten years or so. The place smells clean, but there’s this musty undertone that makes me think of dust and quiet places.
“Grandma!” he calls out, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, hands folded on the newel post. He waits for a moment and then calls again. Still, no answer comes. “I’ll be right back,” Cal throws over his shoulder, smiling at me as he heads up the stairs and leaves me alone in his grandmother’s house.
Holy shit, I think, stepping forward to examine one of the pictures. They seem to start around his first birthday and end sometime after his seventh. There’s a picture of that particular party, one where he’s got on a pair of black ballet slippers; I recognize it by the number seven candle stuck to the cake.
When I stand back up, I find myself noticing little things, like the extra pair of boots by the front door, the baseball bat leaning against the wall, and the faint smell of a woman’s perfume. I can’t resist the urge to wander, so I start in the living room and find myself pushing open a door at the far end.
“What do you think?” a dark voice whispers from behind me. I don’t know how the fuck Cal got down the stairs without my hearing him, but I find his looming presence comforting, like a second shadow.
I’m looking at his room, this beautiful blue box with shiplap walls and a huge, wooden bed that looks about a million years old. It’s immediately obvious that Cal isn’t the one that decorated it. This was a room that was painted and dressed up for him by somebody else, and it probably hasn’t changed in years. There are ballet slippers in a heap by the door, weights arranged in the corner, and a TV mounted to the wall.
“You can go in,” he tells me as my hands fumble for a light switch. I step into the dark room, the only bit of light gray and diffused, leaking between the closed curtains and peeking in around us as we stand in the doorway. Callum follows me in and closes the door behind us, cutting off the rest of the light.
“Was your grandma okay?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder a
t just the moment the light comes on. Cal is holding the chain on an old lamp. He lets go and tucks his fingers into his pocket again.
“She’s alright,” he tells me, looking tense and too big for the small space. “I’d ask you to come and meet her, but she’s not herself today.” He stares past me at the black bedspread and then turns ice-blue eyes on me. “When she gets like this, she starts telling me things I don’t want to know about.”
“Like?” I ask as Cal sweeps past me like death himself, opening a wardrobe next to the bed and then pulling his hoodie over his head. This isn’t the first time, obviously, that I’ve seen him stripping down, but my breath catches anyway. My eyes trace the scars across his beautiful skin, blending in with the tattoos on his arms. He catches me looking and glances my way, the expression on his face making me take a step back.
His gaze goes from my mouth to my eyes, holding me captive in that one spot.
“The truth, mostly,” he says, shrugging and then turning away from me like he can’t bear to look without touching. But that’s okay, because I want him to touch. I want him to hold me tight and tell me that everything is going to work out just fine. “Like, how she killed her husband and made my mother help dispose of the body.”
Callum digs around in the wardrobe for a minute, pulling out a white tank and slipping it over his head before he closes the doors and turns back around.
I’m not exactly sure how to respond to his statement, so I just wait, standing awkwardly near his bedroom door.
He chuckles at me.
“Oh come on, Bernadette, we’re way past that.” Cal climbs onto his bed, kicking off his boots and then leaning back into the pillows with a sigh. His blue eyes close and for just a second there, I can imagine him going to Juilliard and dancing on a stage in Paris. If only … “You, hovering near the door like a stranger.”
He’s right. I’m just so fucking tense.
I move over to the bed and perch on the edge of it, taking off my heels before I join him, resting my head on his chest.
“Today’s certainly been a clusterfuck, hasn’t it?”
Cal smiles, eyes still closed, hand absently stroking my hair back from my face.
“Bernie, everyday in Havoc is a clusterfuck.” He’s right: it is. Cal continues on before I get a chance to respond. “And seriously, stop worrying about Victor and Trinity; you’re going to end up killing yourself over it.”
“Poor choice of phrasing,” I murmur, but Callum’s undeterred.
“You’ve been punishing yourself since Snow Day. That’s all this is, more of the same. You know that Vic would never betray you. All the same, you’re letting it get to you the way you let Kali get to you. But it’s not about Victor, and it’s not about Kali. Bernadette, this is about you. Stop hurting yourself. You don’t deserve it.”
I sit there quietly for several minutes, but I’m not sure how to respond to that. Yet again, Callum is right. When I close my eyes, I can hear his heart, a steady, even rhythm that makes me feel peaceful in a way I haven’t felt since the after-party.
“Can I stay here with you tonight?” I ask, and Cal’s fingers still in my hair. His breathing slows, hitches slightly. I open my eyes and glance up to find him watching me.
“I’d love that,” he replies, his tone warm. “I’ll admit, I was jealous as fuck that Hael got a sleepover before I did.” His beautiful mouth turns up at the corner in a teasing smile. “Last one to get fucked, last one to get a sleepover …”
“Oh, stop,” I murmur, sitting up and pushing my hair back from my face. If I’m staying here, then I need to call Aaron and let him know to pick Heather up. Heather. Fuck. By calling Havoc, I’ve made things so much more complicated for her. Neil was bad, but the GMP … Jesus. I can only imagine the state that Stacey’s dead girl was in when they found her. Briefly, I think about Aaron’s suggestion that we send the girls to Oak River.
I’m starting to think he’s right, and I hate myself for that, too. As Cal said, these last few weeks have been all about punishment, haven’t they?
Thinking about Heather makes me think about Pen, as it always does. And then I’m missing her so hard that my stomach hurts and my head throbs. I want her stuff back. I want it out of that fucking awful house, spirited away from all the nightmares that reside within those four walls.
“I need to get Penelope’s things back from my mother’s place,” I say, wondering when and how I’m going to manage that. Pam and I aren’t exactly on good terms right now.
Callum thinks for a moment and then encourages me to sit up. He’s off the bed and digging through his wardrobe again before I can figure out what exactly he’s up to. He takes a fresh hoodie out and slips it on.
I give him a look and a raised brow.
“We’ll go get it right now,” he says, turning around to look at me as he steps back into his boots and adjusts the laces. “In fact, we’ll make a game of it and rob the damn place.” He’s smiling again. Always smiling. He finds pleasure in me, looking at me, talking to me, fucking me. He’s found his light in the darkness. It’s a heavy burden to bear, so I exhale sharply. “That’s what we do best, Bernie.”
“Steal?” I ask, that one word strangely breathless, like a butterfly catching a breeze, its wings still, like two jeweled carpets stretched out on either side.
“Take back,” Cal corrects, offering me his hand.
I curl my fingers with his, reveling in this strange thing that is human connection. It’s so powerful that it steals the air from my lungs and the blood from my heart. All of it seems to rush to just one place, right between my thighs.
He pulls me off the bed and then pushes me into the wall without even trying. I lean back so that I’m resting against it, closing my eyes as Callum puts his hands on either side of my neck. He feels my pulse and sighs, his body shuddering as he leans his head back and closes his eyes.
“The feel of your pulse …” he starts, and I wonder if we’re both thinking about Danny Ensbrook, bleeding out on the floor of a haunted house. Behind Callum, I see Kali Rose, leering at me. A manifestation of my own self-doubt. Cal drops his head back down and then presses his mouth to the side of my neck, licking that throbbing beat of my pulse. “My whole goal in life is to keep this thrumming,” he tells me, pulling back and framing me with his hands. “That’s it.”
“Surely you’ve got dreams bigger than that?” I query back, but I’m having trouble finding my words, lost in eyes the color of the sky, or of the marbles Pen and I used to play with as kids. Eyes the color of pain and heartbreak, eyes clouded by affection and love.
“Bigger than romance?” he repeats back, laughing at me, that husky, dark sound curling around me like smoke. Callum doesn’t even use the door. Instead, he turns away and heads for the window, pushing it open and then glancing back at me before he hops out. “Bigger than love?”
Cal leaves through the window, and I follow after, but he never does answer the question.
It takes Callum Park about fifteen seconds to scale the back fence of Pamela’s duplex, climb on the empty hot tub that’s been full of sludge and old leaves since we moved in years ago, and hit the roof.
“You’ve done this before, I see,” I grunt as Cal helps haul me up the rest of the way, cloaked in darkness and starlight. Pamela isn’t home, and to be honest, if the neighbors see us, they’ll just look the other way. This is deep South Prescott right here. Don’t call the cops because you might be labelled a snitch. Don’t call the cops because they might shoot you or somebody you love ‘on accident’.
Neil loved that, being a police officer. His father and brother looked down on him as ‘just a cop’, but they knew why he did it. He loved the power that came with the badge. He could hurt people and justify his reasons for doing it. Not to say that there aren’t some good cops out there, but Neil was certainly not one of them.
Sara Young might be. Maybe. Possibly.
“At least three times a week for years,” he tells me, and I pause.
There’s a worn spot near my window, like a spot where somebody might have sat. I look up at him as he very carefully and systematically removes the old window, lifting it right out of the sill and setting it aside.
“You … snuck up here and stared at me through my window?” I ask, thinking about all the nights I lay here, staring at the door and listening for Neil’s movements.
“For years,” Cal says, slipping inside and pausing on my bed. His boots are getting the blankets muddy, but I don’t care. I’ll never sleep here again. Actually … it feels like there’s a forcefield there, in that empty window, the one that reminds me of an eye socket with no eye. My throat closes up and my breath catches. This is the house where Penelope was raped, where she died.
I don’t want to go back in there.
I glance over at the windows behind me, the matching ones for the neighboring duplex. The curtains are always drawn shut since the view from up here isn’t so stellar. Behind our house is the parking lot for a cabinet-making business. Sometimes, if you open the window on hot days, you can smell the fumes.
“Bernadette,” Cal says, very calmly, very slowly. “Come here.” He holds out a hand and I take it, scrambling into the window before I can lose my nerve. He yanks me to him, the bed wobbling beneath us. But we don’t fall. Callum keeps us standing, his hood sliding off his blond hair, leaving him bare for me. “You cannot let this place have power over you.”
“Are you going to tell me why you stalked me for years and I’m just now hearing about it?” I snap, using my anger to push aside the feeling of despair I feel at being in here again. This building is drenched in hate and pain. You could smudge it with sage, or bless it with holy water, and it would still smell like sulfur and ash.
“Breathe,” Cal whispers, voice thick and smoky. He closes his eyes and puts his hands on either side of my face. His fingers are cool against my skin, soothing me even if I feel like they shouldn’t. “It’s just a house. Houses don’t hold hate; people do. There’s nobody here but you and me. Just us.”
Anarchy at Prescott High Page 29