All the Days That End With Y

by A. E. Watson

  I would never vex my father with a lesbian lover and a Harley. I would never stand in the middle of Senate protesting my rights to marry whomever I chose, protesting my father’s friends at the same time.

  I could protest but it didn't feel the same anymore.

  There was something very lackluster about protesting when it wasn't your actual cause. I believed in equal rights and equal rights to marry, and that would have to be enough. I wouldn't ever be with the downtrodden.

  Becoming a journalist with a Brown’s education would have to do. My father was a Princeton boy, at least I could still crush his lineage there.

  But in the reflection I wondered if the girl staring back at me had the brass balls she once thought she had.

  There was a serious amount of doubt playing in my mind, now that my world was falling apart, that I would ever be able to snoop or investigate.

  I still had the key from Vincent’s and my desire to discover its origins was lacking drive, motivation, and true curiosity.

  What I saw in the mirror was too basic to be me. It was just a girl with dark-blue eyes, light-brown hair, and too much makeup. I saw a weak-spirited girl who was wearing the dress she was told to wear with the matching earrings and necklace, thank you very much. I saw a girl who was being bent to the will of her family because she was suddenly afraid to stand alone and be different.

  I wanted to fit in suddenly.

  It was unsettling and disheartening.

  I got up and turned around, noting the white rose bracelet I had worn to the gala was on the dresser. I picked it up and slipped it on my wrist. It was still fairly fresh, only slightly wilted. Lori must have found it for me. I smiled when I saw it, running my fingers over the pale petals.

  White was the color of retreat and surrender and truce. It was weird that it was Rachel’s favorite.

  When I glanced back up, I saw a replay in the mirror, or maybe in my mind, of the times Rachel had treated me cruelly.

  They didn’t make me sad anymore.

  I felt okay.

  Okay?

  What a weak and blunt word but it was my feeling.

  I wasn't great, I wasn't happy, and I wasn't sad.

  I was okay.

  Rachel might have been mean and she might have been cruel, but she was my friend. It was okay to hate how she had treated me, but I didn't have to believe the things she had told me. I didn't have to see them as her only trait either.

  It was okay to know that there was more to her and forgive the small bits where she had acted like an insecure bitch.

  Her telling me I was gay might have been where my confusion began. I know her telling everyone else was how it became a rumor. But it wasn't a fact.

  The weird fact of the matter was that I wasn't gay; randomly I was into sweaty boys, abs and pecs, cologne, and whatever the hell that smirk was that Vincent wore.

  Remembering the way he looked in the rain, conflicted and desirous of me. That was what made my knees weak and my breath hitch.

  I couldn't even try to deny how I felt about that. I got the same rush from him that I did from snooping. If I stepped back and analyzed it all. My feelings for him explained why I liked snooping in his things so much and why I hated him so easily. Why I felt so vexed when he had pictures of Sasha or other girls. And as much as I hated that he had put them there to make me jealous, I hated it even more that I was.

  A slow smile spread across my face as it dawned on me that I enjoyed the fact he liked me.

  He, Vincent Banks—the one and only Vincent Banks—liked me.

  So what if I felt the same about him. It didn't matter; he liked me.

  In a small, petty corner of my brain, it made me grin that his liking me would have made Rachel insane, but my mother’s voice reminded me that it too didn't matter anymore.

  Rachel was dead and that was sad. It was going to be the biggest thing in my world for some time, bigger than anything else and it would remain bigger. Apart from the killer still being on the loose.

  I walked from the room, ready for the funeral. As ready as I could be. I hated funerals.

  When I got to the kitchen my dad hugged me. He held me tighter these days. Louisa interrupted the hug with an annoyed sigh. “We are late. Move it.” She clicked in and out, adjusting earrings and muttering to herself. I lifted my head, about to ask him how he did it, but deciding maybe that was a conversation for another time.

  The ride over to the church was uncomfortable.

  Louisa nattered about nothing while my dad and I looked out the window of our limo. My dad’s reflection pointed out to me that we had more in common than I ever gave us credit for having. We both sat in quiet reflection, blocking out her annoying voice.

  The driver dropped us at the front stairs to the church our parents all pretended to be a part of. A valet got the door. His eyes met mine and he smiled, winking and making me feel funny.

  It took a second to realize he was the hipster. His beard was gone. That part of his face was much paler than the rest of his skin, and his winter hat had been replaced with a valet’s cap. He wore a black suit with a white shirt beneath it.

  New clothes and no beard, but he was the guy.

  I climbed out and started up the stairs, stopping when I saw the boy with the grin leaning against the outer wall of the church like he was waiting just for me. He smiled, but it didn't change the dirty look on his face. I imagined he was thinking something vile, even at a funeral.

  I walked up the steps to him, letting him offer me his arm. I leaned into him and murmured, “The valet behind me is the guy Sage saw Rachel with the night before she was murdered. He’s the hipster Rach brought to Andrew’s house.”

  He coughed and glanced back, giving me a look. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. He was super hipster yesterday with a beard and skinny jeans and a winter hat.”

  “Men in skinny jeans confuse me sexually,” he whispered, not even cracking a smile.

  I pulled back. “Dude. Creepy jokes at the funeral are not awesome.”

  “Can we leave then?”

  “No.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I hate funerals,” he whispered, escorting me to my seat in the fourth row, the friends’ row. I sat next to Andrew as Vincent walked off, leaving me there.

  “Hey, Linds,” he offered solemnly.

  “Hey, Andrew.” I said as I watched Vincent walk to the side door and exit slowly.

  “Pretty crazy, huh?”

  I nodded, watching Rachel’s parents sit at the front, both silent and still when they got settled. My insides ached for them and my heart felt like it couldn't fit another emotion in it.

  Rachel had no siblings so her parents were suddenly childless. I didn't know how that would feel, but I imagined it was worse than anything else on earth. They sat there looking like a world was nestled between them.

  It made me glance over my shoulder at my own father who had sat back a row. He smiled weakly, but I could see the toll this was taking on him—him and all our parents. They all looked weak and exhausted. Sierra’s dad hadn’t even shaved. He sat there texting, looking as rough as I had ever seen him.

  I hated funerals. I hated them more than anything and my dad knew it. He sighed. In my peripheral I could see dad’s chest rise and fall heavily. I smiled back at him as he offered me a wink. Louisa dabbed her eyes, sniffling and pressing her lips together.

  That almost made me smile wider. She was such a diva.

  Dad started texting too, bringing a scowl to my lips as I turned my head back forward. Lainey caught my eyes, lifting a hand and waving awkwardly. It was a pathetic wave, but one didn't get exuberant in a church at a funeral. I offered back the same wave, noting her eyes narrowed when she saw my hand. I couldn't help but notice then that there was a white rose on her wrist too.

  I scowled, just a little and nodded my head at the rose. She shook hers, biting her lip. I glanced down my row to the left, seeing Sage. She waved slightly, also lifting a white rose.
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  She hadn’t even been there at the gala to get a white rose bracelet from one of the guys. I pulled out my phone and texted Sierra: You wearing your white rose?

  She texted back: Yeah, why?

  I am too. So is Lainey.

  Cool.

  I sighed, texting Sierra again: Sage has a rose too and she wasn't at the gala!!! Sierra leaned forward and shrugged at me.

  Why are we all wearing white roses? I texted in the group chat, turning my phone completely to silent mode.

  Sierra sent her text first: Because they were Rachel’s favorite!

  I sighed, annoyed that Sierra was entirely missing the point. Lainey leaned forward, inspecting mine again. She shook her head and texted furiously. Yours isn’t the same, Linds. It’s not the same one. Yours at the gala had a green tie around the wrist that sat alongside the pearls and made a bow.

  I glanced down, dread filling me. You’re right. Who left these for us?

  My fingers moving quickly as I texted Vincent: Did you send me another wrist corsage for today?

  He popped back out of the door he had gone in, his eyes instantly finding mine. He looked at his phone once more and then lifted his gaze back to me as he shook his head subtly.

  I sent him another message: Please ask Jake if he dropped them off for the four of us.

  He nodded and texted at the same time, lifting his eyes a moment later and shaking his head again.

  I panicked a little bit. Vince, someone left this rose for me at my house, in my room. I think the girls all got them the same way.

  His eyes narrowed as he read my text and then sent me a weird one in return: How very vexing.

  Vexing? I gave him a look and then turned, glancing back as Marguerite walked in with her family. She lifted her Pucci scarf to her face, like she was smelling it or something. My jaw dropped when I noticed she too had a white rose on her wrist.

  I turned and looked at Lainey, nodding my head. Her face paled as Marguerite walked by, swinging the white rose. She walked around the top and came in the left-hand side to settle in next to Sage, both looking solemn.

  I texted in the group chat again: Ask Marguerite where she got that rose, Sage.

  Sage’s head turned. I could see her face moving. They both lifted their roses and shrugged their shoulders. Sage glanced back at me, worry filling her blue eyes. She shook her head and sent a quick text. She doesn't know where it came from. I don't know either. I added her to the chat.

  That felt weird—someone I hadn’t even said two words to being added to our private chat. We had terrible things in that chat. Rachel had said the very worst things imaginable in there.

  Hi girls, I found the rose on my dressing table. It had a note saying it was Rachel’s favorite colored rose, Marguerite messaged us all.

  I added her number to my phone as Rita; Marguerite was too huge. I agreed with her being Rita completely. Then I texted back: Hi, Rita. This is Lindsey, if you want to add me to your phone.

  Hi, Lindsey. I will. She leaned forward and smiled wide, mesmerizing me with her beauty.

  The conversation blew up as everyone introduced themselves and added her to their phones. It was too weird. Not that we were doing it, just that we were doing it here.

  I watched as Vincent strolled casually across the room, nodding at people who greeted him. He always looked like he owned the room. He came and sat next to me, earning me a look from Tom, Sage’s stepdad.

  I scowled back at him. I had always hated that man.

  “The valet was gone by the time I got back to the front. I was talking with my dad in the wings. Once he was privy to the information, he was messaging all the other dads. No one recalls hiring a valet for the church,” Vincent leaned in, whispering into my neck. I shuddered from both his breath and his words.

  “You sure?”

  He nodded, brushing his face against mine. “Very. Since Sierra’s dad found out the driver who took you girls to the party at Rachel’s that night, wasn't actually his driver, he’s been pretty vigilant about who is who.”

  My head turned sharply, my face almost hitting his. I had to back up because we were so close my eyes couldn't focus. “What?”

  He nodded, licking his upper lip like it was a tick or a tell. “His driver was sick, very sick. He hadn’t gotten the text from Sierra that he was driving you girls. His phone was on his dresser in his apartment. He lives above the garage at her place.”

  “I know.”

  “He was passed out up there. He’s still not really better. The doctor said it’s food poisoning. The driver who drove Sierra around wasn't her dad’s driver. No one knows who took you to the party that night. And your dad checked—no tree was downed on the rode to Rachel’s. For whatever reason, that driver wanted you girls there then.”

  I swallowed hard, sitting back in my chair as the music started and the people all got seated. No wonder our dads all looked like they hadn’t slept in a week. I lowered my hands, sending one more text: We need to meet up after this. Group meeting. Rita, you are part of this group now too.

  Then an unexpected text came through.

  Can I come too, bitches?

  I blinked, staring at it, my mind disbelieving the sight my eyes saw. There was no way Rachel had just sent us all a text. Her coffin was literally fifteen feet from my face, and yet the text had her name on it.

  I lifted my gaze, noting my friends were all doing the exact same thing, looking about the room with fear in their eyes.

  Instead of turning the phone off, I tilted it so Vincent could read it as well.

  “Oh shit,” he whispered as I clicked it off and pretended to sing a hymn for the dead girl who was still sending me messages.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I can hit her if you hold her down

  The hug Rachel’s mother offered me on the stairs outside at the end of the service was weak, but I assumed it was all the strength left she had left. She sniffled and nodded. “Thank you for coming, dear.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I squeezed and closed my eyes. “I am going to miss her so much.” It was a lie, but it was the sort you told the grieving parent of the mean girl in school. It was the sort of lie you told yourself you had to believe.

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  I gave her one last pat on the back and pulled away, letting Sierra get in there next. She hugged and sobbed far better than I did.

  Lainey nudged herself against me, leaning and sighing. Mr. Swanson walked to where we stood and pulled me into his arms with a thump. He shook, trembled maybe. He wasn't weak or feeble the way his wife was. His hug seemed angry and exhausted. He gripped me, squeezing and shaking his head. He didn't say anything. He just let go as suddenly as he had grabbed me and moved on to Lainey, flopping himself on her the way he had done to me. It was weird and in any other setting it would have been creepy.

  Sierra was next as Sage comforted Mrs. Swanson.

  There just wasn't anything to say to either of them.

  Louisa rescued us all. She worked her way in, grabbing Mrs. Swanson and sobbing. They cried together and eventually Mr. Swanson was wrapped around them both.

  Our parents didn't do this. Especially not when the cameras were on us. They didn't hug or kiss or snuggle. They certainly didn't cry.

  But today, even with the cameras rolling in the park across the road, the stairs of the church were covered in embracing and sobbing people.

  No one here expected something like this. No one.

  We walked down the stairs, the four of us, until Rita joined us. I slipped my white rose corsage off and placed it in the trash bin at the bottom of the steps as my eyes scanned the park. “Do you think whoever sent the message is watching us right now?” I asked.

  We walked to the side of the church where no one else was. “Do you think they watch us all the time?”

  “Yes. Psychopaths always watch under normal circumstances. They always come to the funeral. Always,” Lainey added.

  I folded my arms
across my chest, feeling the wind more than I should. It was colder than any August wind I had ever felt.

  “What are we going to do?” Sage asked softly, rubbing her wrist where the bracelet had been.

  “We need to go to the police.” Lainey nodded, still looking out across the town square. “We need to ping Rachel’s phone and find out where the killer is.”

  “We can’t,” I almost snapped but held back just a little. “You’re forgetting all the illegal shit we’ve done. We fled a murder scene. Sage was at the murder scene, covered in the blood. I lied about Ashton and have still not told anyone that I saw him. We never told anyone about the kidnapper notes. We stole her car and burned all the evidence. We brought our parents into this.”

  They all gulped but Rita. She nodded. “She’s right. We can’t go to the police until we know what is going on. We don't even know if the killer has evidence on us. They might have taken pictures of Sage and Rachel in the woods. They might have been watching you all there getting Sage.”

  Lainey sighed, looking defeated. “But we aren’t dealing with something small. We’re dealing with a blackmailing psychopath who has already killed one person. We need the police.”

  I glanced down, hating that I was about to scare them all more. “Sierra, your dad’s driver isn’t who took us to the party. Your dad knows this and hasn't told you yet. Your driver was sick. And there was no fallen tree. A stranger dropped us off and the timing was somehow important to them.”

  “The drinks,” Lainey blurted before she even processed what it all meant. “They wanted us there late so it was congested and they could slip us the drinks. It would be too crowded and no one would even realize we were drugged or missing after the drugs kicked in. I didn't even see the face of the person who gave us the drinks. I saw a hand and a white dress and that's it.”

  I nodded, realizing we had likely confirmed our worst fears. “There’s more than one of them and they were trying to drug us all on purpose.”