I feel like a junkie, twitchy and anxious. I need this. I need it.
Cato hesitates for a long moment, considering me through narrowed eyes. Then she stands up.
‘Five minutes.’
‘Ten,’ I counter, and I manage to produce a charming smile from some dark corner of myself. ‘I promise I’ll be good.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’ I see a smile tug at the corner of her lips, and I almost want to hug her.
I hope ten minutes is enough for what I’ve got in mind.
WITNESS STATEMENT
I, Nia Ongoco, of 15/47 Highett Road, Hillsborough, aged 18, student at Hillsborough Technical College, state:
1. I was first contacted by Cecily Cartwright (‘Cecily’) on 11 December, through an anonymous messaging service. She found me via an online forum that I was active on, which shared coding information, techniques and equipment.
2. Cecily informed me that she had learnt about a piece of software I wrote called CATCLOUD, in which sensitive information could be securely coded in a photo of a cat, undetectable by the human eye. I really like cats.
3. Cecily, using the pseudonym ‘the Blue Fairy’, paid me to set up a cryptocurrency account for her, where she could use CATCLOUD to send and receive anonymous payments.
4. On 19 December, Cecily contacted me again, offering $3000 to hack into a teacher’s account and plant photos and messages. Initially I refused. I’m a white-hat hacker, not a criminal.
5. I had started following the Blue Fairy story on social media, and appreciated her antiauthoritarian goals. I was also drowning in student loans and credit card debt, and needed the money. I agreed to do the job.
6. Over the next four months, Cecily engaged my services several more times (see attached timeline). I was paid the equivalent of $32,500 in untraceable online payments using CATCLOUD.
7. My online chats with Cecily became more intimate, and we decided to meet in person on 12 April. We met at a public park, and went for a walk. There was definite chemistry between us. The date lasted four hours, and at the end we kissed.
8. Cecily and I conducted an intimate physical relationship for the next nine weeks, while she continued to publicly date her boyfriend, Paxton Yates (‘Paxton’). I encouraged her to end it with him, but she told me he was too useful to discard.
9. On 12 June, Cecily was doing homework at Paxton’s house and overheard Paxton’s mother, Senator Sandra Yates, discussing a secret transfer of funds with one of her staff. The transfer was to Maksim Dvornikov, a diplomat with ties to the Russian espionage ring known as Kozyr. Cecily understood that Senator Yates was paying Dvornikov to interfere in the upcoming election, which Yates was in danger of losing. Paxton knew that Cecily had overheard the conversation, and urged her to stay silent.
10. On 14 June, a message from Paxton appeared in the Blue Fairy inbox, wishing that Cecily Cartwright was dead. I advised her to go to the police with what she knew, but Cecily decided instead to stage two fake attempts on her life in order to preserve the Blue Fairy’s anonymity.
12. The first attempt took place on 20 June, where Cecily was locked overnight in an isolation tank.
13. The second attempt took place on 24 June. Cecily asked me to program a self-driving vehicle for a staged hit-and-run. I was growing concerned about Cecily’s mental state, and refused. She told me she wouldn’t do it, but I was suspicious, and broke into her messages, discovering that she’d hired a different hacker to do it. I went to Westbridge Academy, but arrived later than I intended as it is impossible to get there on public transport. I spotted Cecily talking to Edwin Chen on the edge of a crowd of students in the carpark. I yelled out to get her attention, but before I could reach her, the car appeared and began bearing down on her. My view of what happened was partially obscured by the crowd of students, but it appeared to me that Edwin Chen pushed Cecily out of the way, and was then hit by the car himself. After the car drove off, Cecily seemed to be horrified by what had happened. But she’s a great actor.
14. I visited Cecily in her suite at Westbridge Academy that evening. We slept together – she seemed edgy and restless. The Yates story was starting to break in the media, and I urged her again to go to the police and tell them what she had overheard. She received a text message that rattled her, but she wouldn’t tell me what it said. I asked her if she had intended for Edwin to get hit by the car, and she was evasive. We argued, and she got dressed, stating that it was time for her to ‘end this nonsense once and for all’. I asked her if she meant the Blue Fairy, or the Yates affair, or our relationship. She didn’t respond. That was the last time I saw her.
This statement made by me accurately sets out the evidence that I would be prepared, if necessary, to give in court as a witness. The statement is true to the best of my knowledge and belief and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I will be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated in it anything that I know to be false or do not believe to be true.
Signed: Nia Ongoco Witnessed: B. Cortez
Dated: 25 June Dated: 25 June
16
DAY 5
00:16
Cato Bell escorts me to Paxton’s door and unlocks it.
‘Ten minutes,’ she says, her voice stern. ‘And no shenanigans. I’ll be waiting outside.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Paxton sits up in bed when I enter the room. I flick on the light and he shields his eyes, blinking.
‘Cecily?’ he says, his voice fuzzy from sleep. ‘What’s going on?’
I think about everything I have to tell him. I don’t know where to start. Hi Pax, your mum threw you under the metaphorical bus in order to escape the actual bus and save her career, and abandoned you to the hands of a madwoman? Also, did you know that you’re the one who wished I was dead? And that the wish came directly to me? Fun fact, I was cheating on you with my hired hacker. Bonus fact: I’m totally responsible for real-Edwin’s death, and may even have straight-up murdered him.
He stares at me, his sandy hair messy and his face adorably rumpled. He’s bare-chested, the waistband of his underwear just visible above the sheet.
I don’t tell him any of it. Instead I pull the blue T-shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. Paxton closes his eyes.
‘Cecily …’ he says. ‘I don’t know if this is a good idea.’
I walk over to him, slowly, deliberately. I bend down and take his bottom lip between my teeth, exerting gentle pressure. He groans.
‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘We should at least talk about this first …’
My hands slide down his chest, while Paxton continues to protest. But he stops as soon as my fingers reach his underwear.
Too easy.
I clamber on top of him, straddling him so we are face to face. We kiss again, and it is bliss. Hormones fire and fill my ears with the beautiful blank roar of wanting. He undoes my bra and touches my breasts, and I rock and gasp and press myself against him. My fingers trace the lines of his abdomen, his back, his shoulders. It’s so simple, and so meaningless. It’s exactly what I need. I feel the rising tide of desire, and I let it take me.
This isn’t the terrifying fog of amnesia. It’s more like Edwin’s fire, full of life and energy and potential. This could turn into anything. I could turn into anything. The powerful feeling I had before returns. I am strong. I can do anything.
Paxton is looking up at me, pupils dilated and full of worship and fear.
Looking up at me.
At me.
And something else approaches through the fire.
Nia is sitting on my bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her finger absently stroking the golden crack on her prosthesis. Her brows are drawn together, her face a mask of concern as she looks up at me.
I try to shove the memory back into the fire, but it keeps coming. I don’t want to know. Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.
Nia shakes her head. ‘CC, this is getting out of hand.’
I sit down on the bed next to her. ‘We can’t let him find out,’ I tell her. ‘He’ll ruin everything.’
Nia groans in frustration. ‘Don’t you get it? It’s over. You have to stop the whole Blue Fairy game.’
Even the thought of it is unbearable. ‘No. This will blow over.’
‘CC, we should go to the police. Tell them about Paxton and his mother. This is actual treason, and you’re already implicated.’ She holds out her phone which displays a news story. The headline screams in big black letters:
SENATOR’S SON PHOTOGRAPHED WITH KNOWN RUSSIAN SPY
Underneath there is a photo of me and Paxton, posing outside Paxton’s house before the winter fling. I’m wearing an ice-blue gown that matches Paxton’s eyes. He’s reaching up, running a hand through his raven-black hair. We both look so happy. No one would guess that we’re both hiding such big secrets.
I shake my head. ‘We can’t go to the police. You know that. We’ve done stuff too. What about Edwin?’
She is quiet, then. The mention of Edwin’s name makes her withdraw into a place where I can’t follow.
My phone buzzes and you look down to see a message.
To: The Blue Fairy
From: Paxton Yates
I know who you are. We need to talk.
‘Who is it?’ Nia asks.
I hesitate for a fraction too long before answering. ‘No one.’
I’m on a bed.
With a guy.
A guy I don’t recognise.
I push him down, and stare, horrified.
‘What?’ He frowns, brushing his hair away from his eyes.
His sandy hair.
‘Time’s up.’ It’s Cato Bell, standing in the doorway. She looks largely unperturbed to see me, half naked, astride a much more naked stranger.
‘Jesus.’ The guy fumbles for the sheet, which he pulls up around me with one hand, while he gropes for a shirt with the other.
I extract myself from the bed and walk over to Cato. My bra is still undone, my jeans unbuttoned. I stand in front of her, eye to eye.
‘That’s why he recognised Sandra,’ I say, finally getting it. ‘The others, too. They’d seen her on TV, in the news. Nia and I didn’t recognise her, because we’d actually met her. She was in a different part of our memories, the part that got wiped.’
Cato smiles.
‘How did you do it?’ I ask. ‘Make me believe it was really him? I had flashbacks.’
‘Same cologne,’ Cato Bell says. ‘Scent is an incredible trigger for memory.’
‘Who is he, really?’
Cato hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking to the boy I thought was Paxton Yates.
‘You don’t know him. He’s serving a life sentence in maximum security. Murdered his mother with his father’s service rifle.’ She flashes me a quick grin. ‘Thought it might make things interesting, and he does look a bit like Sandra.’
Not-Paxton looks from Cato to me. ‘What’s going on?’
I look over at him. He’s looking up at me with those blue puppy-dog eyes. He trusts me.
He shouldn’t.
‘I’m so sorry.’
I watch the emotions drift across his face – confusion, disbelief, understanding, denial.
‘No,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘You’re wrong. We have something, you and I. We have a connection. There’s no way we’ve never met before. She’s lying to you. She’s lied before. I am Paxton Yates. I know it in my bones.’
I want to believe him. After all, he’s right. Cato Bell has done nothing but lie to us.
‘You’re supposed to be a mathematical genius,’ I tell him. ‘What’s the square root of one thousand, seven hundred and sixty-two?’
He stares at me. ‘I don’t know. But that proves nothing. You only think I’m a mathematical genius because she told you I was.’ He thrusts out his jaw and squares his shoulders. ‘I want you to prove it,’ he says to Cato.
Cato Bell bites her lip. ‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ she says, and with a smooth, practised movement, she pulls a gun from beneath her tunic. She’s almost casual in the way she aims it at Paxton, unclips the safety and pulls the trigger.
The noise sets my ears ringing, and I turn to see Pax, still clutching the sheet to his chest, blood seeping into the white fabric, his face draining.
I stumble to the bed and gather Pax in my arms. There is a lot of blood. Too much blood. The hot metallic scent of it mingling with the nutmeg and cedar of his cologne.
His skin is cold and clammy, his lips already turning blue.
I open my mouth to say something. To reassure him. To tell him that I love him. Something. But I have no words.
‘I can’t feel my hands,’ he murmurs. ‘Please, help me.’
His eyes roll back in his head and his body jerks.
‘Pax!’ I yell, shaking him, patting him on the cheek. ‘Wake up. You’re going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.’
‘It isn’t,’ Cato says from behind me. ‘He’ll have lost more than twenty per cent of his blood already. He’s in hypovolemic shock.’
Paxton’s body stills.
‘Do something!’ I growl at her. ‘Call someone.’
‘There’s nothing to be done. He’s already dead.’
I peel the wet red sheet back and all I can see is blood. I put my hands on his chest, the chest that minutes ago I was bracing myself against in spasms of desire. The chest that I nestled my head against while I slept on the bus. The chest that I thought belonged to the boyfriend who betrayed me, and whom I betrayed.
But he was a stranger the whole time.
Blood flows slick and slippery between my fingers. I turn and look up at Cato Bell.
‘What is his name?’
‘Why do you care?’ she replies. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘It matters to me.’
Cato Bell smiles. ‘His name was Quinn Paget.’
She gazes down at him, and for a moment I see a flash of regret on her face. It’s only a moment though, before she resumes her usual aloof, disinterested expression.
‘That smell is his bladder and bowel releasing,’ she says. ‘They don’t usually talk about that on TV. Not very glamorous.’
‘He didn’t deserve this.’
‘Didn’t he? He murdered his mother in cold blood. Shot her in the head while she was sleeping. Isn’t this exactly what he deserves?’
‘You don’t get to decide what people deserve. An eye for an eye is bullshit. It doesn’t help people.’
‘I totally agree. That’s why I’m doing this. Cecily, don’t you see? Of course Quinn didn’t deserve this. He may have murdered his mother, but he had a shitty life. His parents had money, but he was abused, unloved, misunderstood. He needed help and nobody gave it to him. Is it any wonder he broke? I want to give people like him a second chance. Give them the support they deserve, so that they can start over.’
‘So why kill him? Why doesn’t he get to start over?’
‘You gotta break some eggs.’
‘No. There was no reason to kill him. You could have wiped his memory, like you’re going to do to the rest of us. Why kill him?’
Her gaze is unwavering. ‘For you. I did it so you’ll understand how serious I am about this. You’re not going to trick or manipulate your way out of this. I’m not one of your Blue Fairy customers. I will get the results I’m looking for, and I’m not afraid to play dirty. Don’t try to cross me, Cecily Cartwright. Do your part, and all this will be over soon. You’ll get transferred to a nice prison. You’ll have your own room. Access to a veggie garden and a library. You can finish school. But if you continue to try to fuck with me, I will make your life a living hell.’
I have no smart answer for her. No cute comeback.
‘What happened to the real Paxton?’ I ask. ‘Where is he?’
A humourless smile crosses Cato’s face, her dark lipstick stretching into a grim line. ‘He also died in bed from a gunshot wound
to the chest. Don’t you remember?’
I feel as cold as if it were me with the bullet in my heart. The dark slash of Cato’s mouth curves viciously. ‘You killed him twice, Cecily. Quite an achievement.’
Paxton is asleep on a motel bed, king-size, rumpled sheets. There’s a bottle of vodka on the bedside table. My hand is wrapped around a lockpick, cold and hard, except it isn’t a lockpick at all. It’s bigger, and heavier, and far more deadly.
I can smell shit and gunshot and Pax’s cologne.
Fluorescent lights from outside leach in through the window, staining the bed pink and blue.
There’s so much blood.
My legs give way from under me, and I sink to the floor. I’m sticky with blood, my bra still flapping uselessly from my shoulders.
Bell looks me up and down. ‘Go back to your room and clean up. I’ll bring you a fresh set of clothes.’
I shower, but the blood is so hard to wash off. It’s thick and sticky on my hands, my chest, my face, my hair. It spatters the shower curtain. Bloody footprints pace the shower floor. It swirls down the plughole in red ribbons, but there’s still more. Always more.
The urgency I felt a few hours ago is gone. I don’t want to remember who I am. Edwin was right – knowing the truth just makes me feel more broken.
Cecily Cartwright was a monster.
I am a monster.
No wonder Nia turned me in.
I step out of the shower and walk past the towel rack. I sit, dripping and naked on the bed, and put my hand on the place where, in a cabin only a stone’s throw away – Paxton – Quinn – died. My bed looks crisp and white, but when I close my eyes, all I can see is blood.
I am so tired.
My door opens and Cato Bell walks in, holding neatly folded clothes. She doesn’t react to my nakedness. I wonder what it would take to get a reaction out of her.
‘You were all over the news, you know,’ she says, placing the clothes on the bed. ‘The Blue Fairy already had a massive social media following. Then the murder, and your unmasking? What a story. A teenage prankster turned murderer. A criminal mastermind.’
I don’t take the clothes she holds out. She puts them on the bed instead.
The Erasure Initiative Page 20