She looks straight into the camera. “I thought I knew Lauren DeSanto. But I was wrong, and what Nathan told me only confirms it. Lauren was never the girl that I thought. I’m not the first person that she’s done this to. Stabbed in the back. Betrayed by messing around with their boyfriends. There have been others. Another girl back when we were in eleventh grade, the same girl who beat us in the eighth-grade talent show, who I guessed Lauren still felt threatened by.
“Turns out Lauren slept with her boyfriend and totally destroyed her confidence until she moved away from our school. I mean, I can barely believe it, but after what happened with her and”—she gulps, tears shimmering in her eyes again—“and my…” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “After what happened to me, I went and talked to that other girl’s boyfriend. At the time, I’d never believed the rumors, but he confirmed it. And now with Nathan’s story and what’s happened to me, it’s a pattern. I guess she gets off on this stuff.”
Kadence’s jaw tightens and she looks furious. “Lauren seems like a shy, unassuming girl. Like you’d never think she could pull off a lie if she wanted to. But that’s the way she wants to come off. It’s the ultimate mask. She’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I’m going to confront her about it all. She had the audacity to ask me to play at the coffee shop where she works. As if she hadn’t all but slept with my boyfriend! As if she hadn’t betrayed me deeper than any friend can betray another.”
Kadence shakes her head in disbelief and swipes angrily at another tear. “But that’s fine with me. I’m going to go sing at her coffee shop. And afterward I’m going to talk to her. I’m going to say everything that’s ever needed to be said. And she is going to answer for what she’s done.”
The image goes dark.
Twenty-Eight
Jude
Sheriff’s Office
Saturday, April 7
12:01 p.m.
They can’t hold me. Without a body or any physical evidence tying me to a crime, they can’t keep me. And my thirty-six-hour hold is up. Screw you, county bastards.
The property clerk eyes me warily from behind the counter as she hands me two extra-large Ziploc bags with all of my personal items: clothes, belt, wallet, cell phone in one, boots in the other. I grab them a little more roughly than is necessary. I stop myself from baring my teeth at her. Want to gawk at the scary murder suspect some more? Let me at least give you a show. ’Cause yeah, pretty sure this is a sneak peek of the rest of my life if Kadence is never found.
Suspected murderer. There’s a label you can’t outrun by switching school districts. I heard from the latest arrival in the cell next to me that I’m already headline news. And that they dug up Coco. My jaw flexes. Poor ol’ girl. My good, good dog. I still can’t get used to the idea she’s gone, but at least she went peacefully in her sleep. And now those shit-heads have disturbed her grave.
I step behind a curtain and yank my pants on, then pull my thermal on over my head. I jerk my belt through the loops on my pants furiously and pull on my boots without bothering with the laces. I want to get the hell out of here.
I jam my wallet in my pocket and then I’m out the door. The freezing wind whips through my thin, long-sleeved shirt. The clerk kindly informed me that they’re keeping my jacket for an indefinite period of time in case they need to use the search dogs again. No, of course they couldn’t use my cheap two-dollar socks. It’s gotta be my damned prized bomber jacket.
No one’s here to pick me up, even though they called my dad. They even got hold of him. Parking lot’s empty. I’m surprised that I’m surprised.
My jaw flexes as I use my thumb to flip through the contacts on my phone. It’s a short list.
I call Rocky. He picks up on the second ring. “What’s up, man?”
I stare at the ground. Is he serious? “Um. You been around? Heard what’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” He sounds genuinely confused. “Me and the fam are visiting my dad a few hours up north. What’s up?”
Well, damn. Guess he’s not gonna be able to swing by to pick up my sorry ass then. “Nothing. Just a misunderstanding.” I kick at a rock on the ground and jam the hand not holding the phone into my pocket. “Forget about it.”
“Jude.” The sounds of laughing, screeching kids in the background fade, as if Rocky has moved into a different room. “You don’t sound so good. What’s up, dude? Problems with your old man?”
I laugh bitterly. For there to be problems, that’d mean Dad would have to actually acknowledge my existence. “It’s nothing. Everything’s fine. You have a good time with your family. See you when you get back.” I hang up before he can say anything else.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a long moment, then open them and scroll through the rest of my contacts. My thumb hovers over Lauren’s name. Before I can stop myself, I push Connect. It rings four times, then goes to voice mail. It rang just long enough for me to wonder if she clicked “send to voice mail” herself or if she genuinely wasn’t around to hear the call. I click “end call” before it gets to the beep. Then I ignore my quickly numbing fingers and type out a quick text:
Me: Lauren, you know I had nothing to do with Kady’s disappearance, right? You believe me, yeah? Please.
I hit Send before I can chicken out. The wind starts blowing so loud it’s whistling in my ears. I stare at my phone until the little phone light turns off. There’s no return text.
She’s just not by her phone. It’s probably in the other room. Maybe buried in her purse where she can’t hear it. I mean, she’s gotta understand there’s no real evidence against me, right? She knows me. After everything we shared, those kisses in the woods…she has to know…
But then my jaw hardens. What does she know, Jude? Huh? What exactly does she know? The police probably told her you were stalking her and Kadence. Showed her what they found in your room—the pictures, the videos, the calendar. They’d have made it clear that you’re a sick freak.
She’s afraid of you now. She’ll never talk to you again, much less ever let you touch her. She’ll never climb behind you on your bike and wrap those sweet arms of hers around your waist, never again whisper your name in that needy way after you’ve kissed her…
I don’t realize I’m stomp-pacing back and forth with my hands balled into fists until I’m interrupted when the door opens behind me. I pause and turn to see the property clerk standing with her body half shielded by the door. “I called a cab for you,” she says, pointing at a yellow taxi that’s pulling into the parking lot.
“Here.” She offers me a twenty-dollar bill. The gesture is personal—not a gift from the county—but I can’t tell if it’s because she feels bad my dad didn’t come or because she’d rather not have a potential murderer hanging around outside her window. I want to laugh. I want to scream. Instead, I turn my back on her offer and slip into the back of the cab. Owe nothing to anyone. New words to live by.
When I get home, Dad’s truck is in the driveway. I pay the cab driver with my last twenty bucks and step out onto my gravel driveway. The trailer, home, sweet home—if that’s what you can call this beat-up box of rusting steel and aluminum siding—looks as crappy and stupid and useless as my whole goddamn life. The fury that lit outside the sheriff’s office starts all over again, and this time it’s not a slow burn. I blow my lid.
I run up the weather-worn steps, throw open the door, then slam it behind me so hard the whole trailer shakes. Dad’s sitting in the same place he always is on that same pumpkin-colored velvet couch from the seventies. It’s worn through the fabric down to the cushion in an ass-shaped impression where he sits. So washed up he can’t even be bothered to come get his own goddamn kid out of jail.
He glances up for one second. One glance. That’s all he gives me, then his gaze goes back to the TV. One glance. Yep. That’s apparently all I’m worth. I’m so furious that my breath is coming out au
dibly. My chest moves up and down, up and down like one of those old-time bellows. Still, my father doesn’t notice.
Or maybe he does hear me, but having a son booked on suspicion of murder doesn’t fit into his narrow goddamn little life of working at the garage, coming home, drinking his goddamn beer, and watching his goddamn sports.
I feel the veins standing out in my forehead as I stomp through the living room. I go straight to the bathroom and strip off every single thing I’m wearing and get into the shower. I don’t wait for the water to warm up. I know I’m rank. I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth in two days. I have to get clean.
The blast of cold water is good. It makes me feel something other than the blinding rage. It distracts me from the thoughts of my fingers around my father’s throat. After a few minutes, the water warms, then turns to blistering heat. I put a hand on the wall and lean my head into the spray, holding my position until the water turns cold again. I crank the handle hard to the right and stand under the dripping showerhead, still breathing so hard I’m dizzy with the rush of blood.
I’m not quite under control yet. There’s too much crap in my head. I had so many plans, but everything got shot to hell. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know what any of this is for. I don’t know if I ever did.
I slam an open palm against the tile wall. All I know is my world got turned upside down when I showed up for school one day in seventh grade and my best friend suddenly stopped talking to me. Everything since then has been all screwed up, right until this goddamn second. My body shakes as I reach for a towel and dry myself off. My hand fumbles through my pants on the ground. I find my cell phone and check to see if there are any texts. But the screen is blank.
No texts.
No Ren.
I shove open the door to the bathroom and stalk toward my room in only a towel. I just need a little space, I think as I throw open the door and step into my room. I need to calm down. But then I see what’s become of the one place I always felt safe with my darkest thoughts. They never had to come out into the light of day if I could keep them contained here in my room or buried in the pages of my journal.
But now my room’s screwed. My journal’s gone. All the drawers in my dresser have been emptied, crap all over the floor. My mattress and box spring are overturned and cut, gutted down to the springs. Fingerprint powder dusts every flat surface. My books, vintage poetry I collected from the half-price bookstore, are flung on the ground like someone swept the bookshelf with their arm. Some of the them lie open, spines split. One of my favorites, a collection of Robert Frost poems, has a large boot print across its front cover.
My neck is hot. All of me feels hot. The blood is back screaming in my ears. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.
I jerk on some clean clothes from the pile that has been tossed on the floor. From my closet, I yank out my heaviest coat. It has a fleece lining though it smells like oil from being worn at the garage a lot. I pull it on.
I walk back out to the living room. Dad doesn’t acknowledge me. I grab his keys from the ugly ceramic bowl on the counter, then reach for a bottle of Jack and a pack of smokes from the cupboard. Dad keeps all his vices in one place. Handy.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.
I just flip him off and walk for the door, holding the bottle underneath one arm and tucking the cigarettes into the pocket of my coat. Suddenly Dad gets some life in him. He stands up and blocks the door. This makes me laugh.
He glowers at me. “Don’t you think you’ve gotten into enough trouble? You are not leaving this house with that bottle.”
I swear there’s a flash of burning light behind my pupils and then I’m drawing back my arm. My fist connects with the stubbled flesh of his jaw in a hard, decisive punch. With a weird sort of detachment, I note that it doesn’t sound like punches do in the movies. More of a quick thwack than a satisfying, reverbed Hulk smash noise. I feel the hit all the way up my arm to my shoulder, and it hurts like a mother. Dad crumples to the floor. I don’t know if he’s knocked out, but he doesn’t get up again. I don’t say a word as I step over his body and close the door behind me.
Twenty-Nine
Mason
Sheriff’s Office—The Interview Continues
Monday, April 2
11:52 a.m.
Kopitzke: What more can you tell me about Lauren and Kadence’s relationship?
I know what he’s getting at. Ever since I gave him my account of the fight between Kadence and Lauren, I wished I could take it back. Girls fought. My little sisters loved each other, but they could go at it like curly-horned mountain goats. Why should Kady and Lauren be any different?
Mason: Kadence and Lauren loved each other. That fight last week didn’t mean anything.
Besides, there wouldn’t even have been a fight if not for me. In fact, sometimes I wonder if I am to blame for all of their rocky patches.
The first time there was a little bit of trouble, maybe even the seeds of what finally blew up into this big recent fight, was sophomore year. Kadence and I had been dating for three months, and it had been seriously the best three months of my life. We were sitting on my back deck and eating the leftover chow mein I’d made the family for Friday dinner the night before. Kadence put her chopsticks in her mouth like walrus tusks. It was really cute, and she could laugh like nobody else. It was the kind of laugh that made you laugh too, even when you knew it wasn’t that funny.
Of all the time we spent together, I loved our weekend time the best. That’s when she was most herself. Easy. Casual. No makeup. I was kind of proud of the fact that I was the only one who saw her real face.
It was always a shock on Monday mornings when I’d see her again in full getup, because that girl loves her makeup. Or maybe she was just so insecure she needed to wear a mask around everyone else. No one else saw that. The insecurity. But she didn’t need the mask with me. I knew Kadence. I knew her better than anybody else knew her. Even better than Lauren.
Anyway, we were on my back deck waiting for Lauren to pick Kadence up. They had an appointment with a real recording studio to record their new song. They said they were making a “rough cut,” which I guess is like a demo or something. When Lauren finally texted that she’d “be there in five,” Kady jumped up and pulled a bag out of her backpack. She ran into the bathroom, saying she had to “fix her face.” I didn’t think anything needed fixing. To me she was perfect.
That’s what made me a total dick. Here I had this perfect girlfriend, and while she was in the bathroom I was out on the front step with her friend, checking her out. I didn’t mean to, I swear. It was just that sometimes you can’t help looking.
Lauren never wore anything too revealing, not like Kady. But I don’t know, that kind of modesty has its own, you know, appeal. And B.K. (Before Kadence), Lauren was the kind of girl who was really more my type. She was short but curvy. Tan and dark-haired. Smart too. Book smart, and there was nothing more intriguing than a girl with a book.
Hey, Mason, she said that afternoon.
Hey.
Kady’s here, right?
Yeah, she’ll be out in a second.
I forcibly averted my eyes from her chest. And that’s where my brilliant conversation skills came to an end because God knows how hard it is to talk to a girl when you’re wondering what her skin feels like.
See, this is what I mean when I say everything was my fault. I thought I appreciated Kadence, but it wasn’t until she was gone that I realized how good I had it. I never deserved her, but Kadence thought I did. That’s why I had no business thinking about Lauren. Ever.
“What’s going on out here?” Kadence asked, coming up behind me and stepping out of the house. Her eyes were outlined in thick black eyeliner, pulled into cat-eyes at the corners.
“Nothing,” Lauren said b
ecause of course to her, it was nothing. “You ready?”
“I was born ready,” Kadence said with a wink to me, then she took my face in her hands and kissed me in a way that was nearly indecent for public display. It did the trick though. Like a wet paper towel on a blackboard, Lauren was wiped clean away.
“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” she whispered in my ear. That’s how great Kadence was. She made me believe in the future, and I could stand as much confidence as I could get in that department.
Dad traveled a lot with his new job, and Mom worked all the time too. That left me in charge of my little sisters. Between them and hockey practice, it didn’t leave much time for anything else. It was tough sometimes.
Kopitzke: You think Kadence and Lauren are that close? That they love each other?
Mason: I didn’t mean it like that.
Kopitzke: No, I understand what you meant. What about next year, then? Are they planning to go to college together?
Mason: No. Kady isn’t going to school next year. She wanted to focus on her music. Wants. She wants to focus on her music.
Kopitzke: What about you? College next year?
I shrug. I’ve been accepted to State, but I don’t have much for college savings. I was counting on a hockey scholarship coming through for me, but it’s not looking good. Mom and Dad said we’d figure something out, but I don’t see how.
When I start to get down, I think about what Kady always says: Life is short, my darlings. Reach for the stars before they burn out! It’s a little cheesy—okay, maybe a lot cheesy—but when you’re with her, she makes you believe that nothing’s out of reach. The stars. A good life. A life with her. Because even without a hockey scholarship, I have Kadence.
Kopitzke: What about your family? Did they love Kadence like everyone else seems to?
Mason: My little sisters think she’s a princess or something because she’s so pretty and she sings to them. It’s like Snow White or something. Or Ariel. Man, Meredith’s crazy about Ariel, and Kadence could look just like her with her hair, plus Kadence knows how to play all the games they like.
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