I’m the first one to our table at lunch.
Adam sits down across from me, but he just gives me a mumbled hello and begins eating a slice of pizza. He’s been standoffish since I started ignoring him. I hate that I may have hurt his feelings, but it wouldn’t have worked out with him anyway. It’s kind of hard to spend a lot of time with a person you find pathetic.
I think I know how he feels, though. Niko treats me with the same detached politeness I give to Adam. Which, after the kisses in the vacant lot, sucks. Part of me—the part that still likes watching romantic comedies on television—was hoping he would declare his undying love for me the very next day. But here we are a week later, and he doesn’t even show up at lunch anymore.
I wish it didn’t sting as much as it does.
Tom and Jocelyn show up a short while later. As soon as she sits down, Jocelyn’s eyes gleam and she leans forward. She almost twitches, she’s so excited.
“So, did you guys hear?”
I slice off a piece of chicken breast and chew it slowly. “Hear what?”
Tom snorts. “You aren’t talking about Carson getting his ass kicked, are you?”
Jocelyn shakes her head, and her sleek dark hair shifts. Conversation in the cafeteria is unusually subdued today, and her hair sliding across her silky blouse sounds like an animal slinking through leaves. “Amber got arrested.”
I gasp, and Tom drops an F-bomb. Adam looks miserable, and his shoulders slump. I glance at him, thinking that maybe his behavior has less to do with being mad at me and more to do with Amber’s absence.
“I guess she had, like, a whole bag of pot in her locker,” Jocelyn says. I’m so surprised, I can’t even speak. This makes my plan to humiliate Amber seem childish.
The idea had been that the dogs would have alerted on Amber’s locker because of a raw steak I was going smear all over her things. After that I was going to fill her locker with every sort of embarrassing substance known to man. Condoms. Laxatives. Porn. Photoshopped pictures of her and Dylan Larchmont in several compromising positions. Those I was particularly proud of. It took me all night to get the shading just right. The plan was for the rumor mill to churn and for Amber to leave me alone. Childish, yet effective.
But this . . . this is so much bigger.
No one says anything, and Jocelyn continues. “They took her away in handcuffs. Amanda Benson is office assistant fourth period, and she said she didn’t even cry, just kept cussing at the cops.” Excitement gives Jocelyn’s eyes an eerie light, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“That sucks,” Tom says, poking at his hamburger. “I wonder if they’ll send her to jail.”
I pause in my chewing. I don’t like Amber, but she doesn’t deserve to go to prison.
“Jail?” Adam shakes his head. “No, they don’t send first-time offenders to jail for something like a little pot.” Everyone gives him a disbelieving look. He flushes. “Do they?” Huh. I wonder if he and Amber are more than just friendly? It would explain a lot of the undercurrent I’ve sensed between them.
Before anyone can answer Adam’s question, Mindi runs up, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Did you guys hear what happened to Amber?”
I nod somberly. “Jocelyn just told us.”
Mindi collapses onto the bench next to me, and I scoot down a bit to give her room. “This is just awful,” she moans.
Adam pats her hand. “Hey, don’t worry about Amber. I’m sure she won’t get any real jail time. It’s her first offense.” Even he doesn’t look like he believes that.
Mindi shakes her head, and tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. I get a flash of irritation at her waterworks. I swear she cries more than a soap opera star.
Mindi swipes at her eyes and continues. “I know, but this week has just really sucked. Last night Niko called and told me he wanted me to stay away. He said he ‘couldn’t pretend anymore.’ Pretend what?” No one looks at her, because we all know what Niko meant. It’s hard to be just friends with someone who’s obsessed with you.
Mindi is oblivious to everyone at the table. “I just need to see him, to explain that it’s not a big deal if he needs some space.” She hiccups and begins to sob. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she says, jumping up to run out of the lunchroom. I glance around the table. Everyone ducks their head to avoid my gaze. No one has any plans to follow her.
I stand with a sigh and leave the cafeteria. My appetite’s ruined anyway.
Predictably, Mindi is in the girls’ bathroom. Her sobs echo in the tiled room, the porcelain amplifying the sound into something that could be used for psychological torture.
This is what happens when you get involved with a boy.
A flutter of wings. Heartbreak.
I ignore Them and tap on the door of the stall. “Mindi, it’s Cory. Do you want to talk, hon?”
Sniffles are my only answer for a few long moments, and then the stall door unlocks. I slip into the cramped space and slide the bolt closed behind me. Mindi sits on the toilet, her legs drawn up so that her arms and head rest on her knees. Her light brown hair cascades around her shoulders like a cape. I lean against the door and wait for her to start.
“I know you must think I’m a train wreck,” Mindi begins, “but I have my reasons.”
I say nothing, and Mindi continues. “Last October my mom was raped and killed.” Mindi sniffs, and turns her head to the side. “That day my dad took me to Philly to go shopping. Things’d been rough for us, but Dad just got a new job so he wanted to celebrate. Mom had to work, so she didn’t go. I guess while I was busy trying on jeans some drifter was breaking into our house. He caught my mom coming out of the shower.” Mindi swipes at her tears, and my stomach clenches. While Mindi can only imagine what her mother went through, I’ve seen it firsthand through the memories of the guilty.
Mindi gives a bitter laugh and continues. “It was the best day of my life. I was so happy, until we got home and I walked into the bathroom . . .” Mindi trails off, and the door squeaks as someone walks into the girls’ room.
We wait in silence while the person pees and washes her hands. Finally, after forever, the person walks out.
“Ever since that day, I’m afraid to be too happy, like somehow someone will know and ruin it. The last time I felt truly happy was the time I kissed Niko. I felt like I was turning into little pieces of sunshine, you know?” Guilt swells in my chest. I do know. It’s the same way I felt when I kissed Niko.
I don’t say anything, though. Mindi keeps talking.
“But now I find out that it wasn’t real. I mean, we were in the hospital, after I tried to . . . end it all. That’s where it happened. I kissed him, and he just let me. Now he says he was afraid to hurt me.” She sniffs again, and reaches for a wad of toilet paper to wipe her nose. “I guess I knew somewhere deep down that he was just trying to be nice. He never kissed me, even after I threw myself at him. I just thought he was being polite, that he was afraid to ruin our friendship. But now he tells me he wasn’t interested in me like that, was just afraid I might lose it if he said so. It’s like finding my mom on the bathroom floor all over again.” Mindi looks up for the first time. “I pretended for so long that he could be happy with me that I started to believe it. How could I have been so stupid?”
I sigh. “Guys can be that way, I guess. But he’s not the only one in the world.”
Mindi shakes her head like she doesn’t want to hear my words. “You don’t understand. It’s not just about Niko. Last night my dad got a call from the detective on my mother’s case. They haven’t had any leads in a while, so they’re kicking it over to the cold case detectives. It’s not a ‘high priority,’ they said. That’s as good as them giving up.”
I open my mouth to say something encouraging, but when I see the stormy expression on Mindi’s face, I clamp my mouth shut. She clenches her fists. “Not only has Niko given up on me, but the police have given up on my family.”
Without warning Mindi kick
s the plastic toilet paper dispenser. She growls as she attacks it, like a wild animal. I squeeze backward into the opposite corner of the stall to avoid her, shocked at the sudden violence. It must have felt good, because she kicks it three or four more times, cracking the dispenser badly, before she dissolves into angry sobbing. In between heaving sobs she assaults the dispenser again and again, until it lies in pieces on the floor. I stare at the jagged pieces of plastic in shock.
Maybe Jocelyn was telling the truth about Mindi being crazy. Now Dylan’s rant about hanging out with a mental patient makes perfect sense.
Still, I can’t fault Mindi for going off the deep end over her mother’s death. Aren’t we all a little unstable at times? Her mom being murdered seems like a pretty good excuse.
The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. We both look up. All I want is to get the hell out of Crazytown, but I can’t. Mindi is my friend. I swallow nervously. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can bear to sit through sixth and seventh periods. Wanna go to the mall?” I half-expect her to bite me.
Her eyes widen. “You mean cut class?”
Looks like meek, slightly more stable Mindi is back. Crazy as she may be, she’s still the best friend I have. “With Carson gone, there’s no one to stop us. We should get out while we can. Come on. I’ll buy you a pretzel and we can get makeovers.”
Mindi gives a hope-filled look. Although she’s surrounded by people, she doesn’t have any real friends. Not anyone willing to put her first.
“Okay,” she says, wiping away her tears with a piece of toilet paper. “But we should wait until the late bell rings before we try to leave. I’m sure someone will see us if we go right now.”
“No problem, but I think I’m gonna go wait in my own stall.” She giggles, and I give her a wide grin, feeling for the millionth time like a complete fraud. As a smile lights up her face, I know that I can’t go near Niko again, no matter how I ache for him.
Once again They are right. Nothing lies down that path but pain and heartbreak. Mindi is proof of that.
Still, I have to wonder if it might not be worth the trip.
CLOSE CALL
There’s a cop car sitting in front of my apartment building when I arrive home after dropping off Mindi. It’s dark out, and the interior light in the cruiser illuminates the officer bent over paperwork. My breath hitches. The police make me nervous. I’m not exactly a model citizen.
I get out of my car and head up the walk, and the officer does the same. He gives me a friendly smile and calls my name. “Corrine Graff?”
I stop and give him a confused smile. “Yes? Can I help you?”
The officer holds out his hand to shake, and I take it. “Officer Harmon. Jason Harmon. I’m here to ask you a few questions about Mr. Carson’s assault. I understand you’re the last person to see him before he was attacked.”
I widen my eyes and nod. “Oh, okay. Uh, can we talk inside? I live upstairs.”
Harmon nods, and I lead the way into the building and up the stairs. Once inside I take off my shoes, eyeing the closed door to my bedroom. I can’t remember if I tucked all of my news clippings away in my trunk before I left this morning. My thoughts were so totally focused on getting back at Amber that I’m pretty sure my past crimes are completely visible.
Only a door separates me from the possibility of a very, very long prison sentence. I should’ve talked to him out on the sidewalk.
But Officer Harmon isn’t here for me, and I have no intention of changing that. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” I offer. He nods, and I lead the way.
Once we are in the minuscule kitchen, I pull out a chair for the officer. He sits down and declines my offer of tea or water. I grab a bottle of water for myself and sit in the chair across from him. He already has a notebook out, and he levels a gaze at me, his expression serious. “Why don’t you call your parents, Miss Graff? I don’t want to do this without their permission.”
I laugh, and shake my head. “Well, you’d have to hold a séance to get their permission. I’m an orphan, Officer Harmon. This is all mine.” No point in lying to a man who can easily look up my past.
Officer Harmon frowns slightly. “This is your apartment?”
I nod, a smile curving my lips. The Furies love keeping the cops off balance. “Yup. At least that’s what the lease says.” Actually, the lease says Bernadette Allen. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Just to make sure he’s a little distracted, I stretch and let out a soft sigh, fighting a smile as his eyes lock on the pull of fabric across my breasts.
Gotcha.
Officer Harmon shifts in his seat and studies his notebook closely, pretending he’s not checking me out. “Okay, Miss Graff. Why don’t you tell me what happened this morning.”
I tell him the same story I told the secretary, adding a few hair flips and catlike stretches for his benefit. He interrupts me several times to stutter out a few terse questions. I get the impression that Officer Harmon is not exactly overflowing with personality.
“So you didn’t see the boys who attacked Mr. Carson up close?”
I shake my head for the third time. “No. After they ran up to Mr. Carson, I ran to the office. I’ve never seen anything like that before. I was scared,” I say in a small voice. It’s the truth. The only problem is that I wasn’t afraid of Carson’s phantom attackers; I’m afraid of myself.
Officer Harmon nods and stands. “Okay. Thanks for all of your help.”
I stand as well. “No problem, Officer. Oh, how is Mr. Carson doing? The rumor at school was that he went to the hospital.”
The officer nods. “He’s pretty beat up.” He catches himself, then looks at me and taps his pen against his lips. “I’m not supposed to discuss that kind of stuff.”
I nod, eyes wide, lip trembling. “I understand. I was just so worried, when those boys ran up to him . . .” I shake my head, like I’m trying to clear a bad memory.
Officer Harmon clears his throat and lays an awkward hand on my shoulder. “Umm, yeah, that kind of experience can be pretty upsetting. But Mr. Carson will be fine. He has three broken ribs and a concussion, but nothing life-threatening.”
I’m surprised to hear that I broke his ribs after all. There’s a moment of perverse pleasure, but I push it down before the officer notices. That’s Them, not me. “Do you think it’s safe to go back to school? I mean, do you think the people who did this will come back?”
Harmon smiles. “I think it’s safe enough.”
I see the officer out and lean against the door with a sigh. I’m pretty sure that I’m not a suspect, but I need to think about getting out of town. I’m not sure what the chances are that Harmon will tell the school that I lied on my admission paperwork, but if he does, it won’t be good. If I want to stay here, I’m going to have to hack into the student files and update my information.
But why would I do that? This is entirely too close for comfort, and things are getting complicated. My control on Them is thin, and I’m no closer to finding Dr. Goodhart. It is way past time to leave town. We can find the doctor just as well from the road as we can from here. And I can’t guarantee that They won’t do something violent at school again. There is entirely too much risk in staying.
And yet . . . I don’t want to go.
I grab my bottle of water and a bag of carrot sticks and head into my bedroom to look for Jefferson Halsey some more. I pause. Maybe I should take my mind off things for a little while. TV sounds good right about now. I turn toward the oversize sofa, plop down, and flip through the channels until I land on a police drama.
I love those shows where the cops always catch their criminal, and the perps end up in jail for the rest of their lives. The stories are so unrealistic. Half of the guilty that I hand down justice to have never been to a jail. If the cops ever do catch a suspect, the court system is lucky to put the person away for a minimum sentence, let alone the maximum. Still, I like the false hope the shows give me.
On the screen two bleary-eyed detectives in overcoats question a job site foreman. Satisfied with his answers, they walk away. The shorter guy shakes his head. “I wonder if that guy knows his employee of the month has ten aliases,” he says, and snickers.
My breath catches. Aliases. Why didn’t I think of that? As a girl who has a drawer full of driver’s licenses, I should have considered that Jefferson Halsey might be going by a different name.
I should’ve considered that maybe Dr. Goodhart changed his name. Maybe I haven’t been as focused on finding him as I thought.
I run into my work area and pull Halsey’s article out of the drawer, ignoring the way the rest of the articles flutter in a warm breeze. It’s just Their way of letting me know They like what I’m thinking.
I scan down the article until I find what I’m looking for. Tickles the Clown.
I type the name into the browser, and get millions of results. I narrow the search down to Pennsylvania, and the first page that pops up is a company called Party Solutions out of Downingtown. That’s a little more than an hour away.
The website has pictures of the clown at parties. Under one of them is what I’m looking for: Tickles the Clown, played by Mr. Ulysses Halsey.
I’ve hacked into the DMV’s intranet before, and returning is effortless. I pull up Ulysses Halsey’s PA license. A smiling Jefferson Halsey stares back at me. The man is so stupid that he took his hometown as his first name.
Of course, it kept me from finding him for a while, so maybe it wasn’t such a dumb move.
I drum my fingers on the desk, debating whether I should do a quick search through the government databases to see whether or not Dr. Goodhart changed his name after Charlotte. If he did, I should be able to find something in the Social Security database.
I pause, fingers poised over the keyboard. If I find him, They’ll want to carry out his justice. The thought of confronting him twists my stomach into knots. It feels too personal to kill someone from my past.
I shut down the computer before I can analyze the feeling too closely. There will be time for my personal vengeance later, after I’ve sated Their hunger.
Vengeance Bound Page 16