by Tara Brown
In my heart of hearts I didn't see him as the sort of guy who wrote any of the letters in the outbox. They were all polite and professional, and he hadn’t even added innuendos or obscene jokes as colorful flavor.
Not in those ones. The ones he generally sent me were fairly dirty. I opened an email he had sent me a week before, and nodded at the repellent humor and filthy images. I had laughed when I opened it the first time but only a little, and I was offended, even if I didn't look it.
Okay, not offended but aware that a joke of that nature was inappropriate to send to a girl you weren’t dating. Or just any girl in general.
I scrolled a little lower, about to give up when I saw it: an email from a girl named Sasha. We went to school with her but had never hung out together. For lack of a better term, she was a giant ho.
Her father had landed himself in hot water with insider trading and was doing five hard years at the cushiest of prisons—a place my dad called Club Fed. Its real name was the Otisville Corrections Facility. Her mother hadn’t divorced him, but she was actively seeking a replacement. And as far as I was concerned, Sasha was actively seeking her future Mr. S. Daddy by hitting up every rich guy in the cove.
I clicked on the email, sitting back with my jaw on the floor when I saw the nasty photos and dirty requests being made on her part. “Asshole,” I whispered.
I deleted it, noting he hadn’t even opened it yet. Sage, his girlfriend, would thank me later for that. I searched Sasha’s name in his account, wrinkling my nose when I saw there were plenty of emails he had opened. It had been going on for weeks.
“Gross.” I closed the email app and walked away from the computer to check out the other things in his large suite. His walls were bare; not even artwork graced them. But on the wall opposite his bed, he had a large white case of shiny silver and gold football trophies. He was the running back for the Crimson Cove Cruisers. Not because he wanted it, but because he was told he would be.
I ran my finger over the glass case, streaking it with a wide smudge. It gave me a sick amount of pleasure to do it. Everything about him was always immaculate, especially the way his room was. I knew the smudge would torment him.
I bit my lip and turned around, narrowing my gaze on his extra large king-sized bed. A wrinkle crossed my nose as my lips lifted into a sneer.
It was akin to walking into Hugh Hefner’s house and seeing the den of sin he called a bedroom.
Certainly that was the iconic symbol Vincent strived to pattern his life after and imagined himself most similar to.
Well, maybe not on all levels. He did have impeccable manners and was always dressed like he was meeting someone of importance. Even his casual clothes were overly dressy. He suited Sage in that respect perfectly. They looked like a couple from a Hugo ad.
When I got to the bed, I sat but I didn't look down, for fear I would catch a glimpse of something unholy that one only bought at a filthy shop on the bad side of town. I hoped that was the only thing I caught. The thought made me stand and shudder as I bent forward to look in the drawers instead of sitting. God only knew if crabs could jump that high.
One couldn't be too sure with a guy like Vincent.
I rifled through his drawers, noting how tidy they were. A sign of a very sick individual. In my drawers you could lose a hand. You could hardly walk in my room most mornings, until Lori got there. Then it was eerily clean.
The bottom drawer seemed shallower than the top one. I pushed them both in and paused, seeing that from the front of the bedside table they were the same size. I opened the bottom one again and pushed on the wooden base. It pressed down like it was connected to a spring and then lifted.
A slow grin crossed my lips as I slipped my fingers in the sides and pulled the bottom out with the few items still sitting perfectly on the board.
Below was a gold mine of things I desperately wanted to unsee the moment I saw them.
Naked Polaroids of girls I recognized either from TV or school, lubes, condoms, two burner phones, and one gold key. I slipped the key into my pocket and picked up the phones. I turned them both on and sent myself a text from each, and then deleted the text I’d sent and turned them back off. I put them back and checked the numbers on my cell phone. I didn't know either number.
I reached in and dragged my hand over the Polaroids, scanning the photos of the young women flashing their goods for the camera. I pulled back, my stomach tightening as the pictures got less like selfies and more like creepy H&M ads. The girls seemed despondent and sad, like someone had taken the photos against their will. And Polaroids were not like pictures sent with texts. You were most likely there when the photo was taken.
Nauseated and disturbed, I put the board back and closed the drawers, knowing I had been inside for far too long and those were a sign from God telling me I needed to stop snooping in people’s houses.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and headed downstairs, trying to find my usual sense of fulfillment and excitement about the fact I had a key to something I would have to solve.
But the images I couldn't surpass flooded my mind.
“Linds!”
I jumped when I got to the office and heard Andrew calling me. I closed the door to Mr. Banks’ office and hurried in the opposite direction of Andrew’s voice. I curled up on a bench in the backyard, facing the ocean, and closed my eyes.
“Lindsey. Where are you?”
I fought seeing those images again as Andrew came around the corner. “Are you shitting me, dude? You fell asleep? Come on, I want my sushi.” He shoved me lightly on the shoulder.
Ignoring him as if I was waking from a real sleep, I waited a few moments and stayed perfectly still. But then he went silent. Cracking one eye, I jumped, screaming, “Ahhhhndrew!”
He was sitting on the ground, staring right at me. I sat up as he laughed. “I got you so bad.”
“You did.” I blinked and breathed. “What do you want?”
“Sushi.”
I nodded. “Okay.” Leaving the Banks residence did sound quite good actually.
“Did you even finish?” He shook his head.
“Nope. But no one will even know. Let’s go.” I got up and grabbed the gardening supplies, trying to still my rapidly beating heart and twisting stomach.
The key felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. I couldn't stop thinking about what it might unlock and where the pictures had come from. If I knew one thing about Vincent, it was that he didn't need pictures of sad girls. He had every girl we knew throwing herself at him.
So why would he have them?
I had considered his house to be like all the others in Crimson Cove—a trial run for my future days when I would be a reckless journalist in the field—but that notion was gone.
I had a firm sense that my days as a local snoop were over. If Vincent had taken those pictures or had any part in them, he wasn't who I thought he was.
A desire to solve the mystery roamed about inside my mind, offering explanations that it was some kind of role-play or he had found them. I realized I wouldn't rest until I knew where they had come from. It bothered me that Vincent had them, but it bothered me more that he might have been the one pointing the camera. I always thought he was a playboy, but I never imagined it went to this level of depravity. He was a harmless annoyance I could shoo away, not a psychopath I had to fear.
Or so I had thought.
Buy here - Pretty Girls Die First
Other YA Books by Tara Brown
The Roses Academy
Cursed
Bane
Hyde
Witch
Death
Blackwater
Midnight Coven
Redeemers and Betrayers
The Royals Series
A Royal Pain
A Royal Affair
A Royal Wedding
Crimson Cove Academy
Pretty Girls Die First
The Little Crimson Lies
Third
Time’s a Charm
Four Crimson Corners
When The Lights Fade
The Born Series
Born
Born to Fight
Reborn
The Light Series
The Light of the World
The Four Horsemen
The End of Days
The Last City of Men Series
Imaginations
Duplicities
Reparations
The Blood Trail Chronicles
Vengeance
Vanquished
Valiant
The Seventh Day Series
The Seventh Day
The Last Hour
The Earth’s End
First Kiss
Sunder
In the Fading Light
The Reverse of Everything
About Me
I believe growing up in a really small town gives a person a little advantage when it comes to the imagination. You need one or you go mad.
Needless to say, mine saved me. After it got me into trouble first, that is. That's the problem with a vivid imagination, all the lies you tell.
According to my age, I am meant to be a responsible adult, but it isn't going well at all. I would still head off to Hogwarts tomorrow and I suspect there isn't a single wardrobe I haven't crept into, hoping to find the door to Narnia. And don't even get me started on the King's Road, I get lost.
Fortunately, I am an international bestseller so I have wormed my way into a quirky or eccentric category.
Thank God for that.
I am happily married with two daughters.
I have two giant dogs, two savage cats, and a penchant for a glass of red.
I am represented by Natalie Lakosil from the Bradford Literary Agency and am published traditionally with Montlake Romance and Skyscape Publishing.
https://www.tarabrownauthor.com
http://TaraBrown22.blogspot.com