The Night Olivia Fell

by Christina McDonald

  “So you hired him to work for you?” I asked Samson.

  She shook her ice-blond head. “No, of course not. I just needed some help, and Anthony said he’d get in touch with you. Off the record. I was working extra shifts, secretly interviewing witnesses, calling in a favor in the IT team to trace the texts. Anthony helped me find out what you knew.”

  I shook my head, confused, and said to Samson, “So the chief pressured you not to investigate Olivia’s case? But why?”

  “I’m sure there’ll be an investigation. I spoke with the Seattle police chief about Anthony, and he now understands the scope of what’s happened and has referred it for internal investigation. McNally will be put on administrative leave while they figure out whether he intentionally covered anything up.”

  “I’m sorry—” Anthony began, but I whirled on him, anger frothing up inside of me, and cut him off.

  “Was anything you told me the truth?”

  He looked like I’d slapped him. “All of it.”

  “Your sister? Was she really murdered, or were you just making that up to get my sympathy?”

  “I would never make that up, Abi.” His eyes had hardened, and I felt a moment of remorse. “You know me at least better than that. Everything I told you is the truth. The only thing I left out was who I was helping. And why. Detective Samson closed my sister’s case four years ago. I owe her a debt of gratitude that I’ll never be able to fully repay. We stayed in touch after she moved to Portage Point, so when she asked for my help, I had no qualms about saying yes.”

  He took a step closer to me, his eyes a bright winter green. “You have every right to be angry. I should’ve told you sooner. But when was the right time? You’ve had so much to handle. I didn’t want to add to it. I know that it matters how the pieces fit together. And once I met you, I wanted to help. It wasn’t just a favor anymore. I couldn’t let another person go through what I went through.”

  He put one hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned against him, the truth flashing like fire along every nerve and into my brain. The hot anger I’d felt just a moment ago mutated into something softer: understanding. I knew how it felt to want to do the right thing while hiding the truth. I’d done it to Olivia her whole life.

  “You can trust me,” Anthony said.

  They were some of the last words my mom ever said to me before she killed herself. But Anthony wasn’t the same as my mom. And I wasn’t the same person I was before I met him.

  Trust, I’d learned, was the greatest gift you could give, the greatest gift to receive. The belief that a person wouldn’t betray you required a strength and confidence I was only just finding. Trusting someone else, having a partner, meant I was living.

  My eyes snapped open and fastened on Anthony’s. “I do trust you,” I said.

  Rain splashed onto my forehead, and I turned to Detective Samson.

  “Thank you for trying to help me. Let me speak to this guy, though. Please. I deserve that much.”

  She scanned my face, her mouth set in a hard line. I thought she’d say no, but after a minute she nodded briefly and said, “Come on, then. Let’s get inside.”

  At the entrance, Samson lifted the intercom phone and pressed the button for 39B. A few seconds later the door buzzed open, and we entered a modern lobby decorated in neutral marble and bright chrome.

  To the left was a gigantic wall of mirrors, to the right a row of mailboxes with tiny silver nameplates. As we crossed to the elevators, my eyes fixed on a name typed in block letters at the top:

  HARRIS

  And then everything froze, my body suspended between the seconds.

  I flashed back to one of the first high school football games I’d gone to with Olivia. Tyler had scored a touchdown, and his name came up on the digital billboard in bright white lights: TYLER HARRIS!

  Everything clicked into place.

  Olivia had said Tyler was living with his dad for the summer.

  Noah Harris was Tyler’s dad. I remembered him now. I’d met him at that football game.

  Tyler’s dad lived at this address.

  This was where one of the texts had come from.

  I felt as if I’d been blundering along in the dark for weeks, and now, only now, had a spotlight finally been cast on the truth, illuminating it in all its gory detail.

  Tyler must be the mystery boy who’d taken “quite a shine” to Kendall at Gavin’s campaign dinner—hardly surprising, given how much alike Olivia and Kendall looked.

  All roads led back to Tyler.

  My world spun and time sped up, as if trying to catch up with itself. I gasped, suddenly dizzy, the floor tilting.

  “Abi?” Anthony lunged for me from the elevator, catching me just before I hit the ground.

  “Tyler. It’s Tyler Harris!” I babbled. The words spilled out of me, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. “I knew I recognized the name! Noah Harris is Tyler’s father!”

  Samson looked at the elevator. “Let’s go.”

  Anthony kept his arm around me as the elevator whisked us to Noah Harris’s penthouse apartment. The doors opened to reveal polished oak floors and gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows. An open-plan living room was decorated with warm tones accentuated by a stand-alone stone fireplace that separated it from an expensively adorned dining room.

  The crisp clip of men’s dress shoes smacked against the hardwood floor. Anthony dropped his arm from my shoulders, and I turned to see Noah Harris approaching. The pointed nose and thick lips, the sandy blond hair and hazel eyes so like Tyler’s. Noah’s bulky frame was wrapped in a dark suit and tie, as if he’d just arrived home from work.

  “Abi Knight?” A lopsided, questioning smile lit Noah’s face. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”

  Noah extended his hand to me, then to Samson and Anthony as I introduced them.

  “Noah.” I faced him. “Detective Samson is investigating Olivia’s fall and has a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. I’m not sure how I can be of help, though.”

  “Do you know Gavin Montgomery?” Samson asked, taking her notepad and pen from her coat pocket.

  Noah seemed startled. “The politician? Yes, my company organized a campaign dinner to raise funds for him. I met him there.”

  “When was this?”

  “The first weekend in October, if I remember correctly.”

  “Where was your son the night of that campaign dinner?”

  “Tyler? He came with me.”

  “We need to speak with him,” Samson said. “Is he here?”

  Noah ran a hand through his hair. “Is Tyler in trouble? Do I need to call a lawyer?”

  “He was one of the last people to see Olivia before she fell, so we just need to ask him a few follow-up questions,” Samson said.

  “Okay,” Noah said, looking troubled. “Well, he’s at his mother’s in Portage Point.”

  38

  * * *

  OLIVIA

  october

  I’m not usually a reckless person. What happened the day Derek and I slept together wasn’t really about being reckless. It was about giving in to the moment, something I didn’t do very often. Usually I lived so much in the future: go to a good college, get a job, be successful.

  My mom taught me that: Look to the future and you won’t stumble on the present. Stay in control. Never let go. I knew now why she was like that, and maybe it wasn’t something you could unlearn, but I didn’t want to be like that.

  With Derek that day, the day we first slept together, it was about the moment. It was about living life, not letting it live you.

  I gave up concentrating on my calculus homework and crossed the living room to stare out the sliding glass window. The yard needed mowing. A few dying brown maple leaves clung delicately to the tree; a handful of crunchy ones wheeled across the grass. An unexpected wind stirred the weeping willow at the back of the yard.

  Outside, the air was starting to ha
ve that fall feeling. The last couple weeks had been damp and soggy, but today was clear and breezy, a new crispness in the air—that sense of things ending and others beginning at the same time.

  I’d started to feel a little better lately. I was still sick some mornings, but not as often. And mentally I was stronger too. I hadn’t told Derek about the baby, but I would tonight.

  I’d put it off for too long. He was just so excited for this architecture course and the chance to prove to his parents he could be a success.

  But I’d learned my lesson about telling the truth sooner rather than later with Madison. Since she’d caught Derek and me together at the beach, she’d made school pretty miserable for me.

  At lunch, everybody squeezed together so my usual spot disappeared. Last week Dana called me a fat ho-bag as I walked past their table. Alicia stuck her foot out and I tripped over it, sending my milk carton crashing to the ground. The whole group had laughed and I hurried past, my face hot with shame.

  It was like fourth grade all over again. Somehow Madison had turned all our friends against me. But this time I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Angry Madison could be, like, lethal. But once she found out she had a niece or nephew on the way, she’d get over it.

  I pressed the earbuds of my iPhone into my ears and turned up the volume on Bob Marley’s “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright.” I grabbed the red scarf Derek got me and looped it around my neck, lifting my arms to the beat and singing along.

  I was going to keep the baby. At first I’d worried Mom would be disappointed, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized she’d be totally awesome, just like Aunt Sarah had been when Mom got pregnant with me. Maybe I’d have to give up school for a while, but I could do it later. There was always later.

  I’d tell her after I told Derek. After the barbecue tonight.

  A soft touch on my shoulder startled me, and my eyes jumped open.

  “Mom, hi!” I pulled out my earbuds. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you there.”

  A wave of nausea rolled over me. All that spinning. I’d have to mark dancing off the list of things I could do for a while. I flopped onto my chair at the kitchen table and flipped open my history book.

  “Are you feeling okay?” She looked worried and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead.

  “I’m fine.” I pulled away, my shoulders rigid. “Just studying.”

  “I know it’s Saturday, but I have to go into work for a bit.”

  She paused, as if expecting me to argue. Inwardly, I perked up. She never worked on weekends. To be honest, I was looking forward to the time by myself.

  I listened to her blathering on about me staying inside, locking the doors, not letting anyone in the house, not riding in my friends’ cars.

  My throat tightened with the effort of containing my impatience. She was leaving me on my own, but she still felt she had to control me. It wasn’t like it wasn’t safe here. The most exciting thing that had ever happened in our neighborhood was when old Mr. Macy down the road died, but he was, like, ninety.

  “Do you want me to stay?” she asked, a frown crumpling her forehead. “You know you come first.”

  “No!” I tried not to sound too eager for her to go. I took a deep breath and started again. “Honestly, it’s fine, Mom. I have to study for this calculus test anyway.”

  I thought of the balls of crumpled homework assignments stuffed at the bottom of my book bag, all with red Cs and Ds splayed across the front. If Mom found out my grades were slipping, she’d go nuts. I reminded myself she only pushed me because she loved me and wanted what was best for me.

  I stood and plucked up the scarf. “I’m going to take a shower, Mom. See you at the barbecue later.”

  It wasn’t until she’d left that I remembered I’d forgotten to say thanks or good-bye or I love you, any of the things normal people say. My brain was all over the place lately. But maybe that was okay. Maybe recklessness and just a little bit of abandon were exactly what I needed.

  × × ×

  I tilted my chin left and right, looking at my new haircut in the mirror behind the cash register. I loved it! A totally new look for the totally new me. My scalp felt so light and free without all that hair to hide behind. My cheekbones were angular, my jaw sharp and defined. I looked older. Confident and bold, not uncertain and timid like my mom. Of course, the low cut of my new peasant top didn’t hurt either. My boobs were huge!

  I exited the hair salon and checked my phone. Five o’clock. Time to head to Derek’s. I strolled along the boardwalk, enjoying the fresh sea smell. The unexpected heat of the autumn day had warmed up the water, making it smell of salty, baked seaweed. Seagulls floated lazily in the sky, squawking and diving for food.

  I cut inland from the boardwalk to the long, meandering road that led to the Stokeses’ house.

  Everywhere I looked the colors of the leaves were changing: fiery orange and red, burnt sienna, burnished gold. It was beautiful. Peaceful. My ballet flats clicked against the pavement, interrupted every so often by a soft carpet of pine needles that turned my steps to whispers.

  My phone pinged with an incoming text. I thought it was from Derek, asking where I was, so when I saw the Photoshopped bloody picture of me with my head cut off, it was all the more upsetting. Fuck you! was scrawled where my head should’ve been.

  A few seconds later, another message came through. It was a picture of me walking toward the school’s track. Was it the day I’d sneaked away to meet Derek so we could find Kendall? My face had been scribbled over in hard, angry lines, a red noose drawn around my neck. Kill! was written in red at the bottom.

  Then a text.

  Fuck you!

  And another.

  Fuck you!

  Then a series of texts started pinging Die! Die! Die! over and over and over.

  A sob crawled up my throat and I frantically started deleting every hateful text and image I’d gotten, not wanting to see any of them.

  “Stop!” I screamed, the air around me suddenly thick, poisoned with the energy of my fear. “Stop! Why are you doing this?” I whirled around, my heart banging into my rib cage. “Answer me, God damn it!”

  The evergreen branches swayed in the gentle breeze. A squirrel chattered in the trees. Everything was quiet, but suddenly I was seized by a sense of dread. My limbs started quivering like a skeleton’s. I knew the cold nausea edging up my throat was more than pregnancy. It was fear.

  I launched myself across the bridge. My feet thudded hard against the wooden walkway as I ran up the hill to the Stokeses’ house. I paused at the end of the driveway next to the house-shaped mailbox, my hands shaking, sucking in deep, gasping breaths of oxygen.

  And then my phone rang, vibrating in the hand that clutched it.

  For a second I was too scared to look. The phone rang and rang, my heart still wheeling around my chest. But then common sense washed over me. It might be my mom.

  But it wasn’t.

  “Hi, Olivia.” I recognized Kendall’s voice, and my heart sank. I liked her, but what Gavin had said about her being mentally unsteady made me a bit nervous. Plus, Derek had told me she’d followed Gavin and me to the diner. What a weirdo.

  “Hey, Kendall.”

  “It’s been ages,” she chirped. “How’ve you been?”

  I walked up the curved pathway past trees strung with twinkling lights to the Stokeses’ beautiful Tudor-style house, pausing under the arching brick entrance and sitting on the stone steps.

  I resisted the urge to groan out loud. Talking on the phone with Kendall was the last thing I wanted to do right now. I was already on edge about those creepy pictures, plus I had to face Madison, and then I needed to tell Derek I was pregnant.

  “I’m good.” I glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. “You?”

  Three guys from my class walked toward me and exchanged glances, then waved awkwardly. I put my hand over the phone and smiled, then moved out of the way so they could go inside. I’d
forgotten how many people came to this neighborhood barbecue every year.

  “Good, good. So, I got the results back from that DNA test you had sent to me.”

  I’d forgotten about that. It didn’t matter now. I’d met Gavin and knew the truth, and a little piece of me wished I didn’t.

  “Yeah?” I replied, feigning interest. It had been nice of Kendall to let me have the results sent to her. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “Yeah. The letter says Gavin’s your biological father. Probability percentage is 99.9942.” She laughed. “I’d say that’s pretty clear.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” A car pulled up and parked across the street. A man and a woman in matching khaki pants and white polo shirts got out and walked toward the house. They brushed past me as if I weren’t even there.

  “I guess that means we’re sisters, right?”

  She sounded delighted, but I knew the truth. It didn’t matter at all. I wanted nothing to do with Gavin. My friendship with Kendall was just collateral damage.

  I laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  “Are you going to talk to him?”

  “Definitely,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell her I wouldn’t. She seemed so pleased that we were sisters, like we’d end up hanging out and brushing each other’s hair or something. “I’ll call him and try to meet up with him for sure.”

  “Cool. Well, look. Just be careful, all right? He can be dangerous, and when he doesn’t get his way, he’s like a spoiled toddler with a gun.”

  “Of course, yeah.”

  I looked toward the house. Upstairs a curtain twitched. Madison was watching me.

  “Uh, I have to go now,” I said. “I’m at a friend’s house. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” And before she could protest, I hung up the phone.

  39

  * * *

  OLIVIA

  october

  I shoved my phone into the pocket of my brown leather jacket and rang the doorbell. Dr. Stokes threw open the door. She was dressed in a sleeveless, body-clinging red dress that showed off her cleavage. Who dressed like that for a barbecue? I glanced down at my leggings and loose-fitting peasant top feeling underdressed.