Little Creeping Things

by Chelsea Ichaso

  The closer he gets, the more I see how his eyes match his clothing again. This time, he’s cloaked in darkness and his eyes, lined by his dark lashes, are piercing, onyx black. The kind of eyes that seek revenge. Time to get out of here.

  “Emily is waiting for me,” I say forcefully. “We’re working on a project.”

  He steps aside, allowing me to pass. But not without shooting me one last look: a warning. As I exit the room, his soft baritone meets my ears, slicing into my memory with the ease of a steak knife, taking me back to the woods. “Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  The door closes behind me, and then the loud music starts.

  20

  The next day, Emily is chatting away at my side on the way to fourth period, but I’m too anxious to listen. I have to show the cops what I found in her brother’s room. And I need Gideon to come to the station and vouch for me, but he won’t even answer my texts.

  We pass a boisterous group of sophomore boys congregating behind the lockers. Words like psycho and stalker bounce around, and I peek at them; they’re looking right at Emily. She continues fiddling with something in her locker, like she doesn’t notice. But her ears are crimson. I spin around, and Emily’s hand clasps my arm. She shakes her head, eyes pleading. “Ignore them.”

  This isn’t fair. Despite how unstable or evil Emily’s brother is—more than these boys even know—she has nothing to do with it. I never meant to hurt her by spreading those rumors. I just liked having the attention off me for once.

  I growl under my breath and go back to stuffing books into my backpack. The high-pitched laugh of one boy whose voice hasn’t changed yet makes my scalp itch. Emily’s arm trembles as she reaches for a folder.

  I don’t think I can keep it together.

  One of the boys, a scrawny thing with braces, calls out, “Hey, Greer! How’s your brother?”

  That’s it. I slam my locker door, dropping my backpack to the ground in the middle of the hall. Two steps in, a tall blond boy impedes my path.

  Peter McCallum. I shuffle back as he tells the sophomores in a firm, composed voice to get to class. As their eyes roll and they trudge off, that obnoxious laugh still echoing off the metal lockers, he says something else. Too low to catch.

  Peter turns around and walks over to us. He stoops to lift my backpack from the ground, handing it to me. I stand, dazed, as Emily speaks for both of us: “Thanks for that.”

  “No problem.” His flashes a crooked smile.

  I find my voice as he steps in the direction of the gymnasium. “Wait. What did you say to those guys?”

  “I told them they’d be late for class.”

  “Yeah, but after that. You whispered something.”

  He shrugs, grimacing in a silly way. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Come on.”

  Peter sighs. “I said they shouldn’t make fun of Emily’s brother because he’s probably looking for his next victim.” He shrinks back, his eyes lowering. “Sorry, Emily.”

  Emily doubles over next to me, her body shaking, and I freeze. But after a moment, giggles break through the strained silence. Emily is shaking with laughter.

  “That was a good one,” she says, grabbing her backpack. “I’ve gotta use that one. You ready, Cass?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I force a smile.

  “Thanks again,” Emily calls to Peter. She’s still chuckling as we walk to class.

  I spend all of fourth period debating my next move. When the bell rings for lunch, I speed to my locker to escape Emily. I have to turn her brother in. I have to tear her family apart. If the teasing was bad before, she’s going to get eaten alive after this.

  Gideon’s locker is ten locker doors down from mine. I know he has to retrieve his lunch and exchange books. He’s been avoiding me, and I’ve let him. But that’s over. He has to come with me to the cops.

  I finish at my locker. Still no sign of him. I grab the two textbooks I need and slam my locker door. Lunch can wait; I have to find him.

  When I pass the auditorium, the doors are ajar. Faint sounds of laughter trickle into the hall.

  The school must be holding auditions of some sort. I nudge one of the doors and peer through the crack. The large space is lit by a single spotlight, but it isn’t the voices of the drama club or the choir filling it.

  It’s Gideon and Gracie. And they have a football. Gideon runs up and down the aisles of the auditorium. He tosses it to Gracie, who dashes up an alternate, stair-filled aisle, catching the ball with ease. Then Gideon catapults himself up onto the stage, shouting, “I’m open!”

  Gracie laughs, launching the ball up to him. It’s a decent throw.

  The way they’re acting together—have they been spending time with each other? The thought steals my breath. How did I let it all slip past me? A friendship between Gideon and Gracie is impossible. He has to see that. He can’t nurse every wound; this is one he has to leave to someone else. I have to make him understand.

  This football game in the auditorium must be Gideon’s idea, as it is both athletic and prohibited in nature. I watch as they continue passing, their giggles echoing off the walls. Gracie’s smile spreads as Gideon trips over a step, falling onto the squeaky floor with a crash. She looks beautiful and happy. It seems Gideon’s project has been a miraculous success.

  I hate her. My empty stomach finally catches up to me as I pull my head back from the gap between the doors. I flee down the hallway, sore and dizzy—like I’ve been knocked off the auditorium stage by a linebacker.

  In the indoor courtyard, Emily is eating lunch with Peter on a cement planter. They’re laughing in conversation until Emily spots me and waves me over. The last thing I want to do is talk. But I manage a hello and sit down, pulling out my sack lunch to busy my hands.

  Emily turns from Peter to offer me a potato chip. “I lost you after class. Where’d you go?”

  I take a chip and nibble on it, trying to invent an answer. But when I look up, Laura Gellman is flitting down Hathaway Hall toward us.

  She stops in front of me, eyes shining devilishly. “I’m so sorry about Gideon. You must be devastated.”

  I stare blankly. It’s only been a few minutes since I saw him—what happened? Did the police arrest him? Detective Sawyer knew he had no alibi. This is how Seth is finally going to make good on his threats. Not by going after me.

  By going after the one I love. My heart lurches.

  “What are you talking about, Laura?” asks Emily. I’m trembling, despite Emily’s skeptical tone.

  “Oh,” purrs Laura, clearly enjoying this. “Maybe you don’t know.” Her hands press together in front of her thin V-neck sweater.

  I’ve had enough. I stand, moving toward her so quickly that she shuffles backward. “Laura, I swear if you don’t spit it out, I will walk to the cafeteria and buy a coffee just so I can throw it into your smug face.”

  A deep chuckle resounds behind me, and a tiny trill of hope that it’s Gideon works its way into my head. But I turn, remembering Peter.

  “Well, if you’re going to be so hostile, never mind.” Laura huffs and swings herself around.

  “Laura,” Peter says, “just tell her. You’ve got the poor girl all worried now, probably for nothing—no offense.” I want to hug Peter, our savior twice in one day.

  Emily echoes his sentiments. “Yeah, Laura, just tell her.”

  Laura backs up like we’re a pack of vicious carnivores. “Fine. But I think it should just be Cassidy who hears this. She may need her privacy.”

  Peter rolls his eyes. “Fine. Go have your private meeting.”

  I follow Laura to a cutout in the hallway where the drinking fountains are tucked away. She pauses before speaking, like she has to prepare herself. “I saw Gideon”—she cups a hand over her mouth and it’s outrageously annoying—“with Gracie Davenport.”<
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  “Okay,” I say, unsure where this is going. “Gideon’s allowed to have other friends, Laura. Is this your big secret?”

  “No, Cass. They were very friendly together.” Laura flinches, retracting her shoulder like I might explode.

  Walk away. But the question slips from my mouth. “What do you mean, friendly?”

  “You know, touchy-feely. Grabbing her hand. Her nudging his arm. That type of thing. Way more flirtatious than the two of you ever were. And I heard she asked him to Sadie Hawkins. Anyway, I thought you might want to know before you saw the two of them together.” She reaches out to touch my arm in a comforting gesture.

  I yank my arm back. “Why would I care about that? He can be friendly with whoever he wants! This is the news you thought would be devastating?” My breathing is labored now. The people in the hallway stop mid-conversation and mid-bite to gawk at the shouting person.

  Fire Girl is coming unhinged.

  Laura smirks. She only has to see my glistening eyes and hear my strained voice to know that I am devastated. Gideon and I were never together, not in a romantic way. But the way he cut me out of his life and went and got a girlfriend—or whatever Gracie is—just like that, makes it look like a breakup.

  Tears well in my eyes, one blink from splashing all over my face. I want to knock that smirk off Laura’s face. But it’s gone, replaced by something else. “Cass, I’m—”

  “Yeah, I know. You win.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Leave me alone.” I brush past her, hurrying out the back doors. The outside air is frigid, but I don’t care. Its effect is numbing, and right now I want to be numb. I stand at the far end of the courtyard, shins scraping against the low brick wall, screaming into my hands through bared teeth. The tears fall, creating salty pools in my open palms.

  “Cass? Are you okay?”

  Emily. Can’t she see I need to be alone? But her hand comes to rest on my back, and I just keep crying.

  The bell rings to end lunch, and her hand remains there. I’ve become used to being alone the past two weeks. But Emily cares that I’m hurting more than she cares about being on time for class. Like Gideon used to.

  Once I’ve composed myself, Emily helps me to the bathroom. Our history decade project is scheduled for this period, so I have to clean up. I close myself inside a stall, taking slow, deep breaths. “How are you doing, Cass?” she calls through the stall door.

  The tardy bell has long since rung, and if we don’t hurry, we’ll get a zero. I clear the lump from my throat and reply, “I’m okay. Just a sec.”

  I come out, staring straight down at the sink while I wash my hands.

  “I’m guessing she told you something about Gideon,” Emily says. My gaping eyes dart to each stall in alarm, and she reassures me, “It’s empty.” Her gaze falls from the scratched opaque mirror. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I thought you might like to get it out. But you don’t have to.”

  “Thanks.” I rub at my red, makeup-smudged eyes. “I want to tell you. But let’s get this presentation over with first. How do I look?” I turn to face her with a warped, doubtful smile.

  “Cass. You always look amazing. No wonder Peter’s in love with you. But if we’re going to get there before class ends, we’ll have to run.”

  I join her in sprinting through the hall to U.S. History, not sparing a moment to blush over the Peter comment. Emily holds the large poster board of the 1930s. It flaps against her side as she scuttles along, huffing every couple of yards. I force a laugh to match Emily’s as we invent our excuse seconds before diving into the room.

  I settle into my seat, tired and achy. Not from the hallway sprint—from knowing I can’t ever open up to Emily. Not really. She’s been so kind to me, but the only way to stop all of this and get Gideon back in my life is to smash her heart. Her brother is a murderer, and I have to be the one to break it to the world.

  Today.

  21

  The photograph of Melody is stowed in the pocket of my backpack, and I still have that yearbook photo on my phone. Since Gideon can’t seem to go two steps without Gracie Davenport pasted to his side, I’ll have to take my chances talking to the detectives without him.

  After history, I grab my things from my locker and whirl around, crashing right into someone. My books plummet to the floor, and everyone in hearing distance turns to stare at me for the second time today. Enormous blue doll eyes zip toward me from every angle and I shut mine to blot them out. I take an uneven breath and mutter, “Sorry.” Then I stoop to help whoever’s picking up my books.

  “It’s fine. Here.” The voice sets my skin aflame. The bustling hall comes to a blurring stop as I look up at Gideon’s dark eyes and scruffy jaw. I accept the book, and our fingers brush. Gideon’s cheeks blush pink against his olive skin.

  “Giddy,” I say breathily, wanting to take in everything about him. But he won’t make eye contact. He rubs his hands together, like he can’t wait to wash off the filth.

  “Hey. How are you?” He mumbles the words like a kid forced to talk to an ancient relative. Bags still line his eyes, and his jeans sag. The old Cass would’ve told the old Giddy to go eat his lunch. But I don’t. The nickname doesn’t even fit him anymore. This person lacks every trace of Giddy’s playful nature.

  “I have to talk to you.” I lower my voice. “It’s about Seth.”

  “Not here, Cass.” He attempts to sweep past me, but I sidestep in front of him. When I don’t budge, he relents, turning into a nearby corner of the hallway.

  I follow close behind. “Where would we talk about it? You avoid me all the time. You never return my texts anymore. Gideon”—his full name sounds wrong when I say it aloud—“I’m sorry about everything. I have to live with my mistakes every day.”

  He stays silent, tugging on the strings hanging from the neck of his green hoodie.

  I huff through my teeth. “I have proof Seth was stalking Melody.”

  Gideon’s eyes widen. “What do you have?”

  “Photos. I’ll show you in the truck. Come on.”

  He pauses, clearly still unsure I can be trusted. My stomach pinches. I never imagined he, of all people, could ever feel this way about me too. Then he exhales loudly and hurries beside me toward the front doors of the school. “How did you get them?”

  “I went in his room and took them.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what he’ll do when he realizes they’re gone?” He pushes a door open with one arm, letting me pass.

  “Of course, but I refuse to mess up again. I’ve got to make sure this guy can’t hurt anyone else.” The icy-cold air hits us, and I wrap my arms around myself.

  “So then, you’ll show the detectives the threats?”

  I bite my lip. “I can’t. When they read the notebook, I’ll look even guiltier than Seth. And the cops forgot all about the fire in the portable. If they see the photo—with my history…”

  Gideon’s glance is sharp. “Seth is going to turn over that stuff anyway. As a last-ditch effort to save himself.”

  I shake my head. I’ve thought about this. “The notebook, yes, but not the photo. That would be as good as admitting he had Melody’s phone.”

  “So your grand plan is to give them half the truth.” Gideon sighs. I can feel him drawing further away. We get into his truck and he calls the detectives.

  As he speaks to Detective Reyes, my head swirls. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just hand over my phone and trust the detectives.

  Or maybe that’s the worst thing I could do.

  Gideon hangs up, tossing his phone onto the center console. “They want us to meet them at the diner.” He starts the engine. We turn onto the road leading from the school and the truck lurches over a pothole, messing with my nervous stomach. I force myself to breathe slowly and steadily, but Gid
eon slaps one hand down firmly on the steering wheel. “Cass, if you withhold evidence, you’re not letting the cops do their jobs.”

  “Giddy, everyone already knows I killed a girl! You think they’re going to care about Seth’s photos when they have it in writing that I wanted Melody dead and planned out how to do it?”

  He exhales loudly. The cab is still bitingly cold, and my entire body shakes. “Show me the photos,” he says.

  I pull out my phone and Gideon glances away from the road to view the eyeless yearbook photo of Melody. Then I dig out the print of Melody in the drugstore. “Well, do you think it’s enough?”

  His shoulders roll. “It’s something. If they could trace those text messages he sent you, it would be solid.”

  “He used a burner.” The texts won’t do anything but give Seth an edge. The next few minutes crawl by in silence. I should keep my mouth shut. “Why are you hanging out with Gracie Davenport?”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  The command is curt and final, and it stings. The cab has started to warm, but the space between us is like ice. I’m not sure it will ever melt away. “Fine,” I say, opening the chain of anonymous threats. I read. Reread. “I’ll show them everything.”

  Gideon removes a hand from the wheel and squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Cass. You’re doing the right thing.”

  The right thing. If I do what Gideon wants, I’ll be walking out of that diner with my hands cuffed behind my back. I grip the phone tighter between my clammy hands. The trees in my periphery blur and zigzag until I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

  I exhale, open my eyes, and delete the entire chain.

  * * *

  An hour later, I walk out of the diner unsteadily, like I can’t remember where we parked. Gideon is waiting on the curb, where he promised he’d be if I needed him, and I sit down beside him. Inside, Detective Sawyer listened to me and looked at the photos. She asked to keep the print. Then she thanked me and said I could go.

  I keep waiting to expel that big sigh of relief—especially after seeing the grateful look on the detective’s face—but it never comes. It just hangs in my chest, suffocating me.