Charming

by Krystal Wade

  Hopefully the sting of her rejection wore off long ago. “You’re going to hate me and probably think I’m an asshole, but I have an extra credit report I have to write for Mr. Thompson’s class. A five-page essay on developing technologies. It’s due Monday, and I’ve slacked, and I’m hoping you can help me get the security footage from that”—Haley pointed to the small black camera above the door—“camera. Can you do that? I want to see how often this phone is used.”

  “Mr. Thompson’s been handing out a ton of extra credit assignments this year.” Todd stood on his tiptoes, looking over the cardboard advertisements blocking half the window. “Come on. I see my manager in the office. He’ll probably help you out. Just… smile.”

  Smile, a.k.a. flirt. “Thanks, Thomas. I owe you one!”

  “A date?” Thomas smiled, revealing so many teeth. Jerk.

  “If you get me what I need, I’ll go on a date with you.”

  Laughter, high-pitched and girly exited the doors, and right behind it, Rich Girl and Chris not far behind. They each carried a bag of ice toward his Porsche, neither wasting time looking back.

  Not going to let it hurt. Not going to. Doesn’t matter.

  “You fell for it, huh?” Thomas glanced at Chris as he and Haley re-entered the store. “That ass is a legend in Deerfield.”

  “The tape?” Just breathe.

  Thomas knocked on a flimsy door on a half-wall surrounding a raised platform, an office built long after the store. “Niles, too.”

  Haley glared. “Say one more word, and I’ll talk to your manager and deny you that date.”

  “Feisty!”

  A middle-aged man with a receding hairline opened the door and dusted crumbs from his stained white shirt. “May I help you?”

  Smile. Bat lashes. Hand on hip. “I need something, sir. Can you help me with a school project?”

  The manager’s eyes widened and he stepped to the side, arm held out. “Come on in.”

  “I’ll call you.” Thomas returned to his place at the end of the cash register, an idiotic grin on his face as he carefully placed groceries in bags.

  Pigs.

  Haley ran down her story with Matthew, the manager, and fifteen uncomfortable minutes later, the man handed her a copy of a tape with two weeks’ worth of footage, all while staring at her chest. She fled the store before him or Thomas could make Haley question her tactics, then drove back to Deerfield, straight for Tilton Library. Taking the tape home would be stupid. The psycho probably replaced all the broken surveillance equipment when she left.

  “Hi, Mrs. Fields.” Haley leaned on the library’s counter, tapping her foot, waiting for the woman to turn.

  Mrs. Fields flipped through a card file, eyebrows pinched, and didn’t look up. “May I help you?”

  “I have a project I’m working on for school and need access to a VCR. Do you still keep one?”

  The woman met Haley’s eyes and jumped from the swivel chair. “Oh, Haley Tremaine. It’s been so long, little girl. Too long.” Mrs. Fields patted Haley’s hand with her wrinkled and thin one. “I still have a VCR in the back room. Have at it.”

  She ventured to the back of the library, in a storage room stacked with books too old to return to shelves, literature in desperate need of new spines, new wrappers, another home, then popped the tape into a VCR on a rolling stand. Haley turned on the power and waited, fast-forwarding through days, a week, waiting for someone to approach the phone. Near the end of the tape.

  What a waste of time.

  Before Haley could press stop, a man approached. She hit play, heart racing. This man wore black leather gloves, a baseball cap, and kept his body angled away from the camera. He knew it was there. Which meant he’d been to Fosters before.

  Pushing a long line of carts, Thomas passed by the man. Their heights were even. A little over six feet, then. Six feet tall, male, knew the Charmings, knew Mom. Clues. Not enough, but a start.

  Only the skin on the back of the man’s neck was visible, pale skin, no wrinkles.

  None of these clues would be enough description for the police, if this was the psycho.

  She removed the tape and made her way to the exit, waving at Mrs. Fields. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Any time.”

  Haley drove to Irvings in Whately, such an odd place to call from after being in Greenfield. She parked next to one of the service bays, then went inside. A heavy-set man watched Haley approach, watched her like she might steal something.

  She stepped up to the counter, pressed her hands on it, and leaned forward. “Excuse me, sir, but do you have a pay phone?”

  The man hooked his thumb, pointing behind him. “Out around the side.”

  “Thanks.” She looked everywhere for cameras and found plenty. None recorded the pay phone area, though.

  Frustrated, she returned home and plopped onto Dad’s bed, then turned on his TV—since the one in the den… well, she’d have to buy a new one—to catch up on the news and search for clues. Haley also needed a partner, someone who could help make sense of things, figure out the next move, how to track a killer.

  Her pocket buzzed. She answered, ready to defend her unusual behavior for the day to the psycho, “What do you want now?”

  “Ouch,” Chris said, “But I guess I deserved that.”

  “Didn’t realize it was you, sorry. What do you want?” Anger ran rampantly through Haley, taking over her calmer senses. She wanted to hurl the phone across the room. How could he be so mean and then call?

  “So what has you saving that kind of hatred for pay phones, or are you and Niles still having troubles?”

  How could he joke? “Chris—”

  “Wait. Let me apologize before we continue.”

  Haley closed her eyes. “Apologize?”

  “That girl—”

  “Don’t. I really don’t want you explaining your relationship with Jessica to me.”

  “Would you shut up for ten seconds, please?” Chris laughed. “She’s the daughter of one of my dad’s friends and has had a crush on me for ages.”

  That helped.

  “Our dads were hanging out and needed ice. When she grabbed my cell and hung up on your earlier, and when she said we were going to be late, she was being…”

  “Possessive?”

  “Great word, Mensa. Yes. Anyway, letting her be possessive was easier than dealing with clinginess later.”

  Still wanted to hurl the phone.

  “You’re an idiot. It may be easier to let people believe shit about you, but did you ever stop and think of the people you’re hurting? What’s easier for you may not be easier for other people. You need to be yourself, always.” She buried her face in the pillows. How could Haley yell at Chris when she’d hidden the truth from Joce? From school and friends? From Chris and his family? The world? Sure, Haley hid the truth for far different reasons, but judging him wasn’t fair.

  Chris gasped. “I think your inability to breathe is rubbing off on me.”

  “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You’re right. And do I sense jealousy, Haley Tremaine?”

  “There’s nothing to be jealous of, is there?” she asked, wishing she could suffocate herself with Dad’s pillow—Lord knows the man probably had that thought once or twice in his life. Maybe she’d be doing him a favor.

  “I saw the stunned look in your eyes. You wanted to break something.” Chris paused. “I’m honored.”

  Haley threw the pillow against the ugly ass wall. “You did let her hang up on me. That pretty much summed up how you feel.”

  “Not even remotely.”

  A picture of Niles flashed on the TV, and Haley nearly dropped the phone, the impact of Chris’s implications lost in her terror as she grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

  “Local Deerfield Academy student, Niles Hemingway, has been missing for four days. His parents believed he’d left for an Academy-run trip. The school believed he was out sick.
Authorities search for answers. Deerfield Academy on lockdown.”

  “Hello? Ha-ley? Hel-lo?”

  The psycho really would kill Dad, Joce, and Niles, and the news made his threats all seem so much more real, so much bigger.

  “Niles is missing.”

  he front door rattled from the force of frantic knocks. The vibrations echoed down the hall, right into Haley’s heart, knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock.

  “Haley, it’s me,” Chris shouted, high-pitched but muffled.

  She knew getting up was required but couldn’t break away from the TV, from the images of cop cars with their blue and red lights flashing outside DA, investigative reporters interviewing his friends, fellow students, family members. How long before they showed up here? To the ex-girlfriend’s house?

  Haley’s phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Open the damn door, Haley.”

  She ran down the hall, then yanked open the door. Cold air rushed inside the house, into her bones. Haley trembled. “Sorry.”

  “Come here.” Chris stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Haley, his heart pounding almost as hard as hers. If he only knew. If Chris knew why, what Haley hid…

  “How’d you get away from your dad?” She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “From Jessica?”

  “Told them I wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home.” Chris kicked the door closed and walked to the den without letting Haley go. “What the hell happened in here?”

  Oh God. Haley shouldn’t have allowed Chris to come over. She should have met him somewhere else, somewhere far away from the cameras and microphones planted in this house. Somewhere she could speak freely, without lying. “Got mad at Dad and decided to take it out on his favorite object.”

  Chris placed his palm on Haley’s cheek and gently guided her head so he could look into her eyes. He stared without speaking for minutes, hours, days. Who could tell? The silence bore down on Haley, flattened her. A gust of wind could have carried her away, never to be seen again.

  Look away, stupid girl. He knows. He knows about Dad, and he wants you to come clean.

  But Haley stared back, unflinching, loving and hating the feel of Chris’s warmth penetrating her cold fear, loving and hating how right it felt to lock her arms around his waist.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re holding something back?” Chris glanced down the hall, not waiting for—or expecting?—a reply, where light from the TV flashed along the walls. “So you didn’t destroy every TV?”

  “No.”

  He took Haley’s hand and led her to Dad’s room. They sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the small television on his dresser not but two feet away.

  “I punched him that night, Haley, nearly beat him senseless.” Chris ran his free hand through his hair, messing up the sleek, smoothed-back style he’d worked for his non-date. “If anyone saw—God, if any of your neighbors heard—I’ll be suspect number one in the disappearance.”

  She glanced around the room, tossing hateful looks at any new cameras the psycho might have installed while she was out today. He wanted to protect Chris, to keep him away from the evil plans for Mr. Charming, but this new tactic with Niles made that protection flimsy. And if Haley was so deserving of goodness, the psycho had a very strange way of showing it.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Chris. You won’t get in trouble.”

  “Dad’s going to kill me. He doesn’t mind the rumors, but for this, something real and dangerous, when I have to tell my dad that I pounded that kid’s face?” He jumped up and paced the room, head down, chewing on his thumbnail. “I’m assuming you’ve heard from your dad, judging by the mess, or is that all because he’s still missing?”

  Stop making connections, Chris. Too dangerous for you. Especially since he was so close to the truth. Yes, Dad was related to Niles’s disappearance. “No.”

  But I know where he is… sort of.

  “My dad figures he went on a bender. Alcoholics do that from time to time.”

  Haley swallowed down bile. “A bender? Alcoholic? How… how’d you know?”

  Chris leaned his head to the side and stopped pacing, standing with his knees touching hers. “Haley, your dad works in the mailroom, comes in late and reeking of alcohol, unshaved. Didn’t take much for my dad to figure out. I think he already suspected your dad of turning to the bottle. He said it explained how odd your mom sometimes acted. Actually, I think that’s why he gave him the job in the first place, because he worried that losing a wife and not being able to work would drive him insane, further into drinking.”

  Of course Mr. Charming knew. Of course. He’d implied that knowledge at the summit of Sugarloaf Mountain, but Haley didn’t make the connection between his coworkers seeing Dad in the pubs to Mr. Charming knowing Dad was an alcoholic.

  “That night I called you about the attempted break in at my house, you said your dad always knew where you were.”

  Tears escaped Haley’s eyes. Chris thought Dad capable of murder, of kidnapping Niles? Did the Charmings know about the abuse? Had she kept the pain chained and gagged inside for no reason?

  No. They would have done something. They would have helped.

  “I’m sorry for upsetting you, for implying…” Chris sat beside Haley and linked his fingers with hers, then squeezed. “I’ve known about his drinking for a while. I didn’t want to say anything, not if you didn’t want to talk. But you should know, the night your mom died—”

  “What, Chris?” Sweat soaked Haley’s palms. “The night my mom died, what?”

  He drew in a deep breath and squeezed Haley’s fingers again. “The night your mom died, I was with some older friends who were street racing down Elm.”

  Oh no. No. No. No. She shook her head, back and forth, back and forth. No more. No more pain.

  “I’m sorry. So, so sorry, Haley. I should have told you sooner. I was sitting on the sidewalk, watching these idiots toss back beer after beer, wondering why I was away from home with kids who didn’t value their lives, or other people’s. I thought over and over about the meaning of life that night, about just jumping on a train and leaving town, allowing it to take me somewhere far away. Then… Tommy—”

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Tommy. The name of the kid who crashed into Mom’s car. The name of the kid who stole her, he stole Mom from Haley.

  “Tommy was so drunk, Haley, so fucking stupid. He was laying tread, laughing at all the white smoke, and he forgot himself. Released the parking brake and flew through the red light, and I heard it, his car slamming into something, tires squealing, metal crunching. It sounded like a gun shot, like a train wreck—”

  Salty fluids filled Haley’s mouth. “Please. Stop. Just stop.”

  “You have to know, Haley. I want you, want to be near you, be with you, but not if you don’t know the truth.”

  Haley shook violently. The room spun. Chris was there. He was there. He knew about Mom, how she died—heard it. Wanted to be with Haley, tell the truth—something she’d failed to do for so long now.

  Chris ran his thumb over Haley’s hand and put a fraction of distance between their thighs. “No one else heard the crash. They all stood out on the street, laughing, listening to music and chucking bottles on the concrete. Niles was there, in the passenger seat of the car that had been next to Tommy, and he was trashed—so fucking trashed. I ran, pulled out my cell and called 9-1-1. Your car was upside down. You were screaming for your mom to wake up, wake up. I smelled the fuel and fell to my knees. What the hell was I supposed to do? But your voice, Haley, you kept repeating please, please, please, we have to get to Jocelyn, have to get away from Daddy, he’s not supposed to hurt us anymore.” Redness crept up Chris’s neck, up his cheeks, and his hand burned with sweat. “I followed your voice and saw you and your mom floating. I heard her say ‘Be good, sweetheart’ and you beg her not to give up. Then—”

  “You asked if I could run.”

  A single tear tracked down Chris’s no
se. He wiped it away with the heel of his hand. “I knew I wouldn’t make it back for her. Somehow, I just knew.”

  Haley propped her feet on the dresser and rested her head on bent knees. “You were the only one there.”

  Nodding, Chris said, “I thought you blamed me for her death. I thought that’s why you always ran away. But then I realized you didn’t have a clue, and I thought you hated me because of the rumors. I wanted nothing more than to show you the real Chris Charming. I thought maybe you were the only one who would understand.”

  Haley focused on the TV, stomach a twisted knot of nerves, of fear. “I thought you pitied me, or wanted to rub your fame in my face, or wanted to—yeah, the rumors didn’t help.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You know what I am? I’m tired, tired of hurt, worry, panic. I don’t sleep. I barely eat. I miss her so much, more than I should. But Mom was my idol, my rock. She laughed when I laughed and cried when I cried. She taught me to be strong, how to love, how to protect—and that’s all I’ve done since she died.”

  “Protect who from what?”

  Knock, knock.

  Chris jumped up. “Expecting someone?”

  “No.”

  “Stay here.” The floor squeaked under the weight of Chris’s steps, and the front door belted out a sound to match. “Christine?”

  “Hey, Mr. Charming.”

  “Please, call me Chris.”

  “I came to see if Haley’d seen the news yet, but given how shitty you look, Chris, I’d guess I’m late.” Christine’s voice grew louder as she made her way down the hall and stopped at Dad’s door, Chris behind her, both of them looking on with frowns.

  Seeing them there, pitying, worrying… Haley ran to the bathroom and threw up, unable to keep the emotions locked inside any longer. She could have prevented this. She could have helped everyone, but she kept getting distracted.

  Christine pulled hair out of Haley’s face. “Aw, hell. You’re going to make people believe the pregnancy rumors if you keep this up.”

  Chris snorted.

  “Two boys fighting over you, you throwing up, one boyfriend missing. Definitely makes for good day time television.”