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Final Girls

Page 27

by Riley Sager

One of them was Janelle.

  The other was Craig.

  He lay on his back, shirt off and balled under his head to form a makeshift pillow. His pants had been shoved to his ankles, circling them like manacles. Janelle sat on top of him, riding him. Each thrust moved the skirt of her dress. An ebb and tide of fabric across Craig’s bare thighs. The top of her dress was pulled down, exposing breasts so pale they practically glowed in the moonlight.

  “Yes,” she moaned, the word a wisp mingling with the night air. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Anger and hurt clenched Quincy’s stomach, like there was a hand there holding her insides, squishing them as it curled into a fist.

  Yet she couldn’t look away. Not with Janelle moaning like that, her movements more desperate than passionate. It was all too beautiful and painful and grotesque.

  Then the sobs came, burbling out of her. Quincy slapped a hand over her mouth to block the sound. Even though she shouldn’t have cared if they heard her. Even though all she wanted to do was scream to the sky, her banshee’s wail riding the breeze.

  But the angry fist inside her kept squeezing, increasing her anger, her pain. She slipped back through the woods, fresh tears forming where the earlier ones had dried. She could still hear Janelle as she slid down the incline, her repeated moans like a taunting bird in the branches.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  33.

  “Why?” I say, still on the floor.

  Sam ignores me, instead crossing the room to silence the CD player. Then it’s on to the knapsack, where she pulls out her black jeans and begins to slide them on under the skirt of the red dress.

  “Why?”

  “Because it needed to be done,” Sam says.

  “It didn’t,” I say, rising to my knees. “You just felt like it did.”

  Because she knew how much it would hurt me once I found out. And I was certain she intended to make sure I found out. This was just another way to mess with me, to wake me up, to make me angry.

  I claw at the wall, using it to help me rise to my feet. Still unsteady, I lean against it, leveling my gaze at Sam. She’s removed the dress and is now yanking her Sex Pistols shirt over her head. Then she sits on the bed, replacing the fuck-me heels with her combat boots.

  “You’re sick,” I tell her. “You know that, right? You can’t stand to think that one of us could have a normal life. That at least one of us could actually be happy.”

  Sam goes to the window, throws it open, and lights a cigarette. Puffing out smoke, she says, “You have me all figured out, don’t you?”

  “I do. You came here and saw that I was normal and stable and decided that you had to fuck it all up.”

  “Stable? You sent a guy to the hospital, babe. He’s still in a goddamn coma.”

  “Because of you! You wanted me to do it!”

  “Keep thinking that, Quinn. If you need that lie to be able to live with yourself, then keep on believing it.”

  I look away, not sure what to believe.

  It feels as if gravity has failed and everything once secure and settled in my life is now tumbling in midair, suddenly just beyond my reach.

  “Why Coop?” I ask. “It’s Manhattan. There are a million guys you could have picked. So why him?”

  “Insurance.”

  “For what?”

  “That detective came by again this morning,” Sam says. “Hernandez. She said she wanted to talk to you. When I told her you were away, she said she’d be back and that you shouldn’t have left town.”

  Because my running off with my lawyer boyfriend made me look suspicious. Of course it did.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Sam says. “So I called Coop.”

  I suck in my breath, suddenly numb. “You didn’t tell him about the park, did you?”

  Sam rolls her eyes while hissing out smoke. “Hell no. I told him that we should get to know each other better. That he should come to the city if he could. He did.”

  “And you seduced him.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Sam says. “He was more than willing.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  Sam lets out a weary sigh. She looks so tired, so defeated by life.

  So utterly damaged.

  “Because I thought it would help us,” she says. “You, especially. If the police are able to trace that guy’s beating back to us, we’re going to need someone on our side. Someone other than Jeff.”

  “A cop,” I say, grim understanding settling over me. “One who can defend us to his colleagues. One too blinded by emotions to do the right thing and turn us in if he suspects something.”

  “Bingo,” Sam says. “But you know all about that, don’t you?”

  “I’ve never tried to fuck Coop.”

  A snort from Sam, nostrils streaming smoke. “Like that matters. You’re still using him. For years, you’ve used him. Texting him at all hours. Beckoning him into the city at a moment’s notice. Flirting with him every now and then to keep him interested.”

  “That’s not how it is,” I say. “I would never do that to him.”

  “You do it all the time, Quinn. I’ve seen you do it.”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “Really?” Sam says. “You mean to tell me this weird, creepy thing between you two has nothing to do with what happened at Pine Cottage? That you’ve never noticed, not even the tiniest bit, that you have him wrapped around your finger?”

  “I don’t,” I say.

  Sam stubs out her cigarette. Lights another. “Lies, lies, lies.”

  “Let’s talk about lies,” I say, pushing away from the wall, strengthened by anger. “You lied when you told me you never met Lisa. You did. You stayed at her house.”

  Sam stops inhaling on the cigarette, her cheeks slightly sucked in, smoke gathering in her mouth. When she parts her lips, a grayish cloud rolls out like a fog bank.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I say. “At least admit you were there.”

  “Fine. I was there.”

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago,” she says. “But you already knew that.”

  “Why did you go? Did Lisa invite you?”

  Sam shakes her head.

  “So you just showed up like you did with me?”

  “Yup,” Sam says. “Unlike you, she actually said hello when she realized who I was.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “About a week,” Sam says.

  “So she liked having you there?”

  It’s a wasted question. Of course Lisa liked having Sam there. It’s what she lived for—taking troubled young women under her wing and helping them. Sam was likely the most troubled of them all.

  “She did,” Sam says. “At first. But by the end of the week, Lisa couldn’t deal with me anymore.”

  I infer the rest. Sam showed up out of the blue, knapsack bulging with Wild Turkey and expressions of sisterhood. Lisa gladly let her crash in the guest room. But that wasn’t enough. Not for Sam. She needed to pry, to needle. She probably tried to shake Lisa out of her complacency. To make her get angry, to make her a survivor.

  Lisa didn’t let her. I did. Both of us paid a very different price.

  “So why did you lie about it?”

  “Because I knew you’d become a drama queen if I told you. That you’d start getting suspicious.”

  “Why?” I say. “Do you have something to hide? Did you kill Lisa, Sam?”

  There it is. The question that’s been itching at the back of my brain for days, now spoken, made real. Sam shakes her head as if she pities me.

  “Poor, sad Quincy. You’re more messed up than I thought.”

  “Tell me you had nothing to do with her death,” I say.

  Sam drops the cigarette, m
aking a show of grinding it out on the hardwood floor with the toe of her boot. “No matter what I say, you’re not going to believe me.”

  “You’ve given me no reason so far,” I reply. “Why start now?”

  “I didn’t kill Lisa,” Sam says. “Believe me or not. I don’t give a fuck.”

  A beep rises from deep within my pocket. My phone.

  “That’s probably your boyfriend,” Sam says with pronounced disgust. “One of them, at least.”

  I check the phone. Sure enough, there’s a text from Coop.

  we need to talk

  At the window, Sam asks, “Which one is it?”

  I don’t answer, which is an answer in itself. I stare at the screen, my heart seizing up at the prospect of seeing Coop again. Not just tonight. But ever again.

  Sam jams another cigarette between her lips and says, “Run to your little cop, Quincy Carpenter. But remember, watch what you say. My secrets are your secrets. And Officer Cooper might not like yours.”

  “Go to hell,” I say.

  Sam lights up and smiles. “Already been there, babe.”

  PINE COTTAGE

  11:12 P.M.

  Quincy was out of breath by the time she reached the cabin. Her lungs burned, scraped by both exertion and the night air. Despite the chill, a thin coating of sweat covered her skin, cold and sticky.

  Inside, it was quietly chaotic, all dirty dishes and liquor bottles with only dregs remaining. The great room was abandoned. Even the fire had gone out, a trace of woodsmoke heat the only reminder it ever existed.

  Sleep. That was all Quincy wanted. To fall asleep and wake up having forgotten everything she had seen. It was possible, she knew. Already her brain was telling her that she was mixed up, saw something she didn’t really see. Maybe Janelle had been with someone else. Joe, perhaps. Or maybe Quincy only thought she saw Craig lying on his back, face contorted, pushing into her.

  But her heart knew otherwise.

  Wiping away tears, Quincy crept down the hall, passing Janelle’s empty room. Across the hall, Betz had gone to bed, the closed door shutting out the view of those sad bunk beds. The door to Ramdy’s room was also closed, not quite blocking out the violent sloshing sound of the waterbed. Occasional grunts from Rodney rose with the tide.

  Quincy turned into Craig’s room.

  Fuck Craig.

  It was her room now.

  But it wasn’t empty. Someone was on the bed, a vague outline in the moonlit gloom. He lay with his hands behind his head. Quincy faintly saw his wide-open eyes behind his dirty glasses.

  “I didn’t know where to sleep,” he said.

  Quincy stared at him, jealous of how comfortable he looked, how oblivious he was. She sniffed. She caught a tear before it could streak down her face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “You need to go,” Quincy said.

  He sat up, concern flickering in his half-obscured eyes. “You’re not okay.”

  “No shit,” Quincy said, sitting on the bed. Another tear fell. This time she wasn’t able to stop it.

  “I saw them leave together,” he said. “They walked into the woods.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He touched her shoulder, the suddenness of the gesture making Quincy recoil.

  “Please go,” she said.

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  When he touched her shoulder a second time, Quincy allowed it. Emboldened, his hand slipped down Quincy’s arm to her midriff. Again, she let him do it.

  “You’re better than him,” he whispered. “Better than both of them. So pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Quincy said.

  “I mean it.”

  Quincy turned to him, grateful for his presence. He seemed so sincere. So inexperienced. The opposite of Craig.

  She leaned in and kissed him. His lips were hot against hers, kissing back. His tongue slid into her mouth. Tentative. Exploring. It made Quincy almost forget what she had seen in the woods. How Janelle was on top of Craig, riding him, her body radiating lust and pain.

  But that wasn’t enough. Quincy wanted to forget completely.

  Without a word, she climbed on top of him, surprised at how solid he felt beneath her. Like a downed tree. Sturdy oak. Quincy pulled off his sweater, which smelled vaguely of industrial-strength cleaner. The odor stung her nose as she tossed it to the floor and tugged his T-shirt over his head.

  She began to suck on his narrow chest, running her hands over the milky skin. So pale. So cold. Like a ghost.

  Then her panties were off. His corduroys were at his knees.

  On the floor beside the bed was Craig’s backpack. Inside was a box of condoms. Quincy pulled one out and gave it to Joe, placing it into his trembling palm.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me if it hurts,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.”

  Quincy took a deep breath and eased herself lower, bracing for the pleasure and the pain, knowing it wouldn’t be one or the other.

  It would be both at once, forever intertwined.

  34.

  Coop texts me the name of a hotel a few blocks from my apartment and the number of the room he’s staying in. I don’t know if he booked the room before coming into the city to meet Sam or after. I decide not to ask.

  I pause outside his door, uncertain if I’ll be able to face him again. I already know I don’t want to. I’d rather be anywhere but this dim hotel hallway with its buzzing ice machine and carpet-shampoo stench. But we have a history. No matter what Coop has done, I owe him the chance to explain himself.

  I knock, the door quickly squeaking open beneath my fist. My hand remains clenched as Coop steps into view.

  “Quincy.” The nod he gives me is quick, shameful. “Come in. If you want to.”

  Only the past keeps me there. My past. Coop’s role in it. The undeniable fact that I wouldn’t even have a past if it weren’t for him. So I enter, stepping into a room shocking in its smallness. It’s nothing more than a large closet someone has managed to fit a bed and dresser into. There’s roughly two feet of space between bed and wall, making it hard for me to edge around Coop as he closes the door behind me.

  The room has no chairs. Rather than sit on the bed, I remain standing.

  I know exactly what I need to do, which is to tell Coop everything. About what Sam has done. What I’ve done. Maybe then I can start the process of getting my life back to normal. Not that it’s ever been normal after Pine Cottage.

  But I can’t confess to Coop. I can barely look at him.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I say, arms folded, shifting weight onto my left leg so my hip angrily juts.

  “I’ll be quick,” Coop says.

  He’s just showered, steam lingering inside the minuscule bathroom. Dampness clings to his close-cropped hair and his body seems to radiate humidity, sultry and soap scented.

  “I need to explain myself. To explain my actions.”

  “What you do in your free time is none of my business,” I say. “It’s not as if you mean anything to me.”

  Coop winces, and I feel a satisfying twinge of strength. I’m hurting him too. Drawing blood.

  “Quincy, we both know that’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?” I say. “If we meant something to each other you wouldn’t have gone to my apartment to try and fuck Sam while I was away.”

  “That’s not why I was there.”

  “It sure as hell looked that way to me.”

  “She called me, Quincy,” Coop says. “She said she was concerned about you. So I came. Because something wasn’t sitting right with me. I don’t trust her, Quincy. I haven’t since she arrived. She’s up to something, and I wanted t
o find out what it was.”

  “Seduction is an interesting interrogation technique,” I say. “You use it often?”

  “What you saw wasn’t planned, Quincy. It just happened.”

  I roll my eyes, going all big and dramatic, just like Janelle used to do.

  “That’s the oldest excuse in the book.”

  “It’s true,” Coop says. “You don’t know how lonely I am, Quincy. So completely alone. I live in a house big enough for five people. But there’s only me. Some rooms I haven’t entered for years. They’re empty, the doors closed.”

  His confession leaves me speechless. This is the first time Coop has ever opened up to me like this. It turns out we have more in common than I ever imagined. Yet I refuse to feel sorry for him. I’m not ready to forgive him.

  “Is that why you wanted me to come?” I say. “To make me pity you?”

  “No. I asked you here because I need to tell you something. There’s a reason—” Coop stops to clear his throat. “A reason I’ve tried to be there for you. A reason I’ve made myself available day or night. Quincy—”

  Instinctively, I know what’s coming next. I shake my head, my thoughts screaming, Don’t. Please, Coop, don’t say it.

  He does anyway. “I love you.”

  “Don’t,” I say, this time aloud. “Don’t say any more.”

  “But I do,” Coop says. “You know it, Quincy. I think you’ve always known it. Why else do you think I drive out here at a moment’s notice? It’s to see you. To be with you. I don’t care if it’s for one minute or one hour. Just seeing you makes that whole lonely drive worthwhile.”

  He makes a move toward me and I back away, stuck in a corner between the dresser and the wall. Coop keeps coming, not stopping until he’s right in front of me.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you, Quincy,” he says. “Believe me when I say that. You’re so strong. A true survivor.”

  He looks at me, his blue eyes making my knees quiver. He touches a thumb to my cheek, sliding it down to my mouth.

  “Coop,” I say as his thumbnail gently scrapes my lips. “Stop.”

  “You feel the same way,” Coop says, voice husky. “I know you do.”

 

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