by Lisa Roecker
No footsteps. No sounds.
I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the glass panes situated at the side of the door. Looked like a normal house. Huge foyer. Stairs to the right. Dining room. Kitchen toward the back. And that’s when I noticed the flowers. On the table, a vase was tipped over, the flowers splayed across the wood, a few on the floor within a puddle of water. That was weird. Who left for out of town without picking up a knocked-over vase? Or how would a vase get knocked over in an empty house?
I tensed, the muscles in my arms stiffening. I knocked automatically on the window but got the same response.
Nothing.
I tried the door, which was locked, of course, so I went around to the back of the house, my senses heightened. It occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t be there alone, but I reminded myself that I’d only seen a tipped-over vase. It wasn’t like I’d seen a puddle of blood. And then one of the back doors came into view. Instead of being locked tight like the others, this one was slightly ajar.
My heart pumped furiously. Fight or flight? I stepped forward. Apparently I was fighting. I pushed the door open wider with my foot. If I kept one foot firmly planted on the back patio, I could escape if I needed to. At least that’s what I told myself.
“Hello?” After I said it, I realized maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to do. By calling out, I’d just announced my presence to whoever had left that door open, if they were still there.
Nothing.
I poked my head in, and Bethany’s kitchen and family room came into full view. I didn’t know how the Giordanos kept their house, but I was pretty sure it didn’t normally look like this. Just about every drawer was pulled open, and the contents spilled across granite counters and hardwood floors. Stools along the breakfast bar were overturned, and a few kitchen chairs lay on their side. My hands shook as I pulled the phone from my pocket and called the police. This was not right.
“Nine-one-one, what is the location of your emergency?”
“Um…I’m at 6711 Marchmont in Shaker Heights. I need to report a break-in.” My voice shook and I had to crouch to keep from feeling like I was going to pass out. “And a missing person.” And God only knew what else. Ms. D. was not going to be happy, but this had gone far enough. I mean, did we really know for sure that the Brotherhood had taken Bethany? Sure, they had a motive to abduct her, but I couldn’t imagine why they’d want to trash her house. I was scared.
I heard typing as the dispatcher tracked my location and began a case file. “Do you know if anyone is still in the house?”
“No, I don’t think so. But I don’t know. I’m kind of freaking out,” I whispered. I moved farther away from the door at the thought of someone still being inside.
“Okay, I’m dispatching officers to the house right now. Don’t hang up. I need you to keep talking to me until they arrive.”
Within minutes I heard sirens, and a wave of relief crashed over me. And then dread because I knew how much explaining I would have to do. Not only to the police, but to my parents and Liam and everyone else. I rushed back around to the front of the house and met my dispatched officer. And I should have known right when I dialed a nine and then a one and then a one exactly who would be sent—because that’s just how it works out if you’re Kate Lowry. It was Detective Livingston.
The relief I’d felt just seconds before was replaced with frustration. I found myself thinking back to being in Detective Livingston’s office after I’d discovered exactly how Grace had died, after I’d handed him all of the proof about the societies and what they’d done to my friend, after he’d threatened to charge me with assault if I didn’t leave the Brotherhood alone.
But this was different. It had to be. He and his partner rushed past me and secured the area. They spent about ten minutes in the house before they came back outside.
“Sit tight,” Detective Livingston said, his smile pulled in all the wrong ways. “I just have to call this in and I’ll be right with you.”
There was absolutely nothing that man could have said that would make me trust him. Or sit tight. I waited a beat and then followed him toward the side of the house, where he whispered into his phone.
“Yeah, looks like someone tore the place up.” I edged closer to him, determined to hear every word. “Looks like someone was looking for something…Yeah, uh-huh…It’s definitely the same girl. Yup, we’ve got the other one with us.” Wait, the other one? What was he talking about?
He turned back toward the chair where they’d left me sitting in the front yard when they went in the house, clearly looking for me. I prayed he wouldn’t turn toward the bushes I was crouching behind. My prayers were answered when he started walking again. “Okay, if you’re sure. Thanks, Captain.” He ended the call and I scrambled back to the front yard before he caught me eavesdropping.
“It’s Kate Lowry, right?” Detective Livingston said, sugar sweet, tucking his phone back in the pocket of his uniform.
“Uh, yeah. It’s just that, my…um…friend is missing and there’s been all this weird stuff going on, and when I came to look for her, it looked like someone broke in. And I’m scared for her.” Tears welled in my eyes as I spoke, which made me want to scream. I just needed him to believe me. I needed him to do something.
“Well, it looks like unforced entry. Whoever broke in had a key. Just some minor damage. More like some type of prank than anything else.”
Right.
“It’s up to you if you want to come down to the station to make an official statement, but we’d have to call your parents.” He leaned in close to whisper his next words. His breath was hot in my ear and stank of coffee and the cheap peppermints my great-grandmother used to keep in her purse. “But between you and me, I’d probably just head on home. The captain pulled some strings to stop them from pressing charges against you in the fall, but if you piss him off, those strings are real easy to unpull, if you get my drift.”
Yeah, I got the drift all right. Detective Livingston was the Brotherhood’s bitch. I thought about requesting a different officer to handle the case. Maybe a woman would listen to me. I mean, if the Brotherhood had people inside at the station, surely the Sisterhood had an alumna or two who’d be willing to help me.
And then I remembered Ms. D. She had specifically warned us about this. How deep did the corruption run? Pretty damn deep. She was right. We were on our own.
“Come on, you look like you could use a ride home. I’ll drop you off at the corner of your street so your parents don’t see.”
As much as I wanted to tell him exactly where he could put his offer for a ride, it was freezing and I was exhausted. I headed to his car without a word, only to find another passenger waiting in the backseat. Taylor. She was the “other one” the detective was referring to. She looked even worse than before, if that was possible. Her hair was pulled back now, and her eyes were rimmed in red as though she’d just finished crying.
The detective opened the door for me, and as soon as he shut it, Taylor launched into an explanation. “I was already at the station when you called,” she whispered. “I had one officer convinced this was real. That Bethany needed help. And then he came back with Detective Livingston, and I knew it was all over.”
“Don’t you guys have someone in the Sisterhood who can help?” I asked, my eyes narrowed at Detective Livingston, who was outside the car, signaling to his partner.
Taylor shook her head. “We did, but when they found out who she was, they fired her. They haven’t hired a woman since.”
Detective Livingston swung open the front door and gave us a long look in the rearview mirror. “I see you two know each other.”
We nodded.
“And I trust we won’t be hearing from you two again.” He smirked at his partner, who ducked his head as he climbed in the car.
I just looked out the window. They couldn’t arrest me for refusing to agree with their asinine statements. Apparently I was right, because when
neither of us responded, the police officer just sighed and pulled his car out of the driveway. As we were turning onto Taylor’s street, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from Taylor.
Help me find her. Please.
I looked up and saw her blue eyes burning with the question: will you help? I turned toward the window and focused on the snow-covered trees as we pulled closer to Taylor’s house. Trying to find Bethany on my own was one thing, but teaming up with Taylor was something else entirely. Particularly since she had the power to end this if she really wanted her friend back. All she had to do was dismantle the Sisterhood. The fact that it wasn’t even an option made me hate Taylor. I would have done anything to save Grace. Anything.
The officer, true to his word, stopped a few houses away from hers to let her out. Detective Livingston put the car in park and walked around to Taylor’s door to let her out.
“Remember our deal.”
“I remember.” Taylor’s voice echoed with defeat, and I thought about that picture of Bethany, her trashed kitchen, her scream at Obsideo. I took my phone out of my pocket and tapped in the words as fast as I could so I wouldn’t second-guess myself.
Station 5 2morrow @open. We talk to Alistair.
I thought I would feel the sickness of regret the second I hit Send, but instead I felt something else entirely. I felt strong. I felt powerful. I felt ready to take on the Brotherhood. And for the first time ever, I felt like I might actually win.
Chapter 12
By the time Detective Livingston pulled onto my street, the sun was low in the sky, spreading a golden glow over the towering trees lining the street. My house was dark and silent, no downstairs lights on, no smiling parents making Sunday dinner in the kitchen.
I used the spare key hidden behind a fake rock to slip in the side door and found a note waiting for me on the kitchen counter. My parents had been invited to a last-minute work dinner, and I was supposed to reheat leftovers for dinner. Guess I should have had the cops drop me off in my driveway. At least it would have given Mrs. Allen something to gossip about at step aerobics that week.
I dumped my parka and boots in the middle of the hardwood floor in the kitchen solely to piss my mom off. The thing about my parents was that even though I didn’t want them around bugging me and asking me questions, I still sort of wanted them around.
My eyes caught on the chairs lining our counter. They looked exactly like the ones Bethany had at her house, only ours weren’t tipped over. A vase of calla lilies sat in the middle of our kitchen table, but all I could see were the broken stems of the flowers heaped on the floor at Bethany’s house. That’s when I decided it might be a good idea to turn on some lights and set the alarm. You know, just in case.
After the house was blazing and I’d spent ten minutes pushing leftover pad thai around on my plate, I decided I needed a project. Not homework. Something that would take my mind off all of this Bethany crap. Something epic. Something that would somehow reflect the strange combination of fear and excitement that was churning around in my brain.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror that hung next to the kitchen table. At least three inches of brown roots circled my scalp, the most brown I’d seen on my head since Grace died. As much as the roots drove my mom crazy, I could tell she was secretly praying that I’d let the pink go, holding her breath as she delicately suggested making an appointment with a professional to get the ends cleaned up. And for a while I was actually considering her offer.
But that was before.
I threw my dishes in the dishwasher and made my way up to my bathroom. In the tiny closet next to the shower, I pushed aside all of the towels, extra soap, and shampoo that lined the shelf to reveal the rainbow of hair dyes I’d bought following Grace’s death.
We were driving home after her funeral and I thought I was going to throw up, so my parents pulled over at the drugstore so I could get some air. The second I’d left the car, my brain switched to autopilot, guiding me along the same route that it had memorized back when Grace, Maddie, and I used to ride our bikes to that store over the summer. The second we were allowed into town by ourselves, fistfuls of baby-sitting money stuffed into nylon wallets and purses, we’d head straight to the candy aisle, giddy with excitement over yet another sugar-fueled sleepover.
But as we got older, we slowly began bypassing the candy and heading straight for the Wet n Wild. Blue nail polish, silver eye shadow, and bubblegum-pink lip gloss quickly replaced Sour Patch Kids and Skittles. But before we’d leave the store, Maddie and I would always find Grace in the same place. She’d be standing in front of the boxes of hair dye, one hand on her hip, glossy, black hair spilling down her back.
“How much would you pay me?” she’d say, holding up a box featuring a platinum-haired goddess and a cheesy slogan about blonds having more fun.
We’d laugh and each hold up a box of our own. I’d choose brown, barely any different than my natural color, and Maddie the standard caramel highlights. But none of us ever had the guts. We were too afraid of our parents and what everyone at school would think. Instead, we’d shove the boxes haphazardly back on the shelf and grab the latest issue of US Weekly at the register. By the time we left, we’d have blown hours and all of our money on false promises and empty calories.
But the day of Grace’s funeral was different. Instead of just ogling all of the colored dyes, I grabbed one of every color and paid for them. Neither of my parents commented when I returned to the car with a bag, but when I came to the breakfast table with pink hair the next morning they had plenty to say.
Tonight, I prepared my hair for the dye without a second thought, spreading the bleach from root to tip like icing. After rinsing, I grabbed the first box I saw, ripped into it, and slipped my fingers into the plastic gloves. I rushed to prepare the solution and applied the color frantically, as if the faster I worked, the faster this broken, uneasy feeling would go away. Although I should have known better.
The dye stung my eyes and the tears came involuntarily.
I bent my head over the sink and got to work, only briefly wondering what everyone would think. My parents, Maddie, Seth, Taylor. And Liam. Would they know just by looking at me that something else had happened? Would they understand? But then I thought of Grace and now Bethany. Honestly, I wasn’t really sure it mattered.
My fingertips tingled with anticipation as colored water slipped down the drain and my hair darkened. Looking at myself in the mirror with my dark, wet hair, it was impossible to see what the true color was, and for a second, the years slipped away and I looked like the girl I’d been before Grace died. But when I started to blow-dry the strands, they lightened to their new color.
I had felt a satisfying mixture of anger and hope when I’d first combed through the bright pink strands all those months ago, and tonight was no different. But this time I managed to surprise even myself when I swiped the steam off the mirror. Gone was the quick glimpse of the old me, gone was the tired-looking girl with faded pink hair and brown roots.
This girl was bold, powerful.
Icy blue.
Served cold, just like revenge.
To: [email protected]
Sent: Mon 1/12 3:57 AM
From: [email protected]
Subject: Change
Grace,
I’ve gone blue. Something tells me you’d love it. This is one of those nights when I wish I could pick up the phone, touch your name, and see your ridiculous picture as the phone rings. I still call you sometimes, just to pretend. But tonight I can’t bring myself to do it. The out-of-service message might kill me.
I wonder if you were here if you’d be dying your hair too. You always said you wanted orange streaks. Remember when you used to say, “Friends don’t let friends dye their hair alone”? I wish I still had a friend like that.
I’m getting messages in your handwriting, and they’re making me feel crazy, because they can’t be real. I know th
ey can’t be real. But on some level I wish they were. Maybe that’s the craziest part of all.
Do you hate me for helping the Sisterhood? Honestly, I sort of hate myself. But then maybe you understand. Bethany is missing and I see so much of myself in Taylor. I remember exactly how all of this felt, and it’s pretty much impossible for me to just sit back and let them destroy her. It feels like I finally have the chance to make things right, and there’s no way I’m going to mess that up again.
So I’ve been wearing your pearls again. They make me feel strong. Liam doesn’t want me involved. He’ll never understand. It’s not like before. This time I know I can’t bring you back. But I might be able to stop it from happening again. I have to at least try. I know you’d want me to at least try.
Chapter 13
After all the drama of the previous day, it was no wonder that when I finally crawled into bed, I fell into the type of sleep where you wake up in the same position you fell asleep in.
When I did wake up, my heart was pounding. I had been in the middle of a dream. Grace and I were on a cliff. We were talking and laughing until Bethany showed up and pushed me off. In retrospect, I guess being startled awake was way better than actually plummeting to my death, but still a crappy way to wake up on a day I already wasn’t quite ready to face.
You would have thought she saw the ghost of Grace herself the way my mom gasped when she took in my streaky blue hair. I could handle the fight, the angry words screamed back and forth, my dad’s failed attempts to calm everyone down and remind my mom that it was only hair, that it would grow out. But what was harder to swallow was her defeat, when she shook her head slowly, her eyes downcast, the wrinkles around her mouth deeper suddenly. I wasn’t immune to the shame of disappointing my parents. I would have given anything to walk downstairs showcasing normal-colored hair like any other girl at Pemberly Brown. But for a reason I couldn’t begin to explain, mine had to be blue.