I slip through the back door, the way Eduardo showed me. “Skyler?” I say it quietly. No one answers. I look around the room, my eyes searching the shadows, but I don’t see him. I take another step inside. “Skyler?”
We shouldn’t be here.
I pause as my eyes adjust to the dim moonlight coming in from the dust-covered windows. The window is reflected in a big mirror on the wall across the room. That’s what I saw that night, the reflection of the window in the mirror, the reflection of the curtains, the reflection of a number—81 instead of 18. Skyler was in the curtains, not Evan. It was so dark and the mirror is so big that I couldn’t tell the difference.
The wind catches the door, and it slams behind me. I jump and scream, my own voice scaring me as much as the slamming of the door. I look at the closed door, every instinct telling me to open it and run away.
Don’t be such a baby, Jaycee, it’s just an old house.
I take a breath—dust, mice, but no spray paint. I turn toward the stairs. Something moves above my head.
Did you hear that? I don’t think we’re alone.
I stop, listening for any other sounds, but all I can hear is my own breathing and my heartbeat in my ears.
Are you coming?
I start up the stairs. Each step creaks with my weight. The dark presses in behind me, but I force myself to keep going, I force myself not to look back.
I push against the closed door, my hand leaving a print in the dust over the faded red symbol for the Cempoalli. It swings open without a sound. “Skyler?”
I step inside. Little bits of moonlight reflect off the broken mirror on the floor. In the middle of the room is a pile of pictures and negatives. I step closer. Most of the pictures are of Rachel, but there are a lot of me too. I bend down and look at them. There are pictures of me running in the fields, playing with the little kids from church, even standing alone in the cemetery after Rachel’s funeral. I wonder how long he’s been taking pictures of me.
“Skyler!” I yell it this time, desperate. Maybe I’m too late, maybe he—Something glints at the edge of the pile. I pick it up. It’s another SD chip.
I slide it into my phone. The file comes up, Rachel’s face. I hit play and she says, “After you watch this, you’ll know everything I know.”
“Turn it off,” Skyler says from behind the curtains. He’s hiding there, just like he was that night. “I don’t want to hear her voice again.”
I stop the video and look up at him. I almost wish I could be mad at him, hate him or something, but he looks so sad, so all alone. Now I know he’s been sick this whole time. “You kept that from me. Why?”
He keeps his head down. “I couldn’t let you see it. I didn’t want you to know what a monster I was.” He tugs at his shirt sleeve, like he’s trying to hide something, but blood is seeping through. The legs of his jeans are shredded, and he’s holding a long piece of glass in his hand.
I move closer. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” He folds his arms against his chest.
I tiptoe through the shards, my throat choked with pain. I stop before I get too close, afraid of what he’s become. “It’s okay. I came to help you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late.” My voice comes out gentler and calmer than I feel.
He stares at the blood coming from his wound. “I’m not a freak, Jaycee. I’m not crazy like Mom was. I don’t even know how any of this happened.”
“You were in love with her.” I swallow away the bitter taste the truth leaves in my mouth. “You were in love with Rachel.”
He doesn’t answer.
I need him to talk to me, confirm or deny it, something. “You were in love with her, and Manny got jealous, so you …” But I’m not sure how to finish that. I start again, “Evan told me what happened to Manny.”
Skyler closes his eyes. “He was so mad. He wanted me to leave her alone, to stop taking pictures of her, to stop following her, but I was only trying to keep her safe.” The red stain on his sleeve looks like it’s getting bigger. I need to do something to stop the bleeding.
I take another step closer. “Keep her safe from him?”
He nods. “Eric told us about him, that he was a gangbanger from L.A., that he was dangerous. I got that she didn’t want to be with me. I got it when she freaked out after I gave her the picture I took, but I couldn’t let her be with him.”
I swallow away nausea. “So you killed him.”
He finally looks at me. The wind blows through the broken window and the curtains billow on either side of him. His whole face gets animated, pleading his case. “It was an accident, self-defense. They could all see that it was self-defense. I wanted to turn myself in, but Evan said we couldn’t tell anyone or the football team was over. That everyone would know about the cuts. He said that Coach had been warned about it once already.
“They wanted to make it look like a gang hit. They went a little crazy trying to make it look real. The whole scene was a mess, but no one doubted it, not the police, not even that FBI agent. So I let it go. I made myself forget.” He finishes the story, his face drained of energy as quickly as it came.
“But you didn’t forget.” The cuts on his legs look bad, but I don’t think they’re deep. But the one on his arm … I open my backpack slowly and pull out one of the T-shirts I’d packed, all the time moving closer to him. “You dug the number out of your arm. You cut yourself, like tonight.” I take his arm. He barely flinches when I tie my T-shirt around his arm and press it between my hands to stop the bleeding.
He watches me. “Thanks, Jaycee. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.” He brushes my hair away from my face. His hands are covered in blood. I close my eyes, but I manage to stay steady.
I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. “What about Rachel? What happened to her?”
He shakes his head. “She was getting too close to finding out what really happened. They said they were going to shoot up her house and make it look like a drive-by, just to scare her. She wasn’t supposed to be home. The tracking thing on her phone said she was at my house. I checked before they left to make sure she wasn’t home.”
“But she was.”
He keeps his head down. Part of me wants to comfort him, tell him that everything is okay, that it wasn’t his fault. But I know it was. I finger the phone in my pocket, Rachel’s phone. “That’s why you got her that phone.”
He jerks up his head.
I keep my voice even. “You were the one who sent her the phone, so you could keep track of her.”
He shakes his head. “No. I did it because I heard Claire making fun of her, telling her she was poor, off-white trash, that she couldn’t even afford a phone. I wanted to help her. I wanted to give her something to make her smile. I made it look like her dad sent it because I know what it’s like to wait for a present from someone who doesn’t care.”
“Then why did you get me the phone?”
He doesn’t answer.
“To keep track of me so you’d know when I was getting too close? So you’d know when it was time to kill me too?”
“No!” His face comes back to life, and he jerks his arm away. “I’d never hurt you. I love you. You aren’t like her at all.” He reaches out and rolls a piece of my hair between his fingers. I cringe but I don’t move, afraid that running away right now would make things worse. “You have to believe me. I wanted to tell the truth, but they wouldn’t let me. I never meant to hurt Manny. I never meant to hurt Rachel. I never meant to hurt anyone. You believe me, don’t you, Jaycee?”
I want to believe him, that it was all an accident, but there are still a couple of things that don’t make sense, like the third picture from the negative I developed. The picture of Rachel and me at her house. Someone was watching us from the window of the old house the night Manny died. “Who texted Rachel and told her to come here that night?”
His expression twists, and
I back away as his eyes go dark. “I don’t know. Manny, probably.” Until now his voice has been carefully measured, but he says “Manny” like it was the foulest word he could utter and he stares at me with a hardness I’ve never seen in his eyes before.
He planned it that way. He wanted it to look like an accident.
I cover my mouth as I realize what Rachel meant by that. Skyler didn’t kill Manny in self-defense. He killed Manny to keep him away from her. He planned it.
“But Manny was already dead by the time she got the text. You texted her. You wanted her to see that he was dead, that the gang had caught up with him. You wanted her to see that she’d made the wrong choice. You wanted her to be afraid.”
A shudder runs through his body, and I know I’m right. “She couldn’t forget him, even though he was dead. She couldn’t let it go. She had to keep digging and digging, doing things she shouldn’t have done. She destroyed herself trying to find out what happened to him.” His voice is different, low and creepy with an edge of hysteria. I’ve never seen him like this. I remember what Eric said in the car, Rachel was shot at close range. If she was killed by accident, in a fake drive-by shooting, why would he say the bullet that killed her was fired at close range? Maybe he was trying to scare me. I look at Skyler. Everything about him feels dark, like he’s a completely different person.
I think Eric was telling the truth.
I speak slowly, “After Manny was gone you watched her go through all those other guys, all the guys you couldn’t stand, to find out the truth. But she didn’t ever come to you. You were forgotten again, just like after Manny came. You couldn’t have her, so you killed her.” My voice comes out as a whisper.
“No, it wasn’t like that.” He grabs my shoulders. I shrink away from him, but he holds me tight. “Jaycee, listen to me. I was done with her. I’d already found someone else, someone better.” His voice goes tender and he touches the side of my face. “I’d already found you.”
I hold still, afraid to stay but more afraid to leave. “Is that why you took my phone at the party?”
“It wasn’t me. Not at first. Peyton stole it when you came in, as a joke. You were so nervous that you didn’t notice, but I did, because I was watching you. I took it from him. I was going to give it back. Then Rachel’s message came through. She’d finally found out the truth.
“I couldn’t let her tell you about Manny. I couldn’t let her tell you what I really was. If you knew what had happened …” He closes his eyes. “How could you see me as anything but a monster?”
Everything inside me turns to liquid pain. “You killed her because of me?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You drove me home, knowing that she was trying to call me, knowing that she wouldn’t give up. After you dropped me off, you went to her house and you—”
He steps back, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I just wanted to talk to her, to tell her that I was sorry. That she needed to forget Manny, that he wasn’t worth it, that she needed to let it go, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept screaming at me to stay away from you. I tried to tell her that I was in love with you, that I would never hurt you. She said she would make sure I never came near you again. I couldn’t let her keep us apart.”
“So you killed her.” I wait for him to deny it, but he nods his head yes.
He grabs my wrists, hard, so I can’t get away. “You understand, don’t you? Please tell me you understand. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. When I saw you that night at the party, I knew you were better than any of them, better than Rachel would ever be. You’re the only person since my mom who’s ever loved me. You have to come with me. We’ll leave here and never come back. Please, just say you’ll come.” He pulls me against his chest and buries his head in my neck. “Don’t make me hurt you too.”
My blood runs cold. Up to this moment, up until he said that he didn’t want to hurt me, I didn’t believe he would hurt me. Even when I knew he had killed Manny and Rachel, I thought I was safe because he loves me. Now I know I’m wrong.
“I believe you. I’ll go with you,” I say into his neck. I swallow hard, knowing if I don’t play along with him now, I’ll never make it out of this house alive. “I love you, Skyler. Just let me go home and get some things, write a note to—”
“No!” He grips my wrist, hard. I grimace and try to pull away, but he holds it tight. “It has to be right now.” He runs his finger over my lips. “We can’t tell anyone that we’re leaving or where we’re going. We have to destroy this place and everything in it. We can’t leave behind any evidence.”
He lets go of me and walks over to the window. His movements are quick and shaky now, like he’s some kind of electronic toy, or like he’s high on something, or maybe he’s just lost too much blood. I glance at the door, waiting for the right moment to run. Skyler pushes the curtains aside. Underneath them is a can of gas.
I edge toward the door. He opens the can and starts pouring it over the box of pictures. “We’ll drive to San Diego. I moved my money to an account there. Then we’ll go to Mexico. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? Running away to Mexico?” He laughs loudly, like that’s the funniest thing in the world.
“I guess so.” I freeze as he looks at me again.
He keeps his eyes on me and pulls a lighter out of his pocket, flicks it open, and stares at the flame. “I should have done this a long time ago. But if I had, maybe I wouldn’t have realized how much better you are for me than she was.”
He drops the lighter, but before it lands, the fumes explode. The glass that’s left in the upper pane of the window bursts apart and Skyler flies backward onto the floor.
I dash across the room and pull open the door, ready to run. Skyler screams.
I turn around. There are flames everywhere. “Jaycee!” His shirt is covered in flames. I hesitate only half a second before I run back to him, rip down the curtains, and throw my body over his to smother the fire. I’m pounding out the flames and burning my hands, but I don’t feel it. I put out the fire on his body and crawl away. He lies there, stunned, as the flames spread around him. They roar up the curtain that’s left, follow the trail of gas across the floor, and start consuming the pictures.
“We have to go!” I yell. The roaring of the fire gets louder.
I reach for his hand and try to stand, but he grabs me, wraps his arms around me, and then he rolls over so I’m trapped under his body. “No, Jaycee. It’s over. I can’t live like this anymore. We have to get rid of all the evidence.”
Chapter 36
I scream. But it doesn’t feel like the sound is coming from inside me. This is a dream, a nightmare. He’s going to kill both of us. I struggle against his grip, but he’s smashing me into the floor. I can barely breathe, and when I do I choke on the smoke and heat that’s filling the room. The flames are everywhere. “Please, Skyler,” I beg. “Don’t do this. Let’s just get out of here.”
He kisses my forehead, slow and gentle, like he did in the field of flowers. “I’m sorry, Jaycee, but like I said before, it’s too late. At least this way we can be together.”
I struggle harder, pushing against him, beating my hands on his chest, but it’s hopeless. He’s too strong for me.
He kisses me. “Close your eyes. Pretend you’re having a good dream. That you’re dreaming of me.”
I try to scream, to beg him to let me go again, but the smoke clogs up my throat. I dig my heels into the floor and push myself backward. Something stabs into my shoulder—a piece of the broken mirror. I drag my hand across the floor until I feel sharp edges. I close my fingers around it and grip the piece of glass so hard that it digs into my palm.
I raise it up and drive it into his shoulder with all the strength I have left. He yells, so shocked that I can push him off me. I crawl away, trying to find the door or the window, but in the dark and the smoke I’m disoriented.
Glass digs into my knees as I crawl across the floor, searching for a way out. The fire
is so loud now that I can’t hear anything else. My fingers brush the edge of something—the door. I reach up for the doorknob; it’s hot and burns my hand, but I twist it, pull back, and crawl for the gap of fresh air.
Skyler grabs my foot. He’s dragging me back into the flames. I choke on a mouthful of smoke, and my head swims, black and gray. I reach forward one more time, and my fingers close around something soft and hard at the same time. It’s a hand.
“Jaycee!” The hand grips mine. “Don’t let go.”
I don’t know if anything is real or not. Maybe I’m dying, but I cling to the hand because it’s the only thing through the smoke that feels solid. Eduardo’s face swims in front of me. He grabs my shoulder and pulls back hard; I feel like I’m being torn in two between Eduardo and Skyler.
“Let her go!” This time the voice is Evan’s. He’s running down the hall toward us. I’m not sure if he’s talking to Eduardo or Skyler.
“No!” Skyler screams and tightens his grip on my leg. “Stay away from my girlfriend!”
With all the strength I have left I kick hard, shaking his grip on my foot.
Eduardo is carrying me down the stairs. “You came?” My voice sounds like I’m underwater, like we’re back at the lake. “I thought you said you wouldn’t …” but I’m choking too much to finish that sentence.
“I’m sorry, so sorry I left you.” His mouth and nose are covered with his shirt. I can only see his eyes. I focus on them, forcing myself to stay awake. We make it outside. The fresh air burns my lungs, but I gasp it in as he sets me on the ground.
He kneels beside me, brushing my hair out of my face. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”
But I’m not okay. I focus on his eyes and choke out one word, “Skyler!” But no one is listening. Flames and sirens and yelling people swirl through the blackness in my brain. I roll over on my stomach and gag out smoke. When my vision clears, Eduardo is standing above me; something in his hand glints in the light of the flames.
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