Vicarious

by Paula Stokes

  “My friend lives nearby,” I explain.

  When he pulls over, I grab my bags, slide out into the cold, and toss him a couple of folded bills. Now all I have to do is find Andy’s house. As the cab pulls away from the curb, I kneel down and fish my phone out of my backpack.

  Andy answers right away. “Winter. Any news about your sister?” His voice is heartbreakingly hopeful.

  I need to put him out of his misery. Letting him have false hope is cruel. “Nothing new,” I say. “But are you at home? Can I stop by for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” A pause. “I live at 17 Winghaven. In the Green. You need directions?”

  “No. I’m actually in the neighborhood. See you soon.”

  I sling my bags over my shoulder, tuck my hands inside the cuffs of my hoodie, and jog to keep warm. My breath makes frosty clouds as I head toward Andy’s place.

  There’s a rent-a-cop parked at the entrance to the neighborhood, but all I get is a raised eyebrow as I stroll by. Number 17 is the fifth house on the left—I recognize it from the backyard-party ViSE.

  I knock tentatively on the front door, my knuckles going red in the frigid air. A dog barks. Andy answers, wearing a pair of tear-away pants and a T-shirt. His hair is sticking up in the back like maybe my phone call woke him, even though it’s after lunchtime. He studies me for a few seconds before speaking, taking in my red eyes and my luggage. His forehead creases with worry.

  “Are you okay?” he asks finally.

  “Yes.” I fidget with the strap of my duffel bag. “But we should talk.”

  He nods. “Come on in.”

  I slip inside and a wave of comfort surges through me. The living room ceiling is vaulted and there’s a huge flat-screen TV in the corner, but that’s where the grandeur ends. The black leather sofa is bleeding stuffing from one corner and the coffee table is covered with ashtrays and empty beer bottles. Football pads are piled in a recliner and cords from a gaming console snake across the hardwood floor. Something about the clutter makes me feel safe.

  “Sorry,” he says. “It’s kind of a mess. My parents are out of town. I had some friends over last night.”

  A German shepherd lopes into the room.

  “Touchdown,” I say. I bend over to ruffle the dog’s brown and black fur as I set my bags on the ground. He puts his paws on my chest and tries to lick my face. I turn so that he gets cheek instead of lips.

  “That’s right.” Andy whistles sharply and Touchdown sits back on his haunches, his brown eyes looking somewhat chagrined. “How did you know his name?”

  I probably heard Andy say it on a ViSE, but I can’t exactly tell him that. “Rose must have mentioned him at some point.”

  “Figures. He always gets more love than me.” Andy pats the dog on his head and then shoos him away. Touchdown sprawls out on his belly in front of the TV. Andy turns back to me. “I’d offer you food, but all we have is beer. I was getting ready to order a pizza. You game?”

  “That would be great.” I realize I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket—undoubtedly a text from Jesse. I don’t answer. I don’t even check. There are only a handful of people who have my number, none of whom I want to talk to right now. I move a rumpled football jersey aside and perch on the edge of the sofa.

  Andy’s eyes flick toward my vibrating pocket for a second, but he doesn’t say anything. “What kind of pizza do you like?”

  “Anything is fine.”

  He fishes his phone out from beneath a stack of sports magazines and orders a large pizza with extra pepperoni. Before he can put the phone down, it rings. He frowns at the screen. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the kitchen.

  I huddle on the sofa, my arms crossed over my chest. I tap one foot repeatedly as I try to figure out how to tell Andy that Rose is dead.

  A few minutes later he returns with two bottles of beer in one hand and a two liter of soda in the other. “Pick your poison.”

  I point at one of the beers and Andy opens the bottle and hands it to me. So much for not drinking. Right now I would take anything to distract me from what happened in Miami. “You know you’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor, right?” I lift the bottle to my lips and take a long swallow, embracing the sour flavor.

  Andy winks. “You won’t tell on me, will you? I’ve gotten more than enough lectures from my agent lately.” He sets the bottle of soda down on the coffee table and opens the other beer. He downs half of it in one gulp. “So you said you needed to talk to me. What’s up?”

  Rose is dead. My mouth refuses to form the words. I decide to start with the easier reason I came here. “You said your parents are out of town?”

  Andy’s eyes widen slightly. “Yeah. Why?”

  “I need a place to stay for a day or two. I’m avoiding my brother.”

  “You can stay here if you want,” Andy says. “But will your boyfriend have a problem with it?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.” The words stab me in the chest like a handful of needles.

  “Oh, right. He’s just your coworker.” Andy gestures around him with one hand. “Then welcome home.”

  My phone buzzes again. I peek at it but don’t answer. It buzzes again. And again. Does Jesse really think I’ll answer a call if I won’t respond to a text? I silence it completely and tuck it into my pocket.

  “Your coworker?” Andy raises an eyebrow.

  “Yes.” I take another drink of my beer.

  “So you never filled me in on what the police had to say about Rose’s disappearance,” he says.

  “Oh. I—” The bottle slips out of my hand and lands on its side on the coffee table. Beer spills out on the wood. Damn it. I don’t see any napkins nearby, so I contain the spill with the sleeve of my hoodie. Andy heads for the kitchen again and returns with a roll of paper towels. I blot at the varnished wood.

  “Forget the table.” He leans forward. “Did someone threaten you? Did someone you know do something to her? Maybe your coworker?”

  Oh, he did things to her, all right. I hide my trembling hands in my lap. “It’s not like that. Jesse and Rose were … close.”

  “So then how come you never went to the police? I called the station to ask if there had been any news and they had no record of a missing persons report ever being filed.”

  I furrow my brow. “No, that’s not true. We filed a report with Detective Ehlers. My brother asked for him specifically because a friend said it was someone we could trust.”

  The doorbell rings and Touchdown starts barking. I flinch.

  “Relax.” Andy vaults up from the sofa again and heads for the door. “It’s just the pizza guy.”

  Feeling silly, I turn to watch him flash a gold credit card at a kid in a red-and-blue uniform. Andy and the guy share a laugh about something and then he shuts the door. He returns to the sofa and drops the pizza box and a stack of napkins on the coffee table. “So you really talked to a detective?”

  I nod. “There’s something you should know, though. She’s not missing.” I fiddle with the ball of damp paper towels. “Rose is dead.”

  “What?” Andy’s jaw drops. “How? When?”

  “Someone killed her,” I whisper. “They threw her body in the river, but they sent a ViSE of the whole thing to our boss.” My eyes start to water. I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling.

  “Winter, I am so sorry. Oh my God.” Andy leans in to give me a hug.

  His touch makes me think of the recordings with him and my sister. Even though they were full of drinking and flirting, I could sense how much he cared about her in them and I can feel it now too. “I apologize for not telling you sooner,” I say. “I’m still struggling to accept things myself.”

  “Maybe that’s why the missing persons department didn’t know anything about her. You probably talked to a homicide detective.” Andy offers me a pizza napkin from the coffee table as a tissue. “Do the c
ops have any idea who did it?”

  “Our boss thinks someone killed her over something she accidentally recorded on a ViSE, but no one seems to know anything for certain.” I dab at my eyes with the napkin.

  “I’m sorry. That’s horrible.” Andy looks down at his lap for a few seconds. Then he says, “Is there a funeral planned?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not ready for that yet.” I’ll probably never be ready for that, not even if they find her body someday. “I’ll let you know.”

  Touchdown wanders over and sniffs at the pizza box. Andy shoos the dog away. He and I stare at the pizza for a few seconds, but now that the truth is out in the open, neither one of us can bring ourselves to eat.

  “I need to go to the gym,” he says finally. He hops up from the sofa and paces back and forth. “Do you want to come?”

  Normally I’d say yes, but I’m not sure how long it’s been since I slept. I’m too physically and emotionally drained to exercise. “I don’t think I’m up for it,” I murmur.

  He nods. “My brain is going a little crazy right now. I need to blow off some steam so I can think. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to rest.” I tug my hooded sweatshirt over my head and kick off my shoes.

  Andy’s gaze falls on my neck, on the bruises that are finally starting to fade. “Did you get karate chopped in the throat or something?”

  “Something like that,” I say, not wanting to get into the details. He looks like maybe he’s going to change his mind and stay with me, so I make a shooing motion with my hands. “Really. Go. I’m all right.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back.” Andy grabs his keys from the coffee table and hands me the TV remote. “Call me if you need anything.”

  A blast of cold air enters as he slips outside. I curl onto my side and pull my knees up to my chin for warmth. I flip through the cable channels one by one, half hypnotized by the blinking lights and moving forms on the screen. I don’t really watch much TV these days.

  I used to watch it in L.A. all the time. I would ask my “dates” to put it on to relax me. Really all I wanted was something to focus on besides what was happening. I learned a lot of American slang and customs from all those hours of movies and primetime shows, but after we escaped to St. Louis, TV became just one more thing that reminded me of a past I needed to forget. Occasionally I’ll watch a K-drama on my tablet when I’m feeling anxious. There’s something comforting about hearing people speak Korean, even if I hardly ever speak it myself anymore.

  I pause on a horror movie from a few years ago. A killer traps a girl in a cage and then sprays her with acid. Fabric smokes, skin sizzles, and giant bloody welts open up on the girl’s torso. The violence should be disturbing, but I just feel numb. The next channel is showing a baby panda being resuscitated. Even the veterinarian starts to cry when the little black-and-white ball of fluff opens its eyes, but I can’t feel anything. It’s like I’ve run out of emotions.

  I’m not sure how much time passes while I’m skimming through the channels. Eventually, I flick off the TV and glance around the living room—the comfortable furniture, the display case of trophies, the mess of football gear and fast-food remnants. Normal, I think. But this isn’t my normal. I feel safe here, because I’m hiding—hiding from the fact that my sister is dead and I don’t even know who killed her. Hiding from the guy who I thought cared about me but ended up hurting me, just like every other guy I’ve known.

  Every guy except for Gideon. I grab for my phone and dial his number.

  He picks up on the first ring. “Are you all right?” he asks.

  “I’m fine. Have you heard anything more from Detective Ehlers?”

  “No,” Gideon says. “I’m sorry.” And then, “Jesse told me what happened.”

  “Which part? The part where I almost drowned, the part where I had some sort of psychotic blackout, or the part where I got to experience Jesse having sex with my sister?” I wait for the forthcoming lecture, expecting Gideon to chastise me for leaving Miami by myself.

  “All of it,” he says calmly. He sounds very Zen. There’s no lecture, only steady, even breathing. “Where are you?”

  “With a friend.”

  “You should go home,” Gideon says. “Give Jesse a chance to explain.”

  “He slept with your ex-girlfriend and then tried to say it was me and that I just blacked it out. And you’re going to take his side?”

  “I would never take anyone else’s side, but it’s a little more complicated than that.”

  “Really? Because that’s fairly complicated all on its own.”

  “We’re worried about you,” Gideon says.

  “I’m fine,” I say. But then, with no warning, I start to cry. Huge racking sobs. “I feel so alone. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Tell me where you are. I’ll send someone to come get you.”

  “If I go home, will you be there?” I ask.

  “I’m still out of town. I had to make another trip, but I’ll be back tomorrow. If you don’t want Jesse around, I can have Sebastian—”

  “No,” I say. “I just need—I don’t know. I can’t deal with everything right now.” My words come out in bits and pieces. “I’m all right where I am.”

  “You don’t sound all right,” Gideon says.

  “I think I just need to sleep,” I say. “I’ll come home tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Okay.” He pauses. “We can talk about planning a funeral service, if that would help you deal with things.”

  “No,” I say, more sharply than intended. I lower my voice. “Not unless we find her body. We need to find her body.” Even as I say it, I know it’s futile. The Mississippi River empties into the Gulf of Mexico. We might never find her.

  “You’re right,” Gideon says after a short pause. “I’ll call Ehlers and see if there’s anything more the police can do. Get some rest. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.”

  “Maybe,” I say, but I don’t believe it.

  I have a feeling tomorrow will bring nothing but pain.

  CHAPTER 36

  I sense the figure leaning over me even before I open my eyes. The instant my brain registers it isn’t Andy, I slam the palm of my hand into the guy’s nose. I roll from the sofa onto the coffee table and reach down for one of my knives.

  And then I recognize my target. He’s the older, meaner-looking guy who was with Andy the night Rose didn’t come home. The guy I figured for a coach.

  “What is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?” he hollers. Blood trickles from his nose. Pinching his nostrils together, he tilts his head up toward the ceiling.

  “I’m not the one watching some girl sleep,” I snap. Reluctantly, I sheathe my knife. “And you’re not supposed to tilt your head back. It makes the blood run down your throat.”

  Andy appears from the kitchen with a couple of beers. “Holy shit, Ted, what happened?” His eyes flick to me and realization dawns on his face. His mouth twitches, like he’s fighting back a smile. “I see you met my agent.” Turning to Ted he says, “I told you not to wake her.”

  “Why is she even here?” Ted asks. He limps across the hardwood floor and collapses into the recliner.

  I roll my eyes. How dramatic. I’ve never seen anyone develop a limp from being hit in the face before. “Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?”

  “Relax. Both of you.” Andy holds out a beer to each of us.

  Ted takes one and holds it against the side of his nose. I can’t help it. I start laughing.

  “I should sue your ass for battery,” he mutters.

  Ignoring him, I wave off the beer and paw through my duffel bag looking for some clean clothes. “I can’t believe I slept for so long. Is it all right if I take a shower?”

  “Sure,” Andy says. “Second floor at the end of the hall.”

  “She’s living here?” Ted asks in disbelief. “How do your parents feel about that?”

  “Do
n’t worry about my parents,” Andy says. “They don’t tell me who my friends are, and neither do you.”

  I give Ted a dark look over my shoulder as I head upstairs. Andy’s bathroom is almost as big as my bedroom. There’s a separate claw-foot bathtub and Jacuzzi, with an L-shaped bench running between them. Behind the bench, a wooden door opens into a closet full of fluffy towels and baskets of soaps shaped like stars and moons. A strip of celestial-patterned wallpaper runs around the perimeter of the room. Someone has even painted a starscape onto the ceiling.

  Stripping off my clothes, I step into the bathtub and turn on the water. As it pours down over my body, I try to relax, but I keep thinking about going home. Facing Jesse. What could he possibly say that would make things better? And then Gideon’s offering to set up a memorial service. That’s the worst of all. Doesn’t he understand that part of my sister will continue to live as long as I don’t fully accept that she’s gone?

  I try to block their voices from my head, embracing the pattering of the water jets against the marble tub. I crank the silver faucet farther to the left and steam floods the room. The scalding water turns the flesh of my arms bright pink. As my skin begins to burn, my mind clears.

  I turn the water back to a bearable temperature. Hanging my head low, I watch the streams of water drizzle from tendrils of my hair. Then I step out of the bathtub, wrap myself in a towel, and stand in front of the sink. With one hand, I wipe the steam from a section of the large mirror. I use my fingers to start combing the snarls from my hair, the pain of each individual tug centering me, calming me.

  Readying me.

  You can handle whatever this day will bring.

  By the time I’m done in the bathroom, Ted is gone.

  “I hope Agent Asshole didn’t leave on my account,” I say.

  Andy is sprawled out on the sofa, flipping through the TV channels. “Nah. He was in the neighborhood and just dropped by to do some prep work for a lunch meeting with a potential sponsor.” He chuckles. “I can’t believe you broke his face. That is going to be one awkward meeting now.”

  I sit on the opposite side of the sofa from Andy. “Why would he care if I was living here? Not that I am.”