by Bella Jewel
“There is a way—there is always a way. I’ll help you. We’ll work it out together.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I love you for loving me like that, but I just don’t think it’s that easy.”
“And Tatum?” I question.
She shrugs. “I’ll have to stay away from him. It’s just a crush; it’ll go away. It doesn’t help that I gave him my number, and he’s texting me. I really can’t help but reply, but then I feel like I’m doing the wrong thing to Patrick, you know?”
“Yeah, I get you,” I tell her. “I wish you weren’t in this situation, so that you could be happy. You deserve to be happy. Especially with someone as hot as Tatum. The chemistry between the two of you is off the charts.”
She sighs. “I know. When he texts me, I smile like a giddy little girl. I never felt that with Patrick; it’s crazy.”
“I feel you.”
“Oh, look!”
I turn and see she’s pointing towards the house. Celia’s parents have returned. They only must have popped out for something simple. I stare at them as they drive their car into the large garage, and the door closes.
I turn to Jo. “Are you ready for this?”
She frowns. “No, not really. I’m terrified they’ll lose their minds at me, or even worse, they’ll be lovely and I’ll feel guilty.”
“I’m not going to steal or break anything in their house, Jo. I just want to look. I’m not going to hurt or bother anyone.”
She sighs. “You’re right; I’m sorry. I know you have to do this. Okay, so I’m going to go up and tell them I was in the car that night, and scope the place out as much as I can, see if there is any security?”
“Yes.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay, here goes nothing.”
She gets out of the car and walks across the road to the front of their house. She glances back at me, then walks up the steps and knocks on the door. I wait, nerves twisting my stomach. The door opens and Celia’s mom appears, smiling at Jo. Jo says something, her hands moving as she speaks, and I see Celia’s mom lose her smile. Then, she steps forward and hugs Jo. She hugs her.
My heart aches.
It really aches.
That poor woman.
I took her daughter.
Jo hugs the woman back, and then pulls away and they continue to talk.
While she’s doing that, I glance around at the large house. I study the windows, the doors, the fences, the neighbors houses. It looks fairly easy to navigate. It’s on a large block, so the neighbors aren’t close, and there are no front fences, so I can get to the front of the house fairly easily. The windows seem to have screens, but often garage windows or bathroom windows don’t have any—those would be my best bet.
Jo steps inside the house, and is gone for about ten minutes. I wait in high anticipation, and when she comes out, I just about leap out of my seat with nerves as she walks across the road and gets into the car. The moment the door closes, she looks to me and says, “They are really nice people.”
“I didn’t doubt it,” I say, my voice shaky. “Well?”
“I told her what you said, and she was so nice about it, saying she always wondered what happened to the rest of us in that car. She told me a little about Celia. We didn’t go far into the house, just into the entrance, so I couldn’t see the living area or anything else, but from what I could see, there wasn’t any security system. Usually, they’re at the front door for when you come in, but there wasn’t anything that I noticed. I didn’t see any cameras, either. I think it’s just standard security—locked doors, screens, things like that.”
That means I might actually have a chance of getting in. I might actually pull this off.
27
NOW – CALLIE
I bang on Ethan’s door, my hand rapping at the hard wood over and over until finally, I hear it unlock and he answers. He stands, wearing nothing but a pair of exercise shorts, his hair ruffled from sleep, his eyes still blinking rapidly. I didn’t realize he was asleep, I feel bad, but at the same time, I’m sick of him ignoring me so he’s just going to have to deal.
He studies me, then murmurs, “What do you want, Callie?”
“Seriously?” I ask him, “What do I want?”
“Yeah. What do you want?”
Ouch. Ethan is never cruel. Never brutal. Never mean. He’s obviously pissed, which I can understand. I mean, it’s confusing for him, too. All of this is just a big mess.
“I want to talk to you. I’m not leaving until you let me do that, so I can stand here all day if need be . . .”
He exhales, then mutters, “I’m listening.”
“You’re ignoring me.” It’s not a question, but rather a statement. A fact.
“I’ve been busy.”
“No,” I say, stepping past him and walking into his house. I’ve only been here a few times. It’s nice, really big, really clean—he’d be a good man to live with. “No, that’s a lie. There is something wrong, and I’m not leaving until we sort it out. You’re my friend, Ethan. You’re important to me.”
I turn to face him and he’s standing there, arms crossed, staring at me.
Oh boy, Ethan is ripped.
Hot.
He’d have no problem getting women’s attention. I’m not sure why he’s so focused on mine.
“Look, it’s just best if you let me be, okay? You’ll thank me for it later,” he says.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? We’ve been friends for so long, and now you’re deciding that you’d rather we weren’t?”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Callie, it’s complicated.”
“Because of Tanner?”
His eyes flash and he murmurs, “Tanner is bad news. You won’t hear me—you won’t even listen. You’re set on believing him.”
“How is Tanner bad news? You say this, but you give me no real reason to believe it. He’s rough, yes, he lives a hard life, yes, but he’s kind to me. So, unless you can give me a good reason, I’m going to keep seeing him.”
Ethan growls, low and deep. “Why can’t you just trust me?”
“Because you’re not making any sense, Ethan!” I cry, throwing my hands up. “This is pointless; we’re going through the same thing over and over again. It’s like banging my head against a brick wall. Look, I’m going to clear my name in regard to Celia. I’m going to start on a clean slate. I’d like if you’d join me in that, but if you can’t I understand. It would make me sad, though, because you’ve been there for so much, but I understand if you’re done with me.”
I turn and walk past him, but his arm stretches out and grabs mine, stopping me. “What do you mean you’re going to clear your name? How are you going to do that? Last time I checked, you had nothing in regard to Celia.”
“Well, things change. I found out some things. I know where she used to live. I’m going to go over there. I’m going to find my answers.”
Ethan’s eyes narrow. “He family are never going to just let you in, Callie.”
“Who says I’m going to tell them I’m there?”
His eyes widen. “You can’t be serious. Did you enjoy prison?”
“Get off your high horse, Ethan. You swore you’d help me with this, and you chose to ignore me instead of talking to me. I’m doing this, and I’m doing it whether you like it or not.”
“You’re risking everything for what? To uncover what exactly? What is it you think you’re going to find, Callie? Her parents would have gone through absolutely everything; if there was a secret hiding in there, they’d have found it. You’re risking going back to prison for information that doesn’t exist?”
“Maybe,” I say, crossing my arms, “but at least I’ll have tried. At least I’ll know. I deserve to be able to put this to bed. Someone is bothering me, Ethan. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of it. I want freedom. I want to breathe without pain.”
“I told you to go to the police. Let them handle that.”
“They’re not going to handle anything and you know it.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t do it, Callie. Don’t uncover things you don’t want to know.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I don’t even care. I’m going.
“I’m leaving, Ethan. I hope you get over whatever it is you’re hanging onto, because I’d like my friend back.” I grab the door handle, and he calls out my name.
“Callie, don’t go into that house.”
I don’t look at him when I say, “I’m doing it. Not a single thing you can say will stop me. Talk to you later, Ethan.” I open the door.
“Callie?”
I turn and stare at him.
“I’m sorry.”
Sorry.
“Yeah, me too.”
Then I step out and close the door.
It’s time.
“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT this?” Jo asks, sitting in the car as we stare at the big house.
“Yes. This is the best chance I’ll get while it’s dark, and nobody is home. I won’t be long, Jo. You call me if you see anything. I’ll find a way out, but I don’t want to get caught if they come home.”
She nods. “I’ll have my eye on the house every second. How are you going to get in?”
I hold up my lock-picking kit. “This little baby. It’s a lock-picking kit.”
“You know how to pick a lock?”
“Prison, honey. You learn a lot.”
“They teach you how to do that in prison?” she asks, eyes wide.
“You’d be surprised what you learn in that place. Okay, I can’t waste any time; they’ve just left and I don’t know how long they’ll be gone for. Keep your eyes out for me. My phone is in my pocket.”
“On silent?”
“Yep, but vibrating. I’ll feel it if you call. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, honey. Be quick.”
I nod, pulling a head lamp onto my head and climbing out of the car. I jerk my hoodie down over my head so my face is blocked from any view. We parked the car in the shadows, hopefully not to be seen. I run across the road, keeping my eyes peeled, looking at everything. It’s quiet out. The street is dark and silent. That’s exactly what I want. I sneak around the back of the house, opting for the back door as it’ll be less risky.
I reach it and stare at it. It’s fairly basic—a standard lock. The windows all have screens and locks, so they’re not low on security. I flick on the light that is on my head, specifically for this occasion, so I don’t have to turn on any lights from the house, and I get right into picking the lock.
It takes a lot longer than I’d hoped. I mean, we learned how to do it but it wasn’t as if we could practice getting out of anything. We’d occasionally break into storage rooms in the garden and have a cigarette, things like that. I’m certainly not pro. In fact, I’m no way near as good as I first thought.
Twenty minutes later, I finally get in. I push the door open and then close it behind me, locking it again. I don’t want anything to look suspicious if Celia’s parents come home. A door being unlocked would ring all kinds of alarm bells for them. I tighten the gloves on my hands by pulling them up, and glance around. I’ve walked into a massive kitchen, with its multiple island counters. It’s a stunning house, inside and out.
I get to it. I walk through the kitchen and straight down the hall, glancing around as I go. The house is tidy, and homely, a few lights on in the living area and dining room. I avoid those areas for now, and walk towards the bedrooms. There are six in total, and the first three I go into are the master, and two spare rooms. Finally, I reach a fourth one that’s locked. I’d bet anything this is Celia’s room.
Using my lock-picking skills, I get into it pretty quickly; being that it’s a bedroom, it’s a lot easier to work with. I push the door open and walk straight over to the window, closing the curtains and blinds so no light spills out, then I find the switch and turn on the light in the room.
I stare for a few minutes, my eyes scanning over the seemingly untouched space. There’s gorgeous plush grey carpet, and a huge queen bed in the middle of the room with dusty pink covers and a few old teddy bears. A desk is to the right, with a laptop and some pens and paper. A walk-in closet is to the left, filled with clothes. This room is beautiful. Any girl would dream of such a space.
I walk over to the closet first, my chest aching with the knowledge that I’m in Celia Yates’ room. I flick the light on in the closet and glance around. She owned a lot of sundresses and shoes. It gives me some insight to what her personality must have been like. I bet she was a beautiful girl, sweet and kind. I can feel that just being in this room.
My stomach twists.
I push it aside and keep focused.
I shuffle through her clothes, looking behind them and searching through the closet. I come up empty; there isn’t anything hidden in here.
I turn and walk back out, making sure to leave the space exactly as I found it. I move over to her bed, glancing around it, opening the drawers beside it, checking everything out. There is nothing here, either. No diary. No pictures. I’m assuming her parents have kept her room the same, but taken away anything that might resemble her. There are no photos, no posters on the wall, nothing a normal teenage girl would have lying around.
I walk over to her desk, opening a few drawers and flicking through the papers. They’re neat, really neat, which tells me her parents have already gone through all of this. That leaves me with only one thing—the laptop. It’s closed on her desk, so I carefully push it open and find the charger, plugging it in. It lights up after a few minutes, but I see it’s password protected.
Have they had this looked at? Did her parents search the contents of her laptop? Or did they just overlook it?
I’m curious. So damned curious.
If I take it, I could get into a lot of trouble, yet something is telling me to find out what’s on this laptop. Making a rash decision and hoping that the reason this room is locked is because nobody comes in here, I take the laptop and tuck it under my arm, putting everything back the way I found it. I exit the room, locking it on my way out.
With the laptop firmly in my grip, I walk down the hall, stopping when I reach the living room.
I glance at a line of photos sitting on a cabinet that houses the television. There are about twenty of them. I can’t see them from here, and the light is on. I wonder if it’s worth the risk crossing the room and looking at them?
Deciding it is, I glance around and then cross the room, stopping at the photos and letting my eyes run over them.
The first three or four are of Celia. She was absolutely beautiful. The kind of beautiful you just don’t see often anymore, real beauty, natural beauty. Her smile looks infectious. In every photo, she is laughing, her head thrown back, her smile massive. I can see why it would have been hard to believe she stepped out in front of my car that night.
But the eyes I saw. The broken smile that she gave me. That isn’t in any of these pictures.
Did she hide it from her family?
If so, what was it that she couldn’t tell them? What was so bad that she had to suffer alone?
I take a few steps over and keep scanning the photos.
My blood runs cold.
For a moment, I stare, sure I’m seeing things wrong. My heart races, my palms get clammy, and my breathing becomes labored. No way. No way in the world. My eyes flitter over the photographs, back and forth, back and forth, as if the more I look at them, the less likely it is that what I’m seeing is real.
No.
No.
God. No.
The first photo I stare at is a family photo of Celia with her parents, and her brother and sister.
Two faces I’m so familiar with.
Two faces I’ve come to know so well in the last few months.
Two faces of people I thought were my friends.
As my world unravels around me, and my eyes fill with horrifi
ed tears, I look to the next photo.
Two faces I know, too.
Two of the people who I love the most in this world.
Tears roll down my cheeks, and I make a loud, pained sound and grip my chest as I really let what I’m seeing sink in.
The first photo is of Andrea and Tanner.
With their family.
With their sister, Celia.
Andrea and Tanner Yates.
Andrea and Tanner are Celia’s siblings.
Andrea and Tanner have known all along who I am.
Andrea and Tanner.
No.
The second photo, the one that rips my heart from my chest, is a photo of Tanner when he was clearly heading off to serve overseas. He’s wearing all his military clothes, and next to him is a man. He has his arm thrown around him, like they’re the very best of friends. They’re both smiling. Both happy.
That man is Ethan Corel.
Tanner and Ethan are friends.
Ethan has known Tanner all along.
Ethan has known who I am from the very beginning.
Tanner has known who I am all along.
My world spins out of control as all the pieces of the puzzle start to nestle into their rightful places.
I grip the sides of the cabinet, panting as my reality comes crashing down around me.
Is everything a lie?
Is this all a cruel game of revenge?
Is this all part of some sick and twisted plan?
If it is, I’ve been playing my part ever-so perfectly.
I’ve been going along for the ride.
I thought prison was horrible. I thought losing Celia was the worst pain I could ever feel. I thought nothing in this world could be worse than what I’ve already endured in my short life.
I was wrong.
Tonight, I opened the gates to hell.
My own personal hell, where I’m going to be engulfed in flames by the people I thought I loved the most.
God help me.