What I Know: An utterly compelling psychological thriller full of suspense

by Miranda Smith

  “I was thinking Chinese,” Mom said, unwrapping the scarf around her neck. With the folder in my hand, I thundered up the stairs.

  Thirty-Six

  Now

  Today is our last day with students. They’ll be dismissed at 11:30, leaving us the afternoon to have meetings and work in our rooms. I say goodbye to my students in each block. I’m always amazed at how mature they seem by the end of the semester. They’ve realized they only have one more year in this place. After that, college and the world await.

  I hope Adam will be all right. He nods at me as he leaves. Ben and Devon and the others do the same. Melanie pauses briefly to ask if I’d be interested in writing her a recommendation letter, so I give her my email address. Darcy exits the room and waves. I sense she wants to speak with me. I sense she feels she should speak to me. But she doesn’t. She wants to leave what she told me about that night in the past, and I support her decision.

  Zoey is noticeably not in the room.

  I eat lunch alone. My co-workers are eating together in the library, a last-day-of-school tradition, but I’m in no mood to socialize. I’m counting the minutes, worse than I ever have. I can’t wait to get out of this place. I enter the lonely hallway and walk to the restroom. When I return to my classroom, Marge is waiting by the door. She’s holding a cup of coffee in her hands, never giving her system a break from caffeine.

  “Missed you in the library,” she says, with a fake positivity in her voice.

  I look at her, then put my key in the lock without saying anything.

  “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?” she asks. “Please.”

  “Sure,” I say, pushing open the door and walking through. She follows me.

  “I know you’re mad at me,” she starts, raising her free hand in defense. “And looking back on the past couple of days, I regret not talking to you again before going to Bowles.”

  “So, is this an apology?”

  “As a friend, yes,” she says, placing her coffee cup on a nearby desk. “But as a teacher, I felt you were invading Zoey’s privacy by looking into her background. I still think that. I felt I owed it to her to make Principal Bowles aware of your allegations.”

  “Bowles said he was going to add this incident to my tenure application.” I stare at her. She needs to know how much this ordeal is disrupting my life. How much Zoey is disrupting my life.

  “You know that wasn’t my intention.” Her foot starts tapping. “I’ll speak with Bowles about it.”

  “I’m assuming Bowles told you Zoey wasn’t in my class today,” I say, dryly.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “What’s Zoey say about being removed?”

  “Nothing, really. She doesn’t seem to pick up on the fact you dislike her.”

  Of course she would act like I’m not a threat. She doesn’t think I am. And it makes me appear crazier if I’m the one making a big fuss.

  “Zoey told Bowles I confronted her about Darcy,” I say, popping a small hole in her nonchalant narrative. “That was a lie.”

  “She didn’t say anything to me about a confrontation,” she says, cocking her head to the side. “Look, let’s just put this Zoey business behind us. I don’t want it to hurt our friendship.”

  I sense her desperation to make amends, even if she still feels she acted in Zoey’s best interests. “I just want you to be careful, Marge,” I say, willing to let my anger with her go if it will make her more likely to listen. “I know you get along with Zoey, but she worries me.”

  “You know what this reminds me of?” she says, trying to sound positive. “One of those wacky photos that can be two different things. When you see Zoey, it’s like you see a lamp, but I see a boot. Or you see a lady’s face and I see a plant. Either way, it’s harmless, right?”

  “Just be careful,” I say, gliding past her description of the situation.

  “Again, I’m sorry if I didn’t go about things the proper way. I really thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You going to Prom on Friday?” she asks, lightening the mood.

  “My required event was Spring Fling this year,” I say. “I want to get through the in-service tomorrow and officially start summer vacation.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” Marge says, for once choosing not to guilt me for my lack of involvement. “You know I’ll be there. I practically planned the thing.”

  “What about Zoey?” I ask. I can’t resist.

  “She’s going, too. I’m pulling the parent card when it comes to any after-parties, though.” She smiles with pride. “I’m making her clean up the place, then she’ll return home with me.”

  “Good.” If Zoey was staying at my house, she’d be locked in a cage.

  “Have a good day, okay?” she says, walking closer to the door.

  I watch her walk into the hallway, hoping I’m not as nuts as she thinks I am.

  I head out ten minutes earlier than required. I don’t want to run into anyone, especially Bowles, in the parking lot. It was bad enough I had to listen as he presented a year-end meeting in the auditorium. At least I had the buffer of the rest of the staff between us.

  The lot looks empty with all the students gone. As I’m walking, a rogue soccer ball rolls past me, stopping only inches away from my car. I look in the direction from which it came and see Zoey walking over.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Mayfair,” she says.

  There’s no one behind her. I look around to see I’m alone. I wonder how long she’s been waiting for me. I keep walking toward my car, but she’s already standing between me and it.

  She bends over and raises the ball. “I’m watching the boys’ soccer practice until Ms. Helton finishes up,” she says. “I might try out for the girl’s team in the fall.”

  Another reminder Zoey has inserted herself into Marge’s life. I wonder what that means for next year. I guess with her mom out of the way, there’s no chance of her moving. As long as she’s in CPS custody, they’ll keep her in the district. Now, she leans against my car, making it impossible for me to open the door.

  “Move,” I say, quick and stern.

  She bounces the ball in her hands, staring at me like I’m a riddle. “I hope you have a nice summer, Mrs. Mayfair,” she says. “I can tell this has been a rough year.”

  “You’ve been here a month,” I snap back. “You know nothing about me.”

  I know I shouldn’t engage. I should be the bigger person and ignore her. But something about her makes that impossible for me. It’s like I’m a little girl fighting with my brother all over again. Fighting with Brian.

  “I might know a thing or two about you,” she says, bouncing the ball. “I’ve always been into true crime stuff. But I’m not one of those who watches a program and forgets about it. I like to do my own research. Read old articles. Scan old photos. From the moment I saw your picture on the school website, I knew you looked familiar.”

  “You’re a liar,” I say, defiantly. We’ve been dancing around this topic for weeks. I can’t let her think she knows. I’m reaching, desperately, for anything I can throw into Zoey’s face. “You told Bowles I confronted you. We both know that’s a lie.”

  “Huh,” she says, looking down. “There are other things I could tell him, you know.”

  “Is that some kind of threat?”

  “You ever been to Sterling Cove University?” Zoey asks. She has the pride of a card player who has just won their hand. This is what she’s been waiting for. The moment to show me everything she knows.

  “I—”

  “Or is that where your brother likes to play around?”

  I don’t have the poker face needed for this game. I take in a deep breath and hold it. One… two… three. Everything I’ve feared is happening. Zoey knows about my brother. She knows about Brian.

  “Zoey, I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

  “I’m trying to be nice,” she says, tossing the ball again. “It makes s
ense why you would be on edge when it comes to me. On edge with everyone, really. Growing up with a serial killer? It’s a wonder you’re able to trust anyone.”

  “Shut up,” I say.

  “I mean, it really makes sense. All the wild theories you’ve been running by Principal Bowles and Ms. Helton and Ms. Pam. It all comes from a place of hurt. Because of your brother. He hurt people. Did he hurt you, too?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” I step closer, the keys poking between my fingers like daggers. I no longer care that she’s a student or a teenager. She’s not respecting my role either. She never has. She’s openly threatening me. Poking fun at my past started out as a game to her, but I kept pushing back. Now she’s punishing me, the same way Brian punished Logan Hunt. The same way Brian punished others. Zoey is having fun with this.

  “Mrs. Mayfair, that’s very inappropriate language to be using. It’s distracting.”

  I look down and wipe hair away from my face. She’s under my skin now. Practically set up camp and living there. I can’t pretend I’m not bothered. It’s all I can do not to cry.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. Then, unconvincingly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All right, cool.” She tosses the ball again. “We don’t have to talk about anything. You just stay out of my way, and I won’t let slip who your brother is. I’d hate to see how something like that could change the way people look at you.”

  I reach for the car door and open it. Hard. The door hits Zoey’s shoulder. She moves out of my way, but the intensity on her face doesn’t budge. I get inside and press the lock. By the time I’m out of the parking lot, I can barely see through the tears.

  Thirty-Seven

  Spring 2006

  I couldn’t sleep. There was too much going through my mind. First, I went through all the reasons why Brian wouldn’t be involved. He was my brother. A lot of people grow up with a mean older brother. It doesn’t mean they’re capable of murder.

  Murder. My mind kept going back there, when no bodies had been found. Maybe all these girls did walk away for various reasons. Like the girl from my school who ran away. Maybe they had reasons for ignoring their families and friends, abandoning their classes. My mind didn’t linger there too long because it was unlikely. Something bad had happened to these girls. What I needed to know was whether Brian was involved.

  I thought of the timeline. The first two girls went missing in November and December. Brian was still on campus then. He’d avoided returning home. None of the girls went missing during the Christmas holiday. I think that detail bothered me most. The minute Brian returned to campus, girls started disappearing again. Of course, if the person responsible was tied to the school—either a student or an employee—it would make sense that they had left campus during that same time period.

  Why was I thinking this way? As though my brother could be responsible for the disappearances of five college students? Brian was gifted, but could he really pull something like that off?

  Mila kept flashing through my mind. Her beautiful, confused eyes out in the cold. I’d felt sorry for her that night. Thinking about her now, her whereabouts unknown, made me sick to my stomach. She almost reminded me of Amber when she showed up at the house after Brian left. I’d seen an emotional Amber almost as often as I’d seen a frantic Mom, but that day was different. There was something Amber was holding back. Every time I saw her skulking down the hallways or dodging me in the cafeteria, I could see it, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

  Now I felt I needed to know what she was so upset about. She’d dated Brian for almost a year—his most serious girlfriend by far. Did she know more about him than I did? Did she know something that could make sense of this?

  After school, I walked to Amber’s house. When I knocked on the front door, Karen, her mom, answered.

  “Hello, Della,” she said. “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine. Can I speak with Amber?”

  “Of course.” Karen seemed too excited to have me visit. She’d surely picked up on our lack of interaction in the past year. “Have any plans for summer?”

  “I’m working at the movie theater,” I said, hoping our conversation didn’t sound as awkward as it felt.

  “I’ve been telling Amber she should get a summer job. Maybe I’ll suggest she apply there.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Amber,” she called up the stairs. “You have a visitor.”

  A few minutes later, Amber appeared at the banister. She was wearing baggy pants and a tight T-shirt. She looked at me.

  “Busy,” she said, and turned around.

  I thought Karen might break from embarrassment. “Excuse me,” she said to me, walking up the stairs. She reappeared a minute later with a welcoming smile on her face. “Come on up, Della. Amber is in her room.”

  Normally, I would have left. I wasn’t going to beg anyone, even Amber, to see me. But I was on a mission to find out as much about Brian as I could. She was the only person who might know something about him I didn’t.

  I walked into Amber’s room. The walls were still pink, but there were so many posters I’m not sure I would have noticed had I not visited her room a hundred times before. Amber sat on her bed with her legs folded over one another. She lazily tossed her phone from one hand to the next.

  “Hey,” I said. A chair by the door was filled with clothes. I made a neat stack of them on the floor and sat down.

  “Why are you here?”

  “We’ve not hung out in forever.” I wanted to be polite. I could have been nicer to her when she and Brian started dating. “How are you?”

  “Fine and dandy,” she said, leaning against the wall and kicking her feet onto the bed. “Why are you here?”

  “Have you talked to Brian lately?” I asked. Clearly she was as desperate to get to the point as I was.

  Amber scoffed. “Not since he left. I told you I didn’t want to talk to him ever again. To either of you, really.”

  I looked down. I didn’t know why she was averse to Brian, even more clueless about why she was upset with me. “I wanted to ask you about the day he left,” I said. “When you came by the house, you seemed upset.”

  “I was upset,” she said. There was an urgency in her tone. “I’m still upset.”

  “You said you wanted to tell him something. What was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Her shoulders wilted, and she stared at the phone in her hands.

  “It seemed important.”

  “Yeah, well. The world’s kept spinning, hasn’t it? I’m just ready to move on.”

  “Move on from what?”

  She dropped the phone and crossed her arms. “Look, the only reason you’re in here is because my mom insisted. I don’t want to talk with you.”

  “I’m here because I’m worried.” I said. “About people.”

  “Worried about Brian and people?”

  “Yes.” Saying it out loud startled me. Perhaps I should have said it sooner. But now there was a trail of clues and I was counting on Amber to help me piece them together.

  “What’s going on?” Her penchant for drama temporarily reappeared.

  “I don’t know exactly,” I said, looking down. “But I know something upset you that day. Something bigger than Brian going away to school. You two were broken up by then, but I’m not even sure why.”

  “Because I’m a crazy stalker,” she said, twirling her finger around her temple. “At least that’s what Brian tells everyone.”

  “What’s your take?”

  “I was more enthusiastic in the beginning than I needed to be.” She looked away. “But I wanted out of that relationship. Not enough to break up with him myself, but I didn’t like where things were heading.”

  “When did it go bad?”

  “He told me you saw us after the funeral.”

  “I did.” I winced. It was embarrassing, witnessing something so disturbing between my br
other and my best friend.

  “Well that was the first time we did it that way.”

  “Had sex?”

  “No.” She sounded harsh, then restarted with a calmer tone. “We’d had sex before. Normal sex. After the funeral, that’s when he got… rougher.”

  “Obviously I wish I hadn’t caught you guys that night. It’s just weird,” I said. “He looked like he was hurting you.”

  “He was. I thought he was just upset.” She looked at me to make sure she wasn’t offending me, then looked at her black nails. “But from then on, each time got rougher.”

  “Did you tell him he was hurting you? Tell him to stop?”

  “Sometimes,” she said. “I think he liked that it was hurting me.”

  “Amber! Are you telling me Brian raped you?”

  “No! It’s not like I wasn’t willing. He was my boyfriend. I loved him, or whatever. But I didn’t like how rough it got sometimes.”

  “If you told him to stop, and he didn’t, that’s rape.”

  “I try not to think about it like that,” she says, her voice shaky. “I try not to think about it at all.”

  “So that’s why you broke up?” I asked. “Because he was too… rough.”

  “We both knew he was dumping me before he went off to college. But we broke up before then.” She paused, debating whether she should reveal the reason. The words came out with so much shame. “The last time we hooked up, he got all rough again. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. Then he pulled down a knife.”

  “A knife?”

  “You know the knives he kept over his bed? He pulled one down and held it to my throat.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “It was more like he was trying to scare me. It worked. I totally freaked out. Afterwards, he said he was just trying to be kinky, but I knew it was worse than that. It’s like he enjoyed the power he had over me. He enjoyed my fear. I knew it wouldn’t be a one-time thing. That’s why I broke up with him.”

  “You broke up with him?”