“Is this where you call if you have information about a crime?” I asked.
“This line is devoted to the SCU girls.”
“Is it anonymous?”
“Uh huh,” she said. It sounded like she was clacking her tongue. “Are you a SCU student?”
“I, um, yeah.” I didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t sure I was ready.
“If you need counseling, I can transfer you.” She sounded sympathetic. I wondered if other female students reached out for reassurance in the wake of the scandal. A scandal Brian caused. My throat closed in, and I felt like I might cry.
“Can you tell me if you’ve uncovered their IDs?” I asked.
“Speak up,” she said. “Can’t hear you.”
I moved my sweater away from the receiver.
“Did you find their IDs?” I repeated. “The missing girls?”
All I could hear was clicking and breathing on the other end. “Hold a moment.”
The background noise mellowed, and I heard a faint melody. They transferred my call.
“Yeah,” said a voice. This time male.
“Um, I was calling about the missing girls.”
“Yes,” he said. “Who am I speaking with?”
“I, um. I’m Amber.” It was the first female name to enter my brain.
“I’m Detective Jeffries with the Sterling Cove Police Department,” he said. “Do you have information that could help us with this case?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Look, Amber. Tell me what you know, and we’ll go from there. You were asking about IDs. Is that right?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and hung up. The phone thumped against the carpet. I leaned forward, put my head in my hands and cried.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep. Each day I woke up feeling worse. My indecision over what to do intensified. I needed to turn Brian in. Responsible, objective people should work out his innocence or guilt. I shivered at the thought of seeing his smug, calculating face one more time.
It was near noon when I stumbled down the stairs. Mom stood at the stove making pancakes.
“Feel any better?” she asked.
“Somewhat,” I said, taking a seat at the table. I looked around. The house seemed too quiet. “Where’s Brian?”
“In bed,” Mom said, still in her bathrobe. “I hope he doesn’t stay out so late at school. He’ll drop out like all the others.”
“Brian went out last night?” A bolt of desperation surged through me. “Where did he go?”
“Just met up with some of the neighborhood kids.”
Neighborhood kids. Who were they? Danny wasn’t in town. It wasn’t a holiday break, just a random weekend. Who knew if any of his old high school friends were even here?
“Did he say who he was with?” I asked.
“My goodness, Della. Why so nosy?”
Just then, I heard Brian coming down the stairs. He walked into the kitchen wearing flannel bottoms and an SCU shirt. He sat beside me at the table, smelling like soap.
“Late night, huh?” Mom looked over her shoulder at Brian. “Eat some pancakes.”
Brian didn’t speak much. I watched him eat. He took large, thick bites, like a person who had gone too hard last night. Like a person who needed to refuel to wake up. I wanted to ask him where he’d been, but Mom pestered him to finish eating and get ready. She was taking him to stock up on groceries before he returned to SCU. I was ready for him to be gone.
My head pounded. What little food I’d consumed over the weekend had been mostly thrown up, and my skin was grimy from all the sweat and tears. When they left, I took a shower in the hallway bathroom.
The water was hot, and the pressure was hard. Under the thundering stream, I felt momentary solace. I cried hard. I even screamed. My anguish came out so heavily I struggled to catch my breath. I couldn’t distinguish my tears from the faucet’s pour. I felt like I’d aged a decade in a weekend. Part of me wished I could go back to the simple unknowing of last week; another part of me resented being so naïve.
My arms were slightly red from the heat and my fingertips and feet had pruned. I turned off the water, enjoying the cool air as it hit my damp skin. I wrapped a towel around my body. When I exited the bathroom, Brian was standing in the hallway. I took a deep breath and stepped back. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, especially him.
“Brian,” I said. I couldn’t fake one more smile, so I just stared. “What are you doing here?”
“Mom forgot her wallet.” He wiggled it in his hand.
“Oh.” I looked down, hoping I could make it to my bedroom and shut the door.
Brian grabbed my arm as I passed, his fingers sinking into my flesh. “What’s going on with you?” he asked. His face was impassive, as usual, but there was a tinge of confusion.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to avoid eye contact.
“No, you’re not, Dell.” He let go. I crossed my arms over my body. I was afraid to walk away. I didn’t want to challenge him.
“I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” I said, staring at the hallway carpet. “It’s been a stressful year.”
“Guys giving you trouble?” he asked. At this, I looked up. He smirked, in a frightening way.
“Yeah,” I said, hoping this would be enough for him to stop pestering me. He needed a reason why I’d been acting off. I couldn’t tell him I’d found out he was a serial killer. “Something like that.”
Brian seemed satisfied with that answer. He leaned against the wall and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “High school guys are jerks,” he said. “I should know. I used to be one. Once you get to college, you’ll feel like you got it all figured out.”
Is that how Brian felt? Like he had life all figured out. He could never be his true self here, he said. He always played a role. Was hurting these women the release he’d needed?
“You’re right,” I said, trying to appear unbothered.
“I knew you weren’t really sick.”
I cleared my throat. “I have been sick.”
“I know you threw up,” he said. “But it’s not a virus. Something else is bothering you.” He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I thought I might faint, his grip felt so foreign and wrong. “You can’t let other people get you down like this. Especially some guy who doesn’t deserve you.”
“Right.” I shoved his hand away and walked toward my room.
“You can talk to me, you know.”
“Thanks,” I said. He was behind me now, so at least he couldn’t see my face.
“Just tell me who the guy is,” he said. “Tell him if he keeps messing with my little sister, I’ll kill him.”
I stopped in the doorway and looked back. He no longer leaned against the wall. He stood in the hallway with a confident and easy stance.
I didn’t know what a comment like that meant coming from Brian. Everything he said had a purpose, and I now knew the seriousness of such a remark. My mind immediately went to Danny. Did he know we’d been talking, and this was his subtle way of telling me? I studied his face. I forced myself to smile. After all, most people would take his remark as a joke. It’s a brother taking care of his younger sister. It’s not a serial killer making a threat.
“I’m lucky to have you.” My voice shook. I went into my room, shut the door and locked it. Minutes later, I looked out my window and saw Brian climb into Mom’s car. She pulled out of the driveway, and they left.
I made a plan. I had to tell someone about Brian. Deep inside, I knew the truth. I’d always known. And our tense conversation in the hallway earlier had only hastened my urgency.
My biggest fear was that Brian would return to his room, pack up his belongings and take the IDs back with him to campus. My only concrete evidence would be gone. It was a test of fate—and patience—because if those IDs were still in the guitar case, I knew my next step.
Brian never said goodbye. I figured he’d deemed our earlier conversation in the hallway
enough. I was afraid he’d return, and I’d be caught snooping. I decided I wouldn’t enter his room until he confirmed he was back on campus.
Mom leaned over a counter reading a cookbook.
“There you are,” she said when I entered the kitchen. “I’ve been worried about you. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I said. I took a seat at the breakfast bar.
“I’ve decided to make you some soup,” Mom said. “You need something easy on your stomach.”
“Sounds great,” I said. I didn’t want to eat or force a conversation, but I needed to know when Brian returned to SCU. Also, I wanted to enjoy this night with Mom. Enjoy wasn’t the word, but I wanted to try. If I was right about Brian, this would be the last night I’d see Mom carelessly flitting about the kitchen. Because in many ways, what I was about to reveal would be worse than a death.
As we finished eating, Mom’s phone buzzed. “Oh good,” Mom said, staring at the screen. “Brian made it back to campus.”
“Good,” I said, taking a sip of water.
As I was heading upstairs, the doorbell rang. I paused, not expecting a visitor so late. Mom opened the front door.
“Hello, Karen,” she said.
I came down the steps, hoping to get a better look at Amber’s mom.
“Sorry to bother you,” Karen said, her arms folded over her body. She looked over Mom’s shoulder to me. “Della, have you heard from Amber?”
“Not since Friday,” I said.
“I’m probably overreacting, but I’m worried,” she said. “When I went to her room this morning, she wasn’t there. I thought she just took off somewhere, but it’s been hours and she’s not responding to my texts.”
“Does she usually do this sort of thing?” Mom asked.
“She has more lately,” Karen said, turning again to me. “I thought maybe the two of you were becoming friends again. Maybe you might know where she is.”
“I’m sorry. No,” I said, feeling a wave of panic rise. “I’ll try giving her a call.”
“I’d appreciate that,” her mother said, looking back at Mom.
“They’re just kids,” Mom said in a conciliatory tone. “Here, let me walk you home.”
Mom grabbed her coat and hurried outside, leaving me alone on the steps. I pulled out my phone and dialed Amber’s number. It rang twice before going to voicemail, like she was out of service. My skin felt prickly. It was strange Amber would take off the same weekend Brian visited. Maybe she just wanted to leave the neighborhood until she knew he was gone, but everything was too coincidental. I thought about what Mom said this morning, about Brian being gone all night. Something didn’t feel right. I swallowed down my fears and focused on what I could control.
I went upstairs. A part of me wished he’d taken the IDs back to campus. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have to go forward. I could just bury my thoughts and label them as just that: thoughts. No proof. But I knew if I did that, girls would continue to go missing. He’d keep hurting people.
And that’s why when I reached into the guitar case lining and pulled out the bundle of IDs, I knew what I had to do.
Forty-Two
Now
My phone rings and I answer. It’s Danny. “How’s it going?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say, biting off the end of a chocolate bar. “How’s work been?”
“Ah, exhausting.” He sighs into the phone. I can hear the tiredness in his voice. I pity him, but I need to remain focused. “What are you doing?”
“A bit of this and that,” I say, pulling the lever of the driver’s side chair and leaning back.
“You know the drill,” he says. “I won’t be home until Monday. You think you can stay out of trouble until then?” he asks. I think it’s only partially a joke.
“I’ll try my best. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” he says. The call ends.
I blast the air conditioning. Outside my car, the air is thick and muggy. I feel sorry for all the teenagers with styled hair. It’s bound to frizz with weather like this. Prom has been underway for more than an hour, but there are a few late additions. I watch each person enter, either hooking elbows with their dates or holding their friends’ hands. As predicted, all the dresses are longer and some are puffier. This is their biggest night of the year. Some of them have been planning it for months. Tonight, I’m worried about what Zoey has planned.
Now, it’s ten o’clock, which means the dance is officially over. Many people have already left, but I’m waiting on one in particular: Zoey. Finally, I see her. She’s standing outside the auditorium doors holding a phone to her ear. Her dress reminds me eerily of Darcy’s Spring Fling ensemble; there’s the same silky fabric and slit, but this version is floor-length and black. A silver car slowly makes its way to the front of the pick-up line. Zoey, who is still talking into the phone, bends down and looks through the window. A second later, she opens the door and enters the passenger side of the vehicle. I start my engine and follow the silver car into the street.
Three cars separate me from Zoey, but the single lane street makes it unlikely I’ll lose track of her. After about ten minutes, the direction we’re headed starts to seem familiar. As we move further away from concrete buildings and sidewalks, I realize we are drawing closer to Zoey’s house. It would be the perfect place for a party, or worse. No one is living there, and with Marge out of the way, there is no one to stop her from doing what she pleases on the property.
The silver car leads the way, coursing down the narrow gravel path. The cars in front of me follow, as do the few behind me. I keep driving straight, not wanting anyone to spot me. I slow my speed, trying to count each vehicle. Five, six, seven. Zoey must be hosting the party, controlling the night’s events. Had this been her goal all along? Usurp Darcy’s position as Queen Bee?
I pull to the side of the road, killing the engine. There’s plenty of room for anyone to pass, and if someone spotted my car from this point, they’d probably assume I ran into trouble. I see the lights from Zoey’s house in the distance.
Darcy’s party was broken up by police. Even though the night is barely underway, I know this is my best option for keeping everyone safe. I don’t even have to mention Zoey. All I need to do is make a noise complaint. The likelihood of them finding underage drinkers when they arrive is high. It will cancel whatever events Zoey has planned. I dial 911, provide the address and say loud music is blaring from the property. I’m sure police are on the lookout for rowdy teenagers.
Thirty minutes pass, and the police still haven’t arrived. At least a dozen other cars have, carrying who knows how many boozy youths. I know I should let the police handle Zoey. Like Danny says, I should be thinking about the baby. I can’t be putting myself—and him or her—in dangerous positions. But what if Zoey is already up to something? What if she hurts someone before police arrive? If I can just get my eyes on her, I can protect someone else from getting hurt.
Wet grass tickles my ankles as I exit the vehicle. Under my feet, the ground feels spongey from all the mud. I’m about a half-mile away from Zoey’s house at this point, and there are no longer streetlights lining the road. No one will be able to see me as I approach. I pull up the zipper of my coat and start walking.
Five minutes later, I’m close enough to throw a rock at Zoey’s mailbox. I take a deep breath. It’s foolish for me to be here, not to mention wholly unprofessional. But how many people has Zoey hurt since she’s moved here? Darcy. Ms. Peterson. Marge. In the past, I waited too long to express my concerns, which only led to more bloodshed. I’m not going to wait this time.
I scan my surroundings. I can’t very well walk down the same gravel driveway everyone else is using. In the backyard stands a small gardening shed. I sprint across the yard, hoping no one sees me, and crouch behind it. From here, I can look into the house through a series of windows. There must be over twenty people inside, and that’s only counting the ones I can see. Most are standing around the kitche
n holding solo cups. I worry they’ll move the party to the backyard, which would reveal my whereabouts. Instead, it seems like most people are staying indoors or huddling under the covered front porch. I suppose I have the weather to thank for that.
The back door opens, and two people walk outside. I scoot further behind the shed, obstructing my view so that all I can see are feet. They’re walking towards the side of the house.
Shrill laughter pierces the dense air. The voice is girlish and unsteady.
“Be quiet,” says another female voice.
Is it Zoey’s voice? I think so. Then again, I’m not sure. I want it to be her. I want to catch her doing something bad so I can finally proclaim I am right. Deliver the precious proof.
“No one can hear us,” the girl’s voice replies. They’re walking to the side of the house.
“Let’s keep it that way.” This time I’m certain the voice is Zoey’s.
I listen as feet pat against the wet grass and debris from fallen branches. Then there’s silence again. I’m certain no one went back inside. Someone is in the dark with me, but I can no longer see or hear them.
Who is out here? I think of Darcy, how the police found her outdoors on a night not unlike this. Does she have any idea Zoey, the new girl posing as her friend, is the one who hurt her? Has Zoey lured another girl outside with the intent to hurt her? Do more than cut her leg?
I take a deep breath. I tighten my fists inside my pockets and skate to the side of the house. As I get closer, the sounds of breathing and movement become louder. Finally, I see something. No, someone. Two someones. In the darkness, I can’t decipher faces. I pull out my phone and turn on the light.
“What the hell?” says a voice. I know that voice. It’s Devon, and she’s with Zoey. She raises a hand to block my light, not recognizing me. They’ve both changed out of their formal attire. I smell marijuana and realize the girls must be hiding their stash from the people inside. And yet Devon looks out of it. She isn’t just high. She’s disoriented. Has Zoey drugged her, too? Lured her out here with the promise of pot, so she can get her alone?
What I Know: An utterly compelling psychological thriller full of suspense Page 26