by Amanda Adair
Anyone with information on Spencer’s whereabouts is asked to call 9-1-1.
chapter 41
Some may think my mom does something wrong. That she should enforce the law and send me to jail. Because that’s where I would go if any of this comes to light. Some believe she should do the right thing, even though that means losing her daughter. Others may think she’s a good mother, only carrying out her duties. Saving her daughter.
Cris is currently in love with Desperate Housewives. I’m not allowed to watch it since there is so much sex and crime. I can’t let Mom know that I’m watching a show like that but right now Mom reminds me of those women on the show who recklessly protect their children, whether it’s from jail, social decline due to a teenage pregnancy or a serial killer targeting young girls in the neighborhood. They would do anything to keep their children safe, daughters and sons, even when they’ve committed a crime.
While I’m sitting in the car with Mom, fleeing the crime scene, I am reminded of a TV series. Absurd, isn’t it? I’m wondering what she’ll do with Spencer’s body that is currently lying underneath a blanket in the trunk. We could’ve pretended that Spencer fell on a rock but she decided to remove the corpse from the crime scene. She will come back and clean it. She told me there isn’t much time. She has to hurry. Spencer’s young and young girls who don’t come home after school attract attention quickly. She told me that Spencer’s face will be all over the news soon. Her parents will have to choose a photo that can be used to look for Spencer. A pretty one because people love pretty victims. The photo is supposed to make those who see her innocent face on the news or on social media help to search for her. Spencer has everything a victim needs to go viral. She’s female and young, and I’m sure her parents will find a somewhat pretty photo of her.
I’m rarely ever watching crime TV shows or reading thrillers. I’m more into mainstream stuff, and sometimes I dare to read mangas and watch anime series with Cris. She told me there are some naughty and brutal ones that she would never touch, not in a million years. Maybe her sudden affection for Asian pop culture is due to the fact that people assume she isn’t Asian, mainly because of her name, sometimes because of her looks. Because she’s half white and half Asian, and her name definitely isn’t Asian at all.
Why do my thoughts wander to Cris? I’m surprisingly calm. Maybe it’s because I know Mom is taking care of everything. Maybe it’s because I don’t mind. At first I was shocked about the dead body and the blood but all those negative feelings just vanished. If I could I would revive her. But I can’t, so I should just move on. An accident like this shouldn’t end my life as well, should it? It was clearly an accident because I didn’t intent to kill her.
Spencer and I have never been close friends. Most people don’t want to hang out with her because of her sister. That’s the burden one carries when they’re related to one of the most boring and strange people in town. Everyone knows they’re sisters. They have the same hair color, the same eye color, the same style and the same last name.
“Aspen,” Mom says as she stops the car in our driveway. “Listen carefully.” She turns towards me. “Go inside. Don’t talk to anyone. Understand?” She waits until I nod, then she continues. “Tell no one about anything. Spencer’s parents will soon start looking for her. What will you say if anyone asks you about her?”
I know what she wants to hear. “I haven’t seen her.”
“Good,” Mom says. “Are you sure no one saw you two walking home?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t seen her and you haven’t talked to her,” she says and leans over me, so she can open the door. “Now go inside and wait until I’m back. Hurry.”
After I get out of the car I see her walk towards the garage, then drive away. I wonder what she’ll do now. There was blood in the grass, so she’ll probably go back there and clean. She’s one of those people who have a lot of stuff inside their car. Like a small storage room. There are blankets and gloves (in case of a traffic jam in the depth of winter), water bottles and sunglasses (in case of a traffic jam in midsummer), shopping bags and chewing gums. And, of course, she stores some cleaning supplies.
I want to google “how to clean up blood”, but I don’t want to make myself look guilty. I want to google “how to dispose a corpse”, but I also don’t want to appear on anyone’s radar. Instead I watch hundreds of episodes of Criminal Minds and Mindhunter, Making a Murderer and Castle over the next months. I’m slowly becoming an addict. I start to read Stephen King, devour his books, and I start to watch documentaries about criminal psychology and forensics. I even start listening to true crime podcasts until the day that Spencer Holland’s disappearance goes viral and a bunch of podcast hosts talk about her case. I can’t listen to them and their assumptions about the potential murderer.
Me.
Though according to them it’s old man that are the number one group of suspects. They assume it’s another girl who’s been kidnapped with a white van and kept in a dark cellar. They would never suspect one of her peers. Another innocent young girl, a middle school student.
Whatever Mom did with the corpses she managed to cover up my track. The police hasn’t even questioned me. Mom is now one of Mrs. Holland’s closest friends, so she’s always informed about the latest news on Spencer’s case. Of course, we’ve told Dad about it, and he wanted me to come clean, but it was already too late. He’s obviously disappointed of me. And a little afraid because I’m calmer than ever. I know nothing can hurt me now. The body’s gone. Only the jewelry box couldn’t be found. Neither Mom nor the police found it.
I know I shouldn’t feel alright but I do. I shouldn’t forget what happened but I’m good at pushing those memories away. It’s like a reset, there’s nothing left but an empty piece of paper.
A blank page.
chapter 42
Today
I remember the day Spencer Holland died like it was yesterday. I remember my rage. I feel ashamed when I think about how little contrition I showed. How little I cared about having killed someone. Mom wanted to send me to a psychologist but it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t tell them what happened. I couldn’t tell them any reason to treat me. Mom tried her best to hold therapy sessions for me herself. She’s a smart woman, so she used specialized books and psychological basics to make sure I’m some kind of normal. I’m her only daughter. She couldn’t let me go to prison. There is no excuse for what I’ve done. I didn’t act in self-defense. It was in the heat of a moment but who would kill someone because of a missing necklace.
A psycho would.
When I killed Spencer it seemed like I crossed an invisible line that separates regular people from those with unspeakable thoughts, who do unimaginable things. I haven’t had these kind of thoughts in a while. But months after Spencer’s death I sometimes felt out of place with my new mental world. Whenever was talking to one of my classmates in a room on school’s third floor I thought about pushing her out the window. I would never do it on purpose but every time I had these thoughts I stepped back, just in case.
I think about pretending like I don’t know what she’s talking about but what would it do for me? Nothing. I can’t buy time. I know that she knows.
“Sage,” I simply say and give her those puppy eyes.
“Fuck you, Aspen,” she shouts. “You’ve killed my sister.”
I know Sage has a half-sister. I now remember her name. Georgina. Gigi must be her older sister. Georgina was highly gifted, so her parents agreed to send her to a boarding school in New Haven. She started studying at Yale this fall semester. I haven’t seen her in ages, so of course I didn’t recognize her. She never introduced herself as Gigi and she rarely visits her family. Gigi could be short form for many names. Georgia. Regina. Georgina. Jelena. Genevieve. Virginia. Gemma. How was I supposed to know who she is?
Spencer was one year younger than Sage. The Holland sisters were nerdy girls with only a few friends. Sage was the only one who su
ddenly became popular. Who became my friend. Maybe I wanted to make up for her sister’s death by helping her become one of the cool girls at Horace Blake. One of those who set the agenda.
Georgina is standing right behind Sage, with crossed arms and a grumpy face.
“What do you mean?,” I say in an insecure voice.
What does she know? What do they know? The game has revealed to Georgina how Spencer died, right? How? By giving her visions? Then they would know it wasn’t an accident. Did it just tell her the killer’s name? Like with my name on a mirror or something like that. I shouldn’t talk too much about it. I cannot tell her that my mom helped me cover it up. Maybe she knows about it but maybe she doesn’t. If so, then I want to keep it that way.
I’m not going to say anything. What if they’re recording our conversations? They don’t have any evidence. I’m not going to confess. It doesn’t matter know. There’s no way I would ever kill someone again and I can’t revive Spencer. I have to let go.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Sage replies. “And don’t give me any excuses. Don’t tell me it was an accident. It was anything but an accident. No one kills a little girl for no reason. Even if there was a reason you can’t kill someone.”
I know they’re going to kill me. They have no evidence for what I did. They’re not going to let me out of here alive.
“I hate you, Aspen,” she says.
I don’t say anything. I just look at Georgina. She wouldn’t want her sister to die. Sage must’ve played the game. Not with people from school but maybe at a party out of town. She didn’t want us to know. That’s why she’s still here. She’s safe. She’s been safe all those weeks. And me? It’s over for me.
“Did you make Tansy play the game with us?,” I ask, letting my gaze wander to Sage again. “Did you know her?”
“This is not a quiz show,” she says. “Stop asking shit.” She sighs. “You’ve lied to me all these years. You probably thought it’s funny being my friend, watching the duck become a swan. We did everything together, remember? We were best friends. We used to go on vacation together and we wanted to go to Paris together. You came to our house, talked to my parents. Shit, Aspen, you talked to my parents. Like nothing happened. Like you didn’t kill her daughter.”
I say nothing because I know there is nothing I could say to calm her down.
“I want to know where my little sister is,” Sage says, then she is silent.
I’ve forgotten Spencer way to fast. It just happened, then we got rid of the corpse, and I’ve continued living my life. Mom and Dad have been worried for a long time. I think they’ve been afraid of me for a while after I killed Spencer. Because back then I was a child. And because of how calm I was after the corpse was gone. Out of sight, out of mind. I was too good at getting past a murder. I’ve rarely ever thought about what I did to Sage’s sister. Because I couldn’t undo it, so why be bothered?
I should’ve been more anxious, sorrowful and regretful. Like Carla in Elite when she broke down, gave up and confessed. When I saw that episode I thought, just pull yourself together. I couldn’t relate to her guilty conscience because I didn’t have one. It’s not true, I did have one but only for a few hours. My bad conscience was based on what Mom thought of me. That’s the worst. I didn’t have a bad conscience because I felt like what I was doing was wrong but because other people would think it’s wrong. Sometimes I’m afraid of myself. Afraid of what I’m capable of. I don’t know why I’m not able to feel guilt and why I couldn’t stop myself from beating someone to death.
“Don’t you feel guilty because of Finna?,” I say, even though I’m the last person on earth who should denounce someone for their bad behavior.
At the same time as Georgina’s voice says “tell us”, my head is pushed backward. She has just kicked me in the face. Kicked my head. Blood starts dropping down my chin.
chapter 43
Once again I was unconscious and I don’t know for how long. I don’t think it was more than a quarter of an hour. Sage is still here with me but Georgina has left the basement. When I see the blood on my hands and drops of it on my shirt I stop breathing for a moment. My nose hurts like it’s broken but when I palpate my skin I don’t feel any kind of deformation.
When I look up I see the necklace in Sage’s hand.
“This is mine,” she says and lets the necklace swing back and forth. “You think you have it all but no one could ever love you, Aspen. Not even Remi.”
It’s hers. The S is for Sage. The R is for Remi. It’s true.
“The story about him meeting a girl at the beach was about me,“ she continues and throws the necklace into a corner. I hear it hit the ground but I don’t even think about averting my gaze from Sage. “That’s why he stopped playing. I flew from New York to San Diego to visit him this summer because I loved him. And he loved me. It was a lie that I was visiting my grandparents in Arizona. I left you alone at the dorm in New York, so I could spend the weekend together with your boyfriend. It hurts so much that Remi is gone. I didn’t know he would die.”
Though I am angry at her for stealing my boyfriend and at Remi for having an affair, she’s right. I should’ve known it’s over. After what I’ve done no one could ever love me. Not if they knew. No one except my parents. I think Mom still loves me. She’s my mother and a mother’s love for her child can’t vanish. It has no expiration date. But I’m not sure about Dad. We haven’t talked about Spencer for five years, not even when she was on the news. Never. What does he think about his little girl? The murderer? Is he proud? No. Does he still love me? I hope so but I can’t blame him if he can’t. He never says anything negative about me. He’s proud of me for my athletic achievements. He’s my personal cheerleader. Maybe he still loves me.
Everybody has flaws and blemishes, some more than others.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I forgive you.” Just let me go, I think.
It could be true that I wanted to make up for Spencer’s death by helping her become popular. I don’t know. She changed her appearance, then I helped her become one of us. I’ve always been there for her. I’ve listened to her problems and helped her when she was heartbroken. I did everything for her. Not only because of her sister’s death but because I liked her. I still do. It wasn’t guilt that made me do it.
“I don’t forgive you for murdering my sister,” she says. “Where is her body?”
I might have a clue where Mom put her body but I don’t know for sure. It was a smart move to keep me in the dark. I wanted to know. As I said, I am curious. But Mom never told me about the location of Spencer’s corpse. Spencer probably doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe Mom burned her, maybe she buried her. I don’t know what my mother is capable of. But I’m sure she knows how to make a body disappear properly, so that no detective and no strolling forest hiker will ever find her. She tried to track down the jewelry box but it was nowhere to be found. I know what it feels like when you expect a police officer to knock on your door any time. It feels like being on the run. Only two years after Spencer’s disappearance I was able to relax.
“I don’t know,” I tell her the truth.
“How can you not know?,” she asks.
I look at her, up and down. I don’t see a phone or other recording device but I shouldn’t risk anything. The basement is too dark to see if there’s any hidden camera in here.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“You will have to confess and go to jail or else your story will come true,” she says before turning around and leaving me alone.
When she closes the door I’m surrounded by darkness and silence again. The only thing I hear is waterdrops dripping down from one of the pipes on the other side of the room.
It would be nonsense to record our conversation. It’s illegal to threaten people or keep them in a basement, isn’t it? If they kill me they’ll have to hide my corpse like Mom hid Spencer’s. Sage is not a killer, she is not like me. I don’t know
about Georgina. Maybe the rage makes her do things she normally wouldn’t do.
Once again Georgina walks downstairs. We’re not in Sage’s house. I’ve been there many times before. I’ve seen her basement. This is not it.
“I’m sure you’ll tell us,” Georgina says as she stops in front of me. Her hands are hidden behind her back. She releases her arms slowly. She brought a present. A knife.
“You can’t be serious,” I say and look at Sage. “You’re crazy. Both of you. It’s the game. It made you lose your mind. You can’t stab me.”
“Stab you?,” Georgina asks and giggles. “You just have to take us to the jewelry box and our sister’s body. You have to confess. We don’t want to hurt you, Aspen. But even you should understand that it’s unfair for you to be free and alive when someone else is not. Because of you.”
“You can’t believe any of this,” I say but I shiver. Nothing I say will safe me. They hate me. With good reason.
“Just take us there,” Sage says. “Tell us where you’re hiding her body.”
“What remains of her body,” Georgina adds.
Because of me they’re cold and heartless. Sage’s never just been intelligent, she’s a good girl. The kind of good girl everybody assumes I am. I’m sure Georgina has been a nice girl until I ripped her life apart. Now she’s full of rage. Sage tried to move on and she was close to get some peace. Until Georgina came across Amaris’ game.
“Who helped you, Aspen?,” Sage asks. “How does a twelve-year-old –“
A knock on the door makes her stop in the middle of the sentence. Sage gets back up as the noise becomes louder.
“Sage,” Georgina says nervously.
chapter 44
I know that calm and friendly voice. She’s never stressed out, at least she never shows it. It’s that of my mom. She’s here and she’s going to safe me, as always. I start screaming again because contrary to her I’m not calm in situations like this. She’s well trained to handle complicated situations thanks to her job. I can forget stepping into her footsteps if any of this goes public. No ivy league college will offer me a place. I can forget about studying at Brown and I can forget about my trip to Paris.