by Rick Wood
“I don’t know, from her own phone I guess.”
“No, I mean, her last message, the one where she says she’s going to kill us… How did she send it?”
“What do you mean?”
“She was outside with you at the time. Did you see her on her phone?”
He’s suddenly lost in thought. He looks at me, but he’s not there; he’s going through all the possible explanations and rejecting each one.
“I don’t know,” he finally concludes. “Curious.”
“Isn’t it strange?”
“Yes. But she could have found a way. She could have timed the messages to send or something, I don’t know.”
“I’m not sure if you can do that.”
“I think the best thing is to get Officer Felix here, then he can help us figure it out. Don’t worry about it for the moment, okay?”
“Okay.”
With a forced smile, he leaves. Seconds later I hear him talking on the phone, but I tune it out, lost in thought.
I open my phone again and read the messages.
I’ll kill both of you.
You had your chance, Harper.
Remember that.
YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE.
I had my chance?
Was this his intention all along? To get me to join The Death Club like Linda Salborough?
I’ve got to stop referring to Danny as him. It wasn’t him. It was her. And, by the sounds of it, she was a sick person.
Dad re-enters the room and I quickly put the phone away.
“He’s on his way,” he says. “Shouldn’t be too long. Says we should stay together while we wait. Sounds like a good idea, don’t you think?”
I nod. I don’t want to be alone.
“We could watch a movie. You still into Disney?”
“I’m fourteen, Dad.”
“That’s a shame, I just bought Disney Plus. Figured we could find something on there.”
I smile. He’s trying. “That would be good.”
“Well, hey, why don’t you make us both a cup of tea? I just have to go do something in the other room, then I’ll be right back.”
“I thought you said we should stay together.”
“And we will, I’ll just be two minutes, I promise.”
He smiles another forced smile, grabs an envelope from the kitchen side, and rushes into another room.
Strange, really, how he can make me feel so loved then so alone within seconds.
I put the kettle on and begin making the tea, gazing out of the window as I do, trying to decipher the various shapes of the storm.
46
Will
I take a seat by the computer, placing the soggy envelope down. From here, I can hear Harper in the kitchen, the occasional closing of the cupboard door and placement of a mug on the side.
I open the envelope Destiny gave me and take out an A4 scrap book. The cover is leather bound but dog eared, and the pages inside are a dark cream colour. But it is not the condition of the book that bothers me. It is the photograph of me on the first page. It is a copy of my staff photograph from work.
On the next page are more photos. Me getting out my car in the morning. Me carrying a box of books through the corridor. Me through the window of my classroom, teaching.
These aren’t just recent photos — they go back to the beginning of the year. Months ago.
Destiny may have only begun inappropriate contact with me in the past few weeks, but this obsession seems to have been going on for months. At least.
On the next page are pieces of paper torn from her exercise books. They have comments by me such as Good work, Destiny and Keep it up and This is really good stuff, keep working hard.
Every compliment I’ve ever written in her book for good work is stuck to these pages.
On the next page. Natalie. In a pub. In a club. Without me, but never alone. In each picture, a large X in red marker covers her face.
On the next page… Harper.
Sitting alone at a table surrounded by full tables. Is this at lunch time? Is this how it is for her? She eats alone?
God, I’ve neglected my child. I don’t even know enough to see she’s beyond lonely. She’s an outcast. She’s friendless, and she’s not even being bullied — worse, people are indifferent to her. She’s unnoticed.
On the next page is list of lessons, and what I was wearing on that day, what kind of things I said, and whether I chose her when she put her hand up to answer a question.
Finally, the following page is divided into two. To the right are pictures of me. To the left are pictures of her.
Each picture of her seems to have been cut out from another picture. There are the edges of other people in the picture, but they’ve been removed to make way for me.
One picture draws my attention. A large arm is around her, but the owner of that arm has been cut out. The arm is big. Muscular. Far older than one of her classmates.
It’s weird, but that arm’s familiar.
“Dad, tea’s ready!”
“I’ll be there in a minute — why don’t you get the TV on!”
I log onto the computer. Open the internet browser. Find Facebook.
Despite how much I regretted doing this before, I search for Destiny Hill again.
Something compels me to find this photo. To find who she was with. To see who the arm belongs to.
Her profile loads up. I click on photos.
They are full of selfies with pouting lips and excessive cleavage and shots in the mirror of her wearing tiny skirts. Some pictures have friends in, but the focus is always on her. She is the dominant feature of the photograph, the one who draws your eye; everyone else is just there to make her look better.
There is a knock on the door.
Harper walks past and I quickly turn off the monitor.
The door opens and closes, and Harper calls out, “Officer Felix is here!”
That was quick.
I turn off the monitor, place the envelope under the computer desk, and go to greet him.
47
Harper
I explain everything to Felix, and Dad sits with me. He’s distracted, but it’s fine. Sitting next to me is more support than he’s ever done before. My English teacher always says any progress is good progress.
Once I’ve finished, Felix sits back in the armchair, his hand resting on his chin, looking thoughtful. His cup of tea remains untouched, but he picks up the hobnob and bites half of it.
Once he’s finished eating, he speaks.
“Okay. Right. Thank you for telling me this, Harper, it… it, well…”
He wants to tell me I was foolish for getting another phone. I can see it. The words have met his lips, he’s just not saying them.
“I’m pleased you’ve told me the truth now, at least. And you say this Destiny girl is behind it?”
“Yes,” Dad interjects. “She came here and I confronted her.”
“And she admitted she did it?”
Dad glances at me. She never actually said those exact words, but we took it as an admission.
“As good as,” he says. “I know it’s her.”
“Right, well, the best thing is if you show me the messages, and we can go from there. Myself or another officer will stay here for the time being, until we have enough to question her.”
“When will that be?”
“Hopefully once you’ve shown me the messages. Then I can make the call. Shall we?”
I look at Dad, and he nods. A little assurance that it’s okay. The police officer is here now. He’ll protect us.
“Why don’t we sit at the table in the kitchen and do it?” Felix suggests. “Would be easier.”
We get up and head toward the kitchen, but Dad lingers.
“I’ll be with you in five minutes,” he says. “I just need to finish something on the computer.”
It annoys me at first that he is not going to be there, supporting me, then I think it’s probably
best — I can tell the officer about how they tried to make me kill Dad without him knowing.
God, even just to think those words… Make me kill Dad… What was I thinking?
Dad leaves us to it and we take a seat at the table. Felix takes out a laptop, connects a wire, and holds his open palm out to me.
After I look a little confused, he prompts me by saying, “The phone, Harper.”
I stare at this hand.
Something about the way he says it unnerves me. It’s the demanding nature of it. It’s not a request, it’s not supportive, it’s… forceful.
Shouldn’t he be taking the phone to the police station? Shouldn’t he be calling someone? Shouldn’t he be getting an expert to do this?
Still, it’s not up to me to question how the police do things. I don’t know what the protocol is.
So I hand the phone over.
He plugs it into the computer and loads the text messages.
48
Will
I peer through the hallway before I turn the monitor back on and listen. They are talking in the kitchen. I can’t hear what they are saying, but I know they are there.
I wonder if Felix knows about Destiny’s accusations. Did she tell the Headmaster she was lying before he contacted the police? Would he contact the police anyway? And would they make Felix aware?
He isn’t acting any differently toward me. In fact, he’s quite eager to help. If he knows something, he isn’t giving it away.
Destiny’s Facebook profile appears once again on the screen. Photo after photo of vanity and self-indulgence.
There are more than a thousand photos. It’s going to take me more than five minutes to go through them all.
Surely it must be a recent one. Surely I won’t have to go too far back…
I keep scrolling. Past photos of her in the park with her friends a few weeks ago. I wonder if she was thinking about me at that time, planning on approaching me, or if she was already convinced we were in love.
Past photos of her outside a house. I remember her parents have recently divorced, and she stands with an older woman who I assume is her mother; this must be their new home.
Past photos of last Halloween when she dressed as a slutty cat — or, at least, that’s what her caption says. She has whiskers painted on her cheeks and wears a black leotard.
I sigh. Lean back.
This is taking too long.
I need to be in the kitchen. I need to support my daughter. I need to be the dad I’m promising I’ll be.
I glance at the clock. I’ll keep looking for another two minutes, then I’ll give up.
I come across photos from last summer. She wears a red, frilly skirt and holds a cat, smiling at the camera with her tongue poking out, like it’s too big for her mouth, and I hate this girl. I don’t just resent her for what she’s done, but for who she is, and who she tries to be. She is everything I despise in a person. Self-obsessed, inward thinking, and lives her entire life on social media.
I know she’s just a girl, and this is what most teenagers are like — but that’s the problem. She isn’t just a one-off, and maybe that’s what I despise the most. That she is a single person who is representative of a larger portion of people.
Another glance at the clock tells me it’s time to give up. Go support Harper. Be there for her for once.
I do a last few scrolls.
Then, just as I get ready to shut down the computer, I see it.
Destiny. The arm. The photo
The caption me & my dad.
And my entire body stiffs, and I am unable to help myself whispering, “Oh dear God.”
49
Harper
As Felix scrolls through my messages, he doesn’t stop to read them.
Not a single one.
It’s like he’s checking something. As if he’s making sure they are all there.
But he’s not reading them.
Why isn’t he reading them?
I watch the screen as he begins highlighting every single message.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Tell me more about the threats,” he says, ignoring my question; though it doesn’t seem like he cares. “At what point did they say you should kill your father?”
“It wasn’t really said, just… I don’t know. If you look at the messages…”
But he’s not looking at them. He’s continuing to highlight them.
“And why did you not kill him?” he asks.
“Because he’s my father. I wouldn’t kill him.”
“But you were so close.”
“Not really.”
“You said you would do it.”
“Yes, but I never would have. It was just a moment. I wouldn’t have actually followed through.”
“So this person was just wasting your time, then?”
It’s a strange question.
Wasting my time?
He was grooming me. Manipulating me. Manoeuvring me into a position where I could join this supposed Death Club. Why would my refusal be wasting his time?
I look at the door, wishing Dad would walk through it. Where is he?
“Even after he said he believed in you,” Felix adds.
“What?”
“After he believed you could do it, why didn’t you?”
I look into his eyes, and see nothing of kindness, nothing of understanding; only irritation.
And it occurs to me…
I never told him that Danny said he believed in me.
“I don’t know,” I say, and feel my arms begin to tremble.
I glance at the door again.
Come on, Dad.
Please.
“But you had the knife in your hand?”
“I guess so.”
He shakes his head.
“Coward,” he adds.
My breath catches in my throat.
I want Dad.
“I’m just going to find my dad,” I say.
I go to get up, but he slams his fist on the table, hard.
“Sit down,” he says, cold and blank and forceful.
I do as he says.
And I watch the screen of his computer as he finishes highlighting every message.
“It’s pathetic little girls like you,” he says, “that cause people like me such stress. You and your silly little messages.”
And I watch his finger as he hits delete.
Every message disappears from the screen.
Every piece of evidence gone.
And Dad is still in the other room.
50
Will
It can’t be.
There must be some mistake.
Her surname is Hill, not Felix.
But she said it…
Her parents divorced. She took her mother’s maiden name.
And now the father of a psychotic girl is in the kitchen with my daughter.
I shut down the computer. Stand. Walk slowly and robotically through the hallway, every step an omen.
I enter the kitchen.
Harper stares at me. There is fear in her eyes. She is terrified.
She knows.
Felix turns to me and grins.
“Will,” he says. “Why don’t you take a seat. We were just going through what happened.”
“I think you should—”
“Take a seat, Will.”
I do not disobey. I take a seat beside my daughter.
“No,” Felix says. “Over here.”
He indicates the seat across the table from Harper. As far away from her as a seat at the table would allow.
I want to grab a knife.
I want to slam the computer against his head and tell Harper to run.
I want to be brave and fight him and save my daughter.
As it is, I do what we all know I will do, and sit in the seat I’m told to sit in.
“Harper was just telling me about how she was going to kill you,” he announces. “Why don�
�t you tell him more?”
Harper’s eyes widen. They look into mine.
She is a little girl again.
Terrified.
Alone.
No, not alone. Not anymore.
“Tell him, Harper.”
She says nothing. Just stares at me.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
Felix slams his fist on the table and it makes both of us jump.
“I’m giving the instructions here.”
I look at his belt. CS spray. Baton. Handcuffs. And rope, which seems unusual.
Is he even a real police officer?
“Harper, tell him.”
“Danny tried to get me to kill you, Dad.”
“And you almost did, didn’t you?”
She says nothing.
I don’t need her to. I will support her. I will not let him manipulate us.
“It wasn’t Destiny, was it?” I ask.
“I beg your pardon?” he replies with a ruthless politeness that makes me want to shut up.
But it’s shutting up that’s caused so many problems for me already.
“It was you. You were sending the messages.”
“You were abusing my daughter.”
I chuckle. I don’t know why. It just comes out. Perhaps it’s the irony of an abuser calling me an abuser.
I’m beginning to see where Destiny gets her delusions from.
“She would come home every night and cry because of you,” he tells me. “For months, I’ve had to hear her down the phone, in tears, because of you.”
“Months? She only started this last week.”
“Enough! No more lies!”
I go to object, to tell him I’m not lying, but it would be pointless. I couldn’t reason with Destiny, and I can’t reason with him. My priority is my daughter. I need to do what I can to keep her safe. Above all else, I need to ensure she’s safe.
I look at her. My girl. My daughter. My world.
My failure.
“Harper,” I say, quietly, even though he’ll hear every word. “Listen to me.”