by Vera Hollins
“Of course. All bathrooms on the first floor are under renovation, so you will have to use the one on the second floor. Our maid will take you to it.”
I nodded and waited for her to come and show me the way. I didn’t say a word as I followed her upstairs to the left wing, which sent my heart into overdrive. That was where Blake’s room was.
She led me to the first door on the right and left me to it, going back down. There were two more doors in the hallway, and my heart sped up because I was so close to Blake’s room. I took deep breaths and entered the bathroom, knowing nothing would stop my cramps for at least another hour.
I finished in the bathroom and headed to the staircase, but my legs stopped midway. My eyes went over my shoulder to the second door on the right, and then to the door at the far end of the corridor, and I got an inkling that was his room.
My chest tightened with a strange sensation as an idea formed in my head. It was beyond outrageous, but I wanted to do it all the more. I was supposed to go back to the dining room and continue being the obedient and responsible kid.
Instead, I headed up to the door at the end of the hallway.
I must be going crazy, I thought to myself. I’m turning into a stalker.
I told myself I was doing this so I could get some advantage over him in case he wanted to use my greatest vulnerability against me on Monday. His room could contain some incriminating answers.
But it was a lie, and I knew it. I just wanted to see his room. Nothing more, nothing less. It was like a hidden treasure that was so close I could practically feel it, and it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Me in Blake’s room—it didn’t get more personal than that.
If I got caught, I could always say I’d gotten lost.
Yeah, right. Like they would buy that.
My hand turned sweaty as I reached for the knob, hoping it wasn’t locked.
It wasn’t locked, but in the split second it took me to open the door, I realized Blake could be inside. Maybe he’d been home all this time and just didn’t want to come down.
Well, crap.
I bit into my lip with my heart in my throat, expecting to see him in the room, but I was met with complete darkness. It was his room, all right, but he wasn’t there. I let out a sigh of relief.
I slipped inside and closed the door behind me. I needed a few seconds to get used to the dark, inhaling his scent that was everywhere.
I was crazy. I was so crazy for coming here, but that didn’t stop me from going deeper into the spacious room, my eyes darting around to take in as much of it as possible.
Thanks to the faint light coming from the back garden through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could discern his king-size bed that stood across from them and a 75-inch TV mounted above a TV stand that was positioned diagonally from his bed. The stand contained a PlayStation, a cable box, and a couple of other gadgets. A few of his shirts had been thrown over his made bed, and a few pairs of his Air Jordans lay messily on the floor next to it.
There wasn’t a lot of furniture or personal things, which denoted an emptiness that added to the mystery that was Blake. If you took away the basketball lying next to his built-in closet, the two framed photos of Infected Mushroom album artwork on the wall—he listens to psytrance?—and the video game discs stacked on the floor close to his PS4, you would get a room out of those home & lifestyle magazines that looked like no one actually lived there.
I glanced at the door, fearing someone could come inside at any moment. I stood in place, listening carefully for any sound, ready to hide if needed, but I couldn’t hear anything except the furious pounding of my heart. Like a stab, a cramp hit my lower stomach, and I had to press my hand against it and breathe deeply so I could endure it.
Okay. Only a few more seconds, and then I’d be out.
I moved across the black and white striped carpet to his desk next to the bathroom door. My eyes studied the dark screen of the laptop before they caught sight of a manila folder with some photos sticking out of it. They sent a tremor of discomfort through me, and I frowned as I took out my phone and turned on the flashlight.
I cast another glance at the door. My brain told me to stop snooping around and come to my senses, but my hand didn’t listen, directing the light at the photos. They were all pictures of some run-down houses and guys taken from a distance and in the dark; their low quality made it difficult for me to make much of the faces or the buildings. A note lying next to them said in big handwritten letters: Never forget. My pulse quickened. Never forget what?
“What are you doing with these, Blake?” I whispered.
I noticed one photo peeking out from under the manila folder, and I reached for it, freezing when I saw what it was. It showed young Blake hugging a beautiful girl with short, curly black hair and dark brown eyes somewhere outdoors. She was thin and tall, and her megawatt smile matched Blake’s as they looked at the camera. I felt a sudden rush of longing because I’d never seen Blake smile like that before.
He looked so…carefree and happy. He was nothing like the cold and reserved guy I’d known from day one at East Willow High. His eyes shone with joy, and it was clear that they were madly in love. It just beamed out of the picture.
On the bottom, written in black marker:
Emma & Blake forever
A dull ache curled through my chest, a yearning and sadness for young Blake bringing tears to my eyes. What had happened to them? Where was she?
Deciding to leave before I ran out of luck, I returned the photo to where it was, but I bumped the mouse next to it with my hand in the process, and the screen of the laptop lit up. In the dead center was an open folder containing a video with a grainy thumbnail and the title Blake Jones and Emma Hoover, day 11. Upon closer inspection, I could make out a boy tied up to a chair in it… No, not any boy. It was Blake.
I clamped my hand over my mouth as a shiver ran down my spine. What the heck?
My instinct told me to step away and forget I’d seen this. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t my business. I had no right to look at it. It would be utterly wrong, and I would just ensnare myself more deeply into his web of secrets and darkness.
But something terrible had happened to Blake, and even with guilt and fear churning in me, I couldn’t just ignore it. I took one quick look over my shoulder at the door and moved my trembling finger over the mouse, hoping the video would be over soon and I would be out of here before anyone came in.
The first few seconds showed a grayish, filthy surface I recognized as a floor only after the camera moved upward. This person was in an extremely small basement with dirty and damp gray brick walls that gave me chills.
The camera focused on young Blake in the chair, and I could barely recognize him through the many gashes that marred his face. The room was semi-dark, but the hanging light bulb provided enough light for me to distinguish each bruise and cut. My stomach curled.
“Are you recording?” a guy in the background said; the sound was just loud enough for me to hear it.
“Yeah,” the one holding the camera replied.
Blake looked exhausted and malnourished, his tortured gaze fixed on the floor as the guy holding the camera circled around him. He was motionless, in his own world.
The guy recording grabbed Blake’s chin and forced him to look at him. His dull eyes had lost all their light.
“Smile for the camera,” the guy said. Blake didn’t move a muscle, remaining silent. “That’s not good. You don’t want your parents to see you like this when they get this video, do you?” I let out a gasp of disgust just as he grabbed his chin. “You keep ignoring me, and it’s starting to get on my nerves. Let’s see if you’re going to ignore this.”
The video was shaky as the guy moved to the other side of the room, where a disheveled girl lay curled on the floor in the corner, her hands and legs tied up with a rope. She was the girl from the photo. Emma.
“Let’s play with your girl.”
“Don’t touch her!” Blake’s sudden shout hit me hard, and the first tear slid down my cheek. The other guy, who was dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask that showed only his eyes, grabbed the girl and dragged her closer to Blake. “Don’t touch her! Leave her alone! LEAVE HER ALONE!”
The guy ignored him completely. He removed the ropes from her and straddled her as she lay on the ground without putting up a fight or even moving. It was as if she’d accepted her fate, and it shattered my heart.
The guy with the camera moved back so that the frame showed both Blake and Emma. Blake was thrashing against the chair and shouting curses, straining to set himself free, which seemed to only amuse the guys.
“She likes this,” the guy said as he ran his hand over her face, pinning her arms above her head with his other hand.
He groped Emma’s breasts over her shirt and then moved his hand over her stomach, going even lower. He pushed his hand into her sweatpants, and I felt a rush of nausea. My hand hovered over the mouse to stop the video, but I couldn’t stop it, compelled to watch the horror unfold in front of me.
Blake pushed against the ropes, screaming as the guy recording chuckled in the background, and the force of his moves tipped his chair over. He fell down on the floor with a loud crash, his head hitting the floor with a thud.
“Blake,” Emma screamed, looking at him with teary eyes.
This seemed to amuse the guy in black, who now touched Emma in the most inappropriate way while she just lay down there and stared at Blake.
“Don’t touch her! Get away from her!” Blake raised his head from the floor as he watched them, crying. “I’ll kill you! I swear, I’ll kill you!”
The guy didn’t stop touching Emma, not sparing Blake a single glance. “But she liked it the last few times, isn’t that right, kitten?”
No. My breathing turned more and more shallow.
He grabbed her chin to make her look at him. “Answer me!” He pulled his hand out of her sweatpants and slapped her with such force it made her nose bleed.
“Leave her alone!” Blake’s shrill voice rang in my head, filling me with the most profound pain.
“This is to teach you to be more obedient next time,” the guy said to him, and then the monstrosity I feared happened…
He ripped the sweatpants and underwear off Emma and pulled his jeans and briefs down, starting something that was brutally etched into my mind forever. Blake’s and Emma’s screams reverberated in my mind, mixed with the cruel laughter of their captors that never stopped.
And then the gruesome act was over. Everything in me was cold as I watched the girl who looked lifeless. She didn’t move from the spot on the floor where the guy had left her, staring at the ceiling with eyes that petrified me. The sick bastard zoomed in on her and then showed Blake, who had somehow managed to free his hands in the seconds when the focus wasn’t on him.
Blake pushed the ropes wrapped around his waist off him and propped himself up with his ankles still tied together.
“I’ll kill you!” He pounced at the guy and wound his hands around his neck, sending them both down as he strangled him.
“Shit,” the guy with the camera said and lowered it on some piece of furniture before he joined in to help his friend. I couldn’t see much, but it was enough, my heart pounding furiously as he separated Blake from the guy, which allowed the guy in black to punch Blake in the stomach.
Blake cried out when the guy landed another punch to his abdomen, which was followed by more and more merciless hits.
“No!” Emma picked herself up and launched herself at the guy punching Blake, wrapping her arm around his neck to yank him away.
“Get off me,” the guy shouted and threw her off, sending her flying down to the floor. “I’m sick and tired of this bitch. We don’t need her anyway.”
“NO!” Blake fought against the guy who held him, but he couldn’t set himself free. “What are you going to do to her?!”
“Do it,” the other guy said. “It’s long overdue.”
The guy took his gun out of his jeans and aimed it at Emma. “Time to say goodbye.”
“NO,” Blake screamed as the gun went off, and the bullet landed in Emma’s head.
She was gone. In a heartbeat.
The camera showed everything. Her upper body hitting the floor. Her lifeless eyes as she stared at nothing. The abundant amount of blood that gruesomely pooled beneath her. Blake screaming until the guy knocked him unconscious with the handle of his gun.
And then a heavy silence.
The guy picked up the camera and directed it at his face covered in a gray ski mask. “You want your son to end up like this too? If not, you better have that goddamn money ready by the end of this week.”
I made sure the display went back to sleep and returned downstairs. I barely managed to keep my face neutral as I sat through the rest of dinner, extremely disturbed by the gore I’d witnessed in the video. Only after we returned home and I closed myself in my room did I let it all out, crying for hours in my bed.
I cried for Emma. I cried for young Blake. I cried for their tragic love. I cried for the injustice in this world that had sent those evil people their way and confined them to that basement.
I never could have imagined something so devastating and gruesome—something so sudden. One moment, she was there. The next, she was gone, her last seconds—no, days—spent in the utmost horror.
That footage played behind my eyelids over and over again as I tossed and turned, trying to sleep, and when I finally managed it, I was tormented by nightmares.
Blood, death, rape…it was all mixed together until I couldn’t take it anymore, so I gave up on sleep and went into my recording room to play my guitar at four in the morning. I plucked the strings as I chased the happy melody to soothe me, but it was hard to brighten up.
I regretted entering his room. I was such a fool for prying into his business, getting way more than I’d bargained for. Way, way more.
What was he doing with that stuff, anyway? Now I understood what that “Never forget” note related to and why he had the phobia of basements, but what was going on with those photos? Why did he need a reminder not to forget what had happened?
This new mystery only threw me further into a tizzy, so I pushed all my thoughts aside and focused on my music. Managing to calm myself enough to try to sleep again, I left my guitar and wrapped myself tightly in the sheets, finally falling asleep.
My cold was worse when I got up, and I had a fever, so I slept almost the entire Sunday away. I woke up around noon the next day when my parents were at work and found my favorite tomato sandwich in plastic wrap on the plate on my nightstand, along with Mom’s note that said to rest the whole day. She’d also left me some cash in case I wanted to order food.
Starving, I bolted the sandwich down and ordered pizza, then I switched out my pajamas for sweatpants and a t-shirt and went to the bathroom to do my daily routine.
I planned to spend the next few hours watching House for probably the hundredth time, so I ended up lying on the couch in the living room. I’d already made a pile of used tissues next to the tissue box on the coffee table, and my nose was dry and sensitive after all the blowing. My cramps weren’t as intense as they had been on Saturday, but it was enough to keep me cranky.
Mom called to check up on me, making sure I ate well and wasn’t running a fever. I still had a temperature and felt so exhausted I wanted to stay glued to the couch for the rest of the day. My nose was stuffed, and each time I swallowed, it was like I was swallowing a marble.
The pizza delivery was quick, staying true to the twenty-minute delivery time they advertised. I paused the last episode of House’s first season, took the money, and hauled myself to the front door, ignoring the protest of my muscles. At least there was something positive about this—I didn’t have to go to school.
I opened the door and curled my lips up in a smile, but my smile froze because on my doorstep was none other than
Blake. After a brief moment of confusion, that video appeared in front of my eyes. All I could see was young Blake in it. Beaten. Devastated. Hopeless.
He saw his girlfriend get raped and killed right before his eyes…
I blinked, clearing my mind of those nauseating thoughts. I spotted his red Ducati Panigale R many chicks at our school drooled over parked in my driveway, and I frowned. Unless Blake was a pizza delivery boy, I couldn’t even begin to understand what he was doing here.
My heart started racing. Maybe he’s found out I was in his room.
“What are you doing here, Blake?”
His gazed moved down my body slowly, so slowly, and my cheeks flamed. I’d humiliated myself in front of him on Friday night, and now that he was here, my words came back to taunt me. My cheeks grew even redder, if that was possible. As always when I was around him, I sucked in my stomach, hoping my muffin top wasn’t as visible as I thought it was.
I coughed and sniffed. The small frown on his face grew deeper when he met my gaze. “You didn’t come to school.” I raised my brows. “I heard Sarah say you got sick, so I came to see you.”
What? I was tempted to pinch my arm, just to check if I was imagining this or not. The school day wasn’t even over yet, and he was here checking up on me. This must have been a prank. He would smile another of his cruel smiles and show me he was just messing with me.
At least he isn’t here because I was in his room and watched the video. This meant he didn’t know about that.
“You…” I started in a voice both squeaky and raspy. I coughed. “You’re checking up on me?”
His eyes seared into me. “You could say that, yes.”
I believed I must’ve been transported into another dimension; that was the only explanation for why Blake Jones—my enemy and bully from day one—was here, checking if I was okay.
“Why? We aren’t friends.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but then the pizza guy brought his scooter to a stop next to Blake’s bike. Blake crossed his arms over his chest. His face didn’t reveal any emotion as he observed the interaction between the pizza guy and me. I couldn’t do anything against the shame that he was seeing me buy pizza. I didn’t want him to judge me for my eating habits, too aware of the fact that he was only drawn to super thin girls.