I expected more structure, more spiritual substance to the program. More something, to help me root out this sick, self-sabotaging thing in me that makes me do things like kiss my best friend’s husband. But there’s nothing. Well, nothing other than a day hike, activities like building the shelters, and unsupervised meditating at night. As much as I don’t want to be here, I’m still disappointed. I had hoped in some way that this L’Élu would save me.
Maybe nothing will save me. Maybe Perry was the best part of me, and I just am what I am.
At the waterfall, I find Jessalyn and Deirdre stripped down to their sports bras and underwear, ducking in and out of the pool beneath it like a couple of kids. I kick off my boots and jump in the pool, clothes and all, surfacing to the sound of their laughter. Lach ambles up, pulls off his boots too, and settles on the edge of an overhanging rock.
“Get in!” Deirdre yells at Lach.
“Oh, no,” he says. “I’m the lifeguard.” He seems to be zeroed in on me, though, as I dunk all the way under the water. “Bad move, Erin,” he says when I surface. “You never want to get your clothes wet in the jungle. Never know how long it’s gonna take to dry them out.”
But I don’t want to take off my clothes in front of him. “I’ll be fine,” I say.
“Just looking out for you. Don’t want you to have to do this all over again.” He shoots me a half smile, but I avert my eyes, and through the clear water, study my hands as they sink into the black sand. Half of me—the stupid half—enjoys the attention; the other half of me thinks this is just his idea of a game of psychological chicken. Well, fine. If it is, it’s wasted on me. I’m not that into tent sex.
Deirdre paddles up to us, leaning back in the shallow water, preening for Lach. “What’s on the program today?” she asks. “Kill and roast a parrot? Make a sundial out of twigs? Scale the waterfall with our bare hands?”
“The last one,” Lach says. “You’re going to climb that waterfall.”
She turns to ogle the sheer cliff rising up beside the foaming waterfall. “Jesus. Really?”
“No, you dim bulb,” he says. “You think I’m going to haul your asses up there with no ropes or safety equipment? Not likely.” He leans back, closes his eyes, and lifts his face to the sun. “I’m gonna sit here and let you ladies entertain me.”
Deirdre giggles, but I keep my face down. It’s then that I notice, on the sandy bottom beneath the warm, clear water, a blue plastic bread tie.
Water splashes me, and my head jerks up.
“Come on!” Jessalyn shouts at Deirdre and me, and splashes us again. Deirdre paddles back to her.
“Go have fun, Erin,” Lach says. “You’re too uptight.” His phone rings, and he answers it with a “Yo, what’s the word?”
I look down at the clear water. The bread tie is resting beside what looks like a small white bone with bits of something translucent and stringy clinging to it. I move my hand a centimeter closer, stirring the sand into a cloud under the surface of the water. A chicken bone, maybe, from someone’s picnic.
When the sand settles, though, I see that it doesn’t really look like a chicken bone. It’s just the length of the last joint of my forefinger. And it looks human.
26
SHORIE
I spend Sunday messing around on the computer and trying to avoid Dele so I won’t have to pretend I’m excited about school, and then, suddenly, before I know it, it’s Monday, my first official day of college.
Of course, I’m not on my way to class. I’m hiding out in a booth at University Donut, watching backpack-laden students stream across campus and chowing down a Nutella old fashioned. I still can’t quite believe I’m doing this, ditching school. I was never even late for any of my high school classes. Now look at me.
After I review the daily server report for the third time and determine it’s clean, I check for an update on Ms. X. The balances in all her allotments look completely, frustratingly, normal. However, the next screenshot is another private message from Yours.
I wish we could be together right now.
The third shot shows one of Jax’s mustard-yellow bubble suggestions: Saks Fifth Avenue, The Summit, Birmingham, Chloé Quinty Leather Clogs, $795.00! Stella McCartney Slouchy Denim Boots, Preorder $995.00!
I sit there, staring at my phone like it’s a fucking Horcrux, and my heart does this jagged kind of dance inside my chest. I put down my half-eaten donut. I can see where Ms. X is—in Birmingham, shopping at Saks. Or at least walking past it on her way someplace else. But my hands are tied. I can’t just start digging into Jax’s servers or trying to crack the UUID number of this user. That’s totally against FDIC regulations. What I’m doing, spying on them, is already bad enough.
But I can’t help but think—if she’s in Birmingham, and she’s messing around on a server, it isn’t a stretch to think she might be an employee at Jax. We only have three women executives. Mom, Sabine, and Layton. But there are at least five other female employees who might be capable of this. Most of them don’t make the kind of money this woman does. Their salaries are nowhere near high enough to have allotments like this. Or maybe they have other income that I don’t know about. It’s possible.
It’s also possible, for that matter, that Ms. X is a man. A man who’s purchased women’s shoes and who’s in an illicit relationship. And he wouldn’t have to work at Jax to hack into the servers. So really, I shouldn’t rule out anything at this point. It’ll prevent me from examining clues with a truly open mind. I stuff my phone back in my purse and finish my donut.
That evening I find myself back downtown, wandering around trying to decide what I’m in the mood to eat. It’s entirely too early for dinner, but there’s not a whole lot to do when you’re a student who’s not actually attending school. Jax is doing its thing—pushing a yellow bubble on-screen every time I pass a restaurant. Have the chicken satay! it chirrups when I near a Thai place, $7.99 with a cucumber salad and a glass of hot green tea!
I keep going, then duck into a Tex-Mex place and find a table near the back. The server brings me a water and menu and nods at my phone.
“My boyfriend and I just got on it,” she says. “We love it so much. It’s totally gotten me out of debt in, like, six months, and now it’s helping us save for a wedding.”
I hadn’t realized I’d opened one of the screenshots of Ms. X’s Jax account. I cover the phone with a hand. “Oh, cool. But . . . don’t waste your money on a wedding. The entire industry is one giant scam. You should save it for a really incredible honeymoon instead. Or a down payment on a house in whatever neighborhood around you that has the fastest rising property values. Jax will tell you that too. Also, in the advanced settings, there’s an allocation for eloping.”
I shut my mouth abruptly. It’s like my mother is talking through me. Like she’s the ventriloquist, and I’m her dummy. Suddenly my eyes mist over, and I can’t swallow.
“You’re kidding me,” she says. “I had no idea. I haven’t really had a chance to explore all the extras.”
I nod mutely.
“Do you want me to come back?” the server asks.
“No. Um, what do you recommend?”
She cocks her head. “Well, everybody makes a big deal about the fish tacos, but you know they raise those tilapia in tanks where they eat their own poop. So, if I were you, I’d get on that vegetarian train, you know what I mean?”
“Okay, yeah. I’ll do that. And a tea as well, please.”
When she’s gone, I check my phone. To my surprise, this time there’s a long chain of message screenshots.
I feel like you’re slipping away, the first one reads. I can’t go forward with everything—I won’t—if YOU are not the reward at the end.
I’m not slipping away, comes the reply. I just don’t want to talk here. I told you, not on Jax.
I want to see you, and not with a bunch of people. It’s not enough.
I want to see you too, but we need to be more careful.
You know computers, you work for an app company. Can’t you just erase this?
V funny. Not how it works.
I’ve got business in Sylacauga tomorrow morning. I’ll be at Dally’s BBQ in Childersburg, 4:30pm. Nothing fancy . . .
Nice change from a hotel room, tho. I’ll try. xx
I sit back against my chair. You know computers, you work for an app company. So one of them could definitely be a Jax employee. And maybe both of them. Maybe that’s what the text not with a bunch of people means. They both work at Jax, and they already see each other there. There are a handful of people at the company—Layton, for instance—who aren’t programmers. Maybe the message was an attempt at sarcasm.
Anyway, whoever this is, they’re definitely planning something together, doing something. I can’t go forward with everything . . . that has to mean illegal activity. Probably related to the big chunk of money that made a brief appearance in Ms. X’s account yesterday. They can’t risk messaging on Jax—maybe because Ms. X works there, or Yours does, or both—so now they’ve set a meeting at a different location.
I’ve got to get to Childersburg tomorrow. But how the hell am I going to manage that? It’s over an hour from Auburn. I could ask to borrow Dele’s beater Honda, but I can’t tell her about what’s going on at Jax. I mean, don’t reporters or journalists live for scoops like that? I can’t risk it.
That leaves only one person. The only person I know who’s got a car, who knows I’m skipping class, and who definitely won’t judge me for hacking into somebody’s private messages. Rhys is literally the only person in this town I can trust. But also somebody, like Dele, who I’m not sure I can trust, which confuses the hell out of me. So what in the world am I supposed to do?
The server is right about the veggie tacos. They’re wrapped in warm corn tortillas and loaded with cotija cheese, and it takes me less than fifteen minutes to clear my plate. I pay the check with Jax, adding a nice tip, and immediately the app repopulates all the fields of my allocations.
But I don’t get up from the table, because I’m doing some quick addition and not from my account, but from somebody else’s. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.
Another bump in Ms. X’s balances. And the total is the exact same as the last amount—$161,772.96.
27
ERIN
As we hike back to the campsite, the setting sun turns the scattered clouds into cotton candy shades of pink and orange and purple and blue, but I can’t even take a moment to admire the spectacular sight. The blue plastic bread tie is tucked safely into my bra, and the puzzle pieces in my brain have begun to arrange themselves into a frightful order.
If the bread tie is the same one Agnes put in her hair, that means Lach lied to us when he said she made it back to the resort and was sent home. It means she’s still somewhere on the island. I wonder if that’s what he meant by what he said on the phone: she’s waiting at the river.
On the other hand, the tie could be just a bit of random garbage from a group of picnickers who’d trekked out here to spend a day at the waterfall. Or a makeshift hair tie used by another woman on another L’Élu.
The bone I can’t begin to explain. It can’t have come from Agnes. Even if she got lost or drowned or something, bodies don’t decompose that fast. Unless, of course, an animal got to it. One of the many creatures of prey who live in this jungle.
I shake off the thought. Obviously Agnes isn’t dead. I’m just being dramatic, letting things get to me. Despite the L’Élu being less extreme physically than I’d anticipated, being out in the jungle, with these women, with this weird guy, was clearly messing with my mind.
On our way back to camp, there are a couple of times—once on a muddy hillside and again over a stretch of precarious boulders—when I stumble, and Lach offers his hand to help me along. His hand is strong and warm and rough, and both times it feels like he holds on to me longer than necessary.
Deirdre’s back stiffens every time he touches me, her face set in a look of supreme annoyance. But what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t control what the guy does, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to appease a grown woman who wants to play petty high school mean-girl games. I have more important things to think about.
After we’ve eaten dinner, tidied up the picnic table, and settled around the fire, I see Lach reach into a cooler and pull out a bottle of beer. As he ambles back to the fire, I roll my eyes.
“I thought this was supposed to be a rehab,” I say.
“Do you have a drinking problem, Erin?”
“No. But I heard there have been accidents up here. Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“There’s not going to be any accidents,” he says. “And Deirdre’s okay with it. It’s only Jessalyn here with the problem. But she has to go back to the real world at the end of the month, don’t you? Can’t expect to be treated with kid gloves then.”
Jessalyn shoots him a nasty look. “I never asked for special treatment. You do what you want.”
He settles back against a log, takes a swig, and nods at me. “Erin doesn’t have a problem with the bottle. She’s here because she works too much.” He laughs. “If that’s an addiction, my whole family ought to be sent off.”
I shrug.
“So you can have a beer,” he presses.
“My God.” Deirdre gets up and saunters over to the cooler. “We’ll drink with you, Lach, all right? Quit trying so hard.” She comes back with two bottles, offering me one. A frosty bead of water runs down and splashes on my leg.
Jess dismisses me. “Go ahead. I don’t care.”
I hesitate.
“Drink the beer, Erin,” she says. “I’m fine.”
I take the bottle, clink it against Deirdre’s, and gulp down a good quarter of it. Almost immediately, probably because of the day’s strenuous exercise and the fact that I haven’t eaten nearly enough, my body goes loose limbed and languid.
It feels so good. Really good.
A seventies southern rock song drifts out of a little wireless speaker Lach has set on the picnic table. I stretch my scratched, insect-bitten legs toward the fire and sing along. After a second, I realize I’ve got my beer raised like I’m at a concert. I glance over at Lach. He’s laughing. And then he’s not laughing; he’s just watching me with those pale eyes. I shut my mouth and look away.
Jessalyn’s up, holding his phone. “What’s your password? I want to change the music.”
“Try his name,” Deirdre calls out.
Jess waggles the phone at him. “Password, chickadee.”
“Lock,” he says.
“L-a-c-h or l-o-c-k?” Jessalyn retorts. “The man? Or the thing on a door you stick a key into?”
“It’s also one of those things on a dam,” Deirdre says.
Jess taps at the phone. “Holy shit,” she says. “Y’all. His password is actually lock.”
Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” starts playing.
“It’s short for Lachlan, you dimwits.” He grins at all of us.
“That’s a homonym,” Jessalyn says. “Which is different than a homograph. That’s when two words are spelled the same but mean different things.”
Deirdre laughs. “Like a fine . . . money you owe . . . and fine.” She sways a little. “God damn. I’ve only had one beer.”
I know what she means. The effect of one drink is much stronger than I expected.
Lach leaps up and grabs Deirdre’s hand. “Dance with me.” His voice has a wheedling tone to it.
She struggles loose. “Shouldn’t we be meditating or working on our chakras or something?” She strides over to the picnic table and pops open another beer. “Didn’t you say we were supposed to go beyond our first world mindset?”
Lach addresses Jess and me. “Okay, I’m calling an audible. You guys have done a great job this week, really worked your asses off. So we’re going to take a time out from the official agenda and celebrate your successes.” He glances at D
eirdre. “Even if I have to force you.”
“What does that mean?” she retorts, then turns away. “Asshole.”
“You don’t have to force me,” Jess says.
He angles toward her. “You wanna dance?”
“Maybe.” She eyes him coyly. I glance at Deirdre. She’s glaring at them both.
But Jess slips around Lach and shimmies over to me. She crooks her finger. I laugh and shake my head but offer my hand. She hoots with triumphant laughter and pulls me up, grinding on me to the music.
“There you go,” Lach says. “Look, Dee Dee. These girls know how to have fun.”
As Deirdre settles back beside the fire, Lach corrals me with his arms. He pulls me in close, and I can feel her eyes on us. Under his ratty T-shirt his chest feels like granite. He smells like campfire smoke and beer and sweat, and when his whiskery cheek brushes mine, I stiffen.
“Jesus, relax.” He pulls me closer. “I don’t bite.”
I can’t relax—but I’m not sure I want to make a big deal of pushing this guy away. I don’t like the vibe I’m getting from Deirdre, sure, but more importantly I’m worried about Agnes. Really worried. And I’m starting to feel that Antonia didn’t send her home like Lach said.
But bottom line, even if Agnes is lost in the woods, and Lach’s been lying to us about it, playing innocent is the smartest move. At least until I can find out what’s really going on.
Lach’s hand has made its way from between my shoulder blades down to the curve of my lower back.
“So you’re pretty famous, huh?” he says.
I kind of laugh and shake my head at the same time.
“You did that app that’s worth a shit ton of cash, didn’t you? People write stories about you.”
“I’m not famous.”
“You’re rich, though. Really rich now that your husband died.” He smiles, and I feel a chill run up my back. Prickle the hair on my scalp.
And then I feel his fingers flutter across my chest. My eyes fly open just as he plucks the blue plastic bread tie from where it had worked its way up from my cleavage and become stuck to my sternum.
Until the Day I Die Page 15