He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, then lets out a bitter laugh. “Even the nurse who gives me my flu shot tells me right before she jabs the needle in.”
“Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. You know, you are so much like your mom. When it comes to this kind of thing, she, too, has exactly zero tact.”
He surveys the street outside the window. “Marriage is a funny thing, Shorie. Sometimes it’s a partnership and a battle, all at the same time. I don’t mean your parents—they got it about as close to perfect as anybody could. Compared to them, the rest of us are just wannabes and hopefuls. Sabine and me? We’re not the epic love story I thought we were. That I wanted us to be. But that’s okay, you know? That’s real life, and it’s perfectly fine.”
He smiles at me. A fake smile, I think.
“I’ve never seen the point in shielding kids from the truth,” he goes on. “But what do I know? I’m not a father. Anyway, I probably just said about five things your mother would shoot me for.”
I don’t say anything. Then after a few seconds, Ben claps his hands. “Okay,” he says in this hearty voice. “Why don’t you get some rest, and later maybe we’ll pick up some pizza? Or maybe we’ll cook. You could probably use a good home-cooked meal, right?”
“Okay.”
He edges backward to the door. I think about my dad’s journal, hidden under the chair.
“Get some rest,” Ben says. He hesitates, like maybe there’s something else he wants to say, but then he seems to decide against it, and he’s out the door.
I slip off my Toms, retrieve the journal, and slide between the covers. The bed is really comfortable, and I burrow down the way I used to with Foxy Cat.
I think about Dele and Rhys, on their way back to Auburn. Will they stop for dinner and talk about me? They seemed to get along pretty well. We all seemed like friends today, and their absence feels like a dull ache right below my sternum. I suddenly wish I were with them, getting ready for class tomorrow. I miss all that: the books, the work, the energy of the classroom.
I lay the journal on top of the quilt and stare at it. I wonder for a second if it’s wrong to read it. The notes and reminders Dad meant only for himself. Is it wrong to read someone’s things after they’re gone? Do they see you do it, from another plane? Someplace outside of the material universe? I hope so. I hope Dad is watching, even if it makes him mad at me.
I open the journal and slowly flip through it. Dad only filled out about half of it, which makes sense, since he died halfway through the month. On the back page, there’s a list of seven phone numbers, each scrawled beside a first name only.
Barry L., Sandra C., Mason P.
There’s a knot in my stomach as I turn back to the first page.
Perry Gaines, I read, and inhale deeply.
Friday, March 1
39
PERRY’S JOURNAL
Wednesday, March 13
TO DO:
Finish Shorie’s letter
Buy floss
“What lies behind you and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson (Shorie’s letter?)
40
ERIN
I know it’s a dream, even as the events unfold.
Shorie and Perry are trapped in Ben’s truck, sunk to the bottom of the lake. Their eyes, wide and scared, plead wordlessly for help, even as Shorie unaccountably flips through one of Perry’s journals. I see them, but I can’t swim far enough down to rescue them. Horror courses through me. I’m going to lose them—the two people I love most in the world—and I want to cry out, but I can’t force the sound up and out of my throat.
The metallic chunk of the sliding bolt wakes me up. My face is pressed against the cold stone floor, and I push upright as the cellar door scrapes open. The next thing I know I’m squinting into the high beam of the flashlight, and something drops in front of me. My boots.
“Move,” Lach says.
“Can we use the bathroom?”
“Outside.”
He’s got Jessalyn by the neck, and he grabs me, too, forcing us through the cobwebbed stone passageway and up the narrow steps. We’re behind the house, and when I look back, the place is lit up like a birthday cake. Women partying in every room, no doubt, stuffing their noses full of coke, pouring expensive booze down their throats.
“Do your thing.” Lach shoves us both forward. He points to the gun in his waistband. He’s removed the silencer, I notice, maybe to make it a little less unwieldy. Looks like we’re going on a hike to a spot on the island where no one can hear him shoot us. The proverbial “second location.”
“I don’t have to go,” Jess says, and circles back to stand by Lach.
I squat, right out there in the yard, the moonlight spilling over my bare backside, urine gushing for an eternity. I can feel him watching me, the asshole, so I keep my eyes on the ground. But it’s not from shame. My mind is racing, linking the facts I know, filling in what I don’t.
Sabine is cheating on Ben.
She’s stealing from Jax.
The biggest question, though, is still unanswered. Did my best friend also kill my husband?
Then again, does it even matter at this point? There’s nothing I can do, no matter what the truth is. And, right now, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. For instance, figuring out Lach’s plan. My best guess is the waterfall. It’s where I found Agnes’s hair tie and the bone. Maybe it’s where he keeps the bodies until he can dispose of them permanently later.
I’m just about to shake off and zip up when I notice Jess. She’s moved behind Lach, her gaze boring into me, a white-hot bolt of pure, distilled intention. She raises her hand, her lips twisted into a smirk. Somehow, she’s managed to swipe Lach’s phone.
“Toilet paper would be nice,” I comment as I button my pants. “Oh my God, what the hell is that?” I say, and point into the darkness beyond Lach.
He turns, and, just as nice and slow as a lacrosse ball you toss to your six-year-old daughter, Jess lobs Lach’s phone to me.
Lach’s phone in hand, I take off across the patch of grass and into an overgrown sugarcane field. Lach yells, but I don’t slow. I scramble over the low rock walls that demarcate the borders, and before long I’m in dense forest. I don’t hear anything behind me, but that doesn’t mean Lach isn’t in pursuit, so I speed up. It takes all my concentration not to face-plant on the sharp boulders or gnarled roots or to get tangled in the vines hanging like hair from the trees. And now clouds have obscured the moon. The night’s no longer silvery, just plain dark.
Go, I tell my legs, just go. They obey, pumping faster and faster, carrying me up my path in time with the pounding of my heart. I don’t know where Jess has gone, but I assume she’s running, too, somewhere, in the opposite direction. I hope she is.
Breathe. Keep going. Stay alive.
I run and run, and when I can’t run any more, I drop my hands to my knees, head down, gulping air. Sweat drips off my nose, runs down my cheeks and neck. I am beyond exhausted. I am . . .
I hear the roar and look up. Disbelief mingles with despair. I’m at the waterfall, just a couple of yards from the pool. Which means I’m going to have to set off in a new direction. I tell myself to stand, to choose a different path and just go, but tears rise to my eyes, constricting my throat. I can’t move. I’m out of steam. And where can I go on this island that Lach’s not going to know better than me?
Laughter rings out behind me. “Which way now, Erin?”
I spin to face the darkness.
It’s Lach, hidden by the jungle. Somewhere behind me. But where?
“You could go right and follow the river. But I’ll warn you, it gets really steep and rocky. Lots of places to twist an ankle. Break it clean through.”
I hold my breath. But I am shaking now.
“You could go left, into the trees, but Antonia’s sent every concierge she has in there. They will find you, Erin, and t
hey will take you to her. And trust me, you do not want to deal with Antonia after what you’ve done.”
I squint into the darkness, but I can’t make out a thing. No figure of a man. Nothing. I pull out his phone and check the bars. Only one. I dial Shorie’s number, but it rings three times before the call drops.
“Why don’t you make it easy for yourself? Join forces with me? I’ve been thinking about something. A plan I want to share with you.”
I mop my wet face. I’ve been crying and didn’t even know it. Never, I think. Not in a million years. He’s lying. There is no plan. He’s probably already shot Jess, and as sure as the river flows to the sea, the minute I give him a chance, he’ll drop me where I stand.
“Erin,” he says in a wheedling voice.
Before I’ve even had the chance to think rationally about what I’m doing, I’m turning, bounding into the pool, through the shallows, to the black rock wall beside the curtain of tumbling water.
“What are you doing?” I hear him yell.
I touch the rocks and scan the height of the cliff. Approximately a four-story building, give or take. I don’t know what I’m doing.
“You planning on doing some rock climbing, Erin?”
My legs are already buckling from exhaustion and lack of sustenance, and the rocks are slippery. But, if I’m remembering correctly from our afternoon here, the face of the cliff should be sufficiently jagged for climbing. Not that I know the first thing about what makes for decent rock climbing. Not that I’ve ever rock climbed in my whole goddamn life.
Laughter rings out above the noise of the falls. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
Tell me something I don’t know. I reach as high as I can, anchoring my fingers. The surface of the rock is more mossy than slimy. I can do this, I think. I reach up with the other hand, wedge my toe in between two rocks, and haul myself up.
“Don’t do this, Erin,” he yells. “I’m telling you, I figured out a plan.”
I reach up, find another toehold, and pull myself up again. Water sprays my eyes and nose and mouth, and I turn away from the falls and hold my breath. Another rock lip to anchor my weight on, another ledge just big enough to grab hold of and pull myself up.
“A way for both of us to get what we want!”
I search for my next move, but water droplets cloud my vision, and I have to squeeze my whole face shut and just go by feel. Hand, hand, toes, and up. Hand, hand, toes, and up. My progress is excruciatingly slow, and through the constant stream of water, all I can think is how there’s a technique to this, a better way than this pathetic scrambling I’m doing. But it’s too late. I couldn’t be bothered to climb that stupid, fake rock wall at the gym; I was too busy fast-walking on the treadmill.
I pause and press my body against the rocks. I want to look back at him to know for sure if he’s holding a gun on me, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll catch sight of the ground and get dizzy. Or throw myself off. The dizziness of freedom.
I don’t want to fall. I can’t fall.
I have to get home to Shorie. I have to see my daughter again.
“Erin! You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” His voice is fainter now, barely discernible over the pounding of the water beside me. But I can still hear him. Terror courses through me, making me feel like I’m not in my body. I tingle all over and cling tighter to the rocks. He hasn’t taken a shot yet. I wonder if he’s telling the truth about a plan.
There’s a beat, then Lach yells again. “Erin?” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to do something unpleasant. Which involves shooting. But I’m not going to kill you, just slow you down, all right? So we’re going to count to three, together.”
A spasm of fear rockets through me, so hard and fast I feel my fingers slip the slightest bit. My eyes fly open. I’ve gone cold, and I can feel myself trembling.
“One!” he yells.
I blow air out and look up. Do it, Erin. Go. I grab the rock above me and to my right. Lift my leg and position my boot on a rock directly below it. I inhale and pull myself up.
“Two!”
I can’t help it; I look back.
Oh, no. No, no, no, no . . .
I shift into high gear, grappling wildly for another handhold. I move up faster, higher and higher.
“Three!”
A shot rings out, but I don’t stop, and if a bullet has hit me, I can’t feel it. I keep going. Hand, hand, toes, and up. Hand, hand, toes, and up.
Another boom cracks the air, and this time I hear a small explosion to my left. My heart and lungs and every other organ inside me feel like they’re going to burst through my skin. My head is ringing, throbbing with fear and exhaustion. But I have to keep going, keep focusing on the top.
I am on autopilot now. Hand, hand, toes, and up. The rush of the water is so loud now, I can’t hear anything but my own thumping heart. No more cracks, no more bullets. Just the sound of the waterfall and the ache of my fingers and arms and legs. I’m no longer trembling; I’m out and out shaking, my teeth chattering.
At last, I feel soft dirt under my fingertips. I grab a great clump of it and give a final push with my dead legs and haul myself up. Up and over the edge, and finally—dear God, finally—I feel the level ground beneath me. I collapse, face-first.
41
SHORIE
Thursday morning I wake up in Ben and Sabine’s guest room. Ten o’clock, to be more accurate, which means I was out for over fifteen hours. I feel hungover from all the sleep.
I check my email. There are thirty screenshots of Ms. X’s account, but everything looks routine. No abnormally large balances, no new private messages. Both Dele and Rhys have texted, asking me if I’m okay. I say I’m fine, I’ll fill them in later. Rhys answers right away.
Did you read the journal?
Yeah, I type. Looks like Dad saw the same error message that I did. It never showed up again, but it bugged him. He considered assigning it to me, even though he never did.
My phone buzzes with his reply.
Wow.
I tap out a reply. If I can get onto Jax’s servers, maybe I can figure out how they did it. Gonna try to find a computer here. Maybe Ben’s—or Mom’s over at our house. I think she left her laptop.
So I find a computer, but then what? Copy all the information onto a hard drive and take it to the police? Or do I go to the FBI? There is a field office downtown, I think. I just don’t know exactly how reporting a crime to the FBI works. My phone buzzes.
Badass.
I hesitate.
I’m talking about you. Your dad would be really proud of you.
And then he sends one more line.
I almost don’t want to ask . . .
I type, Ask.
No letter in the journal?
No, I answer. Only a few sentences, things he was thinking about writing to me. And some stuff about Global Cybergames. He might’ve been checking into it for me.
That was the part that didn’t sit right with me. But I wasn’t sure why.
I’m sorry, Shorie.
It’s okay, better than nothing. Also found a list of phone numbers in the back.
U gonna call them?
Not sure who they are or what to ask. Maybe should focus on getting into Jax’s servers first?
Sounds good. Anything else?
Some dirty poetry he wrote for my mom—so now I need to bleach my brain, haha.
I wait a second, then send an eyeroll emoji, followed by a vomit emoji.
The three dots pop up, and I immediately regret the emojis. I wait. And wait some more. Eventually his message appears.
They were lucky to find each other, to be so in love. Not everybody gets that.
I stare at the words and feel the urge to cry yet again. That’s the exact same thing that Ben said yesterday. I type one more line.
Can I ask you a question?
Sure.
If you’re not working for Ben or anybody else at Ja
x, why were you really following me the other day at school?
I wait, but no answer comes.
There’s a knock on my door. “Shorie? You up?”
I crack open the door. Sabine, looking like a teenager in a short yellow sundress and oversize jean jacket, stands in the hall. She’s got a beat-up leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
“I left some fruit and croissants, and there’s half a pot of coffee if you want. Ben’s already left for work. I’m about to head out myself. Are you going to be okay here?”
“I’m fine.” I smile at her. Thinking about Ben and Layton, what they’re doing to her, makes me feel nauseated. “I can take Tiger for a walk, if you want me to.”
“He’d love that. Thank you.” She studies me. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m good. Totally good. Thanks for letting me crash.”
“I hate to leave you alone. You’ll call if you need anything?”
Ben’s desktop with the three screens should do just fine. And it doesn’t even matter if he notices that I’ve been messing around in the servers. It’ll be too late by then.
“I will,” I say.
She touches my arm. “We’ll do pasta for dinner. Maybe some veggies. Does that work?”
“Totally.”
I’ll make up some excuse to miss dinner and Uber over to the FBI office. I do wonder what actually happens when you show up in the lobby of the FBI with a flash drive of corporate fraud and embezzlement. Is what Ben is doing even called embezzlement? And do they take you at your word, that a crime happened, and let you speak to an agent? Or do they just take a message and send you on your way? The thought of it makes me nervous. I’m already jiggling my leg.
“Okay, bye.” Sabine leans in and kisses my cheek. She smells like herbal shampoo.
“Bye.”
After I hear the lock turn in the front door, I head to the kitchen and let Tiger in from the backyard. I eat while he sits beside my stool and stares at me.
Until the Day I Die Page 22