Remember Me Forever

by Sara Wolf

  I look around at the faces at the party, skinny and tan and glittery with makeup and good looks, and I know they’d be the first to call me fatso if I was the old me. They smile at me now, Heather and Livy and Tessa smile at me now, but they’d change so fast, become mean and ugly so fast, if I were the old me. They don’t like me for who I am—they aren’t Kayla or Wren—but I’m trying, trying to make them fit in the spaces left behind, and I hate myself, I hate that they left me behind—

  I hate them. I hate every single person here and I don’t even know them.

  Kieran comes up to me, a rum and Coke in hand. His frown is obvious, but I smile and take the drink with the practiced grace of an alcoholic marquise.

  “Don’t give me that look, Kir.” I sigh. “Do you know how many professor dudes like him get away with shitty stuff? I mean, he was gonna get what was coming to him. I just sped up the process a bit.”

  “You put a brick on the gas pedal,” he corrects.

  “I put a brick on the gas pedal,” I cheerfully agree, then sip. “God bless America.”

  Kieran waits for a lull in the music before he speaks. “My sister used to pull crazy stunts like you.”

  “Used to?”

  “She’s in a mental hospital now.”

  “Awful place,” I say. “Really sorry. You should bust her out.”

  He stares at me, and I shrug.

  “Well, if you won’t, I will.”

  “You don’t have to save everyone, Isis.”

  His words trip me, my thoughts skidding to a halt.

  “I’m not saving anyone,” I say carefully.

  Kieran shakes his head. “You try to. You try to stop all these injustices and save people from them. But you never try to save yourself.”

  I’m quiet. Kieran slides his hand down to mine and squeezes.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  I look down at our joined hands and whisper, “For someone else to do it, I guess.”

  Kieran leans in and kisses me, tasting like tequila and lime and salt, and for a moment his lips aren’t his, they’re Jack’s, and we aren’t at a fraternity house, we’re at Avery’s, and there’s less glitter and heels and experience but just as much booze and swearing—seventeen isn’t so different from eighteen, and this kiss drives away the darkness, makes it scuttle back under the rocks—but then I open my eyes and see Kieran’s green ones and flinch. I have to tell him. I can’t keep using him like this, but I am, because being with him is better than being alone, and I’m a coward. Before either of us can break the awkward silence, Heather runs up and grabs my arm.

  “There you are! I’ve been looking so hard for you! C’mon, one of your friends wants to talk to you.”

  I follow her lead, glancing one last time back at Kieran. She leads me with impressive force up the stairs and to a room.

  “Uh,” I offer eloquently. “Who wants to talk to me?”

  “This guy.” She hiccups. “He was really insistent. He said he’s your friend.”

  I can tell she’s trying hard to make up for getting me into that fight by doing this. A friend wants to see me. Jack? No—he’s written me out of his life. There’s only one person left. Nameless. I face the door down like it’s an angry bear. Behind it, there will be his face, the face that triggers so many of my awful memories.

  He has that video.

  I’ve never seen it. I’ve always wanted to, ever since Wren told me he had a camera that night when they were in middle school and Avery forced him to film “it.” Whatever “it” was. It’s solid evidence of what happened that night, that awful night that haunted Sophia until her death, and haunts Wren and Jack still today. If I can see it, then I’ll know what happened after practically two years of not knowing.

  Nameless might have it. But my need to know burns hotter than my panic. I swallow hard and open the door. Nameless sits on a bed, smiling. He opens his arms to me.

  “There you are, Isis. Care to watch a movie with me?”

  Heather giggles, then pats me on the shoulder with a wink and flounces off downstairs.

  Nameless clears his throat. “In or out, Isis. It’s your choice.”

  “I’m not going to walk in there,” I manage.

  “You will,” he says. “If you want to watch a certain video.”

  He’s going to trap me in there. I just know it. He wants to see me squirm above all else—he toys with people like they’re inanimate objects moved for his pleasure. And me? He’s always enjoyed tormenting me. Especially now. Especially after everything.

  I watch him hold up a tablet, the screen flickering in his eyes.

  “It’s a very interesting video,” he says airily.

  It’s right there. It’s less than ten feet from me—the answer to all my questions. I cross the threshold, leaving the door open behind me. Nameless chuckles.

  “Ah, ah, close that door, if you would.”

  I hesitate. For the briefest moment, he ups the volume on the tablet, and I hear Sophia’s voice crying out for Jack, and it rips my heart in two. I shut the door behind me with shaking hands, and he smiles.

  “You look tense. Relax,” Nameless says. “I’m not going to do anything.”

  My eyes dart wildly around, and I grab a nail file off the dresser, clutching it like a knife at him. He just laughs harder.

  “I forgot how funny you are.”

  I tighten my grip and back up as far as I can against the door. I briefly think of flipping the light switch to freak him out, but he’s got a lamp on by the bedside.

  Nameless stares at me, thinking, and finally he claps his hands, applauding me slowly. Each clap is a bullet that pierces the building hysterical tension in my chest.

  “I’m congratulating you for taking on such a dangerous person as a nemesis.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Jack?”

  “Jack,” he confirms.

  “I know you stole that video from the Feds.”

  He laughs. “Steal? Don’t be stupid. Even I can’t hack into a federal vault. They gave it to me. Well, not me, but some friends of mine. We work together, you see, on the internet, as freelance digital consultants. The Feds contacted us and gave it to us. They wanted us to enhance the video quality as much as we could, so they could identify exactly what happened.”

  I swallow hard. Nameless smiles.

  “And we did. But we never gave it back to them. Not yet, anyway. I wanted you to be the first one to see it, in all its enhanced glory.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can see exactly who you’re dealing with,” Nameless says smoothly. “Jack isn’t a nice guy. It’s a good thing you two aren’t speaking anymore, otherwise you might’ve gotten hurt.”

  A sick, dark fire flares up in my lungs. He hurt me. Not Jack. Nameless smirks at my impotent silence, then throws me the tablet with the play button smack-dab in the center. My finger wavers, hesitating.

  “Go on,” Nameless urges, smiling even bigger.

  After months of wondering, infuriating hints, and half truths, I have the whole story beneath my index finger.

  I press play.

  There’s two seconds of darkness and then the sound of rustling leaves. The time in the lower corner reads 21:45:01, making it roughly ten at night, and 8/15/2011. I do the math—Jack was thirteen.

  “Take the fucking cap off!” a voice that can only be Avery’s mutters. “God, for being such a huge nerd you’re kind of an idiot.”

  There’s a muffled grumble I recognize instantly as Wren, a younger Wren with a higher voice but definitely Wren. The camera cap comes off, unveiling a leafy ground and tall trees that are so familiar. Avery, a young Avery with no curves yet, wears a tube top, a white skort, and jelly sandals, looking imperious and bratty as ever. She grabs the camera and huffs.

  “You hold it like this.” She points it at Wren. He’s so skinny and short, his glasses practically swallowing up his entire terrified, innocent face. His cheeks are still round with baby fat. He wears cargo shor
ts and a striped shirt his mom obviously picked out for him, and a massive watch twice the size of his tiny wrist.

  “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he whispers. Avery zooms in on his face.

  “If you chicken out, I’m going to tell everyone at school about your mom cheating on your dad. So you’re gonna stay here, and you’re gonna be the cameraman, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Wren goes an even paler shade of white. The camera focuses on Wren’s face, then goes dark. It starts back up again, reading a new timestamp: 22:07:15, or ten at night. It’s much darker, and Avery swears.

  “Shit. What’s taking them so long?”

  “Does this thing have a…a light?” Wren asks timidly. Avery rolls her eyes but you can barely see it.

  “Yeah, because we’re going to film secretly with a giant camera light.”

  “Then how—”

  There’s a jostling of the camera, and suddenly everything is night vision—green and shades of black and gray. Avery’s pupils are white, glowing eerily as she hands the camera back.

  “Just stay focused on her, okay?”

  The camera shakes, like Wren’s hand is unstable. “Avery, I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this anymore—”

  “Shh!” Avery hisses, lying flat on the ground and pulling him down with her. “There she is. Just film.”

  My breath catches. Wren zooms in on a pale figure cutting through the forest trees.

  Sophia.

  Thirteen-year-old Sophia.

  Her hair is short, but the same color of winter moonlight. She carries a flashlight. She’s skinny, but much plumper than when I knew her—her cheeks are robust and filled out and her blossoming curves are noticeable. A flush dons her face, and she skips. Skips! I never once saw Sophia go any faster than a floaty, leisurely walk. She’s wearing a sundress, floral and wavy around her calves. She looks around, calling out.

  “Jack? Jack, where are you? C’mon, you’re freaking me out.”

  “J-Jack’s not really here, is he?” Wren whispers.

  “Of course not, idiot,” Avery scoffs. “I just forged a note from him and stuck it in her purse. They’re soooo in love, she’ll believe anything.”

  The camera focuses on Sophia, now looking very scared. It’s eerie and heartbreaking all at once to see her alive on camera, and so happy. So different.

  Her flashlight beam bounces around, landing in the bushes Avery and Wren are hiding in. They duck lower, and the beam passes as Sophia does a slow turn. She freezes and then starts backing up.

  “W-Who are you?”

  The beam illuminates a bearded middle-aged man with a cruel smirk. He wears overalls, and an oily rag sticks out of his pocket.

  “They’re just gonna scare her, right?” Wren whispers frantically to Avery. Avery doesn’t say anything, her attention rapt on Sophia. “Right, Av?” Wren presses. He swings the camera back to Sophia, his hand shaking harder and the camera shaking with it. Another man walks out of the trees, and another. Five of them. One of them has a baseball bat; another has what looks like a crowbar. The one in overalls talks in a low voice to Sophia as she backs up, into the trees, her face twisted with horror. Only Sophia’s high, panicked voice can be heard.

  “Leave me alone! My friends are in the house! If I scream, they’ll call the cops!”

  This earns a laugh from the man, and it spreads to the other men, until it resembles a ring of hoarse hyenas. She is so defenseless, I tremble with the urge to reach in and pull her out, pull her to safety.

  “Av!” Wren hisses. “Call them off!”

  Avery’s smile just gets wider. “Not yet. They haven’t really scared her yet.”

  “They’re going to—they’re not going to touch her, are they?”

  Avery glowers. “No. I ordered them to just…just scare the shit out of her. But they can’t touch her. I told them they can’t.”

  Wren swings back to the men, now so close they’ve formed a ring around Sophia. She tries to run, but one of them catches her and throws her to the ground in the center. There’s more laughter.

  “Leave her alone!”

  That voice is young, strong, angry. I’ve never heard it sound that way before, but I know whom it belongs to by heart. Jack, proud and tawny-haired, draws all the men’s attention. His blue eyes aren’t icy, instead burning with white-blue fire. He still has baby fat on his cheeks, but the rest of him is tall, lanky; a boy-growing-too-fast kind of lanky. And he’s just as infuriatingly handsome. But he’s not the Ice Prince I know now—his expressions boil over, his emotions clear and legible in his every tensed muscle and flexing fist. He is a lion, a little king, angry and righteous and true.

  Two of the men start toward Jack, but he ducks under their grasp and bolts for Sophia. One man throws himself on Jack, slamming them both to the ground in a spray of pine needles and dirt.

  “Jack!” Sophia screams. Jack swears, kicking and punching and thrashing like a wild animal, but the other two men catch up and put his arms behind him in a lock, forcing him to his knees.

  A soft fog starts to roll in through the trees. The other men turn to Sophia, who screams and curls against a tree trunk like it’ll offer her some protection.

  “Leave her alone!” Jack screams, a piercing scream that rips my heart into jagged pieces. “You fucking bastards, pick on someone who can fight back! No! No, Sophia! Sophia, run!”

  “N-No,” Avery’s voice is clear, though Wren seems to be paralyzed, focused entirely on Sophia and Jack. “No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to— Back off. Just back off.”

  Her whispered commands don’t work. The men close in, and Sophia puts her head in her hands.

  “Help me, Jack,” she cries. Some of the men sway, obviously drunk, as they close the gap and start pulling at Sophia’s dress. I choke back bile but Jack reacts quicker—the man holding him cries out and collapses, and Jack jumps up, scooping the aluminum baseball bat the man dropped and swinging it into the man, over and over and over. Avery swears. Two men dive for Jack, but Jack slips through their meaty arms and swings for their skulls, a hollow, sickening thwack resounding through the trees when metal meets bone. The fourth man fumbles with something in his jacket, a gun maybe, but Jack ducks behind the first man who’s hauled himself off the ground, and the bullet cuts into the man’s shoulder, the force of it pinning him to the ground again. Jack takes the moment to lunge in, slamming the bat over the gunman’s neck. He crumples like a rag doll, the gun dropping into the leaves.

  The whole time, Jack is grinning madly, his mouth and face blood-spattered.

  The fifth man, the one who’d pinned Sophia to the tree, frantically backs up. Jack slams the bat into his side, and the man staggers into the leaves, reaching for the gun. But Jack swings again, and Sophia screams. Something cracks, and it isn’t the bat, and the man holds his hand up, and against the night vision it’s a cluster of broken bones and mangled meat and dangling skin. The man looks at it, stunned, and then the pain catches up to him, and he starts crying and crawling away and begging.

  “Please, man, we didn’t mean— We weren’t gonna—”

  The man gets up and starts running, and Jack throws back his head and laughs, and then chases after him. They disappear into the gloom, the night vision losing sight of them, but not of the sobbing Sophia, who staggers to her feet and tries to pull her dress back on. She’s shaking too badly. She tries to walk away, but trips on something, and her fall isn’t far but she rolls down the hill, hitting trees with vicious momentum until she rolls to a stop. There’s a stunned silence, minutes ticking by as Sophia squirms and there’s a squelching noise and then she goes still, her white-blond hair splaying in the pine needles.

  “Holy fuck,” Avery whispers. “Holy—”

  From the darkness, Jack returns, and a shiver runs through me; his grin is gone and an even more terrifying expression is in its place—one I’ve come to know very well.

  The mask.

  The ice mask is w
earing him.

  But it lasts for only a second, because when he sees Sophia he makes a choked noise and runs to her, dropping the bloodstained bat and cradling her in his arms.

  “Soph,” he whispers. “Sophie, Sophie please—”

  He holds his hand out, sticky and wet with blood. Sophia doesn’t move. He pats the pine needles around Sophia’s body and chokes again, the sound of a wild animal shot through. Blood. A pool of blood around her pelvis, her floral dress stained with it.

  There’s a noise, like Avery shifting and her shoe breaking a twig. Jack’s head snaps up, eyes glowing an unholy white with the night vision, and he grabs the bat, face twisting with rage. Avery swears and takes off running, and as Jack advances, Wren’s paralysis breaks and he drops the camera, the lens barely catching his shoes as they flash by. Jack’s bigger shoes pass just a split second after.

  “I’ll kill you!” His screams echo. “I’ll fucking kill you all!”

  He keeps screaming, the sound fading and coming back, like he’s walking in circles. The metallic noise of a bat splintering wood resounds, and his screams are deep and strong and furious and riddled with pain, and over them, Nameless finally speaks.

  “He keeps screaming. Then he calls 911. And then the tape cuts out.”

  The tablet screen goes blue, then dark. My hands want to shake, but I compose them. Nameless is watching me for a reaction. I can’t give him that satisfaction. I’m disturbed and on the verge of tears, but I won’t show him that.

  “So?” I ask. “What was I supposed to learn from this?”

  Nameless quirks a brow. “You weren’t terrified? He beat four men to a pulp and killed the last one—”