by Frankie Rose
“Avery, what the hell? You nearly smashed my Mac. What’s wrong with you?” Morgan hops up, too, but has to sit back down when I start frantically pacing.
“Someone knows,” I mutter.
“Knows what?”
“Someone knows!” She suddenly realizes what I’m talking about. The blood drains from her face,
“But how? I swear I haven’t told anyone. I swear!”
I don’t reply. I know she hasn’t told anyone but I can’t reassure her. I’m too busy sobbing uncontrollably. My legs collapse out from underneath me and I sink to the floor in a heap.
“You want me to call Noah?” Morgan asks, her hands fluttering nervously on my shoulder.
“He’s the one who sent me the picture!”
She snatches the phone out of my hand and starts mashing buttons while I let myself fall apart. All of the constructing, all the time spent fighting to build a new life for myself, all the hours spent feeling like I’m barely holding on by the skin of my teeth, it’s all been for nothing. Nothing. Morgan starts talking quickly, low and quiet, into my phone. I only start paying attention when her voice raises, and suddenly she’s shouting.
“…so answer your phone, you selfish prick!”
“Who did you call?”
“Noah,” she spits out. “I can’t believe he said that to you. It rang forever and then went to voicemail.”
“He’s probably pissed at me.”
“He has no right to be pissed.”
I blow out a sharp breath and roll my eyes. “I didn’t tell him the truth.” Morgan drops to her knees beside me and grabs hold of my shoulders, shaking me until I look up at her.
“Don’t you dare defend him! I’m sure there are plenty of things Noah hasn’t been truthful with you about. You guys don’t owe each other anything.” The sharp look in her eyes takes me back. “I’m gonna throttle that douche bag when I get hold of him. Hold on, he doesn’t have my number. He might pick up if I call from my phone.”
“Please don’t. This is bad enough already. No, Morgan, don’t!” But she isn’t listening. She gets up and rifles through the bag she had at the hospital until she finds her cell phone. She plugs it into the power outlet and switches it on. Before she can dial in Noah’s number, alerts start chiming in her hand. I lose count after five.
“What is it?” I ask, holding my breath. Morgan frowns as she scrolls through the messages on her phone, her expression growing angrier and angrier as the seconds stretch out. “Morgan!”
“It’s…” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s the girls from Upsilon. They want to know if it’s true. Apparently there are posters up all over campus, and a couple of girls were handing out flyers on the street.”
People were handing out flyers? My heart starts pounding in my chest. People were handing out flyers. They’d done that at high school before the teachers put a stop to it, but the damage was already done. And now it’s happening here, too. I stagger to my feet and race across the room to bend over Morgan’s trashcan before I start throwing up. I don’t stop for what feels like forever.
“I’m going to find out who those bitches are and destroy them,” Morgan growls as she rubs her hand up and down my back. “Hang in there, chica. This will all get sorted out. Melissa, hey, where are these girls?”
I groan and rock back onto my heels. Morgan is nodding her head while pulling on her shoes. This—a confrontation—is unlikely to score her any points with the administration after her recent absence. “Morgan, don’t make a scene.”
“It’s about time someone made a fucking scene. This isn’t your fault. They don’t have the right to do this to you, Avery. This is five years past due.” She storms out of the apartment and leaves me there bowed over the trashcan, shaking so violently I can hardly keep myself upright. My phone starts ringing while she’s gone but I ignore it. Morgan comes back twenty minutes later shaking out her hand. She’s too furious to speak at first, but eventually her rage dissipates.
“They were in our building. They were in our fucking building! They’ve been kicked out now, don’t worry. I can’t believe they’d go to all this effort just to make your life miserable.”
I can totally believe it. “What did they look like?” My voice is monotone, betraying how hollow I feel.
“Both prissy, stuck up bitches. One of them was called Casey. I didn’t catch the other one’s name. She had short blonde hair.”
“Maggie,” I say. “Maggie Bright. Her father was one of the men who…” my dad killed. God, I can’t bring myself to say it. Maggie was the person responsible for my nickname back in Breakwater; it can only be her. She’s a hundred different kinds of vindictive, so storming the building where I now live totally fits her M.O. But Casey? Why the hell has she gotten involved? “I know them both. The blonde went to my high school, and Casey is Luke’s ex. I ran into her outside his apartment the other week. He called me Avery. That must be how she figured out I was here.”
Morgan raises her eyebrows. “The one with the black hair is Luke’s ex? She was a super bitch. Should have seen her face when I knocked her on her ass.”
“You knocked her…ugh, Morgan, hand me my phone.”
She passes it to me and I prop myself up against the wall. It takes ten seconds to dial Luke’s cell, but he doesn’t pick up. He isn’t at work. He said on Friday he has three days off. My mind instantly goes blank. I’d had one natural reaction as soon as I read Noah’s text, and that was to run. And the only person I feel comfortable running to isn’t picking up his phone. I slip it back into my pocket and look up at Morgan.
“Can I borrow the Jeep? I have to get out of here.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, I just…I have to get away.”
A troubled frown pushes Morgan’s brows together. “There’s quite a crowd out there, Ave. It’s probably not a good idea. I could go and get the car and drive around. You wouldn’t have to walk through them all that way.”
I nod my head and get to my feet. “I’ll need some stuff from my place. I can’t stay here tonight.”
“Forget that, babe. I’ll come back and grab some stuff for you later. Let’s just get you someplace else first.” She snatches up her keys and dodges out of the apartment, and I hover by the window, trying to work out if the gathering on the street has anything to do with me. The people, hunched over against the cold, all wrapped in hats and scarves, beeline for Morgan as soon as she appears, answering that question for me. Of course they’re there because of me. They’re either there to demand answers or hurl abuse, and from past experience I’m leaning towards abuse. It takes a while for Morgan to collect the Jeep from the parking garage. I see her turn onto the street and decide it’s time to make a run for it.
No people in the hallways. That’s a blessed relief, but when I get to the bottom of the stairs, my heart hammering in my chest, I realize they aren’t loitering inside like usual because everyone is outside on the street. And Casey and Maggie are waiting there for me. Everyone’s gaze follows the Jeep as Morgan pulls up out front, but not Casey. Oh no, she spots me as soon as I step foot out of the security door. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold and her eyes are bright, excited. It takes me a second to figure out why her lips are so red, but then I see that the bottom one is split and swollen. Morgan’s handiwork. I jog forward just as she starts walking over, twenty other people hot on her heels.
“Iris! Hey, Iris!” she calls, her arms pumping back and forth as she hurries to reach me before I can climb in the passenger seat of the Jeep. “They say schizophrenia’s hereditary, y’know. Your dad had to have been out of his mind to butcher those girls the way he did.” She gets to the car before me and steps in front of the door. The rest of the crowd isn’t far behind her. They circle around me so I have nowhere to go.
“Just let me by, Casey.”
She sneers in a way that makes her instantly hideous. “No way. The people here have a right to know who’s living am
ongst them.”
“She’s right.” Maggie appears at Casey’s side. When I left Breakwater, I’d tricked myself into believing I’d never have to tolerate her hate-filled expression burning into me again. I was wrong. The pure aggression on her face is practically breathtaking.
“Good to see you again, Breslin. Tell me, have you started hearing the voices yet? How long will it be before you follow in Daddy’s footsteps? How long before you start killing people?”
A rumble of murmured chatter ripples around the people standing behind me. They’re listening to her—Maggie Bright is insinuating that I’m going to become a murderer and they’re believing her.
Morgan revs the Jeep’s engine and people scatter from in front of the car. A string of cars are forming behind Morgan’s parked vehicle, all leaning on their horns, growing angrier and angrier by the second. I step forward and Maggie mirrors me, blocking my way. “You’re sick, you know that? You’d have to be with a father who’d kill indiscriminately like your dad did. My dad was about to get married again. He was happy for the first time since I could remember, and your dad killed him. Just shot him in the back of the head.”
“Let me by, Maggie.”
She steps forward and shoves me by the shoulders, making me stumble back away from the car. “No! I won’t let you by. I’m going to be there whenever you try and build something good for yourself. I’m going to be there to tear it all down and make sure people know who you really are.”
“I’m not my father,” I mutter, trying to dodge around her. Her hand whips out and slaps me, hard. I stagger back and clutch both hands to my cheek, not quite believing that she’s struck me in front of everyone. This is hardly the first time Maggie has raised her hand to hurt me, but we were always alone when she did it in high school. I gasp in a shocked breath and focus, just in time to see Morgan flying around the car.
“You did not just slap my friend!” she yells.
“Back off, psycho. This has nothing to do with you.”
It’s not until Maggie’s on the ground that I realize what has happened. Morgan kicks out at the back of Maggie’s legs, causing her to crumple, and then she proceeds to pound her fist into the blonde girl’s face.
“Morgan, stop! It’s not worth it!”
Casey starts yelling and launches herself at Morgan, and then the next thing I know I have my arm locked around her throat, pulling her backwards. I’ve never fought back before. Some sick part of me always felt like I deserved everything I had gotten back at Breakwater, but this is different. There’s no way I’m going to let anyone hurt Morgan.
A scandalized cheer goes up from the people gathered around watching, passers by all stopping to rubberneck the throw down on an Upper Manhattan street. I tumble backwards onto the dirty concrete, dragging Casey with me. Her legs flail as she thrusts back with her elbows trying to dig me in the ribs. A winded rasp rattles out of me when she finally contacts, forcing the air from my lungs. My grip around her neck slackens and gives her time to wriggle free, but not before lashing backwards one more time. Pain explodes in my head. I grasp my hands to my face, not sure if my right eye or my nose hurts more. The bright red color pouring between my fingers clues me into the fact that she’s broken my nose.
Morgan lets out an enraged shriek and starts swearing like a banshee, and I hear Casey start crying. She sounds pitiful, completely different to the vitriol that was fueling her two seconds ago. “Oh, thank god you’re here. She just went mad. She’s an animal, Luke.”
Luke?
My eyes fly open to see him standing between me and Casey. He’s actually there in his uniform, the muscles in his neck working overtime. He shoots me a hard look where I’m laying on the concrete and steps towards Casey, and for a second I think he’s going to take her into his arms.
“I saw what happened, Case. Don’t even think about lying. And you…” He thrusts a finger in Maggie’s face, causing her to shrink back. “You’ve earned yourself the pleasure of a ride back to the station. In fact, both of you have. Come on.” Maggie’s jaw falls open, but her shocked expression has nothing on Casey’s look of horror.
“You can’t be serious?” she whispers.
“As a heart attack.” Luke narrows his eyes and grabs hold of her arm. She’s too dazed to protest as he efficiently cuffs her and reads her the Miranda rights. A tall Indian officer I haven’t seen before deals with Maggie, making sure she responds when he asks her if she understands the script he rattles off to her. She’s glowering at me, bleeding from her temple as she spits out a hard yes. Both the girls are ushered into the back of the cruiser blocking Morgan’s Jeep in, and then Luke is in front of me.
“Need some help?” he asks quietly. I stare at the gloved hand he’s offering me and shake my head, pushing off the floor to get to my feet.
“I can manage.” I dust the snow off my butt, feeling humiliated and pathetic as I say, “Why are you working? ”
“I got called in this morning. You need to go to the hospital. Do you want me to come?”
“No.” I wince when he reaches out and carefully touches the bridge of my nose.
“I’ll go with her,” Morgan says, threading her arm through mine. She’s drenched down one side from scrabbling in the rotten snow with Maggie, and a deep gash marks her forehead. The sight of her blood makes me feel terrible. She’s hurt because of me.
Luke purses his lips and lifts my face with his hand. “Here.” He produces something from his pocket and presses it into my hands. “You’ll need to come down to the station to give a statement, but I’ll schedule that for another day. I’ll be finished in two hours. Don’t go anywhere. I want to talk to you.”
I look down at the keys to his apartment and slip them into my coat pocket, not even bothering to argue with him. “I tried calling you,” I whisper.
“I know. I was already on my way.” He casts a disgusted glance at the back seat of his cruiser, where Casey’s pale face stares out of the window. She looks wild. “She texted me and told me she was coming here. I knew there’d be trouble.” He carefully reaches out and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I’m always gonna come running, Beautiful. Whenever you need me. Don’t doubt it.”
The traffic build up has reached epic proportions, people in taxis and sedans leaning out of their windows to scream obscenities down the road. The Indian officer accompanying Luke gives a low whistle. “Hey man, we should go.”
“’Kay.”
As his partner opens the cruiser door, Casey leans forward and shouts through the grill, setting my teeth on edge. “You’re welcome to him, Breslin. He’s as fucked up as you are, anyway. Just ask him. Ask him just how fucked up he is!” Her voice rises into hysteria at the end, and the other officer cuts her off by slamming his door closed.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” Luke mutters, pulling me against his chest. For one brief moment, everything is right with the world. His smell floods my senses and I feel safe. Protected. He lets go all too quickly and hurries to the cruiser, turning back to look at me as he folds himself to get into the passenger seat. His eyes are locked with mine, blazing, until the car swerves out onto the road and burns away.
“Come on, chica.” Morgan catches hold of my hand and pulls me towards the now abandoned Jeep. She starts muttering about how there’s going to be blood on her leather upholstery but I’m not really listening. I’m retreating inside myself, burying myself, hiding myself. I let my forehead press against the cold glass of the window as Morgan starts the engine and puts it into gear. I only snap my head up when she inhales sharply. I don’t know what I was expecting: a crowd of people blocking our escape; a huge billboard with my name and face plastered all over it; the Dean, waiting to tell me not to bother coming back to college. Instead, it’s Noah running up 125th towards us.
“Do you want me to stop?” Morgan asks.
I survey the panicked look on his face, the fact that he’s actually come outside without his precious beanie. His eyes
meet mine for a second, the same way Luke’s did, and I remember the only thing he’d had to say to me after he’d seen that poster: Looks like we have ourselves a lying little psychopath! :) I knew you weren’t an Avery. Maybe I should call you Murder Spawn instead?
I turn and slump so that my forehead presses against the glass once more. Morgan takes that as my answer and keeps on driving.
Seventeen
Last Words
