by Rachel Kane
“David!” I said sharply. “You have got to pay attention to me!”
“Who’s David?” asked Eli.
23
Cam
If you have been through pain after pain after pain in your life, you develop a sense for when things are going bad.
Because they always go bad.
I’m not saying I was afraid of Alex. It wasn’t that kind of bad. I knew that kind too, the loud voices, the shoves, the yelling until you cave in and obey.
This wasn’t that.
In some ways, this felt worse.
He couldn’t understand why I had to protect myself. That’s the nature of having a secret. The only way he would understand, is by knowing the secret. Which was exactly what I was trying to protect myself from.
God, how confusing. My thoughts didn’t even make sense to me, how could they make sense to anyone else?
I was trying to think of how to phrase things…when he yelled someone else’s name.
“Who’s David?” asked Eli.
Alex’s face reddened.
“Eli, I need some time alone with Alex,” I said.
“Are you sure? Are you okay? Who is David?”
Alex had turned away. Back to the bottle of scotch, now nearly empty.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I told Eli.
“I can stay,” he whispered to me. “If you need me to.”
I shook my head. “I’ll call you.”
He hesitated another moment, looking at Alex as though he expected Alex to suddenly lash out with his fists.
I knew, even if Eli didn’t, that that wasn’t the danger here. Alex’s anger didn’t turn outward. It coiled in, tighter and tighter, like a python smothering its prey.
Just like my anger.
It’s something we had in common.
“It was a slip of the tongue,” Alex said, after Eli left.
“Like hell,” I said. I took the glass from him and had a swallow of the scotch. Too early in the day for it. Yet the day had been destroyed already. Might as well pack it in. “I know you better than that.”
He shook his head. “I’m rattled, Cam. That apology you wrote—”
“I’m not David Black. You need to get that straight in your head. I’m not a criminal hiding behind my glowing reputation. I’m not a psycho manipulator.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s exactly what you meant,” I said. “You don’t trust me.”
“Well of course I can’t trust you!” he said, snatching the glass back from me and emptying it. “I left this apartment for five minutes and you broke the first, most important rule we discussed! You lied to me!”
He had me there.
“Okay, but listen,” I said. “It was for good intentions. I thought—”
“You thought I was doing a shit job protecting you, and that you needed to take matters into your own hands.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What’s the alternative? That you’re so insistent on controlling everything around you, that you can’t trust that I know what I’m talking about, that I know from long, hard experience how to handle these situations?”
“But she’s not dying down!” I said, my voice loud, my hand flung out toward the computer. “She’s not stopping at all. Your ideas didn’t work. Lying low didn’t work, visiting her didn’t work, the fucking cease and desist letter—”
Alex held up his hands in a defensive posture, like warding off blows. “There’s an ebb and flow to these things,” he said. “You have to believe me, she was running out of things to say.”
The computer pinged. A new post.
I didn’t want to look at it, and I could tell Alex didn’t either.
We needed to finish this conversation. We needed to have it out, because we got along together so well, we fit together in a way I’d never experienced before…except for this.
Except that he wouldn’t listen to me, the fact that he wouldn’t let me have some control in my own life.
But it was like the sound of the computer notification had drained our energy for the fight.
It should have been a relief. I hated fighting. Hated the way it made me feel like I couldn’t trust Alex at all, like maybe Alex would just abandon me, the way everyone else did.
Don’t go there, I told myself. Alex isn’t like that. He’s not one of the guys from your past, one of the men who—
I bit my lip, hard. Anything to get my mind back on track.
Our eyes met. Rather than anger, all I saw in Alex’s eyes was sympathy. Something had softened in his face…and I realized he was watching me, watching as my own face had fallen after hearing the ping.
See, he cares, he does, he’s not like them.
“Should we look?” he asked.
“I don’t want to,” I said. “Let’s not. Let’s throw the computer out the window. Let’s pack our bags and go away. Come on, I’m not even joking. Let’s throw some clothes together and just leave. We’ll start a new life. Mexico, Canada, anywhere but here.”
He glanced over my shoulder at the glowing screen. “You can’t run away from this, Cam.”
“First you tell me I can’t fight it, now you tell me I can’t run away from it. I mean, fight or flight really only has two options.”
We faced the computer.
With a heavy sigh, I clicked on the new post.
I appreciate everyone defending me, said Secret Reader, but you don’t have to. You can see Cameron Car-liar’s fear in his own words. He knows I am telling the truth. You saw him admit to the copying, admit to the lying. Every word I say is true. And his defense is…what? Sometimes these things just happen? Sometimes you just accidentally copy whole passages out of books? Sometimes you just lie to interviewers about your whole life, about your parents?
The time for lies is over, Cameron.
I know you’re reading this. And I know you know what’s coming next.
The truth, Cameron. The whole truth.
I think Alex put his arm around me then. Around my waist, to pull me close, as though that could protect me. As though the computer were a wild animal menacing me.
I think he put his arm around me, but I couldn’t be sure.
Because I was numb.
And.
Could.
Not.
Feel.
A.
Thing.
* * *
“Sit up straight. No, straight,” said Alex.
“I’m not good at being straight!”
He peered through the camera. “Okay. That looks good. Can you do something with that cowlick?”
“If you really loved me, you would have hired hair and makeup people.”
On my computer, in a little window on the screen, I sat fussing with my hair. It was just going to get pressed down by the headset microphone anyway, I didn’t see what the big deal was.
It was interesting, though, looking at myself on the screen. Like a mirror, but in reverse. The window making a little compartment for me to fit into, walled off from the rest of my screen, from the rest of the world.
That’s how my brain felt right now. My face was smiling. My tone was light.
But inside, my soul had been drained out, leaving nothing but a machine. That numbness had not left me, no matter how many empty jokes I made, accompanied by my hollow laughter.
Did Alex know that? Did he sense that he was talking to an empty shell, filled with nothing but fear?
I looked at him, happily preparing for this interview. He was in his element. Back on the team. Back on the case. Provisionally. As long as he didn’t do anything.
He and Micah had spent hours talking that night. I would have felt left out, after all, I was the injured party, it would have been nice to have someone take care of me…except I did really want to be alone after Secret Reader’s latest screed.
It had been so…calm. None of the frantic all-caps craziness from before.
Almost as though all of
that had been a way to get my attention. Like when a mystery starts with some of the suspects fighting, before the detective shows up, just something to whet the appetite before the real show.
Micah had spoken to Jess Hedley, the host of Murder Minute, the guy who apparently hated me and thought I had a terrible reputation in our writerly community. I don’t know what he’d threatened Jess with, or offered him, or what, but suddenly we had an interview scheduled. Alex told me there was a long, long list of forbidden subjects.
Charm offensive all the way.
I didn’t feel charming. I didn’t feel anything.
Smile, make a joke. Pause, frown, say something meaningful about fiction. Smile, nod at the next question.
“All right,” said Alex. “It’s time.”
Jess was on the screen. He wrinkled his brow, leaned forward to tap something into his computer, then leaned back. “Hey, is that you, Cam?”
Half of me, anyway.
“Yes. We’re ready, here.”
“Good. After it’s over, don’t forget to tell your lawyer what a great time you had on my show. I don’t want to get fucking sued.”
“It’s not—”
“That was a joke, man. Okay, here we go.”
In another section of the screen was a window that showed his webcast. Murder Minute with Jess. Light strings, some innocent chamber music.
Then we were both in that little window.
“Today,” said Jess to our unseen audience, “we’ve got a real treat in store for you. He’s the master of what some call the pastry cozy, with an amateur detective who is quickly becoming a favorite among readers. The author of Miss Katie Clemmons, welcome to Mr. Cameron Carlyle.”
“Thank you, Jess. It’s good to be here.”
My voice sounded so tight. Loosen up. You’re just trying to win back your career here.
Micah told me the publisher thought this was a good idea…maybe the only idea, after I’d wrecked everything with my public apology.
It had seemed like the right thing to do.
Hadn’t it?
Jess was forbidden from talking about that, though I could tell he wanted to.
“To get ready for the show, I re-read one of your books last night, Creme de la Scream.”
“A personal favorite,” I said.
“Very quick read. Super-quick,” he said. “Now what’s interesting is, you focus more on your characters than on the mystery itself. Lots of witty banter about recipes, for example.”
I blinked.
He had basically just torn apart my work, in front of a live audience. I wonder if anyone would realize that? It was so passive-aggressive.
Very quick read. That is, it was thin. Nothing to it. Easy to flip through without paying much attention. One of the worst things you could say to a writer.
More focus on characters than mystery. That is, it was hardly a mystery at all, just a chance for Katie and Roger to make quips.
How did I feel about that?
I didn’t.
I didn’t feel anything about it at all.
What a strange place to be. Normally I would have gotten mad, offended, hurt…but I think I was beyond being hurt by anything so simple.
Maybe that numbness inside me was a superpower.
“It’s important to strike a balance,” I said reasonably, my voice so calm. “You have to have the personality there, you have to have strong characters. People don’t want to read a dry list of clues and evidence. I always say, if they wanted that, they would’ve become detectives themselves, rather than readers!”
Light laughter from both of us. But I could see in Jess’ eyes, even through the screen, that I’d landed a blow. He knew I could parry any of his passive-aggressive comments.
“Can you tell us what’s next for Katie and Roger?” he asked. “Any new pastries for them to nosh while solving a murder?”
“It’s funny you should mention that,” I said. “I’ve just started a new one, where Katie has to solve a case while babysitting her sister’s kid. I’m thinking of calling it Kuchen-Koo.”
Alex was gesturing from behind the computer, pointing at his face. Smiling. Or, rather, reminding me to smile.
Which I did. Big smile for the camera.
“Sounds excellent,” said Jess.
But he wasn’t looking into the camera. He was glancing down, maybe at his notes. Except that if he was looking at his notes, he was certainly taking a while doing it.
Alex cocked an eyebrow at the sudden silence on the show.
“One more question for you,” said Jess, looking back up. “And this one comes from a reader.”
I saw Alex tense up. He and Micah had gone over the list of interview questions very carefully with Jess. Just these questions. No more, no less.
Alex furiously tapped something into his phone.
The thing about feeling empty is, it leaves you with plenty of room inside, for when the dread comes in. When fear flows towards you like a great black tide, pouring into your hollowed-out soul.
“This reader asks, Cam, how were you influenced by your time as a rentboy? Did you start writing, when the income from prostitution began to dry up? And did selling your body have an effect on the way you write Roger?”
Oh.
There it was.
You spent your whole life fearing the worst, and then when it happens, you think you’d be prepared. You’d think, oh, I know what to do, because I never stop thinking about how I would react if this happened.
But you’re kidding yourself.
When the worst happens, you just sit there, your mouth open, staring at a computer screen like it’s an oncoming train. You hear it, you see it, but you can’t do a thing to get out of its way.
You always hear about fight or flight, hell, I’d made a joke about it just recently.
But there’s a third option.
Freeze.
I could not move. I couldn’t breathe.
Alex slammed the computer shut and threw the camera across the room. “Goddamn it!” he shouted.
Plastic and glass clattered to the floor.
It didn’t matter.
The train was here, and it was going to run me over no matter what.
24
Alex
I did not want to talk. Not to Cam, not to Micah, not to anyone.
Cam was still frozen in his chair. Staring at the closed computer.
My phone was going crazy, calls from both Jane and Micah lighting it up.
It felt like someone had punched me hard, right in the solar plexus. Knocked all my air out, collapsed my lungs. Like I might fold in half from the pain.
I did not fold.
I’d broken the damn camera, and those pieces needed to be picked up. Someone could step on them and get hurt.
Run. Go now.
The instinct was pretty strong. I didn’t want to think about what happened, I didn’t want to think about anything. Getting out seemed like a grand idea. I knew I shouldn’t.
So I was there, picking up bits of plastic and metal and glass, waiting for Cam to say something.
Maybe he’d say, We need to talk.
Or, I can explain. That would have been a bad one. If he’d calmly tried to explain why he’d lied to me, kept things from me—
He didn’t say anything though. For a long time he stared at his closed laptop, as though it might open itself back up. Not moving from his chair, not an inch.
I dumped the camera pieces into the trash.
We never even got to finish our fight about his apology.
Things had moved so fast. I had been so mad at him for not listening. Maybe irrationally mad, I don’t know, but it got interrupted by Secret Reader’s eerily calm final post, and then all the talks that happened after that with Micah and Jane, and…
…and so what? What did I want, to go back to the fight? Finish it up? Just make sure he knew what he did was wrong?
It seemed so fucking irrelevant now.
&n
bsp; Secret Reader had gotten to Jess, and made her final accusation through him. Not mere words on the screen. Spoken, they had so much more weight.
Cam had lied to me.
Repeatedly.
I thought of those boys David had hired. How much I’d despised them. Hated them for their youth, their beauty…but most of all for their weakness. Their lack of self-regard, lack of pride.
“You don’t have to stick around,” Cam said quietly, his first words since the interview went wrong. His eyes never left the computer. “You can go.”
You lied to me. The one thing, the only thing I can’t bear.
You’ve been lying since the moment we met.
I swallowed. I could try to be rational. It was within my power to do so.
“Maybe we should talk about it,” I said.
“There is nothing to talk about.”
His voice was so empty. The words were almost lost in the silence of the room.
How could I feel like I needed to hold him, right now, after what he’d just done to me?
How could I feel so torn between anger and care?
He was giving me the perfect out. I could go now, before more lies were revealed. Before I shifted entirely into anger, hurt, rage.
I could go.
I should go.
I went.
“I didn’t see that coming,” said Micah.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “I’m only returning your call to tell you that. You were right. I don’t need to be on this case. I should have trusted my instincts.”
“Why don’t you come over? We can work this through. I’ve got to call his publisher back, and Jane, but—”
“I don’t want to come over. I’m just going home.”
“Come on, Alex. Don’t sulk.”
“I’m not sulking,” I said, “I’m furious. How would you feel if you found out your boyfriend had been hiding a secret career of prostitution from you?”
“I don’t think Jerome would make much of a hustler,” he said. “He’s not very good in bed.”
“This isn’t time for fucking jokes, Micah! Do you realize what just happened there? Do you understand?”
