by Zara Lisbon
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To Jason, Kellen, Cameron, and Scarlett Solano
“Either I’m a psychopath in sheep’s clothing, or I am you.”
—Amanda Knox
CHAPTER 1
JUSTINE CHILDS BROUGHT IN FOR QUESTIONING BY LAPD
I dream I’m back at school. The first day of eleventh grade. Riley and Abbie and Maddie are there wearing tracksuits from Juicy’s newest line, and I’m wearing nothing because I’ve decided I don’t need clothes if all I’m doing is going to school. But standing there in the hallway with everyone staring, I can’t believe how stupid I am: I voluntarily waived my right to clothing and now I have to go the whole day naked. I try to cover myself with my hands—I have no other options—but my hands start shrinking. They shrink until they’re the size of kitten paws. Then they pop off and walk away. I run to the end of the hallway where my locker is and frantically try to work the combination lock using only the bloody nubs where my hands used to be. I try my birth date, 2-2-01, over and over again, but that isn’t it. When I try Eva-Kate’s instead, 6-13-00, the lock opens with a startling clang. Before I look, I already know what’s in my locker. Instead of the spare dress I hoped to find, it’s Eva-Kate’s body, folded up, her skin purple blue and shriveled, slipping off her shoulders to expose bone.
“Eva-Kate,” I breathe. The hallway fades slowly away until it’s only her and me in an endless black void.
Her eyes snap open. They’re red, blood vessels swollen and breaking apart. When she opens her mouth, it too is red. I understand that she’s been biting her lips to a pulp with the tiny white razor blades where her teeth should be.
You did this, she coos, look at what you did.
* * *
On the morning of July nineteenth, I woke in a puddle of my own sweat to the thwacking sound of a fist against my door. The sheets stuck to my skin. I was back in my own bed, Princess Leia at my feet, birds chirping outside my window as if everything were fine, as if I’d never met Eva-Kate Kelly and she’d never been found dead, floating in the canal outside her Venice home. As if I could get up and find her across the bridge, alive and well and day drunk. My head ached. I couldn’t believe it had only been the day before when detectives had showed up at my room at the Ace Hotel and told me that she was gone. I missed her.
“Justine?” My mom’s voice was strained on the other side of my door. “Justine, are you up?”
I sank back into the sweaty sheets as the memory of yesterday slowly pieced itself together in my addled brain.
* * *
Detectives Trevor Sato and John Rayner said I wasn’t required by law to come to the station, but if I wanted to help them find out what had happened to my friend, it was in everyone’s best interest that I go with them. I did want to find out and I did want to help. What I didn’t want was to wallow alone in this dread, hot and slippery and deep purple red like the inside of a throat swallowing me whole. So I went. Teeth chattering, head spinning, free-falling.
The room they pulled me into was sterile and cold. I held Princess Leia close to keep warm.
The walls were a diluted green color, but everything else—the table, the chairs, the floors, the ceiling—was made up of different textured metals, some brushed, some polished, some corrugated, all of it more than a little bit neglected. On a steel rod suspended from the ceiling hung a single light bulb housed within a steel cone, like something you’d put on a dog after surgery. And the air-conditioning was cranked up to unreasonable heights. I hadn’t thought to put a bra on before being whisked into the cop car and so my nipples pressed like pushpins against my cotton T-shirt. From my chair I looked up at Detective Sato to see if he noticed. He didn’t. Or he was good at pretending not to notice. Or he noticed but didn’t care.
He sat across from me with his arms crossed and his elbows resting on the table. He cleared his throat, looked at the clock above my head, looked at his notepad, looked at me. With his strong jaw and dimpled chin, he reminded me of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. Those muscles and that palpable arrogance. I tried to guess at what he was thinking, but his eyes were steel doors slammed shut, blocking me out. Not knowing made me sweat a little, even trapped in the frigid AC as I was. The blissfully numbed-out summer had made me forget how uneasy I became when I couldn’t get a read on somebody. When I couldn’t tell what they thought of me. I really hated that.
“So…,” I built up the courage to ask, “are you going to, uh, ask me questions or—”
“Not quite yet,” he said before I was finished. “Soon.”
The door swung open and in came Detective Rayner. Tall, balding with some white hair slicked back, narrow-rimmed glasses resting in front of blue eyes with a grandfatherly glint. He held steaming coffee in a Styrofoam cup. The cup was tiny, almost in a funny way, and made me think of the Titanic exhibit my parents took me to when I was just four or five. To demonstrate the unimaginable pressure that exists four hundred miles below sea level, they displayed a regular-sized Styrofoam cup—six inches tall or so—and next to it the same cup after having spent time at the bottom of the ocean. That second cup was hardly bigger than a thimble. This terrified me. Something about the covert power of water and what it could do to a thing—to me—if it had the chance, really knew how to keep me up at night. Seeing the cup in Rayner’s wrinkled hand brought the chill back.
I imagined Eva-Kate floating in that dirty canal water, drowned. I imagined her wading out up to her ankles, probably drunk. Maybe she tripped. Maybe somebody pushed her. I tried hard not to imagine that final moment, the one where she knew it was over.
“Would you like something to drink, Justine?” Rayner asked. “Water? Sprite?”
“Could I…” I heard my own voice, thin and webby. “Could I have some coffee? Please. If possible.” I’d slept plenty, but that didn’t keep me from feeling exhausted. For as long as I could remember, sleep had never done much for me at all. When people spoke of being refreshed after an amazing night’s sleep, it sounded at best like a foreign language, at worst like a horrible lie. I carry with me a long list of envies, but there’s nobody I envy more than those who can wake up feeling ready for the day.
“Coffee, huh?” He stood behind Sato. “Aren’t you a little too young for coffee?”
“No … I don’t think so. I’m sixteen.”
“Coffee stunts your growth, you know that?”
“In Europe they let their kids drink coffee,” I offered.
Sato laughed.
“Sure,” he said. “If they do it in Europe, surely it can’t be that bad.”
Rayner walked back to the door and pulled it open a crack. “Luanne?” he called out. “Would you be a dear and get us a cup of coffee?”
“Cream or sugar?” a voice called back, husky but sweet. Rayner looked to me for the answer.
“Black, please.”
“Neither,” he told her. “Thanks, Luanne.” He shut the door and took a seat next t
o Sato.
“Black coffee?” asked Sato. “You’re pretty tough.”
“Sorry?”
“To take coffee without cream or sugar. That’s bitter stuff. Strong. Most grown men don’t even drink it that way.”
“I never get the proportions right, I always ruin it. It’s easier to just leave it as it is.”
“Is that right?”
“You know, in Europe, coffee isn’t the only thing they start drinking young,” said Rayner. “Any chance you’re … European in that way too?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, though I did know. Why does he want to know if I drink? What does that have to do with Eva-Kate? I told myself he was trying to figure out if she was a drinker, if that could be part of what happened to her.
“Alcohol, Justine,” he said. “Can I call you Justine?”
“That’s my name,” I said. I couldn’t think of what else he’d call me.
“Do you like to drink, Justine?”
I’d seen enough TV to know I didn’t have to answer that. I shrugged and crossed my arms. When they started asking me questions about Eva-Kate’s death, questions I could help with, that’s when I’d start talking.
“You’re not ready to tell us.” Sato nodded. “That’s fine. We—” The woman I assumed was Luanne came in then with my coffee. She had curly red hair held in a half updo with a tortoiseshell clip. Pale lipstick, clear-rimmed glasses. She set the cup down before me and I picked it up with a shaky hand. I figured I must be hungry, though I didn’t feel it. I wanted to thank her but it suddenly felt like the hardest thing to do.
“Nancy Childs is here,” she told the detectives.
I put the cup down. “My mom?” I choked. “But she’s … she’s not even … she’s been traveling. What about my dad?”
“Maybe she’s been traveling, but she’s here in LA now.”
Already? I winced, remembering the voice mail.
Hi, Eva-Kate, this is Dr. Childs. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be back in Los Angeles next week, and will be available to resume our evening sessions on Tuesday. Looking forward to hearing from you, bye for now.
I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat, but either it was too big or my throat was too tight. My whole life I’d been the victim of a particular cycle. Something would make me nervous, and being nervous would make my throat tighten. Then feeling my throat closing would send a much stronger alarm signal to my brain, telling it something was wrong, which would effectively elevate my nerves to a level of acute anxiety. The more anxious I became, the tighter my throat got. At Bellflower I learned techniques to stop the wave of panic before it became tidal. Breathing techniques, counting techniques, visualizing techniques. My go-to visualization was of Taylor Swift and her cats, Meredith and Olivia, huddled on the window nook in her West Village apartment. I closed my eyes and went there now. I counted to ten.
“Send her in,” said Rayner. “Thanks, Luanne.”
I took a big gulp of coffee and held it in the back of my mouth, appreciating the piping hot, hazelnut smolder.
My mother stormed into the room, already furious. She was tanner than when I saw her last, and less wrinkled, if that was possible. She’d gained some weight and was wearing a breezy lilac tunic. Her hair had grown out a bit and she’d gotten it straightened. She looked like a different person. I saw her see me and think the same thing, which satisfied me, if only a little.
“Don’t say anything, Justine,” she said as she rushed to me and put both hands on my shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything to them.”
“I know that,” I said, shaking her off. “But I want to help.” I wondered if she knew what had happened or why we were here. How much had they told her?
“Mrs. Childs, we just want to figure out how Eva-Kate died. We believe your daughter—”
“Eva-Kate?” She froze, clutching the cameo pendant that hung from her neck. “Eva-Kate Kelly?”
For a second I thought she’d burst into tears. She didn’t know. I felt her cross over, joining me in the realm of shock.
Sato and Rayner shared a glance.
“That’s correct, Mrs. Childs,” said Rayner. “I apologize; I thought you were informed on the phone.”
“Dr. Childs,” she said. “Please.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t understand.” She started pacing unevenly, cracking her knuckles. “How can my daughter help you?”
“Justine and Miss Kelly had become pretty close over the summer.”
“Close? How would…?” She looked to me. “Justine?”
“Eva-Kate moved into the house across the canal.” I watched her face stiffen as she took this in. “We met a few weeks ago.”
She paused for several moments. The color faded from her face.
“Oh God.” She shook her head, calculating the significance. “The house across from our house? Jesus.” I knew what she was realizing, though of course Rayner and Sato did not. She caught their quizzical glances and composed herself.
“Justine,” Rayner said, “can you tell us where you were two nights ago?”
“I was … first I was at home. Then I left and went to the Ace Hotel, which is where I was when—wait.” I realized something. “How did you know to find me there?”
Rayner jotted this down on a notepad inside the leather folder he’d been resting his heavy hand on like a Bible.
“Instagram, sweetheart,” said Sato. “Hint: Next time you’re in hiding, don’t post to social media.”
“But I didn’t … I only posted a picture of Princess Leia, that doesn’t…”
“We traced the location of the post. It was geo-tagged.”
“What? Are you even allowed to—”
“The Ace Hotel?” My mom’s brow furrowed. “Why would you go—you know what, never mind.” She turned from me to the detectives and said, “She doesn’t have to answer that.”
“Dr. Childs,” Sato said with both palms placed flat against the table, pressing down his own mushrooming frustration. “Your daughter isn’t under arrest, we’re simply asking for her help. As we said, Justine had become very close with Eva-Kate, and we’re hoping she can give us some insight into who might have done this to her.”
“Done this to her?” I repeated. “You think someone did this? You don’t think it was an…”
“An accident?” Sato finished my sentence, shaking his head. “Definitely not.” He put his hand out to Rayner, who produced a photograph from the folder and slid it facedown to him. Sato flipped it faceup and slid it across the table to me.
In high definition, crystal clear, was the athame Eva-Kate had showed me. The five-inch dagger, handle painted white with little blue cornflowers and a decorative green tulle bow. It would have looked like a toy, a knife for a doll, if it weren’t for all the blood. Eva-Kate’s blood. My stomach twisted.
“What is that?” my mom asked, chin twitching. “Justine, you do not need to be here.”
“Mom,” I said, biting back my own tears, “stop.”
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Sato asked me.
“Yeah, um.” I wiped my eyes with the backs of my thumbs. “It’s an athame. It was Eva-Kate’s.”
“Do you know what she used it for?”
I paused. I saw her sitting drunk on the bedroom floor that night wanting to make Rob fall back in love. I couldn’t say It’s used to cast spells, or anyway I couldn’t say it with a straight face.
“No,” I told them. Then, eager to get them as close to the truth as I was capable of, I added, “But I mean, I know it’s like a tool that can be used in certain … rituals.”
“I see,” said Rayner. “Did you ever use this tool for such … rituals?”
“Me? No. I wouldn’t know … I mean, I don’t necessarily believe in the, uh…”
“You don’t believe in witchcraft,” Sato cut in. “Is that what you’re trying to say? Eva-Kate was fooling around with this knife thingy trying to cast crazy s
pells and all that jazz, but the dark arts aren’t really your bag?”
“Well, no, but I don’t know if she was—I mean, I don’t know if she took that stuff seriously or if she was just, you know … playing?”
Sato and Rayner shared another glance. My mother tapped her middle three fingers against her forearm faster and faster until they almost hummed. Sato gave Rayner a nod, a sort of go-ahead.
“Justine, I know you’ve been through a lot,” he said, treading lightly along the line between sensitive and scrutinizing. “Losing such a close friend is immeasurably traumatic, and it’s possible you don’t remember all the details clearly. So, I’ll ask you again to be sure: In the time that you knew Eva-Kate Kelly, did you ever use the athame?”
“No, I already said no.” I crossed my arms. “I never would … why would I? You think I tried to cast some kind of spell?”
“Excuse me.” My mother knit her eyebrows so close together they almost met at the bridge of her nose, turning her forehead into a bundle of well-moisturized grooves. “Detective Rayner, does my daughter need a lawyer?”
“No, Dr. Childs, we don’t think—let me rephrase the question.” Rayner ignored my mom, rubbing his temples. “Have you ever held this athame? The one in this picture?”
“No! It’s not mine. Eva-Kate showed it to me once, but that’s it.”
“And you’re sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“They’re testing it for fingerprints as we speak,” Sato cut in. “Now would be the time to tell us if yours are on it.”
It’s not possible. The words were on the tip of my tongue, locked and loaded. But then I saw myself—maybe a week ago, maybe two—sitting on the floor of Eva-Kate’s room. I heard her voice: Here, hold it. Feels really empowering.
I saw her take my hands and wrap them around the handle. I felt the kid gloves she wore stroking the backs of my hands and then the nape of my neck. I smelled the liquor on her breath and shivered.
