“I’m guessing you’ll find me and not the other way around?”
“I’ll be close by even if you can’t see me.”
She should’ve felt safe but it would take an army to soothe her worries. She wished him a good night and jogged up the walkway, opening the front door and closing it gently behind her.
The house was silent. No creaking steps or hushed television. Nothing but the faint hum of the refrigerator. She took a deep breath and made her way toward the stairs.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Shawna held a hand to her chest and turned toward the kitchen entryway. Her mother sat at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Her heart jackhammered.
“What did I say about swearing? And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I was . . . out.” The stairs seemed so close. Just another few steps.
“This late on a school night? With who? It sure wasn’t Mia. I haven’t seen her around in months.”
“Don’t give me that concerned mother act again. You can drop the charade, okay? Your favorite daughter isn’t listening in.” She shocked herself by taking a step closer to Kristen. “Or maybe she is. It’s not like I get a moment of privacy when she’s home.”
“She isn’t home. She flew to New York for a talk show. And she was very upset with you.”
“About what? She mad that I don’t wanna go to her stupid show?”
Kristen stood. The coffee cup shook in her hand, a few drops spilling onto a new bathrobe. Expensive by the looks of it. “As a matter of fact, yes. And Glenda let us know you wouldn’t do the interview.”
“Of course I won’t do the interview. It’s a waste of my time and hers. I don’t have anything good to say about Angie. Leave me out of it. Pretend she’s an only child. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all along?”
“That’s enough. You need to start treating me like your mother and not some stranger.”
Another step closer, heart beating faster. “Then start acting like one.”
Smoke poured from Kristen’s nostrils in two shallow streams. “You think you know everything. You think you have your mother figured out. I’m just a dead-beat bitch with a spending problem. And maybe you’re half right. But you’re only eighteen, hardly old enough to know how it feels when life beats you down.”
“Oh really?” She had two constant reminders of just how bad life could get, two hunks of plastic lodged in her ear canals this very moment.
Her mother nodded. “You think I don’t miss your father? I miss him with every ounce of my body. But he’s never coming back. And I know I have a problem. But it’s hard being a single mother. Harder than you could imagine.”
For a moment, Shawna actually felt bad for her. Then the anger returned. “When was the last time you had a job for more than six months?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
Shawna shook her head. “No, it’s not. Let me break it down for you. You have been waiting for Angie to make it big and now your dream has come true.”
Her mother stared for a long time. Shawna could feel the tension floating through the air. Kristen had never hit her but Shawna wasn’t counting it out. Finally, she set the coffee cup onto the table and dropped her cigarette into the remnants. It sizzled out quickly. “That’s where you’re wrong.” She sniffled instead of screaming. Her bottom lip quivered. Were those tears in her eyes?
“What’re you talking about?”
“Your sister promised to help me with the mortgage and the bills, at least until I got back on my feet. And yeah, I thought about taking advantage of the situation, if you want the truth. But it doesn’t matter because she might not give me any money. She doesn’t have to. She’s eighteen, after all. And she’s pissed at both of us, wants us to be a family again.”
“A family? I find that hard to believe. Sounds like she’s blackmailing you.”
Kristen dabbed her eyes with her fancy new robe. “Maybe she is. But the ball is in her court and no matter how stupid you think that interview is, I’m begging you. Smile for the camera and pretend everything is okay. Just this once.”
Shawna’s mind spun in a thousand different directions. She could not recall ever seeing her mother cry, not even the day Dad left. She needed sleep and she needed it quick. She turned around.
“Where are you going?” Kristen said.
“To bed.”
“You’ll think about what I said, right? Just tell me you’ll consider it.”
Shawna paused at the first step. “I’ll think about it,” she said without knowing if it was the truth.
She took the stairs two at a time, shut her bedroom door tightly. Her sister may have been out of the state but her followers—they were everywhere. She pulled her ottoman in front of the door and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and willing sleep to come.
It did not.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JUST LET HER IN
SUZIE COLLINS DID NOT LIKE the woman in 3B. There was something about the way she stared at the television like it was a miracle, like god himself had appeared before her, that made Suzie’s bowels run cold. She ran through her list as quickly as possible, checking vitals and portioning out pills.
The television’s volume was too loud for this time of night. Some talk show where Joey Fallon, or whatever the hell his name was, welcomed his guest. A blond bimbo by the name of Angie Everstein.
Why did that name sound familiar?
The crowd cheered and stood and the studio lights made their skin glisten. At first she thought it was sweat, but as the cameras zoomed in, she saw it was glitter. Their arms and legs and faces—every bit of exposed skin—were covered with glitter.
The shot panned back to the girl and Suzie finally recognized her. She sang that song that played all over the radio. “Forever into You” or something. Suzie didn’t listen to the radio all that much—or to music in general for that matter. She spent most of her time working as many shifts as her health would allow, flat feet be damned. All this for a teenaged son named Bruce that wanted to be called Jax (his middle name as chosen by his father, wherever he was) who rarely gave her the time of day. Some nights, when exhaustion took hold, she dreamed of leaving. The guilt from such fantasies hurt, sure, but not as much as her feet.
“Thirsty.”
Suzie shook her head. She’d almost forgotten all about the woman in 3B. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m thirsty.”
Suzie pointed to the cup of lukewarm ginger ale on the bedside table. The woman’s wrists were still bandaged, would have to be cleaned the following morning. The guards hadn’t restrained her, which bothered Suzie Collins in a way she couldn’t vocalize. Not that she wanted to vocalize anything to the woman (Melissa, she thought her name was). She wanted it to be midnight so she could head home and grab a few measly hours of sleep. She wanted to run into Matt Damon on the street and fuck his brains out. But, if she was being honest, she’d settle for Joey Fallon—if that was his name.
“I’m not thirsty for that,” Melissa said.
Suzie sighed. She wasn’t in the mood. “What do you want? Water? Apple juice? Too late for coffee. And as a matter of fact, too late for television. You ought to get some rest.” She lifted the remote.
“Don’t,” Melissa said.
Suzie’s hand froze. There was something in the woman’s voice now, some timbre that made her seem less human. You could blame it on the drugs or the suicide attempt but neither theory rang true.
“Fine but at least turn it down.”
Melissa did not react, nor did she say anything else about her thirst. She lifted the cup in question and took several loud sips that made Suzie’s gag reflex work overtime.
Joey Fallon asked Angie a few generic questions and then she was on a teeny-tiny stage. Her skirt was comically short but the audience didn’t seem to mind. They screamed and whooed at the first notes of her
song. That one from the radio.
Suzie’s mind switched back to her fantasy of running away, except this time it was different. This time she did not rush past Bruce’s room. Instead she opened the door, grabbed the pillow he’d left on the floor for days, and covered his ungrateful little face. He so resembled his father she couldn’t help but hate the little shit. He struggled, even managed a scream or two, but the pillow did a good job at muffling his voice.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Melissa’s voice again. Back in 3B with the woman who gave her the creeps.
Suzie shrugged, pretended she wasn’t scared. “It’s okay, I guess. Sounds like every other song out there.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Melissa stood and stretched.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Suzie eyed the hallway. The nurse’s station was four doors to the left. A skeleton crew tonight. Amelia would be outside smoking and Suzie could hear Tanya’s snores from the utility closet. She was, technically speaking, alone.
“You’re not alone,” Melissa said, cracking her neck. She seemed to be in a great mood for someone who’d sliced their wrists earlier that day.
“What did you just say?” Angie’s song still played. The crowd still cheered.
“I said you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again. We’re a very accepting bunch, us glitter critters.”
“Glitter what?”
“All you have to do is open your heart and let her in. We’re a happy family and we’re always growing. We need all the help we can get. Our time is almost here. Our queen will rise.”
“Is this a joke or something?” Suzie had heard about the Halloween concert. Everyone had. The city was taking extra security precautions and that was saying something. There were enough cops on the street to wage a war if the crowd turned bad tomorrow night.
“It’s no prank. Come with me. All you have to do is say yes.”
“Forever with you, always by your side . . .” Had the volume been turned up?
Yes, because the remote was still in her hand and her thumb pressed the button down. The little blue bars on the screen reached their highest peak. Still not loud enough. She needed more.
Melissa stepped closer. “What do you say? Isn’t it time you have a new family? One that actually appreciates you? We can make that little daydream of yours come true. Let’s take a stroll to your house.”
“How do you know about that?”
“We know everything because she knows everything.”
Suzie’s mouth ran dry and her blood ran cold and she had a strange buzzing sensation along the base of her skull. She was aware of Melissa holding her by the hand, leading her out of room 3B, down the hall and past the abandoned nursing station. She was also aware, yet oddly not surprised, that her feet had stopped hurting. Not an ounce of pain or sorrow or anxiety. Only that buzzing that spread through her entire body.
“That’s it,” Melissa said. They were on the first floor now, leaving through the front doors. “Angie is going to be so happy. All you have to do is let her in and she’ll be with you forever.”
“Just like the song.” Suzie’s lips felt numb. Her brain too.
“Yes,” Melissa said. “Just like the song.”
“Where are we going?” It was cold outside. Her jacket was back in her locker, yet she didn’t mind the temperature.
“I told you already. Home. To teach Bruce a lesson in manners.”
Suzie nodded. “Home.”
“Then I’ll show you your new family. Introduce you to her.”
“I’d like that.” A block away from the hospital now. The only thing she cherished about her job. The commute was less than five minutes. Ten if you walked. So close.
“Let her into your heart and soul,” Melissa said. Her gown fluttered in the wind. It reminded Suzie of a robe for some reason. A long, black robe. “Give yourself over to her.”
And Suzie did. Just before they stepped through her front door that she didn’t remember opening. Just before they crept up the stairs and down the hall and into Bruce’s room. Just before Melissa grabbed one of his lacrosse trophies from his shelf and handed it to Suzie. Not a pillow but it would do.
Just before she stood over the bed and raised the hunk of metal.
Just before she brought it down on her sleeping son’s face.
“The cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma,” the news anchor said. “Someone entered the home of Suzie Collins in the middle of the night and crushed her son’s head with a heavy object. The murder weapon has not been found. The boy’s mother is also missing.” The speaker was blond, non-descript, could’ve been thirty or forty-five. She’d had some work done, preventing her face from seeming all that worried but something told Shawna even if she could show concern, she wouldn’t have.
The camera zoomed out and revealed her co-host. The man’s salt-and-pepper hair was gelled and spiked, nothing like his usual comb-over. Gone were his suit jacket and button-down shirt. He wore a sparkly t-shirt with words that made Shawna cover her mouth.
We Love You, Angie.
She turned the television off. From downstairs, she could hear the crew, Glenda barking orders.
Things were getting bad out there, just as Mike had predicted. The murders may have been scattered but they had arrived in Salem. The boy wasn’t alone. She’d flipped through four local news programs. Each described a different scene and while none of them mentioned her sister, the connection was obvious.
She looked outside. Was Mike nearby? Maybe he’d been followed last night. Maybe he, too, had been beat to death with a heavy object.
Shawna would play it cool. March down there and eat whatever her mother had concocted. Bacon and eggs if she was in a good mood, Pop-Tarts if not. Then she would sit down with Glenda and smile for the camera. She had to sell it, make them think she gave a damn about Angie. But she couldn’t overdue it, either.
“You can do this,” she told her reflection. The mirror did not seem convinced.
After that, she would skip school, hope they didn’t call home, and find Mike, assuming he didn’t find her first.
She took a deep breath and then five more. Her foot caught on her bureau and moved it to the left a few inches. It scraped the floor and she wondered if the crew heard her. But that wasn’t what made her bladder nearly burst.
It was still there. The symbol Angie had drawn all those years ago. A creeping thing in and of itself.
Moving the bureau back into place, she opened her door, headed downstairs, and entered the living room. The crew stopped speaking. All eyes turned toward her.
“There you are,” Glenda said, clipboard in hand. “We were worried you’d never wake up.” A faint smile. Something like a threat.
“I’m a teenager,” Shawna said. “Sleeping in is what we do.” That was good. Give them some attitude. Make them think you weren’t scared shitless.
“We adults do it from time to time as well.” Glenda held the clipboard out and one of her assistants took it without being asked. “Your mother tells us you’ve had a change of heart. About the interview.”
Kristen stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee with an unsteady hand. The first floor smelled pungent. Cigarettes and Febreze.
She cleared her throat, steadied her pulse as best she could. “That’s right. But it’s got to be quick. I’m already running late.”
“We can write you a note.”
“No,” Shawna said a little too quickly. Calm down or you’ll blow what little cover you have left. “I already left early once this week.”
Glenda nodded. “A regular old teacher’s pet.”
She thought of Mr. Fuller, how his eyes had turned just as hollow as the rest of them. Brainwashed by subliminal pop music. “Something like that.”
“Well, we’d better hurry.” Glenda turned toward anyone who would listen, which turned out to be everyone. “Can I get makeup here quick?”
The crew erupted into contained chao
s. Moments later the trailer door outside opened. The interior was dark, though she could make out the shapes of several other people. Her skin went prickly, thinking about how small it must be in there, how easy it would be to become trapped if Glenda ordered one of her servants to restrain Shawna.
The front door opened and a woman with purple hair stepped into her home.
Her v-neck was dangerously low and just above her breasts was a single word tattooed into her flesh. It looked recent. And mildly infected.
Angie.
She powdered Shawna’s face and applied eye shadow. Afterward, she held up a mirror and Shawna managed a faint smile. She didn’t look half bad. Her acne was well hidden. No more oily forehead. A consolation prize for having to pretend she didn’t hate her sister.
The clipboard was presented to her next. There were several papers to be filled out and a pen with her sister’s lyrics across the side. “What’s this for?”
Glenda pointed at the top of the first page.
Consent Form.
“For what? Where will it air?”
“Primetime if we’re lucky. You should be excited. You might just end up famous yourself.”
Shawna gulped and signed. Yeah but for different reasons.
She kept her hand as steady as she could and handed the paperwork back to Glenda when she was done.
“Are we ready?” Again with the fake smile and again Shawna had the feeling Glenda would pounce on her if she wasn’t careful. More snake than human.
“I guess so.”
“Let’s roll.” She motioned toward the crew. “Take a deep breath and smile for the camera.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ERRORS AND CORRECTIONS
WHEN JOSH OPENED HIS eyes, he assumed he was dead.
Bright light blinded him and he thought: This is heaven and everything is okay now. The nightmare is over.
But the headache told him otherwise. It told him he was still very much alive and, if instinct was to be trusted, very much hung over. He rubbed his eyes. Dry and caked shut. His body was covered with cold sweat and his morning breath, assuming it was morning, registered as toxic.
A Voice So Soft Page 14
