by Rae, Nikita
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 amongst 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. He brushes the hair out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear. “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.”
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 in to an a
wkward hug. He lets go 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 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.
BY SOME miracle my nose isn’t broken, after all. Casey’s elbow just made it bleed like hell and bruised me up pretty badly, but the bone is in tact and I’m not going to end up looking like a boxer. Morgan drives me across the city from the hospital. I silently take in the steam rising from the sidewalks and the thousands of yellow cabs, the people buried inside their layers, the food vendors, the buskers, the city an endless machine, feeling nothing. My phone doesn’t stop ringing for a full hour after Morgan drops me off at Luke’s. She offered to take it with her when she left me, after I’d insisted I wanted to be alone, but I’d declined. I’d planned on calling Brandon as soon as I was by myself but then Noah had started texting and I was too numb to do anything but stare at the screen.
Noah: Avery, please pick up. I’m so sorry. I’m not kidding, I thought it was all a joke! I couldn’t answer when you called. I was in the middle of a lecture. Seriously, believe me, I wouldn’t have sent that text if I’d know it was for real!
A joke. He’d thought girls starting a hate campaign against me on campus was a joke. And the posters calling me that name? On what planet was any of that funny? I slip the phone down the side of Luke’s leather sofa and go rifling for the blankets he used to make up a bed for himself the last few times I stayed here. They’re folded neatly in a cupboard at the end of the hallway opposite his bedroom door, along with stacks of white towels and fresh bedding. I’ve never seen a cupboard so organized. I drag the blankets back to the sofa and curl up, determined to get my crying done before Luke comes home so I won’t embarrass myself any further. No tears come, though. I’m still dry-eyed and hollow when the door knocks, and I freeze, wondering if I’m supposed to answer it. Then I remember Luke gave me his keys and won’t be able to let himself in. I go and open the door, and there he is back in his jeans and a leather jacket looking as exhausted as I feel.
“Hey,” he says, cupping his hand over the back of his neck. I give him a tight smile and go back to the sofa. He comes and sits next to me, and we remain there in silence for a drawn out moment. He’s brought the smell of winter with him, fresh and bright, and I just sit there and breathe it in. Eventually he takes a deep breath and says, “Casey and Maggie were given warnings and released. If you want to get a retraining order against them, I can help you with that.”
“Are they going to come back to campus?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Casey’s mom came to get her and reamed her out in front of everyone. That’s just about the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to her. Plus there’s the fact that her mom threatened to cut her off if she disgraced herself again.”
“And what about Maggie?”
Luke lets out a sigh and slumps back against the sofa, stacking his hands on his stomach. “I don’t think she’ll come back. She’s studying in Florida. She came all the way up here to…” He pauses and puffs out his checks. “I have no idea why she came up here. I have a sneaking suspicion she might be slightly unbalanced.”
“Your father being murdered will have that effect,” I mumble, pulling the blankets up over me. Luke turns his head to look at me, frowning.
“Don’t defend her actions. You don’t deserve this.” I look away and study my fingernails. Luke reaches over and hooks a finger under my chin. He lifts it so that our eyes meet again. “Listen to me, you’ve done nothing wrong. We’re going to prove your dad didn’t either, and then all this is going to go away.”
The absolute belief on his face is what finally tips me over the edge. I clench my jaw, furious at the tears that are welling in my eyes. “We might be able to prove he didn’t kill those girls, Luke, but he’s still going to have killed Maggie’s dad. That’s not going to change.”
“I don’t think he did,” Luke breathes.
“What?” I tense, my eyes roving from his, rimmed with those long, dark lashes, to his high cheekbones and full lips. His facial features are blank, his shoulders drawn up an inch like he’s holding his breath.
“I don’t think he killed anyone,” he whispers. My heart is thudding when he says, “I’ve never believed he did. This whole time I’ve always believed he was innocent.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snap. I recoil so he’s no longer touching me. Luke reacts and pulls back, too, flinching. I twist in my seat to face him and tuck my knees up under my chin, wanting to put a barrier between us. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. There are things you don’t know about me. Things…” He trails off and swallows hard, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “That doesn’t matter, though. I think your dad took the fall for something he didn’t do.”
“The room was locked from the inside, Luke. You told me that yourself five years ago. No one could have gotten in or out. Those men were bound, and my dad had the gun that killed them in his hand. Hell, it was the gun he killed himself with, too!” My voice cracks and my throat throbs, dangerously close to closing up. Why is he doing this? Why would he tempt me with the hope that my dad is innocent? It’s cruel and unbearable, especially after everything that has happened today. I bury my face into my knees and focus on my breathing.
“Avery. Avery…” Luke takes hold of one of my hands and I try to pull it back, but he grips on tighter. “I’m not letting you go,” he says. “I’m not trying to hurt you. This is just what I believe. There’s something you weren’t told before. There were certain things the police kept back from the press.” I look up to find him biting his lip. “Max wasn’t dead when we found him, Avery. He was dying but…he was still conscious.”
Luke slides across the sofa and grabs hold of the tops of my arms at the same time I lose it, like he knows exactly how I will react. I kick out at him, trying to push him away, but he’s too close for me to get any leverage. A broken wail echoes around the room—mine—and I start hyperventilating.
“Calm down,” he growls, drawing me to him so that my face is pressed into his chest. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I shove against him, struggling to breathe through my sobbing, but he’s holding me too tight. I try again and again but it’s useless; he has me. Without thinking I let my body take control and I sink my teeth into his chest, biting down hard. Luke grunts and lets go, and suddenly he’s standing up, clenching his fists.
He looks furious. I edge into the corner of the sofa and glare at him, choking on my tears. Luke sinks into a crouch in front of me and laces his hands behind his head, his anger turning to pain, written into the planes of his face. “For fuck’s sake, let me hold you,” he grinds out.
“You should have told me! You shouldn’t hav
e kept that from me!”
“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t have any choice. Please…”
I clench my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears. “No. No, you said he died quickly.”
I sense his movement again, and Luke’s hands take hold of my wrists, gently this time, trying to get me to lower them. I kick out and strike him square in the chest, but he just grunts and leans closer. “I’m not letting you go,” he repeats. He manages to pull my hands down and climbs up onto the sofa again, kneeling over me. I open my eyes and try to fill them with as much anger and hatred as I can. He doesn’t back off; he grabs hold of my hips and yanks me towards him so that I slide onto my back, and then he straddles me and pins my wrists above my head.
“You can be mad at me, Iris. You can hate me and that’s fine. I should have told you. I wanted to. Every time I asked you to meet me back in Break, it was because I told myself you needed to know. But you were still so broken, and I didn’t want to hurt you any more.” He clenches his jaw and stares down at me, every single angle of him a study in determination. I buck and writhe, trying to unseat him.
“Get the fuck off me, Luke,” I hiss.
“No. Not until you hear this. Your dad didn’t die quick, okay? He died slow and I held his hand while he went. His throat was torn to shreds. He could barely speak but he did, okay? He did speak. Look at me, Iris. Look at me!” I turn away, resolved on not listening. Not strong enough to hear what he’s saying. He gathers my wrists together and holds them in one of his hands, sliding the other palm underneath my cheek so I can’t look away. “He said two things before he died. He said, ‘the trade’. Do you know what he meant by that? Does that mean anything to you?”
