“I don’t understand.” Principal Cradle hugged Tate to her. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to the one person he fears,” I said. “And she’s going to give me everything I need.”
“Who?” Tate giggled against her mother while my own looked suddenly shocked.
“Kit MacLean.” Mom’s cheeks flushed and she laughed. “That’s diabolical.”
I grinned in answer, loving the word diabolical and my name tied together. It made me feel like Grace Grant and Kitalia Ore were with me. “You bet it is. And I can’t wait to turn the tables on him.”
***
Tatiana slips into the seat next to me, her heels sliding free of her feet as she sighs in relief. “Are we ready?”
I nod, gunning the engine of my Cobra. “I know how to defeat him now,” I say. “He uses other people’s fear against them, Tat. Why would he do that if he didn’t know how debilitating fear can be?”
“What is he afraid of?” She sounds confused but confident.
***
As I ring the doorbell in front of me in the pleasant afternoon sunlight, I let all my happy out. Mrs. Brown doesn’t stand a chance against my million watt smile as she opens the door.
“Hi! I’m Kit, I’m friends with Tom. Can I come in?”
***
I sit and sip my tea as Mrs. Brown hustles around the kitchen, plating cookies, her expansive hips bumping into the table and cupboards with alarming regularity. But, when she turns back to me with her beaming smile, cheeks rosy with delight, brown eyes buried in the soft rolls of her happiness, I almost feel sorry for her.
This part I hadn’t anticipated, this surge of compassion for his mother. She’s lovely, at least to me, if not to others. So gushing and generous with her emotions, her time, always has been, no matter how she acts with adults. Makes me wonder if it’s all their fault she’s so hard to deal with sometimes. An open book for me to exploit against her rotten-to-the-core child. It’s only his downfall I’m after, not hers. And yet, what I’m about to do will hurt her, I’m positive of it.
He has to pay, to be punished for what he’s done. But can I also punish this sweet woman—no matter her failings and baggage—who slides a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of me?
I must. I have no choice. The plan is in place and everything must move forward. All I can do is soften the blow as much as possible.
“It’s so nice to have one of Tommy’s friends over.” Mrs. Brown’s chair creaks under her ample bottom as she thumps down into place, taking the seat next to me and helping herself to a cookie. Gold rings shine on her sausage fingers as she dunks the hard circle into her tea.
I avoid them, though the tea is delicious, the rattle of the overbaked treats making my teeth ache. “Thank you so much for inviting me in,” I gush at her with my sweetest smile. It’s not hard to be this Kit, she’s so familiar. And yet I feel like a fraud even more than I have been, if only because I’m pretending. But, I have a role to play and so many are counting on me. Grace Grant would do the same. So would Kitalia—though she would simply go into Mrs. Brown’s mind for what she needed.
If only it were that easy. I’m anticipating a fair amount of difficulty in finding what I need, but if anyone has it, it’s Tom’s mother.
“My pleasure, dear.” She pats my hand. “I’m sorry he’s not home yet, but he should be soon. You mentioned a project?”
I bob my head with great enthusiasm, leaning toward her, eyes as wide and entreating as I can make them. “I’m sorry to bother you, and it’s all my fault. I was supposed to take the project home tonight and finish it. Tom’s worked so hard on it and I’m afraid I’m going to let him down.”
She nods constantly, anxious to please. I’m not a very nice person, am I? That sudden realization almost stops me. But she’s already diving in and it’s too late. I’ll just have to live with myself.
“You poor dear. How can I help?”
There it is, the question. I have her where I need her. I have him in the palm of my hand. One tiny sentence and this is all over, if my plan pans out.
“I need his password to his school account.” This will go one of two ways—she’ll blanch and tell me she can’t help, leaving me to dig for the information, or disaster. She’ll call Tom. I’m prepared for both, or think I am. Until she beams a smile at me and stands up.
“I’ll be right back.” I watch her shuffle out of the small kitchen with my jaw unhinged. Where is she going? The sound of her moving through the tiny bungalow makes me want to leap up and follow her. What if she’s looking for the phone? But no, the wireless handset sits on the table next to her plate. Panic rises in my chest, this can’t be good, I’ve lost control of the plan. I lurch to my feet, though I’m ready to bolt out of there when she waves down the hall for me to join her.
Hesitant but needing this to work, I go after her. I walk through the open door she holds for me, beaming in my direction, while my eyes roam the walls of what has to be Tom’s room. Walls covered in images of me.
This. Is. Creepy.
“I always knew he adored you,” Mrs. Brown gushes. “I had no idea the feelings were returned.”
I manage a weak smile, stomach heaving. He’s been photographing me in secret, with my siblings at the park, at the pool. Even drawn pictures of me. But, this makes no sense. If he really does like me, why destroy me?
I turn to find Mrs. Brown leaving the room and follow her, softly closing the door behind us. I just can’t look at it anymore. It’s making my head ache.
It’s not until I sink into my chair at the table again I realize she has something in her hands. A flat and heavy something she sets triumphantly in front of me.
Tom Brown’s laptop.
The screen blinks with a password screen. She neatly taps in a series of numbers before turning it toward me with a smile of delight. And the entirety of Tom Brown’s life and empire flash into existence right in front of me.
My heart skips, repeats two beats, then collapses in a heap. No way could it be this easy.
She’s chattering away at me while my fingers fly on their own. I dig for the files I need—is he really this foolish to store everything on his laptop? But why not? He leaves it home, doesn’t he? No one would have access to it, ever.
Except if they had the audacity to come to his house and ask his mother.
“I hope what you need is in there.” She frets as she sips her tea and eats another dunked cookie. “He’s always telling me to stay off his computer, but I paid for it, so there.” She titters a giggle. “Silly boy thinks I don’t know his password. His father’s birthday, naturally.” She sighs. “Bless his heart, rest in peace.” I didn’t know Tom’s dad passed away. I should be able to muster sympathy. For Mrs. Brown? Yes, of course. But not for Tom.
Does that make me a bad person?
I’ll leave the philosophical contemplation for later. Desperate, I simply grunt to her in response. She doesn’t seem to notice I’m fully focused on the screen in front of me, the file folder that pops up, sealed and locked. It has to be it, labeled, “Truths and Fears”. This is it.
How do I get in?
I choke on my need to speak slowly as excitement builds in my chest and makes a giant ball of swirling anxiety. “What did you say that password was?”
“January 15, 1965.” She sighs again, smiles. “He was such a dear, my husband. Tommy looks just like him.”
It can’t be this easy. That mantra runs through my head as I tap in the numbers, day/month/year and hold my breath.
It can’t be this easy.
It can’t be this—
The file opens, names and dates and images all neatly organized in alphabetical order. My hands shake as I open his email account and begin to send them, one at a time. Surely I won’t survive this tension, the focus, the moment of victory. It feels like I’m ready to explode. No way my poor little body won’t be able to handle winning, not if this is what winning feels like.
The front door slams, jerking my head up. The last email is gone, winging its way to my account at school. Where Principal Cradle waits. I send one last message as Tom Brown enters the kitchen with a grumpy expression, his mother turning toward him with a beaming smile.
His password is 1965.
I hit send. As his mother speaks and he looks into my eyes. Freezes like a squirrel in a hunter’s sights.
“Tommy!” She waves him forward. “Kit’s here.” She aims an equal smile at me. “There, now you’ll be able to fix everything.”
Tom’s entire form twitches. He looks down at the computer. Back to me. And realization dawns while I wave and grin.
“Hi, Tom,” I say. “Your mom was kind enough to let me into the project. I’ve taken care of everything.”
***
Chapter Thirty One
He swallows hard, nose twitching, puffy tail appearing over his shoulder as his whole form fluffs out with dark red fur. How had I never noticed before just how rodent-like he seems? But no, not a squirrel. That’s an insult to squirrels everywhere. His body shifts again, fur shrinking, darkening, a thin, whip tail appearing, nose pale and covered in whiskers as black rat eyes glare at me with hate.
His mother doesn’t notice, made even more apparent when the phone rings. She makes an apologetic face to me, fetching the handset and hurrying from the room while shoving her son bodily into the kitchen as though unsure if he’s going to make the move or not.
It’s hilarious and painful all at the same time.
Tom’s shoulders pinch together, brown eyes staring at the laptop in front of me. “I could have you arrested.” Desperation sounds good on him.
“You don’t say.” I close the cover and sit back, crossing my legs. This would be so much more satisfying if I had my heavy boot to swing over my knee, but I’ll live with sneakers. For now.
“This is all your fault, you know, Kit MacLean.” He shudders and looks away, rubbing at his upper arm where his mother’s hand had been. “You taught me about fear.”
I did? I sit up straighter, frowning and not even caring about the line between my eyebrows. “Would you care to explain that, please? Because I am totally lost, Tom. I thought we were friends.” Okay, so not friends, not really. But this enemy stuff is a huge shock to me.
He snorts, pushes at his glasses with his index finger. “I’ve loved you since kindergarten.” Small and soft and rather pathetic. I can’t feel sorry for him. I refuse. “Ever since we were little. I loved your name, Kit. You were so cute and you were nice to me.” He shifts away from the door jamb, settles in a chair, eyes still locked on the computer. “Then you had to go and ruin it.” His jaw jumps. “You had to humiliate me like that.”
“The chess game?” It’s the only thing I can think of.
He jerks forward, face red and contorted. “You laughed at me!” It’s a roar, a scream of utter fury. “You laughed and they all laughed and they’ve been laughing ever since.” He was bullied? “But I showed you, didn’t I? Showed them all. Bonnie might have liked to pick on me, but once I found out she stole from her father’s wallet, it was easy to convince her to turn on you.”
So, I was right. He was the reason I’m the way I am.
“I never meant to hurt you.” It’s a frail thing to say, but I have nothing more to offer, no further comfort for someone who’s tried so hard to destroy me out of a misplaced sense of what he thinks is caring. Mixed with rage and the need to control. It’s sick and makes me want to throw up.
Tom shrugs, sharp and hard. “Whatever. I should thank you.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “After that, I understood, you get it? That fear is the best way to make people listen to me. To make them do what I wanted. So, I made it my mission to find out everyone’s fears.”
“And, if they didn’t have any, you created them.” I turn my head, refusing to look at him any longer. I’m just too angry. “You’re a fraud, Tom.”
“Go to hell, Kit.” He sounds lost. “I knew you’d be my downfall one day, you know that?” Startling to hear him speak that way. As if he’s T.B. and I’m Kitalia instead of Tom and Kit. The world crossover makes me shiver. “I knew it. I hate that you’re smarter than me.”
I don’t know what to say. And then his mother is back, a frown on her face, her hand heavy on his shoulder.
“I was on the phone.” Her voice booms through the room. “What’s with all the shouting?”
His fear. I guessed right. He flinches from her, quivers. I saw it that day, in the dentist’s office. And now I know for certain what he fears the most.
I stand up and wish there is an easier way to break things to Mrs. Brown, though now I’m not so sure she’s worthy of my pity. Not if she’s made him as much as he claims I have. Her influence is a palpable entity in the room, pushing him deeper into his chair as much as the heavy touch of her hand. “Tom needs to come with me,” I say. “There’s someone outside who wants to talk to him.” The flashing blue and red lights reflect off the kitchen window, the crunch of tires on pavement alerting me to the arrival of Officer Cradle. Right on time.
Mrs. Brown appears confused as Tom’s panic rises, making his whole body shake.
“You can’t,” he gasps.
“I already have.” I step around his mother. “Time to face what you’ve done.”
He pulls back from me, shaking his head, a young man again, suddenly frail and as desperate as his victims. “Just let me go.” He hesitates. “For old time’s sake.”
I shrug. “It seems I owe you. So, I’ll take a pass on that.”
Mrs. Brown looks back and forth between us, cheeks darkening as she lumbers around to face her son. And there it is, what he truly fears, rising to the surface. Yes, she’s the sweetest, kindest woman I’ve ever met. And she’s a monster who made her son fear her his whole life.
I know. I’ve seen her temper.
Like a volcano bursting at the seams, she draws a breath, smoke trailing out of the top of her head as her skin crusts over, cracks appearing, bright magma shining through. Her voice booms deep and furious. “Thomas Clarence Brown. What have you done?”
He flinches back from her, but I’m between them. This is his fear, of his mother. And finally, sympathy surfaces. Sure, he’s awful and rotten and evil, but even he has someone he’s afraid of.
I push him toward the door and he hurries ahead of me, his mother stomping toward us. But, she’s too late as we emerge onto the narrow front step. Officer Cradle is almost at the stairs, grim and angry, his partner waiting by the car. But they aren’t alone, are they? The most important part of the plan unfolds before me, and no matter what I’ve done to this point in time, it’s all worth it.
They stand on his lawn, in the street, filling the space in front of the house with their presence, half the school turned out to confront Tom Brown. He gapes, shock clear as his face goes slack. Officer Cradle turns, looks around, and gives them the moment they need.
It’s Tate who takes the first step, who risks everything. She raises her phone from the front line, right at the bottom of the stairs, the image of her shame clearly displayed for Tom to see. Fearlessly exposing her terror. And, one by one, then in a rush, the kids all copy her, a sea of phones held up, images shining in their tormentor’s face.
The plan was simple. To free them from him by exposing their fear so they would never have to be afraid again. The message: His house, 3:45pm. Wait for the cop car. Bring your shame.
And they came. Pride bursts in my chest, but I remain silent as Mrs. Brown completes the final step and crushes Tom forever.
She turns on her son and screams in his face while he cringes from those who watch his public humiliation. “I’ll strip your hide, boy, if I find out you’ve been bad. DON’T THINK I WON’T, TOMMY. HAVE YOU BEEN A BAD BOY?”
No laughter, though. We’re far past that. He’s spared their humor, at least, if not their derision.
Officer Cradle comes forward, grasping Tom’s
arm in one big hand.
“Tom Brown,” he says in his deep voice as Mrs. Brown draws a breath to continue her tirade, gaping again at the crowd on her lawn, “you’re under arrest for blackmail and cyber bullying.”
Tom stumbles down the stairs without fighting, head down, legs wobbly. It’s not until he’s at the back door of the police car, Officer Cradle’s hand on his head to guide him inside, that Tom looks up and meets my eyes.
His are full of hate. “You’ll pay for this, Kit MacLean.”
“I already have.” I wave at the group of students facing him, phones still held high, fears erased. “And so have they. Your turn.”
Mrs. Brown bustles down the stairs after Officer Cradle, but it’s too late.
“You can meet us at the station.” He pulls away, Mrs. Brown grunting her way up the steps again and past me. I meet her eyes, see her fury. But I’m not afraid.
Part of me thinks I’ll never be afraid again.
As the police car drives away, they cheer, jumping up and down and hugging each other. The sense of freedom is a physical wave crashing over all of us and I find myself being embraced, pulled down the stairs and hugged over and over again. So many thank yous, so many whispered confessions of old fears, in those next few crazy minutes.
I’m exhilarated and exhausted by the time I come face to face with Tate. She grins at me, punches my shoulder.
“Nice job, Kit,” she says.
“Couldn’t have done it without you.” I hesitate. This is so weird for me, to have what I always imagined might be true—the friendship, or at least good will, of most of the school. But, better yet, the chance at a real friend.
Speaking of which… I turn and leave, letting them continue to celebrate while Mrs. Brown shouts at them to get off her lawn. I have one more stop to make before this is really over.
***
Chapter Thirty Two
I run home first, needing to pick up something before I make my last trip. Mom and Dad are there, and, to my surprise, so are Clare and Calvin. They all hug me, Mom and Dad tripping over each other to say Principal Cradle called to tell them she now has proof I’m innocent. That the plan worked.
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