“It’s not so far from the truth, really. I used to be in your room all the time. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it then.”
“That was a long time ago. And then what? Krista decided I wasn’t good enough for you?”
“It wasn’t like that, Reid. It’s just, you know, I was going through a lot of stuff then. And she helped me see I should probably be alone then.”
“Krista doesn’t help people.”
“She does. She cares about me. A lot.”
“Then get Krista to vouch for you.”
“She can’t. She already told the cops that she and Bree were working in her room on some history project. So stupid. She wasn’t thinking. She should’ve remembered me.”
“Taryn,” Reid said, so quiet and careful I had to strain to hear it. “If you didn’t do it, you shouldn’t need an alibi.”
“Damn it, Reid. You know I didn’t do . . . that. I couldn’t have. But there’s my history with Jason—it’s going to come out, I can feel it. I need someone to vouch for me, and I was alone in my room. So please,” she said. “You know me.”
There was silence, followed by footsteps, and I imagined them walking arm-in-arm together. But then I heard Taryn say, “Reid?”
And Reid sounded far away when he said, “No. Actually, I don’t know you at all.”
Colleen craned her neck around the tree trunk and shook her head. Taryn was still there. We heard bricks scattering. A few smashing sounds. Taryn grunting. It sounded like she was building a fort. Only when I heard her breath, laced with tears, did I realize she must have been throwing bricks at the half-standing walls.
Watching everything crumble around her.
CHAPTER 20
We waited for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, before we finally heard her footsteps stomp back toward campus. Colleen stepped out of our hiding spot first.
“You were right,” she said. “We should’ve stayed in the car.” She stared down the path, narrowing her eyes, like she was making sure the coast was clear. “On the plus side, the cops must know she was involved.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “They’ve got nothing on her. No prints. Nothing. They’ve got a hell of a lot more on me. And she’s about to get her rich-girl lawyer. Bet they won’t even let her open her mouth. I know mine didn’t.”
“That was different.”
“Not really.”
She spun around in the path until she was facing me. “Yes it was, Mallory. It was different. You didn’t drug him and slit his wrists and leave him to die.” She threw her hands up and said, “Argh,” like she was so irritated with me, and then she kept walking.
I followed her, but kept my distance, because she was wrong. I did leave Brian to die. That’s exactly what I did.
“Why did you go to the funeral?” I asked, and every muscle in her body appeared to go rigid.
She spun around and pointed her finger at me. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about Reid? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving for this place? You didn’t think about me. You just . . . left. I snuck out to see you and you were just gone.”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know why there were things I kept from her, that I thought belonged to me and nobody else. Or why I didn’t call her before I left for Monroe or why I kept Reid to myself back then. “I asked you first.”
“I can’t do this, I can’t. I’m going to be sick, Mallory.” And for a second I thought she was actually going to be sick. Her face turned pale, and she had her hand on her stomach. And then she started marching down the path, swiping at the low-hanging leaves in her path. I had to jog to keep up.
But she was right. We kept things from each other. The fragile things. The intangible things. We always kept them to ourselves. I caught up to Colleen, fell into stride right behind her. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her—it’s just that I didn’t know how.
We drove around some more after that but didn’t really speak.
“I’m coming back home after this is over,” I said. “If it’s ever over.”
Colleen nodded. “You should see Marci Schafer. She went all goth.”
“Marci? But she’s too . . . light. And pretty.”
“And now she’s dark. And hot.”
“What about you, Coll?” Because it had always been just me and her.
She shrugged. “I’m in a few classes with The Ls.” The Ls being Lindsey, Laura, and Lainey. The type of girls that giggled and whispered and seemed to share one brain. The type of girls we used to make fun of.
“Coll, really? The Ls?”
“Really, Mallory? You’re not there.”
She pressed her lips together, which is what she always did to keep from crying. It was the only thing she ever tried to hold in. She never bit her tongue, and she never held back a smile. And I realized that when I left home, I left her too.
“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now that you’re gone,” she said. But I always thought it was the other way around. Funny how you can be so tied up in another person and not even know it until she’s gone. I wanted to say something to her—tell her something true. But I still didn’t really know how. The words were lodged inside, so instead I said something that I hoped would make her understand.
“I want to go home,” I whispered. But she didn’t understand what I meant. She swung a U-turn in the middle of the street and pulled back into the hotel parking lot a few minutes later. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that this wasn’t what I meant by home.
Colleen was helping Mom clean up the boxes of leftover Chinese food. She was tying up a giant garbage bag to bring outside, but I was frozen on the couch, which is where we’d all eaten.
“Do you want me to make up the sofa bed, Colleen? Or will you be bunking with Mallory tonight?”
Colleen mouthed the word “bunking” to me, and smiled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “I choose bunking,” she said, all chipper. “Are there bunk beds? I call top.”
“Ha-ha. It’s a queen bed. I call right side.”
“Get a good rest,” Mom said. “You need to get on the road early.”
Colleen groaned and Mom took the trash bag from her to bring out to the Dumpster.
We watched a few shows with Mom while the sky turned dark, but I’m pretty sure none of us were paying attention. Just passing the time until night.
Colleen stood and stretched and said, “I’m ready to get my bunk on.”
After I finished getting ready in the bathroom, I found her on my side of the bed. “I know you called right and all, but I’m the guest.” And I guess this was her way of saying we were done with the previous discussion, done with the accusations.
“Hope you don’t have to get up to pee in the middle of the night.” I slid under the sheets on the left side and turned out the light. The outside street lamp cut through the blinds, leaving a streak across the center of our bed.
“Okay,” Colleen said. “What’s the rest?”
“What?”
“The later stuff. It’s later. I’m leaving tomorrow. So let’s hear it.”
I took a deep breath. “Dylan was here yesterday.”
Colleen bolted upright in bed. “Dylan? Your Dylan?”
Not my Dylan. But I sat up and nodded anyway.
“Crap, I didn’t know. I mean, he moved. You knew that, right? His mom, she’s . . . sick. And he lives with his dad. I don’t know where. I was going to tell you . . . eventually. I didn’t know he was up here.”
Really, it wasn’t her job to know. It seemed ridiculous that she would know. But I told her the rest, about how he blamed me, how he hated me. And then I told her the truth, the one I’d just discovered. “He came home with me that night, Colleen.”
“What?”
“After the party. He came home with me. We were . . . well, Brian found out. And that’s why he broke in. Dylan left. He ran away. And Brian broke in. And I . . .”
She made that argh noise again, like she was b
eyond frustrated. Then she added, “I am so, so sorry.”
And I said, annoyed, like always, “Not your fault.”
“Stop it. Please. Stop saying that.” She was pressing her lips together again, trying not to cry. And finally, I got it.
She snuck out of her house, even though she was grounded. She went to that party so I could see Brian, even though she didn’t think I should be with Brian. She went because she knew I wouldn’t go without her. Because I didn’t do anything without her.
Which she knew.
And she still knew.
And that was why Colleen felt guilty about that night. It wasn’t that she thought she left me. It wasn’t that she went off with Cody. It was that she went at all.
Colleen thought it was all her fault. Colleen, who found me under the boardwalk that night. Colleen, who was willing to run away with me. Colleen, who packed up a bag and came here. For me. And this feeling started in my chest, like something rising up inside of me.
I needed to say something: I needed to make sure she understood. I needed to make sure she knew. It was mostly dark in the room, and she was almost crying, and she was here in the middle of nowhere, with an overnight bag and a toothbrush. So before I could lose my nerve I said, “You know I love you, Colleen Dabner.”
She poked my leg with her big toe and said, “Yeah, I know it.”
The slant of light from the gap in the curtains cut between us on the bed until Colleen leaned forward and pushed her face into the light beam. And then she whispered, “Now tell me again about this Krista chick.”
So I did. I lay back on the pillow and spoke to the ceiling. “Jason is—was—the only one who knew about her, really. And she did whatever he wanted. Is that bribery?”
“Blackmail?”
“Either way, it’s messed up. For one thing, I know she convinced Taryn not to tell that Jason hit her. And I guess she must’ve convinced Bree not to report something too. But I don’t know what. And I don’t know why. Jason must’ve had something big on her. And I seriously don’t get why they pretended to be cousins.” All I knew for certain was that Krista wanted him dead. And now that he was, the secret was dead too.
Colleen listened and didn’t say a word until I ran out of things to say, and there was nothing but breathing. The last thing I remembered was her left leg laying on top of my right leg. Her left hand in my hair.
And in the morning, when I woke, I rolled over to the right side of the bed, and it was empty.
Her bag was gone, the oversized purse that she also used as luggage. The spot next to my shoes was empty, where hers had been. I pulled the curtains apart and my heart dropped as I saw the empty parking spot. No purple hatchback.
I barged out into the common room and ignored Mom’s greeting as she ate a bowl of cereal on the couch. I checked the bathroom and let out a sigh of relief—her toothbrush was still sitting on the side of the sink.
“Where’d Colleen go?”
She paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”
I felt this weird buzz in the room, like when you know something’s off—kind of like when I knew, but didn’t know, that Dylan had been in my dorm room. “Colleen. Her car is gone.” She probably went to get some real breakfast. She’d probably walk through the door in a few minutes with a tray of coffee in one hand and a box of donuts balanced on her other hip.
Mom slurped the milk off her spoon. “She must’ve left for home.”
“No, her toothbrush is here.”
Mom put her spoon in the bowl and placed them all on the coffee table. “I’m sure she just forgot it. Mallory, honey, I’ve been up for the last hour. She hasn’t been here. I’m sure she wanted to get an early start and didn’t want to wake us.”
“No,” I said, feeling frantic. “She wouldn’t leave without telling me. She wouldn’t.”
“It’s after ten. She probably left first thing. She wouldn’t necessarily wake you up.”
“She would.”
“How could you possibly be sure of that?”
Because Colleen wouldn’t just leave.
Because she felt guilty, even though she shouldn’t have.
Because she knew I had nobody else.
Because she loved me.
I opened my mouth and said, “Because I know her.”
Because some things don’t ever die, not even with death. Like my grandma, putting my hand on her chest. Not her bones, not her heart, not her soul. Just reminding me of the connection between us. It had consequence. It mattered.
Mom stood and rocked back and forth on her heels for a bit. “All right, honey. Go ahead and call her.”
I raced for the phone and punched in the number for her cell. Then frantically hung up, dialed 9 to get out of the hotel, and tried again.
“Straight to voice mail.”
“She probably didn’t turn it on. Or she’s in another no-service zone. The mountains are like that. I’ll call her mother tonight to make sure she got in. Okay?”
I shook my head. It was not okay. Not at all. I went to my room and stared at the unmade bed, at my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. I pulled back the sheets, looking for a note or maybe a clue. Anything. But there was nothing. I checked the dresser, the drawers she’d never opened, the empty spot where her shoes had been. Nothing. I checked the bathroom, felt the dry bristles of her toothbrush, and guessed it hadn’t been used this morning.
And suddenly my room filled up with the lack of her. Like I could feel the absence of her as much as I could feel her presence. Like Dad, unable to bear the absence of Reid’s father. Or Brian’s mom, standing at the edge of my kitchen, feeling something in the emptiness.
Real as anything.
It looked like it was going to rain again, but it didn’t. But the clouds sat, gray and thick and ominous. Time ticked by painstakingly slowly. I picked up the phone at eleven and called again. Straight to her voice mail. I called again at noon. And that time I waited for the tone and said, “Call this number, damn it,” and hung up.
Mom watched me each time, and I could tell she was starting to get worried as well. Only she was worried there had been some sort of car accident in the woods on the way home. I felt like I was going through the motions, making these phone calls, every hour on the hour, until Mom would call Colleen’s mom or the police or something. By two, I started to get anxious. I really hoped she was driving, had been a jerk, and left without telling me. I wanted to believe she’d do it.
I needed to believe she’d do it.
“I need to go look for her.”
“She took her car, Mallory. She could be anywhere.”
So I sat in front of the window, rocking back and forth, watching the empty road. Leaning a little closer every time I’d hear a car approaching. But it was never Colleen.
Mom finally called the Dabner house at five, but she shook her head at me. “She probably doesn’t even get off work until now.” Then she turned her mouth back to the phone and said, “This is Lori. We’re just calling to check that Colleen made it home. Please call this number when you get in.”
“She should be back by now,” I said. “Colleen would’ve picked up the phone at home.”
Mom looked at her watch. “Only if she didn’t make any stops. I’m sure she stopped for food. And she’s bound to hit rush-hour traffic . . .”
“Mom . . .”
The sky started to shift, from light gray to dark gray. Mom looked out the window. “I’m going to pick up some dinner.” But before she left, she called Dad. She cleared her throat and said, “Would you please swing by the Dabner house on the way back from work and make sure Colleen made it home?” Which is how I knew she was seriously worried.
The second she left, I threw on my sneakers.
I knew what I’d be doing to Mom. I knew it. I knew the way she looked at me now, remembering how I came to her that night, covered in blood. How she came home to an empty house with a dead body. I knew what it had done to her. The
weeks when she couldn’t keep the tremor from her hand, when she couldn’t focus enough to remember which windows were locked and which weren’t. What doors should be locked and which shouldn’t. When she couldn’t even focus on me.
I knew what this—coming home to an empty hotel room—could do to her. But this was a thing worth risking it for.
The only question I’d been thinking about since I woke up and Colleen was gone was this: where the hell did she go?
She took her car.
She took her bag. Well, she’d need that, since it had her wallet.
And she’d left sometime before I woke.
She could’ve been anywhere, it’s true. But it also wasn’t.
Because she hadn’t meant to leave me for good. Which meant there was only one place she could’ve gone.
Monroe.
CHAPTER 21
I left a note for Mom. Told her to call someone—Colleen’s mom, the cops, the school, just someone. I told her I was going to find Colleen.
I started off down the road at a brisk walk. And then I started to jog. And then, picturing Colleen waiting at the end, I ran.
At first I could see the road just fine. The cracks at the edge of the pavement, the way it ended abruptly, like a cliff, where the weeds and grass and trees grew. I looked down at the pavement as I ran, watched it blur beneath my feet, same as when I ran to see Reid.
But then the sun must’ve dropped, or the clouds grew thicker, or maybe just darker. I could still see, but I couldn’t make out the details, the contrast. Just the shapes. I was halfway there, I had to be. I was breathing heavily, but I didn’t feel out of breath. Just desperate. Because if Colleen hadn’t come back, there must’ve been a reason. And I was guessing it wasn’t because she ran into some hot guy.
My foot slipped off the edge of the pavement, and my ankle rolled, and I came down hard on my hands and knees. My right hand landed on something sharp—a piece of glass, I thought. But when I pulled my hand up, I saw a split rock—an edge like someone had taken a knife to it. The corner was dark with blood. My blood.
Hysteria Page 20
