Very Bad Things

by Susan McBride

  You have to remember! I’ve seen a dozen Lifetime movies where people get hypnotized and recover lost memories. Maybe you should try that. You have to do something.

  His phone had vibrated in his back pocket during the twenty minutes it took him to reach Barnard. When Mark finally pulled into the alley beside the hospital, it was just in time to catch a call from Dr. Capello. Before he could say more than “Hello,” she started in about guided meditation to recover memories, telling him it wasn’t reliable—that most shrinks thought of it as quackery—and the headmaster surely wouldn’t approve. But Mark was eighteen, he didn’t need his father’s consent. “Please,” he said, a catch in his throat, “it’s the only way. I’m already in Barnard. I biked here—”

  “Where are you?”

  “By the hospital.”

  She got quiet for a minute, and he sensed she was about to blow him off. Instead, she murmured, “Okay,” then added something weird: “Go across the street to the cemetery and wait. Katie’s there, and I’m on my way to get her.”

  Katie was at the cemetery? His Katie?

  Mark set his bike in the hospital rack and headed toward the cemetery’s gates. He wandered around and was walking toward the duck pond when he spotted her. As he approached, she looked up, her eyes wide as quarters, like she’d just seen a ghost.

  She scrambled to her feet.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, taking a step away.

  Was she scared of him? He looked around, thinking maybe that was it because they were pretty much alone. Then he saw the markers on the plot where they were standing and knew it was more than that. She was spooked. “You came to see Tessa’s family’s graves?”

  “I came to get answers,” she said.

  “Did you find them?”

  She shrugged. “I’m still figuring things out.” She picked up her bag and started walking toward the entrance.

  “I’m here for answers, too,” he told her, and followed. “Someone’s playing me, but I don’t know who. The cops found a disposable phone in my locker, but it’s not mine. I don’t know how it even got there—”

  “A disposable phone?” Katie stopped and gave him a look. “Like in Tessa’s story?”

  Mark squinted. “What story?”

  “She’s saying you drunk-dialed her the night of the party and told her you’d killed Rose. That you were using Rose’s phone when you asked her to help you cover it up. It had an anonymous number, like a prepaid.” Her brown eyes watched him as he tried to digest what she was saying, but it made no sense at all. “You seriously didn’t know?”

  “It’s been a pretty wild day,” Mark said, touching the bruise on his brow, feeling like he’d taken another stick to the head. “I thought Steve was behind this but Tessa’s involved?”

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” Katie murmured, biting her lip. “I think Tessa’s trying to protect someone. It’s crazy, but I was wondering if—never mind.”

  “You were wondering if it was Steve?”

  “No, not Steve. It can’t be. Tessa despises him.” Katie shook her head. “I’m not sure who it is or what Tessa’s up to, but I’m worried.”

  “Maybe that won’t matter once I can remember.” Mark swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “Dr. Capello’s agreed to put me under.”

  “You’re getting hypnotized?” Katie looked genuinely shocked.

  “I have to find out what I’ve forgotten.” He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “It’s worth a shot, right? ’Cause if I can’t put the pieces together, it’s game over.”

  Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Mark thought he saw Katie’s eyes brighten. “I hope it works,” she said.

  “Will you stay with me while I do it?” Mark asked as a Volvo pulled up in the street outside the gates. They walked toward it.

  “Sure,” she said quietly. “If you want me there, I’ll stay.”

  The blinds had been pulled, shutting out the pink of dusk. Dr. Capello sat in an armchair near the recliner where Mark lay. Katie was there but he couldn’t see her. She was somewhere behind him, quiet as a mouse.

  “Focus on breathing deeply and evenly,” the psychiatrist instructed in a firm but gentle tone, and Mark tried hard to do as she asked. “Feel your muscles turn to jelly, inch by inch,” she said. “Begin with the tips of your toes and your feet, now your ankles and calves, your knees …”

  On and on she went, working her way to the top of his head.

  Mark sensed his pulse easing and his breaths coming deeper and farther apart. He envisioned every muscle in his body turning limp, bit by bit, until his chin drooped onto his chest.

  “Picture a place that you love where you’re at ease and without worries. Imagine yourself there right this minute.”

  Mark saw himself looking down at bare feet stepping into dew-damp grass. Ahead of him was the lake house where his dad used to take him fishing. The whitewashed cottage was surrounded by trees so thick he felt swallowed by green.

  “Are you there?” a voice asked softly. “If you are, lift your right index finger.”

  Mark lifted his finger.

  He breathed in cedar from the plank walls and the stale scent of smoke from the fireplace. He heard water lapping at the sand and the lonely cry of a whip-poor-will. If he could have stayed there forever, he would.

  “Turn around slowly, and you’ll see a red door,” the voice urged. “Is it there?”

  His finger twitched.

  “Turn the knob and pass through. When you do, you’ll step into the headmaster’s house. It’s Saturday night two weekends ago, and your father’s away. You’re having a party with your friends. Describe who’s there and what you see.”

  Mark went through the red door and emerged in the basement rec room, the walls blurred with color from the lava lamps. Music blared, the bass thumping, and he heard voices and laughter.

  Charlie’s sitting by himself, drinking beer from a red Solo cup. He’s watching from across the room. He doesn’t like that townies are there. Getty brought them when he went into Barnard to get a keg from the dude at the liquor store who doesn’t care that anyone’s underage so long as you pay double in cash.

  When I tell Steve the girls have to go, he just hands me a cup from the keg. “Get the stick out of your ass and relax. Drink up.” He grins and walks away.

  The blonde’s laughing a little too loudly, banging into furniture because she can’t walk straight. I think both townies were already drunk or high before they got here, and I’m glad I locked the liquor cabinet. The blonde turns up the music and starts dancing around, doing a sad striptease till she’s tripping over the guys in her underwear.

  The other girl, the brunette, looks a little like Katie. She’s got dark eyes and the same long, dark hair. But there’s something cheap about her: too much makeup, too many earrings, too-tight clothes. Getty doesn’t seem to mind. They’re leaning in and whispering like they’ve got a secret. Then the dark-haired one heads for the stairs.

  I ask where she’s going but she doesn’t hear. I don’t want her on the first floor. What if she breaks something? Or steals stuff?

  “Hey!” I start after her, but Steve stops me dead. He pats me on the back and says, “Dude, loosen up. We’re celebrating, aren’t we? It’s not like you’re gonna drink and drive, right? You’re home already.”

  I try to chill and sip my beer.

  Charlie’s watching with this weird expression. My head’s so foggy, like I’m tired and can’t think straight. Charlie gets up and comes toward me, but I’m going upstairs. I wonder where the brunette went, and I need some air.

  The blonde staggers forward, but I get out of her way. I grab the banister and drag myself up, bumping into the console in the hallway. Charlie’s behind me, asking if I’m okay. I can hardly stand up straight. I drop my beer and stumble toward the back door. I want to get out of there, get outside where I can breathe. Something’s wrong with me, and I don’t know what it is.

 
; But I don’t make it.

  I fall to my knees. I can’t stand anymore. Something bad’s going on. Something’s seriously messed up. I puke but nothing comes out. I smell this putrid perfume and a girl’s bending over me, her dark hair hanging down. I think it’s Katie—I want it to be Katie—but it’s not.

  Charlie’s disappeared.

  The girl puts her arm around my waist, and I can’t stand without her holding me up. I hear the music from the basement, but it sounds so far away. I’m so messed up that I don’t realize where she’s taking me until she pushes me onto a bed, and I see the crucifix on the wall, over the dresser.

  I feel her unbuttoning my shirt, tugging it off. I can hardly breathe with her weight on top of me. I want to push her away, but I can’t lift my arms. I can’t do anything but lie there like I’m dead. I try to open my eyes but they’re too heavy.

  Someone whispers, “Put your hand on his chest, yeah, like that. Lean over and kiss him. Yeah, yeah. Do that.”

  Steve?

  The voice says, “Come here,” and her weight lifts from my chest. I don’t know if they’re still in the room or if they’ve left.

  I black out for a while and when I come to I hear someone saying, “Get up, dammit! Get up!” And then Charlie’s voice, sounding scared. “She’s not breathing, dude. She’s not breathing.”

  “Let me handle this.”

  “Is she dead—”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “We should call someone.…”

  “No. You hear me? No. Now get out of here.”

  Mark started thrashing, throwing his head back and forth. Was Rose in the room with him, dead? Why couldn’t he see? He needed to open his eyes and see.

  “Take it easy.” The soft voice became firm. “You need to come out of this slowly, do you hear me? Do you see a red door? Walk toward it and turn the knob—”

  But Mark didn’t have time for the door. He fought his way out. He was done. Through. He wasn’t the one who saw what happened to Rose. He couldn’t remember because he didn’t know.

  Wake up, wake up, wake up.

  With a groan, he emerged, peering around the room, disoriented. Katie came around the chair, and he felt tears in his eyes as he looked at her.

  “Charlie knows,” he said, choking up. “He barefaced lied to me. He was right there in the room. Did Steve kill that girl?” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Or did I?”

  But Katie couldn’t answer. How could she know if he didn’t?

  “Oh, shit, they’ll arrest me, won’t they? If Charlie knows I wasn’t involved but keeps it to himself, I’m going to jail. I’ve got nothing, no proof that it wasn’t me, and the police keep stacking up the circumstantial evidence.”

  “Mark, you need to calm down,” Dr. Capello said, putting a hand on his arm.

  He shook her off.

  The phone on the desk started ringing.

  Mark cringed at the noise.

  “I’m sorry, but I should get it,” she said. “It’s the back line, for emergencies.…”

  “Go ahead, we’re done.” Mark shakily pulled himself upright, leaning forearms on his knees. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Katie didn’t come over. She didn’t put her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. She wrapped her arms around herself, her face a mix of confusion and misery.

  “Yes, I’ll be right there.” Dr. Capello hung up the phone and grabbed her keys. “We have to get back to Whitney now. It’s Charlie Frazer.”

  Mark gritted his teeth. “What about him?”

  “He’s in the school clinic, getting his stomach pumped,” she replied matter-of-factly, and gestured toward the door. “His roommate found him on the floor, barely breathing.”

  Tessa paced like a caged cat.

  She had to get out of Amelia House.

  She’d been deposited there with a warning to stay put after the campus police had made her repeat her story again and again, once with the headmaster sitting across the table, his face a scary shade of purple. They’d confiscated her cell phone, so she couldn’t call out unless she used the house line, and you never knew if someone else might be listening in. She was a prisoner, trapped in her own dormitory. She’d heard the security chief tell Mrs. Gabbert to keep an eye on her, and campus cops were watching the back and front doors. It was as though she’d committed a crime instead of finally telling the truth.

  And it was the truth in many ways, or as close as she could get without making a huge sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make.

  It wasn’t like Tessa had imagined the headmaster would pat her on the back after she’d accused his son of murder. But she hadn’t figured she’d be treated like she was the guilty one. She didn’t think they’d keep her trapped inside without a phone or an easy way out.

  And where was Katie during all this? Hardly being a supportive friend. Tessa hadn’t seen her since the blowup at the school shrink’s office. She probably just needed time to cool off, time to think. When the cops found the dead girl’s phone, they’d believe Tessa, at least about getting a call from Rose’s number. Then Katie would have no choice but to believe her, too.

  The cops would arrest Mark, wouldn’t they? Tessa had seen more black-and-whites on campus today. Maybe they’d already done it. Unless … unless …

  A pang of worry struck her chest.

  What if Mark was on the run, hiding in the tunnels? She knew he went there a lot, and not only because Katie had told her. She’d seen him, had followed him to the greenhouse more than once.

  If the police were out looking, if they got Katie to mention the tunnels, that could mean big, big trouble. Tessa had to slip out of Amelia House. She couldn’t risk the cops going underground and stumbling upon something they shouldn’t.

  Someone they shouldn’t.

  She wasn’t worried about herself. It had never been about her. Everything Tessa had ever done—every lie she’d ever told—was to protect the two people she loved the most.

  It was the least she could do. They’d both saved her in more ways than one.

  She grabbed her key chain with the penlight and stuck it in her blazer pocket. Then she went into the closet and stuffed a bunch of clothes into her laundry bag, even though she’d signed up to do wash two days before so most everything was clean. If anyone asked where she was going, at least she’d have a good explanation.

  She ducked down the back stairwell, her shoes clanking on the metal stairs as she took them two by two. Her heart was thumping madly in her chest by the time she reached the basement. She worried that some of the girls would be watching TV, and they were.

  So she did something she’d done once before: she opened the electrical box hanging on the wall above one of the washing machines, and she tripped the switch for the basement. One little click and the place went dark.

  “What’s going on? I can’t see.”

  “What if it’s the killer …”

  Tessa heard shrieks as the girls who’d been staring at the wide-screen fumbled their way out of the room and toward the stairs. They’d go crying to Mrs. Gabbert, which was all the time Tessa needed.

  She left her laundry bag on the floor and hurried through the dark. Her nerves tingling, she pushed open the door to the machine room. She squeezed the penlight and used its tiny glow to guide her toward the loosened grate. Though she was small, she wasn’t weak, and it was easy enough to move the metal cover aside, allowing her to slip into the old steam tunnels.

  She made her way through the passages easily. She’d known about the tunnels even before she’d turned eleven and enrolled at Whitney Prep on scholarship. Though their dad had brought Peter to campus more often than her, Tessa had tagged along on occasion. Peter had discovered the tunnels first. He loved the quiet, dark passages. He’d learned his way around them like a rat through a maze. It wasn’t long before he’d started hiding down there, infuriating their father, who’d been unable to find him. He’d left Peter there a few times, o
nce overnight. Tessa had known exactly where he was when Peter hadn’t come home. When her brother resurfaced and was punished, he didn’t even seem to mind. “When ahm in tunnel no one bug meh. No one yell or call meh names,” he’d told her, talking in the funny way that got him teased at school. But Tessa had no problem understanding. She never had.

  But she hadn’t been as fond of the tunnels. She’d had to get used to the dark and that didn’t happen until she was older. Once her parents were dead, once she was out of the foster home and living at Whitney, she began spending more time underground, and she learned to appreciate the things Peter loved most about it. In some ways, it felt easier being down there than anywhere else. There was no one to gossip about her. No one to remark that she wasn’t smart enough or pretty enough. There was just the dark and the chilly air and the noise of footsteps scraping the stone.

  As she moved through the tunnels now, they felt so familiar, her home. She still used the penlight but she knew where to go. It wasn’t long before she felt a presence in the passageway behind her.

  She knew who it was without him saying a word. He smelled like the earth, cool and damp. Sometimes he smelled like greenhouse roses.

  Tessa wanted to cry with relief. She’d been afraid she might not find him. He wasn’t always where he should be. He’d begun going up more at night, doing things he shouldn’t. That was how he’d gotten into trouble, why he’d called Tessa that night with the dead girl’s phone, begging for help.

  He touched her arm. “You have to be careful,” Tessa said. “Very careful. More than you’ve ever been.”

  She heard a grunt in response as he came up close beside her.

  “They can’t find you. They can’t know what you did.”

  He slipped the penlight from her fingers and turned it off. Then he reached for her hand and held it firmly. His scarred flesh felt rough and reassuring as he drew her along. By now, he had eyes like a mole’s. He didn’t need light as he moved through the pitch-black.