by Jillian Dodd
I close my eyes for a second, shutting out my surroundings, and I'm quickly back at the Undertow.
Vincent's strong arms are around me. He’s wearing a charming smile.
I relive a series of fragmented moments.
The beach.
The ashes and his loss.
Our dinner.
The brush of a hand across my knee.
Words filled with innuendo.
Kisses that lingered on my cheeks.
Standing at the railing of a deck.
Good advice.
A twirl. A hug.
A toast from across the pool.
An offer to go to his room.
Cartwheels in the sand.
His buff chest.
Blowing a kiss.
Then Garrett. Asking me why I never went with Vincent when he offered.
Was I honest when I answered that question?
I’m not even sure.
Besides, I have to look at it from his perspective.
He idolized Mom, but was always sweet.
Never once was there even a hint of animosity.
He sees the photo of me.
The original girl of his dreams.
Me.
He sets out to meet me in person, finding me on the beach.
I remember when he looked into my eyes like he knew me.
Because, to him, I was familiar.
The first photo he took was of Cush and me.
The question is, why?
Did he really already own the film rights?
And, if so, when did he buy them?
Before or after he saw the picture?
Riley knocks my elbow, causing my head to drop and almost hit the desk.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
“I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking.”
“Sure you were. Probably daydreaming about Aiden on the rug.”
I close my eyes again.
Was it all just a mistake?
But then I remember the van.
Him calling Mom a whore.
The drugs.
The ropes.
The bell rings to end class, and I’m thinking about ropes as I gather up my books.
Gives a whole new meaning to the term tied up in contract negotiations, I think with a laugh.
On Thursday, December 7th, Keatyn gets a message from her grandpa. It’s good news.
-All is well. We have representatives meeting with two of the investors this week. Both seem eager to sell.
And that same day, she gets more good news.
My mom calls me as I’m getting settled in my hotel room. Maggie went to get downstairs to get some snacks, so she couldn’t have called at a better time.
“Mom! Hi! How are you? Are you all settled?”
“We are. Besides Malibu, this is my favorite place in the world. Plenty of room for the girls to play and no cameras anywhere. We've been to the beach, the market, everywhere, and no one even notices us. And the food is to die for. I've had croissants and coffee every morning and not once thought about the calories.”
I want to cry, I’m so happy.
“I’m so glad, Mom.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Remember that game we used to play at dinner after your dad died. We were both so sad, but we tried to find something good that happened each day?”
“The sweet and the suck?”
“Yeah. If I was there with you now, what would you tell me?”
“The sweet is that Aiden asked me to Winter Formal. The suck is that I’m lying to him, and I feel bad about it.”
“Sweetie, you can’t help it.”
“I trust him. I would tell him in a heartbeat. I’m just afraid of putting him in danger. Did you hear about what B got?”
“Yes. It sounds just like the photo I got of Tommy. It was horrific.”
“Mom, when you met Tommy, how was your personal life?”
“Hmm. My career was great. You and I were doing well. But . . . I missed being with someone. Having someone take care of me sometimes. Being a single parent isn’t easy.”
“I was kind of a brat, wasn’t I?”
“You were never a brat. You’ve just always known exactly what you want.”
“What happened to me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it was high school. I got sucked into fitting in.”
“When you were used to standing out.”
“Yeah. I’m doing better with all that. I feel like I’m me again, if that makes sense. Oh, and guess what? Grandpa is helping me with the hostile takeover.”
“He told me. He’s pretty excited about it.”
“Me too. I can’t wait to walk into Vincent’s board room and fire him.”
“You're not going to do that, Keatyn Elizabeth.”
“Oooh, pulling out the middle name,” I laugh. “I don’t mean me. I just can’t wait for someone to do it.” Actually, that’s I lie. I totally want to be the one to do it.
I hear Gracie yell, “Mommy!”
Mom says, “Gracie, do you want to talk to Kiki?”
Gracie screams, “Yes!”
She does a little cough then says, “Ruff ruff. Has Kiki been a naughty puppy for Daddy?”
“Gracie, it’s Keatyn, not Bad Kiki.”
“Oh! Good Kiki! We got a tree for Santa and made cookies! Is Kiki going to open presents with us?”
“I can’t. I have to stay at school.”
“School dumb. I hate school.”
“I’m going to send you a lot of presents.”
“Can Kiki open presents on the ’puter?”
“That’s a great idea, Gracie. We’ll open presents together over the computer. Can I talk to Mommy now?”
“No! My Kiki!”
Mom says to Gracie, “Give Mommy her phone if you want to go to the beach tomorrow.” That must have worked because then she says to me. “I think you should come to France for Christmas. We have a lot of security.”
“I’ll have to think about it. I don’t want to put you at risk.”
“You can fly from New York with Tommy.”
“That sounds good, Mom. I’ll talk to Garrett about it,” I lie again. I’m not going anywhere near them.
Due to her dance competition and movie tryout this weekend, Keatyn isn’t able to go back to the club this Thursday night. But Vincent does.
He sits in his prime seat overlooking the dance floor, and he’s waiting for the cages to drop. In one is a young blonde. Tall, thin, tan, great ass.
It’s her.
She’s back.
Begging for him to rescue her from the cage.
He’s focused on the chaos tattoo on her abdomen that has been highlighted with glow in the dark paint—just like last time—shimmying in front of him. He’s remembering how it felt when their tattoos were joined.
But when the dancer faces him, his excitement turns to rage.
It’s definitely not her.
He’s been following the buzz about the whore’s movie. He knows this movie has changed Abby.
That it’s ruining her life.
Of that, he’s glad, because in a way it’s ruined both their lives. It’s turned his love for her to hate. While he used to wish her the best, have her best interests at heart, he now wants her to feel the pain she’s caused him.
He knows that Karma is drawing them closer.
That they are on a collision course of fate.
They say Karma is a bitch. And they’re right.
Abby is finding that out now.
Her husband is leaving her.
The humiliation she caused him has ruined their marriage.
He looks at the girl in the cage again and realizes something.
The girl in the cage is a decoy.
Her chaos tattoo purposefully mocking him.
It’s clear that the whore is trying to mess with him.
And he’s going to fight back.
/> He’ll take her dog.
Her husband.
Her children.
And, then, her life.
But since she’s not here, the girl in the cage will suffice.
As well as send her a message.
As he often does, he gives the bouncer his business card and asks it be given to the new girl. A little piece of insurance should anyone suspect him of doing what he’s about to do.
He goes home early and works through every single detail.
Then he goes back to the club at closing. She’s walking home when he offers her a ride. The area she is in is dark. There are no cameras. Not even streetlights. Not a place a young girl should be walking by herself. But he’s driving his Porsche, and young girls like her are impressed by it.
When he rolls down his window, she recognizes him as a club VIP.
“It’s not safe for you to be walking by yourself. Let me give you a ride,” he says, pretending to be concerned for her well being.
“Thanks,” she says—which are the last words she’ll ever speak.
He has no intention to cause her pain. He sticks a needle in her arm, knocking her out quickly. It’s not her fault that Abby is a whore—a whore he does want to feel pain.
He takes the girl to a remote area where he has a stolen van stashed, helps her into the back and strangles her—quickly ending her life.
Then he takes her to the beach.
To a stretch in front of the restaurant where he and Lacy shared their first meal together.
He checks to make sure the girl is indeed dead, that the beach is definitely deserted, and only then allows his rage to flow uninhibited—stabbing the girl’s body over and over again with a large pair of scissors—and imagining it’s her.
But he stops, pulling the scissors back quickly when he gets close to the chaos tattoo. The tattoo of his beloved. He can’t bear to mar its beauty—so he leaves it intact.
His anger slightly subsided, he goes home, showers, and has sweet Lacy dreams.
On Tuesday, December 11th, Keatyn gets a text from Cooper while she’s in class.
Cooper: You need to get a really bad cramp now. Go to the nurse. Make her call me out of class.
I do as he says, make my way in fake pain to the nurse’s office, and talk her into calling Mr. Steele.
I know by the look on his face when he walks into the nurse’s office that something is wrong.
Is Vincent on his way here? Is he already here?
No. If that were the case, he wouldn’t care about pretending to be a teacher anymore.
Which means he has news.
Bad news.
“Is my family okay?” I ask him as I pretend limp down to the Field House.
“Yes,” is all he says.
Once we’re safely in the training room, he says, “The guy who talked to Vincent’s assistant is a cop friend of mine. He just sent me something.”
“Did he talk to her again? Get something good on Vincent?”
“No, he’s a detective. A homicide detective.”
“Is Vincent dead?!”
“No.”
“Is his assistant dead?”
“No, um . . .”
“Just say it, Cooper.”
“One of the dancers from the club is dead. She was reported missing by her roommates when she didn't come home from work Thursday night. They found her body on the beach in Malibu.” Cooper glances back at his phone. “In front of a restaurant called Moon Beams.”
My heart stops beating.
“That’s the restaurant Vincent and I had dinner at. We sat on the deck overlooking the water. Which girl was it?”
“She’s new. Only been working there for about two weeks. She was off the night we were there.”
“So, she was murdered?”
“Yes. Her place of employment caught his attention, so he texted me earlier. Then he sent me this.” He holds up his phone, showing me a photo of a thin, tan waist with a glow-in-the-dark chaos tattoo just below the hip.
“I sent a bunch of custom glow-in-the-dark chaos tattoos to Marla. She liked mine because she thinks if they ever name the club it should be called Utter Chaos. Tell me this is just a coincidence.”
“You know what Garrett says.”
“He doesn’t believe in them.”
“Is it my fault she’s dead?” Cooper is being very careful with his words, and I realize there’s something he hasn’t said. “How did she die?”
“It’s not your fault, Keatyn.”
“How did she die, Cooper?”
He sighs then says, “Cause of death was asphyxiation.”
“She was strangled?”
“Yes.”
I swallow hard. “Was she raped?”
“No.”
“Cooper, what are you not telling me?!”
“After her death, she was stabbed numerous times. This type of stabbing is unusual to see on a woman.”
“Why?”
“Typically when a body is mutilated after death it is for one of two reasons. Usually, it’s out of rage. Like what you would see when a jealous ex commits the crime. In this case, the victim doesn’t have a jealous ex. Her boyfriend is devastated and has a solid alibi.”
“What’s the other reason someone would do it?”
“To send a message to the living. Like when a drug dealer wants to remind people not to cheat him, for example. The choice of weapon was also unusual. It’s a weapon usually used by women, but the depth of the stab wounds suggest a male killer. And the picture I showed you, with the tattoo, was of the only part of the victim that was not stabbed.”
“What was she stabbed with?”
“Scissors.”
My vision blurs.
My face feels hot.
A wave of nausea hits me.
My legs feel weak, causing me to sway.
Cooper grabs my arm and keeps me from falling, setting me down in a chair.
I put my hand across my forehead.
“You look like you’re going to faint. Look at me.”
I look up at him.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Vincent is sending me a message.”
“How so?”
“After he chased me in New York City, a picture of me was delivered to my mom’s hotel room. The picture had been stabbed with scissors. Have you told Garrett about any of this?”
“No, I just found out.”
“Call him. I have to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“I just have to get out of here,” I say. The training room suddenly feels very claustrophobic. “Get some fresh air.”
“Don't leave campus,” he says then tries to give me a hug.
“Don’t, okay? I’m fine. It's fine. Everything will be fine.”
Except it’s not.
It’s not fine.
At all.
I run out of the Field House, the cold air hitting my lungs and forcing me to suck in a big breath.
I wander aimlessly across campus, feeling numb.
Thinking about that poor girl.
About her poor family.
Her roommates.
Her friends.
And, mostly, that she’s dead because of me.
I find myself standing in the chapel.
No one is here, so I walk straight to the front, drop to my knees, and pray.
Pray for forgiveness.
Pray that it was a mistake.
That it had nothing to do with me.
That she didn't suffer.
I pray for her family.
For my guilt.
Then I go sit in the back.
I should be crying.
But I have no tears.
I pull my feet up on the pew, wrap my arms tightly around my legs, and rock back and forth.
My phone buzzes.
I robotically take it out of my coat pocket and look at it.
Hottie God: Heard you went to the nurse’s office with a hamstri
ng cramp. You need me to help you stretch?
My hands shake as I text him back.
Me: i
Me: need
Me: you
I put my phone down and hug my legs.
Not crying.
Not moving.
Not feeling.
There is nothing.
Just.
Emptiness.
Loneliness.
Despair.
Keatyn.
I hear my name softly spoken, the noise breaking into my thoughts, but sounding very far away.
“Keatyn!”
I remain motionless, only moving my eyes toward the noise.
Aiden shakes my shoulder. “Keatyn!”
I don't move.
Instead, I start sobbing.
And sobbing.
Aiden puts his arm around me and rubs my back. “What's wrong? Are you in pain?”
I sob some more.
“I went to the field house first, but Coach Steele said you left. I texted you to find out where you were, but you didn’t reply. I checked everywhere.”
I can't speak.
I just keep crying.
A deep, emotional, guilty cry.
Aiden grabs my chin, roughly turning my head and forcing me to look at him.
“She’s dead,” I whisper.
“Who’s dead!?”
“Girl . . . Club . . . Stalker . . . Friend.”
“Keatyn, look at me! You need to tell me what happened!”
I shudder.
He presses his lips into my temple and whispers, “It’s okay, baby. Shhh. I'm here. It’s okay.”
His words calm me. I shudder again, but the sobs slow down.
“Tell me what happened,” he says quietly, his lips still against my face.
“Girl . . . Murdered . . . L. A.”
“Did you know her?”
“No . . . She danced at the club . . . The birthday party . . . Almost kidnapped.”
“Is this about your friend? Is she okay? Is she still safe from the stalker?”
“Yes, but. But . . .”
I sob again, unable to say it.
