Tell Me When

by Stina Lindenblatt

  I have no idea how to respond. I’m still stunned by Chase’s earlier revelation: that I’m the first girl Marcus has brought to his apartment.

  Chase drops me off at my dorm and I race upstairs to get ready. Thanks to him, I’m not going to miss any classes.

  Brittany’s back in our room when I return from the bathroom, my ponytail damp on the ends. She does her best to pretend I’m not here as she gathers her books. Not that pretending changes the fact I still have nightmares and wake up several times a week, screaming. I even had one last night. Luckily, Marcus was drugged up with painkillers so he slept through it.

  Since I have a few minutes before I’m due to meet up with Jordan, so we can walk to class together, I pick up the unopened mail from my desk.

  A new envelope sits on top of the pile. It’s identical to the one not forwarded to me by Mom’s assistant. Both are plain white envelopes with no return address. I select one and drop the rest back on my desk, then tear open the envelope and read the typed letter.

  A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love. Max Muller

  My mouth dries up like a pond in a drought. This can’t be happening. There’s no way Paul can know where to find me. I don’t use any social networking sites. And I’m studying at a different university from the one I told Paul I wanted to attend.

  But even as I try to convince myself that, the evidence is staring right at me.

  He’s found me.

  I snatch up the matching envelope and rip it open. This time there are two separate pieces of paper. I read the first one.

  For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. Judy Garland

  My stomach threatens to heave at the memory of Paul’s cold, hard lips against mine. I toss the offending piece of paper down and read the next one.

  Man dies of cold, not of darkness. Miguel do Unamuno

  I gasp, my body turning cold like the message. Just before Paul killed Trent, his love quotes changed to ones about man and death.

  I sit down hard on my bed, staring at the messages in my trembling hand. “D-do you know where this other letter came from?” I don’t even look at Brittany, unable to tear my gaze away from the last quote.

  “Some weird guy dropped it off,” she mutters. “He said something about it being delivered to his mailbox by accident. Are you okay?” Her last words hold a trace of concern.

  I look up at her. All hints of concern have been transformed into curiosity. “What guy?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know his name.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t really remember. It’s not like I hang out with the losers around here.”

  “Please try to remember. It’s important.”

  “I don’t know. He was tall and skinny and wears glasses. And he might have curly blond hair.”

  “Is he good looking?” Her description matches at least five guys living here. And those are just the guys I remember.

  “He’s okay, I guess. Not exactly my type.” I’m not sure what her type is, so that doesn’t help much, though I hope it isn’t guys like the jerk who was harassing her the other night.

  “Does he live on our floor?”

  She shrugs, again. “Dunno. Maybe.”

  I want to scream. Can she be any more unhelpful? I can’t even tell if she’s doing it on purpose to get back at me or if she genuinely doesn’t remember.

  Since there’s nothing I can do until I talk to every guy in this building who fits that description, I collect my backpack from the floor. Then pause.

  “That guy in the bathroom the other night....” I leave it at that, unsure what I really want to ask her.

  She opens her desk drawer and rifles through it. “It was no big deal. Jack can be a jerk sometimes, especially when he’s been drinking.”

  “So, he’s a friend?”

  “Boyfriend.” She continues searching through her drawer.

  I want to tell her she deserves better, but she won’t give a damn what I think.

  I spend the morning in a daze. Memories of when Paul stalked me pound in my head. How could he even know where to find me? Wasn’t that privileged information? And even if it wasn’t, very few people know I’m here.

  But then this is Paul we’re talking about. Stalking is what he excels at.

  Except, how’s he doing this? He’s still in the psych ward. Mom or Grandma would have told me if he were free. Considering he’s up for two murders, kidnapping, torture, rape, and a host of other charges, I’ve been told I’ll never have to worry about him again. Once convicted, he’ll be locked away for a very long time.

  I’m eventually able to breathe again, after spending what feels like several hours holding my breath. I’m safe. Paul can’t hurt me and he can’t hurt Marcus. The only person capable of hurting Marcus is Carlos.

  By lunch, I haven’t heard from Marcus and my worries take a new direction. I try phoning his cell after my text goes unanswered. We were supposed to get together tonight to study, but that plan was made before he was beaten.

  After my final class of the day, I pick up my mail, which consists of a single envelope. The same style of white envelope without a return address that I opened this morning. I’m tempted to throw it away unread, but that won’t change anything. Paul’s sending me a message and he wants me to figure it out, because whatever it is matters in his warped mind. And none of this is going to change, even if I want to live in denial.

  With shaky legs, I walk up the stairs, my hand gripping the railing. It’s the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the stairs and tumbling down the steps.

  Brittany isn’t in our room, which is just as well. No one can know about this.

  I rip open the envelope and remove four pieces of paper. Like the others, each page contains a typed quote.

  Everything is clearer when you’re in love. John Lennon

  I read the next ones in the order he put them in the envelope.

  From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate. Socrates

  Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies. Aristotle

  Death’s in the good-bye. Anne Sexton

  It’s not just the quote that’s important, as Paul explained after he kidnapped me. The order of the messages is relevant, too. Paul has left the interpretation up to me, but it doesn’t take long to figure out what he’s saying. With the exception of the friendship quote, the idea behind the messages is similar to the ones I received just before Trent’s death. Only this time Paul has a friend helping him. I’m positive that’s what “Friendship is a single soul dwelling in two bodies” means.

  His friend has been stalking me. Even with all my precautions, I’m still a target, and worse yet, so is Marcus. That’s what Paul’s trying to tell me. As long as I’m dating Marcus, he’s not safe.

  Choking back a scream, I stare at the letters and envelope. The thing I love the most about him—that he would do anything for the people he cares about—will get Marcus killed if he knows the truth.

  Because I can’t risk his trying to talk me out of what I have to do, I take the coward’s way out. I text him, my heart ripping into tiny pieces: This isn’t going to work out between us. We want different things. Sorry.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Marcus

  I drop onto the grass next to Ryan’s grave. The dead grass partially obscures his small grave marker, making it easy to miss that someone’s buried here.

  “I fucked things up big time.” I wrap my arms around me to ward off the mid-November chill. No one’s around to hear me curse, not that I care either way. “You’d have liked Amber. She’s a survivor like you were, bro.” I can almost hear Ryan ask then why the hell did I mess things up. Wish
I had an answer. “Alejandro’s involved with Carlos’s gang. I made a mistake and took Amber with me while I was looking for him.”

  I should have left her at the youth center. Bringing her was a huge mistake. Ever since I received Amber’s text yesterday, I’ve cursed myself a million times for not doing the smart thing. After sending me several texts and voice messages asking how I was doing, she shocked me by suddenly dumping me. I’ve tried calling her but she hasn’t responded.

  “I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine being without her. Not that I deserve her. Not when I can’t be completely honest with her. But I swore I’d never tell your secret, and I won’t.” Maybe Amber was right to dump me. But knowing that doesn’t take the ache away. It makes it a thousand times worse.

  I snatch up a small stone, push myself up, and hurl it at a tree several yards away. A sharp pain stabs at my ribs, reminding me just how much I screwed up. Shit.

  I don’t want to lose Kitten. I miss the way her smile brightens my day. I miss the beautiful sound she makes when she laughs. I miss how she makes me feel whole and wanted, and not in the same way most girls want me. The emptiness she once filled is returning. And I don’t want to feel that way, again.

  After saying bye to Ryan, I drive to Amber’s dorm. If she won’t answer my calls, then she has no choice but to talk to me face to face. I’m not letting her walk away so easily, as if the past two months meant nothing. I know it’s not true, for either of us.

  Luck is cheering for me when I arrive. I bump into a guy I know from engineering, and he gets me into the building and past security, without asking too many questions. It doesn’t take too long to track down Kitten’s room. Flirt with girls, especially when you have a black eye, and they’re willing to tell you anything.

  I knock on Amber’s door. No one could tell me if she’s here, but I’ll camp out in front of it if I have to.

  The door opens to reveal a girl in black. Black dress. Black tights. Black boots. The only thing that isn’t black is her hair, which comes pretty damn close. She’s got on way more makeup than Amber ever wears. In a way, she reminds me of an emo version of Tammara. But whereas Tammara’s appearance screams sex appeal, this girl’s screams “mess with me and I’ll mess with your face.” Or at least that’s the vibe she’s sending. There’s a wariness in her eyes that I recognize. A wariness I saw too many times in Ryan.

  “I’m looking for Amber.”

  She looks me over, but not in the same way most girls do. She’s judging me. “She’s not here.”

  “You know when she’ll be back?”

  “Can’t say I’m privy to her schedule, if that’s what you’re asking.” She leans against the door frame. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning, when she freaked out over some stupid letters.”

  “What do you mean? What letters?”

  “Hell if I know. But one of them was delivered to the wrong mailbox and a guy dropped it off for her.”

  “What guy?”

  “Geez, you’re as bad as her.” The girl shrugs. “Like I told Amber, I have no idea his name.”

  “Do you have any idea where I can find her?”

  “No, but her friend might.” She points down the hall then shuts the door in my face.

  I knock on the door marked Isabelle & Jordan’s Room. The door opens but instead of Jordan, a tiny girl with wild black hair answers.

  “Is Jordan here?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No. She and her friend went away for the weekend.”

  My stomach drops several floors. “Which friend?”

  “Amber. They’re visiting Jordan’s family.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Amber

  Jordan and I pass field after field as we drive along the interstate. After Paul’s last messages, I contacted the cops. Now all I can do is wait while they investigate who sent them. So far the only thing they can confirm is that Paul is in the psych ward. I’m still safe from him.

  With each mile Jordan and I travel, each field we pass, each second we’re away from Chicago, tension drains from every cell in my body, until I feel like I’m the same girl I was over a year ago.

  Almost the same girl. I miss Marcus something fierce.

  He’s called me, but I haven’t had the courage to listen to his messages, to hear his voice. Knowing I can never see him again, my heart feels like I played basketball with it, and it’s hit the backboard too many times.

  And my head’s a panicked mess, because now I’m screwed when it comes to math. There’s no way I can pass the class without Marcus’s help. We’re covering new material and I’m already lost again. And the final exam, which makes up the majority of my grade, is rapidly approaching.

  “You sure your parents are okay with me coming?” I ask again, for no other reason than to avoid dwelling on my math grade, Marcus and Paul.

  Keeping her eyes on the road, Jordan says, “Don’t worry. They’re excited to meet you.” She briefly turns to me and smiles, her grin filled with mischief. Why do I feel like I’m missing something? “I’m gonna tell them the truth. And you’re gonna help me by being the buffer.”

  Truth? Which truth? “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to tell them I’m studying to be a child psychologist, not a physician. It’s my future, and it’s about time I have a say in it. I mean, it’s not like I’m getting my body pierced and joining a rock band.”

  I stifle a laugh at her heartfelt speech and decide not to point out that she’s been doing what she wants for the past two months. They just don’t know about the dancing and drinking and partying.

  “So when are you gonna tell them?”

  “Tonight at dinner. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “What happened between you and Marcus?”

  Okay, not what I was expecting. I thought she was going to ask something about her boyfriend or family. This was the question I was hoping to avoid, because the truth hurts, and I can’t exactly tell it to her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw Chase yesterday and he told me you ended things with Marcus.” Even though she does her best to hide it, her voice betrays her disappointment that she had to hear it from Chase and not me. “I don’t get it. You guys were perfect together.”

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past year, perfect doesn’t exist. Perfection is an illusion, nothing more.

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Is something going on between you and Chase? You know, you guys would be cute together, and he really likes you.”

  She smiles. “I really like him, too.”

  “More than your boyfriend?” Who lives a million miles away.

  Her smile turns into a frown and she shoots me a quick glance. “Hey, no redirecting. We’re talking about you and Marcus.”

  Darn it. I was hoping she hadn’t noticed what I was up to. “Look who’s talking. You’re redirecting, too.”

  “I love Garrett, so end of that discussion,” she says. “Now, you and Marcus....”

  “It’s really no big deal.”

  She flashes me a look to tell me she’s not buying it. “You’ve been depressed since yesterday. Even now you’re hurting. It’s so obvious. Which means you didn’t willingly dump him.”

  “I think you’re reading too much into things.”

  “So, you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t wanna be with him?”

  “Sure, but then we’d get into an accident and die. And what’s the point of that?”

  Jordan shakes her head in mock irritation. “Nice try. I meant when we’re no longer driving.”

  I want to tell her the truth, that I care about him too much to let him die. Enough people have died because of me. I won’t let him be another one.

  I want
to tell her that but I can’t. Not without telling her what’s going on. And I would if I thought for a moment she was in danger. “It’s better this way. I need to focus on my school work.”

  “But wasn’t he helping you with your math? Who’s going to help you now?”

  I shrug even though she’s not looking at me.

  “You could always ask Chase. I bet he’d love to help you.”

  I’m not too sure about that. He might not be too thrilled to help me—unless Marcus isn’t all that brokenhearted about the breakup.

  “I don’t have his number,” I say as an easy out. I’m hardly going to drive to their apartment and risk bumping into Marcus.

  “That’s not a problem. I have it.”

  “Oh, really?” I grin. “And why do you have it?”

  Her face reddens and she mutters that it doesn’t matter. I’m about to ask more questions about her boyfriend when my phone rings. Mom. Relieved that the conversation with Jordan has moved away from me and Marcus, I answer the phone moments before realizing that was a dumb idea.

  “The D.A. contacted me about the letters you’ve been receiving. Do you know how bad it looked when they didn’t hear about them from me first?” she says, without so much as a “Hi. How are you?”

  I glance at Jordan. She’s paying attention to the road, but that doesn’t mean anything. She can still hear everything I say. “Now’s not a good time, Mom.”

  “It’s the perfect time.” She uses her lawyer voice, which means she’s not interested in arguments or excuses. At least not from me. “We need to discuss your strategy with the D.A.”

  What she means is she needs to discuss the strategy, and it won’t be pretty. Those two have nothing but a strong dislike for each other.

  “I’m going to ask Grandma for help. She knows what she’s doing.” She might not have been a defense lawyer, but she was a successful family lawyer until she retired from her practice.