THE DIRTY ONES

by JA Huss

“Where?”

  “Come with us and find out.”

  So I did. We went to the south edge of campus, which was not too far from the theatre building where the party was, and stopped just before entering the woods.

  “We gotta take off our shoes,” Camille explained. “They’ll just get ruined.”

  “You’ve done this before?” I asked.

  “Every year.” Sofia laughs. “We write about him too.”

  “He’s fodder.” Camille giggled. “Dirty, erotic fodder for sexy stories we sell online.”

  “Really?” I asked. And this time it was me who couldn’t hide her smile. “I think I’d like to know more.”

  So we slipped off our shoes, hid them in a bush, and padded along the well-worn path leading into the woods with bare feet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - CONNOR

  I’m sitting in a chair holding a drink.

  Everyone is here for the party. The butterflies have clear wings and the balloons are lavender. My parents’ party, I realize. I’m at my parents’ anniversary party.

  I look around for everyone else. Sofia is dancing with Hayes in the middle of the room.

  Bennett is on his phone. Having a furious text conversation with someone.

  Camille is drunk, spinning in circles, arms outstretched, reaching for butterflies.

  And Kiera… God, she looks beautiful in her long black gown. The skirt is made up of layers upon layers of sheer fabric and she’s twirling near Camille. Delicate fingertips lifting her dress so she doesn’t trip, smiling up at the balloons and butterflies like Camille.

  “Kiera?” I say.

  And even though there’s hundreds of people here and the hum of conversation drowns out my words, she hears me. Because she stops spinning and wobbles, dizzy, trying to find my face.

  “Are you drunk?” I ask.

  “We’re all drunk, Con,” she says, stumbling forward, hand out, reaching for me. “Come on, let’s dance! It’s a party!”

  I’m confused by this. Sofia and Hayes. That makes sense. Bennett ignoring a party for his phone. Total sense. Camille, drunk and giddy. Check.

  But… “Kiera,” I say, getting up. Wondering for a second how my drink mysteriously disappeared from my hand, but not really caring. “What are you doing?” I ask, approaching her. She’s spinning again. Just like Camille.

  “I like it now,” she says.

  “Like what now?’

  “The dizzy. If I give in, it’ll go away.”

  “What will?”

  She stops abruptly and grabs my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “The bad people, Connor. If I just… let myself be dizzy and… and believe,” she says, whispering that last word. “If I just believe… Oh, I know!” she says, spinning again. “I’ll write it down. I’ll write it down and make it real.”

  “Kiera,” I say, grabbing her hand to make her stop. “What are you talking about?”

  “Shhhhhh,” she says. But when she does that, she turns into Emily. “Don’t say it too loud, Connor. They’re listening.”

  My eyes are closed and when I open them the first thing I hear is my father’s laughter. Others join in as I blink away the fogginess inside my head.

  “What do you think of that, Connor?” my father says.

  I have to blink several more times to make him come into focus. But even then, everything and everyone around him is blurry. Like he’s the most important man in the room in a spotlight of clarity and everyone else is just… murky, amorphous figures.

  “Here’s your speech, Connor,” a man says, thrusting a paper at me.

  I look up at the man, recognize him as Steven, and take the papers automatically.

  “All you have to do is read it,” Steven says.

  “It’s almost time,” another voice says. I look up, searching for it, but never manage to find who said the words.

  “Louise?” my father says. “Is he OK?”

  A woman bends down in front of me wearing a low-cut gold and black dress. Flashing a small penlight at my eyes.

  I blink and push her hand away. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Connor,” the woman says, “Do you know who I am?”

  I look at her, my fucking head pounding like I was in a bar fight. “No,” I say. “Who are you?”

  She straightens up, her attention already on my father. “He’s fine. He’ll be fine.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I ask.

  “You got drunk yesterday,” my father says, squeezing my shoulder. “Camille and Bennett gave you quite a shock. But you’re sober now, son.” He squeezes again. “You’ll be fine. Just read the speech Steven prepared and you’ll be fine.”

  Somehow… I don’t think that’s true.

  “Are you sure he doesn’t need another dose?” my father asks the gold-and-black-dress woman.

  “Another dose of what?” I ask, pressing my fingertips into my forehead.

  “I think he’s good. One more dose and we might…”

  But she doesn’t finish.

  I glance up and find her and my father sharing a look.

  “Honestly, Christopher. Another dose is pushing it. He’s fine.” I’m sure her voice is familiar. I’m sure I know who she is. “After the speech we can dose him again and—”

  “Dose me with what?” I say, some clarity coming back now. “What the fuck is happening?”

  “You’re at my house, Connor. I’m Dr. Livingston,” she says. “Remember? I’ve been your psychiatrist for years.”

  I study her face again. Because I can see Louise in those features. And that is Louise’s voice, I decide. But this woman… “You can’t be Louise. You’re old.”

  “Connor,” my father says. “That’s enough. Now get up and let’s go. You have an announcement to make.”

  Someone grabs me by the shoulder and urges me to stand. But there’s a moment when I wobble a little. Like I’m the one who’s drunk and not Camille and Kiera.

  Wait.

  I shake my head.

  That was a dream.

  Wasn’t it?

  Was it? Emily’s whisper in my head asks.

  It was Kiera Bonnaire who caught my attention that night of the Legacy Alumni Party. I’d been watching her since freshman year. Her and her aloof nature. Her wild, long, blonde hair. Her Vermont attitude and woods-y clothes. Her notebook and pen.

  What did she write in those notebooks?

  Sometimes I’d catch her watching me from across the lunch pavilion. Then she’d look away and furiously scribble for several minutes. Like a mad woman with an obsession for me.

  I’d wanted her for years. Not just the way most guys want girls they can’t have. I wanted to know her. Keep her. Make her mine.

  I watched that night. Watched her watching my father with her mother. Wondering if she saw what I saw. Wondering if she was gonna write it down in the small notebook she was hiding in her clutched fist.

  So when Sofia and Camille joined her—started whispering things, led her away—we followed.

  Hayes was just there, that’s all. Drunk already. High too. Making rude jokes about my father and her mother. Rude, but true.

  I took the flask he offered, drew a long gulp of some smooth whiskey, and we followed them. Found their shoes sticking out of a bush leading into the woods.

  I knew what we’d find at the end of the path. This wasn’t the first time I followed my father into the woods with a woman, but it was the first time I’d get there before him.

  Bennett was there too. Kissing Emily Medici up against a tree, his hands wandering under her dress, her head back with neck exposed as he whispered dirty things in her ear to keep her attention.

  The late summer night was warm and they were both flushed and sweaty.

  They pulled away from each other as we approached, Emily fixing her hair, Bennett tucking in his shirt, playing it off. Weird Emily Medici wasn’t anyone’s first choice for a romp in the woods, but whatever. Hayes and I were busy following the girl with
the notebook.

  Bennett joined up, Emily trailing behind him because he had her hand. He wanted to know what we were up to, but he wanted sex too.

  The whole fucking thing was an accident.

  We found the girls standing in front of the Arlington family mausoleum, trying to get in. It was locked, but guess who was here? An official member of the family with the combination.

  The whole fucking thing was fate.

  We entered, all seven of us. Laughing, whispering, shushing each other. Bennett was grabbing Camille, trying to make her scream. Apparently he’d forgotten all about Emily. Hayes was leaning into Sofia, trying out some rude one-liners. She slapped him once or twice, but he took it as a challenge. I was next to Kiera, leading the way.

  “Over here,” I said, low and hushed. I took her hand, found the one with the notebook, so I took that too.

  “Hey,” she protested.

  “I’m not gonna steal it,” I said. “I just want to hold your hand.”

  She let me.

  Hayes made a joke about that, but we ignored him. I took her past the raised tomb that held my great-great-grandfather and around another corner where the rest of the family was buried. We sat down, all of us except Emily, who was pacing and clearly pissed about being tossed aside by Bennett in favor of Camille, and started passing Hayes’ flask around.

  “What are we waiting for?” Bennett asked.

  But that’s when we heard the electronic lock on the mausoleum door disengage and everyone went silent. Listening as the door creaked open.

  Kiera snatched her notebook back and crawled away from me, trying to get a better look. I followed her and we slumped against the wall, just close enough to the cover and hidden in a shadow so we could see their shadows as they entered.

  There was no talking. It was hands, and lips, and heavy breathing.

  My father’s indiscretions were no secret in the family. My mother would’ve divorced him years ago if she could.

  But she couldn’t. She was as weak as he was, just in a different way.

  I remember thinking how humiliating this was for her. To be at the same party and know he was out here doing this.

  Emily was still standing. Her leg right next to my head. Trying to get a glimpse, like us.

  Bennett, Camille, Sofia, and Hayes were still pressed back against the far end of the short hallway, hands over mouths covering smiles and stifling snickers. Eyes wide with, What the fuck is happening?

  Oh, nothing to see here, friends. It’s just Connor’s father cheating on his mother. With Kiera’s mother. Kiera, whom I’m infatuated with and want to know better in ways that are a lot like my father’s intentions with her mother right now. That’s all.

  “Oh, my God,” Emily whispered, catching on.

  The shuffling hands and kissing lips paused and we all held our breath.

  “Is someone in here?” Antoinette Bonnaire asked.

  And then footsteps approaching.

  But just before they came into view, the electronic lock on the door beeped again.

  A twist in the story, readers. A very unfortunate twist.

  Because after the door creaked open one more time I heard, “Hello, Christopher. I thought I’d find you here.”

  And it was my mother.

  “Who the fuck is that?” my father asked.

  “Uh… uh…” some dumbstruck dumb fuck stuttered. A man, that’s all I knew then. My mother had brought my father a little surprise. A little game of tit-for-tat. A little payback. A little taste-of-your-own-medicine.

  “What the hell are you doing?” My father again.

  “Getting rid of this year’s trollop.”

  Meaning Antoinette.

  I don’t know exactly what happened in what order then. I only know Emily screamed, Kiera was on her feet, and I was pulling her back while she was pulling me forward, and my mother had a gun. Shots were fired. There was more screaming, and shuffling, and yelling, and moaning. And two more shots.

  And in the end the dumbstruck dumb fuck was dead and Kiera was shot in the shoulder.

  “Connor,” my father snaps. “Get your shit together. There are three hundred people and a slew of networks here tonight. In five minutes you’re going to be announcing your candidacy for the Senate.”

  My head hurts like fuck.

  What just happened? Was that a dream? Was it a memory?

  I don’t know. I can’t tell. My vision is blurry, and my mind is foggy, and…

  What I do know, what I do see… are two books on a table just off to my right.

  Two books. The first is a notebook. One of Kiera’s. Old. Aged. Worn and tattered The Great Gatsby cover, just like the one Sofia had in her office. Pages that weren’t meant to be inside, inside and half sticking out. Made by her hands. Written in with her pen.

  There are dozens of Post-It flags hanging off those pages. Six different colors to keep the six different characters in the story straight.

  Our book.

  And next to it, looking shiny and new with only a few Post-Its flagging important story elements, is The Dirty Ones.

  “What the fuck are those?” I ask, pointing to the books.

  “Later, Connor.”

  “Fuck later. I’m not going out there until—” And that’s when I see that Louise woman coming at me with a syringe.

  “This will help,” she says, pointing the needle at me.

  “Fuck you,” I say, backing off.

  But many hands have me by the shoulders. Preventing my escape.

  “Louise,” my father says. “Are you sure he’ll be able to talk? He needs to make this speech tonight. The plan is in motion, we cannot stop now.”

  “Connor,” the Louise person says. That isn’t Louise. How did she get so old? “It’s up to you. Either pull yourself together, go out there, and read the speech, or I’ll have to give you something to calm you down.”

  Just go along, Connor. You must convince your father that you’re still on board.

  But where is Hayes?

  Where is Kiera? Where’s Sofia?

  That wasn’t a dream I had. It was a memory. Everything we thought we knew about what happened to us that year is a lie.

  My father is a filthy, cheating bastard and my mother finally had enough and tried to kill him for it. Someone else died instead. How, I’m not sure. I think only Emily has that answer. I think only Emily saw that whole scene play out.

  But what I do remember is that my father had the gun when Kiera stepped out of the shadows. My father is the one who pointed it at her. My father is the one who pulled that trigger and shot her that night.

  “We could make an excuse,” Steven says. “Have Connor just announce, then leave with no speech. I’ll swoop in and say he’s still recovering from the death of his friends.”

  My father blows air out through his nose. He’s glaring at me.

  You need to make the announcement. Hayes again. In my head. The media will be there.

  He knew.

  He knew Louise was a doctor. He knew she used drugs on us to make us forget. He knew Emily saw the whole thing. He knew that book was written by Kiera and he knew that it was the truth.

  I’m making one promise with this book.

  Just one.

  It’s the truth.

  We are the Dirty Ones and this is our story.

  That’s why he wanted us to read it together. That’s why he said, “It’s not fair, Connor. To keep her as a mistress. She deserves better after all she’s been through. Either love her whole or set her free.”

  “No,” I say, forcing myself to stand up, ignoring the pounding heartbeat in my head, and make myself walk straight as I hold out my hand. “No. I’m fine. Give me the speech and let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - KIERA

  We are dressed in some mighty fine clothes for Connor’s candidacy announcement party. Sofia, always in red. Me, in winter white. Hayes in a tuxedo. We don’t have invitations, but we don’t need them
. Because we come in with Hayes’ parents. There’s some discussion about turning us away when we exit the limo, but Mr. Fitzgerald handles it like the old society pro he is.

  Inside I look for Connor. We don’t split up. Never again. Buddy system all the way tonight. So we all look for him, but he’s not here.

  “They have him in a room somewhere,” Hayes says, reading my mind. “Don’t worry. He’s here. He’s the only reason this party is happening, Kiera.”

  I know it’s true, but all I can think about is what they’ve been doing to him since he was taken on Thursday night.

  They killed Camille and Bennett. We’re still not sure how. Hell, we don’t even know who they all are. But we know they did it.

  And they shot me once already.

  I don’t remember all of it. We need to have a very long discussion about what happened that year. But I remember some of it. After we left the cemetery we got back in the car and drove to the theater building. Went up to the top floor. Hayes pointed things out to jog our memory, and I’m sure he’s right, it was just very hard to picture what he was telling us.

  Mr. Arlington, Connor’s father, shot me that night.

  But I was lucky. Because I lived. Someone else did not.

  “It’s starting,” Sofia says, pointing to a group of people coming through a wide set of double doors. I lean up on my tiptoes, one hand on Sofia’s shoulder, one hand on Hayes’, desperate to get a look at Connor.

  “There he is,” Hayes says.

  My heart stops when I see him. Because he looks horrible. They have make-up on him and yes, he’s in a suit every bit as nice as the tux Hayes is wearing, but… “Oh, God,” I say. “What did they do to him?”

  Sofia reaches for my hand. Squeezes it. “He’s OK,” she says. “He’s alive. He’s fine, don’t worry.”

  Everyone starts to make that whisper sound that happens when something is about to start, and then the whole crowd presses forward as Connor approaches the platform set up at a stage at the head of the ballroom.