by H. M. Ward
That doesn’t sound right. “Josh, how’d she go from wanting you to refusing you?”
He shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s a woman's prerogative to change her mind. I didn’t listen.”
“You said that already.”
Annoyed, he shakes his head and hisses at me. “Kerry, you weren’t there. It was fucking obvious, okay. She was crying, and I didn’t stop.”
“When? During? After?”
He’s mad now and on his feet. He paces two steps in front of me, whirls around and does it again. “It doesn’t matter!”
“You’re right. It doesn’t. She didn’t want you, and you did her anyway, right?”
“Yes,” he snaps at me, his body lined with tension.
“Doesn’t it bother you that it sounds so out of character for you? I mean, do you even remember getting her into bed? You’re such a sweet talker I can’t picture you needing to force her.”
He pauses and becomes silent. “I remember the stairs up to the bedrooms. She was laughing and leaning on me. I felt weird that night, like I was coming down with something. I don’t actually recall the deed. It’s fragmented, okay? I remember the stairs, the sheets, and then the horrified expression on her face the next morning. That high-pitched scream when she woke up, still tied to the headboard. Kerry, what the fuck did I do?”
The pain in his voice is real. He doesn’t remember, that much is obvious. He sits down hard and throws his head into his hands, clutching at his hair. The muscles in his neck are corded tight, and his voice sounds strangled. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“Where was Carter?”
He doesn’t look up. “I don’t know. At the dorm? He wasn’t around the next morning.”
“What happened next?”
He squints like the sun is in his eyes and shakes his head, frowning. “I don’t know. There were a few women still around who'd had hookups the night before. One heard the screams, came running in, and called campus police.”
“And Carter’s girlfriend? What’d she do?”
“Puked and then avoided me. The look on her face, the way she wouldn’t go near me after that killed me.”
I’m silent for a moment. Something about it sounds off. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I realize Josh would rather be flambéed than recount this event for another second.
He stares at the wall and mutters, “How could I forget the entire thing? I wanted her for so long. She wanted me. I’d been the one saying no, refusing her—How could I do something like that?”
The color on his face drains as he stands there, rigid. He’s frozen in the past, trapped in a nightmare that never ends. I bet he sees her face every time he flirts, every time he closes his eyes, and the remorse flowing off of him is so thick I can feel it. It’s not some intangible sentiment. Josh feels it from head to toe, every single day.
My mouth is moving, letting the thought tumble out of my mind before I can stop it. “What if you didn’t rape her?”
“Kerry, I did it. I saw the look on her face and the bruises on her body where I held her down. I blocked it out. They said I was so pissed at Carter that I took it out on her.” He’s quiet for a moment and then adds, “I did it, so I confessed. I couldn’t leave her living her life thinking she was to blame. She wasn’t. It was me.” He walks over to the bar and pulls the vodka from the shelf, opening the cap. “I wish they had a different bottle. This brand reminds me of that night.”
I study the blue and gray letters on the label. “That’s the same brand they had at the study group, the kind that made me and Beth shitfaced in a blink. Come to think of it, that’s what goes in Emily’s tar cocktail, too.”
Josh turns slowly and looks at me, and then back at the open bottle in his hand. His lashes lower as he stares at it without saying a word.
Thinking back, I mentally picture the liquor at the house. “The bottle we opened at the house was sealed.”
“So were the bottles at the party.”
We both hesitate, but I know we’re thinking the same thing. Getting totally shitfaced, doing something completely out of character, the mental fog, the memory lapse—it all points to one thing.
“You were drugged like Beth and me.”
Josh shakes his head. “That’s not possible. The bottle was sealed.”
“Someone must have opened it and resealed it.” I pause for a second and think that through. Wouldn’t we have noticed if it had been tampered with? Honestly, I didn’t look that closely. The bottle was full and appeared to be new. Frowning, I shake my head and feel my arms fold across my chest. “How’s that possible? Wouldn’t we have noticed if the collar was broken or missing?”
“It wasn’t missing. The plastic was still in place around our bottle that night. I had a few drinks, and so did she. She drank more than me.” He’s quiet for a moment and then glances over at me. “The night of the study group, Jace and Justin wanted to kill whoever brought that bottle, but it turned out to be that girl Sherry. I think she talked to you guys. She’s sweet and ate all of Beth’s cookies. She wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Was she at the party the night things went to hell?”
He thinks about it, scanning his memory for her and then shakes his head. “No, she didn’t come out that night. It was just her brother there, hanging around Carter.”
“Who’s her brother?”
“That blue haired dude, Scott. He never says much, but—”
“Holy shit.” My heart flops in my chest, and I look up at Josh. For a moment, I can’t breathe. It makes sense now. Why didn’t I see it before? Scott is always hanging around Carter, but the guy is so quiet no one notices him. “Josh, is there any chance you don’t remember that night because you passed out?”
“I did it, Kerry.”
“I know, but humor me for a second.” I stand and start pacing back and forth. There’s a thought emerging, pieces of a puzzle falling into place. His memory has holes. He felt sick. The chick puked. The next morning he was himself again, and so was she. “You both drank the same thing.”
“Kerry, I’ve been through this a million times. I grabbed a bottle, and we opened it downstairs. When things got hot and heavy, we headed to the bedroom. She wasn’t drunk on the staircase. Neither was I.”
“But you felt sick?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Did you feel drunk? Did the walls swim and the floor shift a little? Did your head feel too big for your body, like it weighed too much to hold upright?” The words come out in a spray, and I can’t stop. Maybe he thought it in the back of his head, but Josh wasn’t ready to admit it. For years, he took the blame for his actions and carried the weight of that night on his conscience.
He’s still defensive. Eyes narrowed and jaw locked, he hisses, “There’s no way I was drunk.”
“I know. Josh, neither was I. Neither was Beth. Neither was Emily. None of us were drunk, but it felt like I was and then there are scattered memories until everything goes dark. There are hours of nothing.”
As he watches me, I see him shove down the hope that tries to float up inside of him. “Right, you passed out. I raped a girl. It’s not the same.”
“Yes, it is!”
“I was the only one there—”
“How do you know that?” I’m practically yelling now. I don’t mean to, but it makes the most sense. “Josh, what if you weren’t? What if Scott gave you a spiked bottle? You both head upstairs to make out or whatever, and you both fall asleep.”
“That’s impossible. Someone tied her to the bed. Someone raped her. We didn’t just sleep.”
“But what if that someone wasn’t you? What if Scott did all that shit, raped her, and then left. She’d think you did it. You’d think you did it, too. So would everyone else.” I keep thinking this through and looking for holes in my theory, not finding many.
He laughs bitterly. “That’s far-fetched.”
“No, it’s not. Think about i
t. To everyone else, it looks like things got out of hand, but neither of you remembers anything.”
“She remembers.”
“No, she doesn’t. I'd bet you anything she can’t remember that night at all because she blacked out just like you did. If she were lucid, hell, if she were awake, she would have screamed loud enough for someone to hear, but she didn’t. So she either wanted it, or—what I’m starting to think is the more likely option—she passed out at the same time as you, and a third person was there.”
“Kerry, even if it was Scott, why? That’s an insane accusation to make on some random guy.”
“I don’t know why Scott would do anything. The guy is a shadow. He’s always there but never says much. Josh, I don’t know why he’d go after Emily, Beth, and me either. I barely know him.” I sweep back through my memories of Scott, trying to find a malicious comment, anything to suggest he’s evil, but I’ve got nothing. “The bottle—let’s find out how a bottle could appear sealed even if it was tampered with.”
Josh rubs the heel of his hand over his face and sighs. “Don’t give me hope, Kerry. I can’t take the pain when I find out it’s not true.”
“There are a bunch of things that don’t add up. Please, humor me. Find out for me?” I plead with him for a few minutes.
Josh finally caves and shakes his head, trademark grin back in place. “Fine, but it doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. I accepted what I did a long time ago.”
My phone buzzes on the table. I walk over and glance down at it. MEET ME AT THE HOUSE. My heart sinks and ice shoots through my veins. It’s from Ferro.
Josh asks, “Who is it?”
I steady my voice and answer, “No one. Nothing important.” I know he senses the lie, so I shove on. “Listen, I know you didn’t do this. You’re a good man, Josh. You find out what you can about the bottle. I need to take care of something. Can you please bring me back to my bus?”
“Going to see the new love of your life?”
I smirk at him. “Maybe.”
Or maybe I’m going to do the devil’s handiwork. FML.
CHAPTER 9
Ferro didn’t leave me any time to spare. I stop my bus in front of Nate’s house. There are moving trucks at two homes on the block, packing up, and heading out. They’ll see me if I go through the front door. Good. Pita rushes between my legs and disappears in the neighbor’s bushes.
I walk up to the front door and ring the bell. Nate is at the college, and I know he’s not here, but I need to double check.
To my surprise, Ferro pulls the door open and waves me inside. “Miss Hill.”
This is going to be bad. I move past him, feeling my skin prickle as I walk into Nate’s house. “What do you want?” I glance out the front door just as it closes. No one seems to notice us. Not the moving men or any of the neighbors. For a split second, I’m worried Ferro is going to kill me, but that feeling fades after a moment passes. I’m still alive, and a dead girl can’t repay a favor.
“What do you want?” I’m still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I’m in desperate need of a shower and wishing he'd chosen somewhere else to meet. Nate will be pissed when he finds out we’re here without his permission.
“A favor, my dear.” Ferro is clean-shaven with a gleam in his eye. It makes my stomach sink. He holds out his hand, gesturing for me to sit on Nate’s couch. “Let’s be direct, no bullshit. No wasting time.”
I sit slowly but remain tense, ready to run. “Agreed.”
Ferro paces as he explains. “There are some things people are willing to die for, causes that lead nowhere. Weak dreams meld into something that resembles taking a stand. After all, if you stand for nothing, then you’ll fall for everything. However, that type of life is fleeting. Youthful arrogance blinds my son so he can’t see what is truly happening to him.”
“And what’s that?” My voice drips with disdain. This is the only time I’ve heard him claim Nate as his own.
“That misplaced passion is sucking every last drop of hope from his body. Nate won’t sell, and I’m out of time. I could have come late last night and taken care of this, but he’s kin.” Ferro offers a wolfish smile and opens his hands, palms up, speaking casually as if murder is normal.
“What do you want me to do?”
The corner of his lips pulls up into a grin that sends a shiver down my spine. “Burn it to the ground.”
CHAPTER 10
I blink at him, unable to reply or peel myself off the couch. I want to get in his face and scream. I want to fight back, but I’m screwed. I can’t. There’s nothing to fight.
Ferro slips his hands into his suit pockets and tips his head to the side, studying me. “You can save Nathan if you set the fire. You could do it now, in the middle of the day. No one will say a thing. You have my word on that.”
I scoff, “Like that matters.”
“It matters a great deal, assuming you care about Nathan at all. Listen carefully to what I want you to do. If you fail to achieve the desired result, my men will return and make sure there’s nothing left but ashes. If that occurs, I can no longer guarantee Nathan’s safety. This is your decision. Your choice. You can save him, or you can walk away.”
My jaw drops. I’m suddenly on my feet and rushing at him. I stop short, ready to slam my fist into his temple, but his eyes unnerve me. Breathing hard, I keep my fists at my sides. “You’d kill your son? For a piece of land?”
“People have done much worse for much less.”
I sneer at him. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a man.”
“Words, Miss Hill, do very little in the grand scheme of things.” He snaps his fingers and indicates I should follow. I gnash my teeth and walk grudgingly into the kitchen. He points at a few bags from a hardware store on the counter. “Everything you need is right here.”
He’s serious. It’s already been decided. I either set the blaze myself or let him do it and kill Nate in the process. “I can’t—I don’t know how to set a fire.”
Ferro gives me a look that says he’s not that stupid and neither am I. “It’s simple enough that even you’d understand. Pour the accelerant on the floor, light a match, and walk away.”
“But, the neighbors, they’ll say they saw us here.”
“No one will mention me or you. That yellow bus of yours is all but forgotten. It’s amazing how little it takes to bend a man’s will. A few dollars and they suddenly have no morals at all.”
My jaw is locked, and I don’t say anything for a few moments. My gaze cuts to the bag on the counter. I do this and save Nate, or I don’t and let him die. Ferro is a liar, so there are no guarantees my ass won't end up in jail. Even more upsetting is Nate. If he ever finds out. He won’t forgive me for this.
“So what’s the plan? Burn the house and then buy the land?”
“Not that it matters to you, but yes.”
“That will leave Nate with nothing.”
“That’s not my problem, Miss Hill. Your involvement guarantees Nathan lives. His life is in your hands. Nothing else matters compared to that, does it?”
“You suck.” I growl, wishing I could hurt him. But I can’t do anything. I’m caught in the middle.
Ferro walks over, towering above me, getting so close that I reflexively back into the cabinets. He’s in my face, his voice low and seductive, “I’ve heard how much you enjoy sucking cock in the kitchen, Miss Hill. I never could say no to a woman on her knees. Do it and beg me to spare you. I might reconsider.”
I don’t hesitate. My hand flies, ready to punch Ferro in the temple. At the last second, he reaches out and grabs my fist, crushing it in his hand. “Don’t fuck with me, Miss Hill, unless you want to be owned. You’ll lose.”
He twists my wrist as he crushes my knuckles. I let out a yelp as he forces me to my knees. His eyes glint like he’s enjoying my pain. I try to jerk away, but he’s too strong. I’m about to do something desperate to make him stop when Ferro releases me. “If I don’t hear this home burned to
the ground by midnight, I’ll take care of it, and you’ll still owe me a favor.”
CHAPTER 11
How can that man be Nate’s father? He’s evil. I remain on the floor for several minutes after Ferro leaves, cradling my wrist in my hand. He didn’t break it, but it’s screaming. I glance around at all the things that will burn. Every last trace of Nate’s life, of his mother and father, any happy memories he had will be gone. But Nate will live. That’s all that matters. That’s the part I can control, so I need to pull my shit together and get to my feet.
I stand and walk over to the bags from the hardware store and pull out the gallon jugs. If I torch the place and it’s deemed arson, Nate won’t get anything from insurance—especially if they think his girlfriend did it. And I don’t trust Ferro. The neighbors all see that bus and know I’m here. A plan forms in my mind, and I can’t think of anything better, so I open the cabinet next to the stove and pull out a frying pan. After filling it with grease, I turn on the stovetop.
My conscience dies in my chest as I open the bottle of smelly green liquid and splash it on the floor by the stove. I trail it across the room knowing it’ll ignite instantly and go up without a trace. They’ll think it was a grease fire that got out of hand. They’ll also believe a stupid college girl didn’t know that dousing it with water would make it worse. In truth, I can’t cook, but even I know that.
I place the jug of oil on the stovetop, close enough to the burner to melt, and back away. It’s over half full. My heart is thumping in my throat. I’m not this person. How am I supposed to stand there and watch Nate’s home burn? But that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Trembling, I pull out my cell phone and hit the three digits, 9-1-1. I don’t press send. I put the phone back in my pocket, grab a book of matches from above the stove, and light one. The grease is smoking, and the bottle next to the pan already has a hole in the side. Oil drips down the front of the appliance and onto the floor. I stand there, waiting for the trail of oil to spread, to get bigger. When it doesn’t move beyond the initial pool, I grab the broom and smack the bottle. It goes flying and crashes into the wall where Nate pinned me. Oil streaks across the wallpaper as the bottle hits and then skitters across the linoleum, spilling the rest of the contents across the floor.
