Frayed

by Kara Terzis

  “If I wanted a ride, I’d call my boyfriend,” I pointed out coldly.

  A grin. “And yet he’s nowhere in sight.”

  I fiddled with the strap of my bag and decided to come clean. “I don’t exactly want to go home, not just yet.”

  A strange expression flickered over Rafe’s face. “Because of Amanda?”

  “You know about that?”

  He flicked a brow at me. “Come Monday, the whole school will know about that.” It took all my self-restraint not to groan out loud. Why the hell had I done it? Couldn’t I have just sat down quietly and said and done nothing? But the anger that had coursed through me at her words was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  “Yes, because of Amanda. I hate disappointing my mom, you know? And with everything that’s been going on lately…” I bit down on my lip until it hurt.

  Rafe squinted up at the sky. The rain was coming down thicker now, pelting us more ferociously. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get drenched.” He started walking toward his car. He paused when he saw I wasn’t following. “Coming?”

  I weighed my options.

  On the one hand, I was not convinced of his innocence, despite how guilt-free he might appear. But on the other—how many opportunities like this was I going to get to question him? Curiosity won out over fear. So I followed his example and walked to the curb.

  I slid into the warm leather seat and shut the door.

  “Of all the people you could choose to assault,” Rafe murmured, “it had to be the toughest girl in school.” And then: “Well, the second-toughest girl in the school.”

  “Who’s first?”

  “Kesley was first,” he said.

  “Oh.” I said nothing more, leaving an awkward silence. That was the key word, wasn’t it? Was. The engine hummed in the background. Rain pelted against the glass, but Rafe flicked the wipers on, and the squeak of the blades was added to the din. Heat blasted from the vents, though it was very welcome. It washed away the cold that clung to me.

  Rafe turned to me, gesturing at something. “Mind if I…?”

  I glanced at the cigarettes, then looked away. “Fine. Whatever.”

  He laughed.

  “What?” I said rather defensively.

  “You sound a lot like Kesley,” was his only response, but he still reached for the pack and lit one, flicking the ash out the partially open window. He looked at me for a moment, rolling the cigarette between his fingers while smoke curled out the window. I watched the rain consume the smoke, wondering how to ask what I wanted to ask.

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “And that looks a lot like Kesley.”

  I just squinted at him in confusion.

  “Whenever Kesley wanted to ask me something, a favor—to do her homework usually—her brows would narrow, and she’d squint.”

  “Oh.” My stomach fluttered with nerves. The words hovered on my lips, but I couldn’t seem to push them out of my mouth.

  “Go on,” he said gently.

  I sucked in a breath. My heart steadied a little, which was the most I was going to get. The words fell out of my mouth in a heap. “Did you kill my sister?”

  An awfully loud silence filled the car. The purr of the engine and squeak of the wipers were magnified tenfold. The slam of a car door sounded from somewhere, but neither of us looked up to see where it came from. Plop, plop. The rain continued, louder than before.

  “Well,” said Rafe dryly, “aren’t you bold?”

  I bristled at the edge of amusement to his voice. Heat flared into my cheeks. All of a sudden, everything was too hot, and I was grateful Rafe had left the window open.

  I stared at my knotted hands in my lap.

  “I saw—”

  “—a plane ticket,” Rafe finished.

  “You knew,” I said, lifting my gaze to his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Rafe shot me an indescribable look. Frustration? “You ran out of the café before I’d even paid,” he said. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance.”

  “I’m giving you a chance now,” I said quietly, not moving my eyes from my hands.

  Rafe took another drag from the cigarette before answering. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I didn’t come back after she was killed. But also I didn’t get to see her before she died.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Three days before Kesley died, she called me in Vancouver.” His jaw clenched. “God, Ava, she sounded scared. She wasn’t making much sense either. She only told me that something strange was happening—and that she needed to speak to me. I managed to convince my father to let me come back here early to get ready for the school semester.” Since his parents’ divorce, he’d split his time between his mother in Circling Pines and his father in Vancouver.

  “Did she tell you…?” My voice broke. Clearing my throat, I continued, “Did she tell you what was wrong?”

  Rafe just shook his head. “No. She didn’t.”

  But I still couldn’t help noticing he wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. Besides, if he’d really come back to Circling Pines the day the ticket indicated, why wouldn’t he have had enough time to see Kesley?

  Again, the feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest with me made my stomach curl with anxiety.

  “I need you to say it, Rafe.” I hated myself for how weak, how desperate, I sounded. Silence. For a long, long, long moment, there was nothing but silence.

  And then: “I didn’t murder Kesley. I never would have hurt her. Never.”

  I deflated. All the tension, the fear inside me leaked away, replaced with cold numbness. It didn’t last long.

  “Do you think she knew she was going to die?” I couldn’t help but ask. The thought made me shiver in horror, and my toes curled. I blinked and wasn’t all that surprised to feel the wetness of tears in my eyes.

  Rafe answered honestly. “I don’t know. But she knew something.”

  I looked out the window at the rain washing down the drains and at the sky laden with clouds. The street was empty, but I no longer felt safe. A streak of lightning split the sky, followed by the sharp snapping of thunder.

  I was suddenly glad I hadn’t walked home by myself.

  Another question rose to the surface of my mind. “Did you love her? Kesley, I mean.”

  “Yes,” Rafe whispered very softly. “I loved her like a sister.”

  “Just as a sister?” I couldn’t keep the sharp edge of accusation from entering my voice. I glanced over at him just in time to see a smile quirk his mouth.

  “Would that make you jealous, Ava?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, feeling warmth spread across my neck. “I just…wondered. She adored you, you know.”

  The smile slipped from his mouth. “I know. But…no, I never thought of her in that way.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because it would be pretty gross to date your own sister.”

  “You know what I mean,” I snapped.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw him shrug. “That doesn’t matter, does it? She felt like a sister to me, so that’s what she was, relation or not.”

  I turned my gaze to the rain-washed windows.

  I don’t know whether I believed him—my head was already spinning with too many thoughts I’d have to untangle later. There was one thing I did know though: the fear I’d felt when I’d seen Rafe standing at the gate had dissolved.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have believed his story so easily.

  Maybe I should have asked him more questions.

  Maybe he would be my downfall too.

  • • •

  I’d almost forgotten about the whole incident with Amanda by the time I got home, but reality slammed into me when I heard the click-click of my
mother’s heels. I repressed a grimace. What was I supposed to say to her? My mother had a phone clutched in her hands when I walked through the high, arched doors. I only needed to take one look at her to see the fury—and disappointment—written over her face.

  I closed my eyes briefly, waiting for the tirade to come.

  And come it did.

  “I just got off the phone with Mr. Bernard,” she said, sounding like she was speaking through a clenched jaw. Her voice was as cold as ice—or at least as cold as the rain pelting down outside. “And he so kindly informed me that you were given an extra week of detention for assaulting Miss Dawson. You are so lucky she doesn’t want to press charges.” She sounded as if she wanted to press charges on behalf of Amanda. Guilt twisted in my chest.

  I said nothing for a moment. Only stared at my feet.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it, okay? I haven’t had a great day.”

  “Well, that’s too bad. We have to talk about it.”

  My eyes flashed up to meet hers, my gaze just as steely. “What do you want me to say exactly? That Amanda Dawson absolutely hates me, and I have no idea why? That I finally snapped because I don’t want to have to put up with her shit anymore?”

  “Ava! Watch your language—”

  My voice rose. “And oh yeah, maybe, just maybe, because my sister’s killer is still on the loose?”

  My mother’s mouth softened, just slightly. “So this is about Kesley.”

  Wasn’t everything?

  “No,” I whispered. My voice didn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

  “Then why, sweetie? Tell me, and I can help—”

  “No, you can’t,” I said flatly.

  My mother’s jaw tightened, but she knew she wasn’t going to win this fight. “We’ll talk later then,” she said, even though I knew we wouldn’t. “Go have a hot shower, okay? You look like you’re freezing.”

  Because of our parents’ fates, our early childhoods were riddled with darkness, but despite that, there are memories I hold on to dearly. Many of them include you.

  If I had known they were finite, I think I would have guarded them more closely. Cataloged them. Made sure I remembered every small, insignificant moment, wrapped them up tightly. There were the times you and I skipped first period to have coffee. Or the time you lay, arms outstretched, in the middle of the road. I shrieked at you to move—what if someone hit you?—but you just laughed like it was no big deal.

  Fearless.

  That was the word that came to mind when you did crazy, incomprehensible things.

  So now, for me, memories are as precious as gold.

  Memories like the ones we shared every summer: after the school year finished, we’d pack our bags, shove them in the back of Mom’s SUV, and make the trip to Yoho National Park. Our favorite place to go camping was Lake O’Hara. Remember that time when we sat around the fire while we roasted marshmallows? You said you loved that place because of the calm, peaceful lake, the way the breeze whispered in the trees, the way we could count the stars in the sky.

  You told me the lake was beautiful beyond measure.

  And if you’d told me that night, Kesley, that something as awful as your death would happen in a place so beautiful, I wouldn’t have believed you. Because who would have guessed the place you loved so much would be your downfall…

  Chapter Five

  The weekend stretched out before me, empty, and I worried what that emptiness would bring. Memories, I knew. Ones I’d sooner forget. Because memories, I was beginning to understand, left deeper scars than physical wounds.

  As much as I wanted to stay curled under the warm blankets all morning, I realized that was just going to make me feel worse, so I crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. My mother was flicking through the pages of the morning newspaper, a cup of coffee beside her.

  She glanced up when I entered. “Want some coffee?”

  “Sure,” I said and slid into the seat opposite her. She poured me a steaming cup, and I curved my hands around the warm edges but did not drink.

  “Is there something wrong? You’re not usually up this early,” she pointed out. I sighed.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I assured her, tracing the edge of the cup with a finger. “I just wanted to know if you’ve been to the police station lately.”

  My mother pushed her cup of coffee away as if it suddenly revolted her. She didn’t look at me, but something sad passed over her face. When she’d signed the contracts to become our legal parent, she hadn’t counted on one of her foster daughters being murdered.

  Kesley and I had been her legal foster daughters since I was six years old. She is, and always would be, the closest thing I had to a living mother.

  “As soon as I know something about Kesley,” she said, “you’ll know too.”

  “Oh.”

  Mom said nothing more on the subject. I picked up a napkin and shredded it, not looking at her.

  I was being unfair to expect so much from the police. Right? Homicide cases were few around here, so I doubted our small-town police force had much experience with them. But still—there had been nothing new on the case since Kesley’s body had been discovered.

  “Kesley needs justice,” I said, my voice sharp with frustration.

  “Ava…” My mother’s voice broke. She placed her hand on mine. “I know it’s hard. But we just have to sit tight, okay? The police will find out who did this to Kesley. I promise you.”

  But that’s the thing about promises, isn’t it? They can’t always be kept.

  No matter how good the intentions behind them are.

  My mother continued speaking, but I wasn’t really paying attention at that point. She sighed and slid her chair back. “It’s getting late,” she told me, “and I have some errands to run. Have any plans for today?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Well.” She pulled her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the front door. “If you do decide to do something, just be careful, okay?”

  “Careful?”

  “I don’t know how safe it is out there anymore, Ava,” was all she said.

  A few moments later, the slam of the door told me she had left. There was a crunch of gravel as she backed out of the driveway, and that was it. Silence. Sweet, terrifying silence. Soon, the memories would come. And then the despair.

  And then—

  The doorbell rang. I scraped my chair back and went to get the door. Jackson was waiting outside, and he must’ve seen my expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Still nothing new about Kesley,” I whispered.

  I sank into his arms, pressing my face into his chest. Everything felt better when he was with me. Not good but bearable.

  He pulled back a little to look at me, and sympathy softened his features. “Everything will be fine,” he said so sincerely that I almost believed it. “I know it will. You’ll have your justice.” Another promise, another good intention. My gaze flicked over his pale-green eyes, brown hair, and the slight scruff on his chin.

  “I’m not sure that’s possible anymore,” I said. “It’s been two months, Jackson. What if they never find out who did this to her? What if it remains unsolved? I don’t know how I can live with that—”

  He cupped my face and pressed a kiss to my lips, cutting off the rest of my words. “You’ll get closure,” he promised me.

  “I don’t think I want closure anymore,” I whispered. “I just want my sister back.”

  He had no reply to that.

  The rest of the day passed quickly now that Jackson was here. He’d brought me flowers too: white lilies that now sit on my bedside table. I wondered if he knew white lilies were symbolic of death. We said nothing more about Kesley and focused instead on school, until he saw the photo by my bed.

  “Hey,” Jackson said, b
reaking through my thoughts of algebraic formulas. “Where was this taken?”

  Light spilled onto the photo he was looking at. Sitting on my nightstand was a picture framed with ornate diamond-like jewels.

  The light gleaming off them was almost blinding.

  The picture had been taken this summer—the last summer Kesley would ever have. She had an arm slung around me, and we both were smiling. In the background was a gleaming lake surrounded by trees. It was obviously windy because our hair trailed out behind us, and Kesley was pulling long blond ribbons of hair from her eyes, throwing the image slightly off-balance. I liked how this picture wasn’t entirely perfect.

  A curling blue ribbon was in Kesley’s hand.

  The words were stuck in my throat. I had to take several deep breaths before answering. “Lake O’Hara,” I said. Where she was murdered, I didn’t add.

  “Oh.” He fell silent. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, his face twisting slightly, deep in thought. “Do you think…?”

  “What?” I said quickly.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered and looked out the window.

  “Do I think that whoever killed my sister knew we went there every summer?” I asked for him.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I guess so,” I said, “but everyone knew that. It could be anyone in this town.” Going to Lake O’Hara had become a family tradition, so it was no secret where we went every year. It hardly narrowed down the list of suspects.

  But as I thought about it, it was just too much of a coincidence that my sister’s killer had chosen that place in particular.

  My mind flickered back to my last conversation with Rafe. Could Kesley have realized that someone was after her? Had she even known she was going to die? And if that was the case…then why the silence? The secrecy?

  I felt like the answers were just out of my reach.

  My face must’ve shown that, because at that moment, Jackson shifted our books and came to sit beside me. I tried to rearrange my expression into something blank, but I don’t think it worked very well.

  When Jackson spoke, his lips were at my ear.

  “Try to think about something else for a while,” he said. I pressed myself closer into his embrace, letting his arms settle around my waist.