by Sonja Yoerg
“Usual shit.”
“I thought you were done with all that. Considering the Zoloft.”
“Well, Mommy, I was, but then some asshole texts me about wanting to cut loose.”
Reid held out his hand. “Excellent point.”
Alex dropped something into his palm.
“What is it?”
“How the hell do I know? I can’t see a damn thing.” He opened a water bottle, tossed a pill in his mouth, and took a long drink. “But it might be E, so drink up. Safety first.”
They ducked out from under the tree, crossed Main Street, and wound through the collection of shops and restaurants known as the Corner. Robby’s house was near the end of Wertland, on the T intersection. On this warm night—Reid hadn’t bothered with a jacket—the windows at the front were shut, probably trying to keep most of the noise inside so the cops wouldn’t have an excuse to shut it down. A handful of people were hanging out on the porch, and a few more sat on folding chairs on the lawn, looking like they were waiting for a parade. A couple of the guys gave them looks, but Reid followed three girls inside, catching the door for them.
“Thanks,” one of them tossed over her shoulder, her dark ponytail swinging like a horse’s tail. She made for the back of the house, where the music was coming from, before Reid could tell if she was pretty.
More kids were milling around in the narrow hall. No one seemed to care who came in.
Reid moved into the doorway of what turned out to be the kitchen. Whatever he and Alex had taken under that tree started climbing up the back of his legs and into his armpits, like tingling knife points digging in. He checked behind him for Alex, who was practically on top of him. From the look on his face, that shit had hit him, too.
“Different,” Alex said. “Go with it.”
Reid slipped farther into the kitchen, the slicing, zinging feeling moving across his chest and up into his balls. There was a heat to it now. His heart was beating too fast. Alex was ahead of him, making a path through the swarm of bodies. The smell of beer and Axe and lemons (some girl’s perfume?) reminded Reid of furniture polish, and that bugged him. Alex found the keg. The room pulsed, matching Reid’s heartbeat. An acid taste invaded the base of his throat.
“Get me a beer.”
“I’m on it.” Alex passed him a Solo cup.
The predictability of the red Solo cup filled with beer annoyed Reid. In fact, everything here annoyed him: the faux-edgy music, the girls with their heels and backless shirts, long hair spilling everywhere, the guys with their monogrammed button-downs or, worse, athletic gear, signaling life was a game and they were always ready to hit the field. Why had he and Alex bothered to come? What had they expected? Conversations about existentialism with short-haired multiply pierced girls whose motto was that life sucked? Not here. Life never sucked here, not as long as the keg held out.
Reid found an empty spot on the wall to lean against and drank his beer. Alex was grinning and nodded at everyone who walked by and made small talk with a girl in jeans and a muscle tee with Tweety on it. Maybe Alex had taken different stuff than Reid had. He drained his beer. The sharp tingling was easing off. His heart was still racing, but he didn’t care.
Alex leaned toward his ear. “Flip cup out back. Come on.”
They followed the girl outside. Reid scanned around for Robby. The guys all looked like Robby, in one way or another. The backyard was lit up with Japanese lanterns and Christmas lights. Each little light had a prism hovering around it. Pretty. The girl, Kiley or Kailey, led Alex into position at the table with a row of beer-filled cups lining each side. He was laughing, swaying, touching the table to ground himself. Through the screen of the weird sensations inside him, it occurred to Reid that he shouldn’t have taken random pills with his friend. But he couldn’t hang on to it; it was only a thought and it didn’t last. Reid moved away from the game, past a picnic table. Two girls and a guy were dancing on top of it to the shitty music, kicking off half-empty cups. The crowd egged them on, and the girls started rubbing themselves up and down the guy, who was having trouble staying upright. The girls kissed.
Reid’s temples ached and his mouth felt stuffed with newspaper. He started to go back inside for another beer—anything to improve his mood—when he spotted a couple making out against the brick wall, shadowed by a tree. The guy had his hands on her butt and she was grinding into him; that much he could see. The couple broke off kissing. Reid kept walking, embarrassed, but a second later looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the girl’s face. Brynn.
Holy shit.
Seeing him, she froze, unbelieving, or maybe so lit she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. The guy stepped back, out of the shadow. Robby, of course.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Reid jogged the three steps to the back door, swung it open. It smashed against the side of the house.
“Hey!” someone said.
“Fuck you!” Reid barged inside, his head swollen with fury.
He was almost to the front door when he remembered Alex. “Shit.” He pushed his way to the backyard and found Alex waiting his turn at the drinking game. He didn’t look so hot. “We have to go.”
“Now?”
Reid fought the urge to look over to where Brynn had been. “Right now.”
Alex let himself be dragged inside. A bunch of people blocked the front door, arms around each other, singing something incomprehensible. Reid pushed his way around them, impatience and disgust frothing inside him. That stinging in his groin was back, and his heart was thumping. If only these douchebags would move out of his way. On the wall by the door was the control panel for the alarm system. He flipped it open. Three buttons on the side marked with a red flame, a green cross, and a blue shield.
He hit the red one.
The siren went off. The throng in the hall loosened. He pushed through, opened the door, and thrust Alex ahead of him. “Run!”
His friend took off down the street, away from the Corner. Reid sprinted after him.
Iris crouched with her back against the wall and her hands clamped over her ears. She’d been there for a while, since Brynn had gone outside with Robby. Iris had wanted to follow but knew she shouldn’t. Brynn wouldn’t want her.
Just like Sam.
He’d been there when she got to the house, standing on the porch smoking something with Brynn and two of her friends. Iris would’ve liked to have stayed out there, but they herded her inside.
Sam had his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, Iris.”
Sam gave her beer in a red cup. She was thirsty—being nervous made her thirsty—so she drank some and felt light-headed right away. The others were drinking one cup after another. Sam was behind her and moved his hand onto her hip. The room tilted and an ache washed through her lower belly. Brynn was watching her, grinning, and snapping photo after photo.
“Show us your drink, Iris!”
Sam pulled her closer. It felt so good and, at the same time, so wrong. His hand moved over her breast. She gasped. Brynn took a photo.
“Sammy boy!” one of Brynn’s friends shouted.
Iris wriggled away. Her hands were shaking and her beer spilled.
“Watch out!” Brynn shouted, jumping back.
Iris spoke into Brynn’s ear. “Those photos are private, right? Like yours?”
“Sure.” Brynn winked at her. “Sure they are.”
Sam disappeared into the crowd with the others. Robby took Brynn outside.
Iris slunk along the walls like a mouse. She found a spot against the wall, covered her ears, and closed her eyes. That was where she stayed.
There was too much going on. The music was too loud, and people were shouting and laughing, touching each other, kissing and grabbing. A sick, nasty feeling swirled inside her, a new feeling and one she never wanted to have again. She wanted to leave but couldn’t figure out how to do it without going through the crowd, touching all those people, or them touching her. If she just sat ther
e, it would be over eventually. It couldn’t go on forever, could it?
A wailing, screaming noise startled her. She opened her eyes. Everyone was looking around, wondering what to do.
Iris stood, hands still over her ears, took a deep breath, and headed into the crowd, slipping through the small spaces between people who were making for the front door. It was open; people were spilling out. She reached the porch. The fresh air hit her face.
She crossed the lawn, picking her way around overturned chairs, beer bottles, and red cups, and crossed the street, to where it was quieter and darker. She hurried, keeping to the shadows, and pulled the knife from her purse, holding it at her side.
Iris could not go back to the Blakemores’, not now. She desperately needed somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. She’d made a mistake trusting Brynn. She’d been foolish in thinking Brynn was letting her into her life, accepting her, helping her become someone she had never in a million years expected to be. For a short time, Iris had thought she could fit in, and she had wanted to become the teenager everyone expected her to be. She’d even imagined Sam was attracted to her, but it was only a game. She didn’t understand its purpose and she didn’t want to. There was nothing to learn except this: she didn’t belong.
When she reached the area with stores and restaurants, Iris crossed the main road and entered the campus. She knew the layout from walks with Suzanne and from her own nighttime excursions. As late as it was, a few people were around, including what she guessed were some sort of police, but it was simple to avoid them. She slipped along the shadows.
Ducking between parked cars, she crossed a narrow, empty road and found the place she was looking for. She jumped the low stone wall and zigzagged between row after row of upright slabs and towers of stones. A nearby streetlight cast a dim light as far as the center of the cemetery. She moved into the dark, drawn by scent to an evergreen, an unfamiliar species, and lay down beneath it on her back.
She had no one. Ash would never come here. He might never come again, knowing how fully she had abandoned him, how she had sold her soul (and his) to this barren world in exchange for exactly nothing. Iris listened to the never-ending traffic noises, the whirring of machines whose purpose she did not know, the barking of a chained dog, the insistent piercing whine of a siren in the distance. She listened: passive, uncaring, lifeless.
CHAPTER 31
Suzanne awoke on the living room couch. A black-and-white movie was playing on the television. The sound was off. She pushed herself to a sitting position and checked her phone for the time—3:35—then checked her texts. Nothing unread. She had texted Brynn around one a.m., and her daughter had replied that she and her friends were playing Apples to Apples. The text had seemed lucid enough. Suzanne had texted her again an hour later and gotten no response. She had considered contacting Kendall’s mother but didn’t want to second-guess the woman who had done plenty by hosting the party and who had promised to check on the kids. The boys were due to go home before two. Suzanne surmised that Brynn hadn’t responded because she was occupied with her friends—or fast asleep.
Reid eschewed check-in texts, citing their pointlessness. Mia had called just after eleven to say the pizza she’d ordered for the boys had disappeared from the kitchen counter, prima facie evidence that they were alive and well. Suzanne had giggled at the phrase prima facie . After she had hung up with Mia, Whit had gone to bed, but Suzanne had stayed, saying she wasn’t tired yet. And then she’d fallen asleep.
Now she carried the empty wineglasses into the kitchen and drank a glass of water. A car stopped on the road in front of the house. The bushes along the sidewalk partially obscured her view, but she heard a door shut, and when a flashlight swept over the car, she saw emergency lights on the roof. She dropped the glass in the sink, where it shattered, and ran to the front of the house. Torn between going to the door and running upstairs for Whit, Suzanne stood paralyzed in the entry.
“Whit!” She scrambled halfway up the stairs. “Whit!” A light came on in the upstairs hall. Suzanne rushed to the door and opened it. Two figures were on the walkway, cast in shadow by the streetlight. Suzanne flipped on the porch lights. A female police officer was half carrying Brynn toward the house. Suzanne ran toward them. Brynn’s face was slack, her eyes unfocused. Her hair was matted, and one sleeve of her shirt was torn, the bra strap hanging off her shoulder.
“Brynn!” Suzanne grasped her daughter by the arm to help support her. The sour smell of beer and vomit coming from Brynn’s hair and clothing told Suzanne what was wrong. She spoke to the officer as they hoisted Brynn up the steps. “Where did you find her?”
“Let’s just get her inside; then we can talk.”
Whit appeared at the door in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. “What’s going on?”
“She’s drunk,” Suzanne said.
“Here, let me take her.” He slipped his arm around Brynn’s waist.
In the light of the entry, Suzanne noticed Brynn’s jeans were unzipped. “No.”
Whit followed Suzanne’s gaze. “Jesus.”
“I’d get some towels,” the officer said to Suzanne. “She made a mess of my cruiser.”
Suzanne hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a roll of paper towels and two water bottles from the pantry, and returned to the living room. Brynn was propped up on the couch, her head lolling on Whit’s shoulder.
The policewoman pulled a phone and a paisley ID case from her pocket and placed them on the coffee table. “At least she was carrying ID. You be surprised at how many don’t.”
“What should we give her?” Whit asked. “What if she took something else, like pills?”
Suzanne’s throat locked tight. That hadn’t occurred to her.
The officer said, “The Breathalyzer result was high enough to account for her state. Otherwise I’d have taken her straight to the hospital.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. She looked at Suzanne. “You might not remember, but I met you at the benefit last fall. The one for Matt Schuster. I’m Pat Nguyen.”
Suzanne nodded, although she couldn’t remember the woman or anything else at the moment.
Officer Nguyen pointed to a chair. “Mind if I sit down? It’s been a long night.”
Suzanne said, “Please. Can I get you coffee or anything?” Her voice sounded odd, like she was acting a part and doing it badly.
“I’m fine, thanks.” The officer sat. “First off, where did you think your daughter was tonight?”
Suzanne said, “At a friend’s house. It’s prom night and the parents agreed to host. The mom said she would supervise.”
Officer Nguyen raised an eyebrow. “We got a call about an hour ago about a fire alarm at a house on Wertland. A party was under way, mostly college kids but also a few younger ones.” She nodded at Brynn. “Your daughter was on the front lawn.”
Suzanne pictured it. Drunken kids running from the building, stepping over her daughter, passed out on the lawn, half-undressed. Suzanne glanced at Whit. His face was ashen.
“The ID says she’s fifteen, is that correct?”
“Yes.” Whit cleared his throat. “Was she, was she dressed?”
“She was pretty much as she is now. Her pants weren’t off, just unzipped.”
Suzanne wiped her face, surprised to find it wet. “Whose house was it? How do we find out who was there?”
“We talked briefly to three students who lived there. All over twenty-one, and we didn’t see anything other than a lot of alcohol. They all said they didn’t know your daughter.”
Whit’s eyes flashed with anger. “They would say that, wouldn’t they? Right after dumping her on the lawn?”
The officer nodded. She pointed at Brynn’s phone. “You might find some answers in there, if she won’t talk.” She put her hands on her knees and stood. “I’m going to have to charge her. Public intoxication and underage drinking.” Whit began to protest. The officer held up her hand. “Rules are rules.”
They thanked Officer Nguyen for bringi
ng their daughter home and showed her out. Whit roused Brynn enough for her to drink a bottle of water; then they brought her upstairs. Suzanne cleaned Brynn up as best she could, took off the soiled clothes, and managed to get her into a fresh shirt. Suzanne sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her daughter’s hair from her face, wondering what had motivated the girl to do this. Suzanne couldn’t accept that this was normal teenage behavior; if it was, she would insist on recalibration of the word normal . Why had Brynn taken such risks? All the things Brynn had wanted—limos and designer dresses and staged photos—had not been enough. How had her daughter ended up this way, and how had Suzanne been oblivious?
Brynn’s phone was downstairs, and Suzanne wasn’t certain she could bear to explore what it might contain. Not tonight.
She kissed her daughter’s forehead and left the room. In the hallway she heard Whit climbing the stairs and met him at their bedroom door.
He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “It’ll be all right.”
Suzanne’s thoughts went to Reid. She wished she could talk to him, but he would be asleep. She let go of Whit. “I’m just going to check on Iris.”
“All right.”
She went to Iris’s door and opened it slowly so it wouldn’t creak. The room faced the backyard and was dark. Suzanne stepped over to the bed, straining to make out the girl’s sleeping form.
“Iris?” she whispered.
Suzanne touched the covers where Iris’s shoulder should have been and felt only bedding. She reached for the switch on the bedside lamp and pressed it on.
The bed was empty.
Suzanne ran from the room. She checked for the girl in Reid’s room and returned to the hall. “Whit!” Without waiting for an answer, she flicked on the lights and flew down the stairwell. She hurried through the dining room, the kitchen, the living room, back to the entry, hoping Iris was curled up in a chair somewhere. Whit rushed down the stairs. “What now?”
“Iris is gone! She’s gone!”
“Jesus! What the hell is going on? Did you check outside?”
