by Bryan Smith
“We traveled hundreds of miles. We would’ve noticed her trailing us somewhere along the way. She had no way of knowing exactly where we were going. So, yeah, it’s a fucking coincidence. Pull your head out of your ass.”
“Fuck you.”
“Again, you mean?”
Sean Hewitt’s voice: “Um…what? I think I, uh, misunderstood something.”
Emily laughed.
Zoe moved to intercede before the exchange could take an irreversibly ugly turn. “shut up!”
They all looked at her.
She sighed. “Emily’s right. Think about it. There’s no other explanation. It’s coincidence. That chick winding up here is just God fucking with us. These”—Zoe waved a hand at the television—“crazy fuckers have been too busy with their wild fucking spree to properly follow anybody.”
Annalisa stared at the screen again, but her expression now was less severe, more contemplative. A sliver of doubt had pierced her convictions. She shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. I guess I can see what you’re saying. It makes sense. It’s just…”
Emily laughed. “Fucked-up.”
Chuck headed back to the bar. “Somebody turn that shit off and put on some tunes. And I can’t be the only motherfucker in this house in dire need of a fucking drink. Who’s with me?”
It was an offer none of them could refuse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated March 27
Today is my birthday. I haven’t told Roxie or the guy about it and I don’t think I will. There’s no real point to marking the day any other way than writing about it here. It’s just such a strange thing to think about. No cake or candles to blow out for me this year. And I don’t think I’ll be alive when this day rolls around again. Not trying to be melodramatic. I really feel like I can feel the end coming. What’s really sort of fucked-up is how okay I am with it. I think about it and it doesn’t bother me at all. The not-caring thing disturbs me more than the idea of dying, but even that’s just whatever. I fucked the guy a little while ago. Straight up asked Roxie if I could. Half expected her to kick my ass. But she was okay with it. I guess it makes sense. She’s so fucking cool. I could live a thousand years and never be half as cool as Roxie. I’d say I want to be just like her when I grow up, but I’m never gonna grow up, so that shit ain’t happening. LOL.
So anyway, I guess that little backseat tumble with the guy was Roxie’s b-day present to me. Only she doesn’t know that’s what it was. It was okay, I guess. Shit. People poking around outside. Gotta go. Later. Maybe.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
March 27
Chuck had a very pleasant buzz going by early evening. He felt pretty good overall. It was a pleasant change and it made him sad to realize how fleeting the feeling would likely be. He’d spent too much of the trip brooding over things. A man shouldn’t be so filled with anger during what was supposed to be a relaxing time. But there had simply been too much crap happening. This bullshit with Emily, for instance, and the subsequent dissolution of his friendship with Joe. That shit alone would have weighed on any guy’s mind. But the memory of the humiliation he’d endured at the hands of those redneck psychos kept coming back to taunt him. He’d suffered a deep wound to his pride that night, one he’d likely carry with him for years. It compounded all the other shit, like the thing with Emily, turning them into things that made him tremble on the edge of an explosion. At present, he could think of just two ways to cope with the emotional shit storm bearing down on him.
Go back to that bar some night and exact revenge.
Or drown all the bullshit in a sea of alcohol.
The glass in his hand was empty again. He tipped some more scotch into the glass from a nearly empty bottle. This time he had to grip the bottle’s neck a little tighter to pour the booze without spilling any of it. As he brought the glass to his lips again, he realized his pleasant buzz was two, maybe three drinks from crossing the line into genuine drunkenness. Not that he cared. Getting drunk was the plan. He just didn’t want to get too hammered too soon.
One of the balcony doors opened and Joe came wobbling into the house. The aroma of cooking meat wafted in with him. Sean Hewitt had some burgers going on the grill. The smell made Chuck’s stomach grumble. He realized he hadn’t eaten all day. Too distracted by drinking and watching the news, probably.
“Those burgers about ready?”
Joe turned a glassy gaze his way. “I always thought you were kind of a prick.”
Chuck took a sip of scotch. “That doesn’t really answer my question. I’m hungry and could seriously go for a tasty burger. Maybe two. Your opinion of me means jack shit.”
“Fuck you, man.”
Chuck smiled. “Tell me something, Joseph. What’s it like?”
Joe swayed and almost fell. The empty bottle of Bud he’d been holding slipped from his fingers and shattered on the hardwood floor. He looked right on the edge of passing out, probably would’ve dropped right then and there, but something in him wouldn’t let it happen. He swayed again and grabbed the back of a bar stool to stay upright. “What’s what like, bitch?”
Chuck was still smiling. “You know what I mean.” He mimed the flicking of a whip with his free hand. “What’s it like being led around by the nose by that bitch? Do you ever still feel like a real man anymore?”
Joe’s face reddened and the muscles in his jaw quivered as rage built inside him, restoring a semblance of near sobriety Chuck recognized as mostly illusion.
“I’m gonna kick your…your…ass…”
Chuck set his glass down and stepped out from behind the bar, spreading his hands in a bring-it-on gesture. “Give it a shot.” He made a whip-cracking sound with his mouth. “Come on. Let’s see who the bitch really is.”
Joe let go of the bar stool and lunged at Chuck. He had a good head of steam, but his intoxicated state made him slow and clumsy. It was easy to get out of his way. Even easier to get a fist up and crash it across his former best friend’s jaw. The blow was a hard, direct hit. It stung his knuckles and sent a shock of pain down his arm, but that was okay. The pain felt good. Hitting something felt good.
Joe pitched sideways and crashed into an end table. The table shot backward and the heavy brass lamp atop it hit the floor with a resounding clang. The noise and Joe’s howl of agony as he hit the floor brought the others running in from the balcony.
“Joe!” Emily hurried over to Joe and knelt next to his prone body. Her head snapped up and she glared at Chuck. “You asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
Zoe had a wary look in her eyes, but she came up next to Chuck and touched his arm. “Chuck…what happened here?”
“Joe wanted a fight. I gave him one. He lost.”
Emily sprang to her feet and got in his face. “Yeah, you’re really fucking tough. Big, bad Chuck. Congratulations. You knocked out a guy too drunk to defend himself. You’re a real piece of work, Chuck. And by that I mean real piece of fucking shit. You fucking dick.”
“I may be a dick, but you’re the biggest whore this side of the Mustang Ranch.” He smiled. “Maybe we should talk about that some.”
Her punch caught him off guard and was delivered with surprising strength, her fist slamming hard enough into his chest to drive him backward a few steps.
Zoe screamed and got between them. “Emily, stop!”
“Fuck you, Zoe.”
Annalisa coughed loud enough to temporarily redirect everyone’s attention. “You children can start fighting again in a minute, but I need to say something. Sean and I are leaving in the morning. We’ll take a cab to the airport.”
Zoe turned a despairing look her way. “But…Annie…I need you here.”
Annalisa’s expression remained stern. “I’m sorry, Zoe, but we’re going. I love you. I really do. But you need to make some changes in your life. And I do want to hear from you again if you can do what needs to be d
one. But Sean and I are leaving. We’ve had enough of this disaster.”
Emily sneered. “Oh, right. You and Sean are so above the rest of us cretins. There’s something you should know, Sean. Your—”
“I already know.”
Emily frowned. “What?”
The look on Sean’s face was almost serene. “Annalisa told me. And I’ve told her everything. You can’t hurt us. I feel sorry for you, Emily. It must be damn lonely in that sick little head of yours.”
Annalisa was nodding. “We’re done with you. Play your head games with someone else.” She smiled at Sean. “I’m still hungry, baby.”
He smiled and steered her back toward the balcony. “Your burgers await, madam.”
Emily was shaking. She looked ready to scream. “I hate them so much.”
Joe groaned and slowly lifted himself off the floor. He wobbled again, started to fall, but this time was able to aim himself at the sofa. He landed on it lengthwise, an arm and a leg hanging over the edge, and immediately slipped back into unconsciousness. He began to snore.
Emily sighed. “Pathetic.” She looked at Zoe. “We’re still friends.”
Zoe’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, Em. I have to think about some things.”
Emily nodded. “Right. Okay. Well, at least Annalisa came right out and said it. That puts her ahead of you in my book.”
She stomped out of the room without another word. They heard her feet pounding the stairs to the second floor and then the distant slam of a door.
Zoe’s eyes misted. “Shit.”
Chuck touched her shoulder lightly and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to see right now, but this will wind up being for the best. You need her out of your life. We all do.”
She turned toward him and buried her face in his chest. He held her and did the best he could to comfort her. He loved her. Truly loved her. He saw that more clearly than ever.
But the truth was, he wasn’t sorry at all.
Not one bit.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
March 27
Rob glanced at the Subaru’s rearview mirror for maybe the hundredth time in the last half hour and again felt that strange delayed shock of self-recognition.
That’s me. It doesn’t look anything like me, but it’s me.
The face was the same, of course, but his hair had been shaved down to the scalp. Roxie had done the job, using scissors and a razor from the old man’s house. He ran a hand over the smooth dome of flesh and again felt a pang of loss. Women had always liked his thick, wavy hair. He felt naked without it. But though it pained him to admit it, the loss of his hair did make him look like someone else, at least at first glance. And right now that was pretty fucking important.
He squinted at the reflection. “I look like a fucking skinhead.”
Roxie laughed and picked at her newly blonde, spiky locks. “Yeah. You do. Sorry, babe.” She twisted in her seat and glanced at Julie in the back. “You, though…you make the bald thing look sort of hot.”
Julie removed her Myrtle Beach souvenir ball cap and rubbed her own shorn scalp. “I guess I do, huh?”
Roxie nodded. “You ever read Helter Skelter?”
“Of course. I read all that kinda shit.”
Rob thought, Why doesn’t that surprise me?
“Remember the pictures of those cute little Manson chicks gathered outside the courthouse? That’s sort of how you look. Only hotter.”
Julie giggled. “Maybe I should carve a swastika on my forehead. Or have you do it.”
Roxie laughed. “I will if you want. It’d fit right in with Rob’s white-power look.”
“You totally should. We all should. Think of how freaky that’ll be for those preppy fucks when they see us.”
Both girls laughed at that.
Rob experienced that gut-squeezing feeling of encroaching doom again. His companions were completely insane. Earlier in this adventure, he’d derived some comfort in thinking he could ditch them anytime and run back to his old life. But that option was no longer on the table. He was a wanted man. Doom was on the horizon. He was sure he would either be dead or in handcuffs by the time the sun rose tomorrow.
Julie thrust an arm through the gap between the seats, pointing at something ahead in the road. “There it is!”
Rob leaned forward, squinting again because he couldn’t make out what Julie was seeing. Apparently her night vision was much better than his own. They were on a winding seaside road. To their right, beyond the dunes, was a long stretch of beach and the vast ocean. To their left, acres of apparently empty land.
Except that—
Julie jabbed her finger forward again. “Right there!”
The road twisted, moved farther inland. Julie’s finger was pointing to the right. Rob craned his neck as far as he could in that direction and the impression of emptiness was revealed as an illusion. Now he could discern the shapes of houses in the darkness, a big cluster of them along the beach. They were almost invisible beneath the dense cloud cover, through which only the faintest glow of moonlight penetrated. There was a scent of rain in the air, the promise of a storm approaching. He spotted an access road and began to slow the clunky old Subaru. The car’s engine coughed and sputtered, almost died again. He cursed the poorly maintained junker and tried not to think of the corpse in the trunk.
Just a harmless old man, he’d been.
No threat at all.
There’d been no reason to kill him.
And yet they’d done it. The girls, that is. First they’d broken into his shabby home on the outskirts of town. That he understood. They needed a place to hide and lay low. The torture, though, had not been necessary. That had just been fun and games. Rob didn’t want to think about it. It sickened him. Just as all the rest of it sickened him. And yet he was still with them.
Why?
He didn’t know. And he’d like a real answer to that question. Not the crazy one Julie had proffered: It turns you on when you watch us kill.
It couldn’t possibly be true.
Could it?
No. Hell, no.
He steered the car down the access road and came to a stop. A gate blocked the way into the beach-house community.
Julie swung her arm to the left. “Over there.”
Rob saw it. He backed the Subaru up and pulled up alongside the electronic keypad, which was inset on a metal pole. He cranked the window down and looked at Roxie. She unfolded the sheet of paper she’d dug out of her tote bag earlier.
“The code is…”
Rob punched in the numbers as she read them. Then there was a click and the gate swung open. Rob put the car in gear, made a sound of frustration as the engine sputtered again, then slammed the gas pedal down as it finally caught. The old car shot through the opening an instant before the gate started to swing shut again. He tapped the brake pedal and slowed back down as they began to navigate their way through a web of very narrow sandy roads. Roxie kept glancing at the scrap of paper in her hand, reading off directions while he drove.
“Stop here.”
Rob pulled to a stop at the side of the road. It was actually a bend in a road between two clusters of houses. He glanced past Roxie and saw the dark ocean. A cold breeze stirred the tall grass on the dune separating road and beach. He’d vacationed with his grandparents in places like this when he was younger. He longed to journey back to those days. Or to any saner phase of his life. He didn’t want to die. Didn’t like this feeling of being swept along by fate. And yet he was powerless to do anything about it.
Roxie flipped open the cell phone she’d taken from the Subaru’s deceased owner. She punched in a number and a brief text message. A silent moment passed. The car’s interior was thick with tension. It was almost choking them.
Don’t answer, Rob thought.
Please, please don’t answer.
Then the cell phone buzzed and Roxie flipped it open again. She read the message on the screen and smiled at Rob. “Let�
��s go.”
They got out of the car and set off down the road on foot. Rob’s stomach twisted. He’d seen a lot of people die this last week. Many of them horribly. But this was personal and would be about a thousand times worse.
After a walk of some fifty yards, they arrived at the driveway of a three-story beach house. Roxie moved quickly down the driveway, not quite running but advancing with the long strides of someone anxious to get somewhere fast. Julie hurried to catch up to her. Though it pained him to do so, Rob picked up his own pace. That urge to turn and run was still there, a mental voice growing more frantic by the moment, but he knew he wouldn’t heed it. It was too late.
They circled the house and then continued around a tall fence surrounding a swimming pool. They entered through an open gate. Rob moved carefully over the cement deck. It was dark out here and the last thing he wanted was to fall into the pool. Though the lights were off, he could make out the shapes of inflatable rafts and beach balls floating in the water, bobbing in the lazy currents like little corpses.
They stepped off the deck onto a wooden patio, where a set of sliding glass doors stood open. A beautiful woman who looked a little like Roxie before the bleach job stepped through the opening and stood on the patio with them.
Roxie smiled. “Hi, Emily.”
The woman looked at Roxie. “Hello, Missy. So glad you could make it. You have no idea how ready I am for this.”
Rob frowned.
Missy?
“Uh…Roxie? What did she just call you?”
“It’s my real name.”
Rob’s frown deepened. “But…how did she know it? And…”
Roxie—Missy—laughed. “Why didn’t I tell you?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged. “I call myself different things all the time. It’s not real important. Let’s get this party started.”
She clasped hands with Emily and they went on into the house.
Julie started after them, but glanced back at Rob. “You coming?”
