As Good as Dead

by Holly Jackson

  “Malicious?” Pip said, heat rising to her cheeks. “I called him a rapist and he is a rapist, so—”

  “Mr. Turner,” Epps barked, voice rising, “I suggest you advise your client to keep quiet and remind her that any defamatory statements she makes now could be classified as slander.”

  Hassan held up his hands. “Yes, yes, let’s just everyone take a breather. Miss Fitz-Amobi, your side will have the chance to speak later.” He loosened his tie again.

  “It’s all right, Pip, I’ve got this,” Roger said quietly to her.

  “I will remind Miss Fitz-Amobi,” Epps said, not even looking at her, his gaze on Roger instead, “that three months ago my client faced trial in court and was found not guilty on all charges. Which is all the proof you need that the statement made on April thirtieth was, in fact, defamatory.”

  “All that being said”—Roger now stepped in, shuffling his own papers—“a statement can only be libelous if it is presented as fact. My client’s tweet reads as follows: Max Hastings trial final update. I don’t care what the jury believes: he is guilty.” He cleared his throat. “Now, the phrase I don’t care clearly places the following statement as a subjective one, an opinion, not fact—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that,” Epps cut in. “You’re trying to fall back on the opinion privilege? Really? Please. The statement was clearly worded as fact, and the audio file presented as though it were actually real.”

  “It is real,” Pip said. “Wanna hear it?”

  “Pip, please—”

  “Mr. Turner—”

  “It’s clearly doctored,” Max spoke up for the first time, maddeningly calm, folding his hands in front of him. His eyes focused only on the mediator. “I don’t even sound like that.”

  “What, like a rapist?” Pip spat across at him.

  “MR. TURNER—”

  “Pip—”

  “OK, everyone!” Hassan stood up. “Let’s take this down a notch. We will all get our chance to speak. Remember, we are here to make sure everyone is happy with the outcome. Mr. Epps, could you take us through the damages your client is seeking?”

  Epps bowed his head, pulling out a sheet of paper from the bottom of the pile. “For special damages, considering my client should have been in employment for the last three months, at a monthly salary level we would expect for someone in his position, this would have been at least five thousand dollars. This places the financial loss at fifteen thousand dollars.”

  Max sucked at his water bottle again, the water sloshing around his throat. Pip would have liked to take that fucking water bottle and smash it into his face. If there was to be blood on her hands, it should be his.

  “Of course, no monetary figure can be put on the pain and mental anguish suffered by my client and his family. But we feel a sum of eight thousand dollars should be adequate, bringing the total to twenty-three thousand dollars.”

  “Ridiculous,” Roger said, shaking his head. “My client is only eighteen years old.”

  “Mr. Turner, you should allow me to finish,” Epps sneered, licking his finger to turn the page. “However, in discussion with my client, it is his opinion that his ongoing suffering is caused by the fact that the libelous statement has not been retracted and no apology issued, which would actually be of greater value to him than any monetary damages.”

  “Miss Fitz-Amobi deleted the post weeks ago, when your initial letter of demand was sent,” said Roger.

  “Mr. Turner, please,” Epps replied. If Pip had to hear him say please like that one more time, she might just smash his face in too. “Deleting the tweet after the fact does not mitigate the reputational harm done. So, our proposal is thus: Miss Fitz-Amobi releases a statement on the same public account, in which she retracts her original defamatory statement with an admission of wrongdoing and apologizes for any hurt her words have caused my client. In addition, and this is the most important sticking point, so do pay close attention: in this statement, she must fully admit that she doctored the audio clip in question and that my client never said those words.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Pip—”

  “Miss Fitz-Amobi,” Hassan pleaded, struggling with his tie like it was tightening around his neck, chasing its own tail.

  “I will ignore your client’s outburst, Mr. Turner,” said Epps. “If those demands are met, we shall apply a discount, as it were, to the monetary damages, bringing them down to thirteen thousand dollars.”

  “OK, that’s a good starting point,” Hassan nodded, trying to regain control. “Mr. Turner, would you like to respond to the proposal?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bashir,” Roger said, taking the floor. “The proposed damages are still too high. You make great assumptions about your client’s potential employment status. I don’t see him as a particularly spectacular candidate, especially in the current jobs market. My client is just eighteen. Her only income is from ad revenue from her true crime podcast, and she starts college in a few weeks, where she will incur large student debt. In light of this, the demand is unreasonable.”

  “OK, ten thousand,” Epps said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Five thousand,” Roger countered.

  Epps glanced quickly at Max, who gave an ever-so-slight nod, slouching sideways in his chair. “Seven thousand would be agreeable to us,” Epps said, “in conjuncture with the retraction and apology.”

  “OK, we seem to be getting somewhere.” A cautious smile returned to Hassan’s face. “Mr. Turner, Miss Fitz-Amobi, could we get your thoughts on those terms?”

  “Well,” Roger began, “I think the—”

  “No deal,” Pip said, pushing her chair back from the table, the legs screaming against the polished floor.

  “Pip.” Roger turned to her before she could get to her feet. “Why don’t we go discuss this somewhere and—”

  “I will not retract my statement and I will not lie and say the audio file was doctored. I called him a rapist because he is a rapist. I will be dead before I ever apologize to you.” She bared her teeth at Max, the rage curling her spine, coating her skin.

  “MR. TURNER! Control your client, please!” Epps slapped the table.

  Hassan flapped, unsure what to do.

  Pip stood up. “Here’s the thing about you suing me, Max.” She spat out his name, unable to bear it on her tongue. “I have the ultimate defense: the truth. So go on, then, file the lawsuit. I dare you. I’ll see you in court. And you know how that goes, don’t you? It will have to prove whether my statement was true, which means we get to redo your rape trail. All the same witnesses, the victim testimonies, the evidence. There won’t be any criminal charges, but at least everyone will know what you are, forever. Rapist.”

  “Miss Fitz-Amobi!”

  “Pip—”

  She planted her hands and leaned across the table, her eyes ablaze, boring into Max’s. If only they could start a fire in his, burn up his face while she watched. “Do you really think you can pull it off a second time? Convince another jury of twelve peers that you’re not a monster?”

  His gaze cut back into hers. “You’ve lost your mind,” he sneered.

  “Maybe. So you should be terrified.”

  “Right!” Hassan stood and clapped his hands. “Perhaps we should have a break for some coffee and cake.”

  “I’m done,” Pip said, shouldering her backpack, opening the door so hard it ricocheted into the wall.

  “Miss Fitz-Amobi, please come back.” Hassan’s desperate voice followed her out into the corridor. Footsteps too. Pip turned. It was only Roger, fumbling his papers back into his briefcase.

  “Pip,” he said, breathlessly, “I really think we should—”

  “I’m not negotiating with him.”

  “Wait a moment!” Epps’s bark filled the corridor as he hurried over to join them. “Jus
t give me one minute, please,” he said, re-neatening his gray hair. “We won’t file for another month or so, OK? Avoiding a court case is really in everyone’s best interest. So, have a few weeks to think it over, when things aren’t so emotional.” He looked down at her.

  “I don’t need to think it over,” Pip said.

  “Please, just…” Epps fumbled in his suit pocket, pulling out two crisp ivory-colored business cards. “My card,” he said offering them to her and Roger. “My cell phone number is on there too. Have a little think, and if you change your mind, call me anytime.”

  “I won’t,” she said, reluctantly taking his card, stuffing it into the unused pocket of her jacket.

  Christopher Epps studied her for a moment, eyebrows lowered in an approximation of concern. Pip held his gaze; to look away was to let him win.

  “And maybe just one word of advice,” Epps said. “Take it or leave it. But I’ve seen people in a self-destructive spiral before. Hell, I’ve represented many of them. In the end, you’ll only end up hurting everyone around you, and yourself. You won’t be able to help it. I urge you to turn back before you lose everything.”

  “Thank you for your unbiased advice, Mr. Epps,” she said. “But it appears you have underestimated me. I would be willing to lose everything, destroy myself, if it also meant destroying your client. That seems a fair trade. Now you have a good day, Mr. Epps.”

  She shot him a smile, sweet and acidic, as she turned on her heels. She quickened her pace, the clicking of her shoes beating almost in time with her turbulent heart. And there, just beneath her heartbeat, under layers of muscle and sinew, was the sound of a gun going off six times.

  He caught her staring: at the fall of his dark hair, at the dimpled line in his chin where her little finger fit, at his dark eyes and the flame dancing inside them from her mom’s new Autumn Spice candle. His eyes were always bright somehow, dazzling, like they were lit from within. Ravi Singh was the opposite of dead-eyed. The antidote. Pip needed to remind herself of that sometimes. So she watched him, took him all in, left none of him behind.

  “Hey, perve.” Ravi grinned across the sofa. “What are you staring at?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged, not looking away.

  “What does perve actually mean?” Josh’s small voice chirped up from the rug, where he was assembling some unidentifiable shape out of Lego. “Someone called me that on Fortnite. Is it worse than, you know, the f-word?”

  Pip snorted, watching Ravi’s face unroll into panic, his lips pursed, eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair. He checked over his shoulder toward the kitchen door, where Pip’s parents were clattering about, clearing up the dinner she and Ravi had made.

  “Um, no, it’s not that bad,” he said as casually as he could. “Maybe don’t say it, though, yeah? Especially not in front of your mom.”

  “But what do perves do?” Josh stared up at Ravi, and for a fleeting moment, Pip wondered whether Josh knew exactly what he was doing, enjoying watching Ravi squirm on the spot.

  “They, um…” Ravi broke off. “They watch people, in a creepy way.”

  “Oh.” Josh nodded, seeming to accept the explanation. “Like the guy who’s been watching our house?”

  “Yes. Wait…no,” said Ravi. “There isn’t a perve watching your house.” He glanced toward Pip for help.

  “Can’t help you,” Pip whispered back with a smirk. “Dug your own grave.”

  “Thanks, Pippus Maximus.”

  “Yeah, can we actually retire that new nickname?” she said, launching a cushion at him. “Not a fan. Can we go back to just Sarge? I like Sarge.”

  “I call her Hippo Pippo.” Josh again. “She also hates that one.”

  “But it suits you so well,” Ravi said, prodding her in the ribs with his toes. “You are the maximum amount of Pipness that any Pip could be. The Ultra-Pip. I’m going to introduce you to my family this weekend as Pippus Maximus.”

  She rolled her eyes and jabbed him back with her toe, in a place that made him squeal.

  “Pip’s already met your family loads of times.” Josh looked up, confused. He seemed to be going through a new pre-eleven stage, where he had to insert himself into every single conversation going on in the house. Even had an opinion on tampons yesterday.

  “Ah, this is the extended family, Josh. Much more scary. Cousins and even, dare I say it, the aunties,” Ravi said dramatically, haunting the word with his waggling fingers.

  “That’s OK,” Pip said. “I’m well prepared. Just got to read over my spreadsheet a couple more times and I’ll be fine.”

  “And also it’s…Wait.” Ravi stalled, eyebrows eclipsing his eyes. “What did you just say? Did you just say spreadsheet?”

  “Y-yeah.” She shifted, cheeks growing warm. She hadn’t intended to tell him about that. Ravi’s favorite hobby in the whole world was winding her up; she didn’t need to give him any more ammunition. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s not. What spreadsheet?” He sat up straight. If his smile were any wider it might actually split his face.

  “Nothing.” She crossed her arms.

  He darted forward before she could defend herself, got her right in the place she was most ticklish: where her neck met her shoulder.

  “Ow, stop.” Pip laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Ravi, stop. I have a headache.”

  “Tell me about the spreadsheet, then,” he said, refusing to relent.

  “Fine,” she choked breathlessly, and finally Ravi stopped. “It’s…I’ve just been making a spreadsheet, to keep a record of the things you’ve told me about your family. Just little details, so I remember. And so when I meet them, they might, you know, like me.” She refused to look at his face, knowing what expression would await her there.

  “Details like what?” he said, voice brimming with hardly contained amusement.

  “Things like, um…oh, your auntie Priya—who is your mom’s younger sister—she also really likes true crime documentaries, so it would be good to talk to her about those. And your cousin Deeva, she’s really into running and fitness, if I’m remembering right.” She hugged her knees. “Oh, and your auntie Zara won’t like me no matter what I do, so not to get too disappointed by that.”

  “It’s true,” Ravi laughed, “she hates everybody.”

  “I know, you said.”

  He studied her for a lingering moment, the laugh playing silently across his face. “I can’t believe you’ve been secretly taking notes.” And in one fluid movement, Ravi stood up, scooped his arms under her, and lifted her up. He swung her around while she protested, saying, “Under that big, tough exterior we’ve got ourselves a cute little weirdo over here.”

  “Pip’s not cute.” Josh’s necessary input.

  Ravi let her go, delivering her back to the sofa. “Right,” he said with an upward stretch. “I should head off. Not everyone has to get up at disgusting o’clock tomorrow morning for their internship at a law firm. But my girlfriend’s probably going to need a good lawyer one day, so…” He winked at her. The very same thing he’d said after she told him how the mediation went.

  It was his third week at the summer internship, and Pip could already tell he loved it, despite his protestations about the early wake-up. For his first day, she’d given him a T-shirt that said Lawyer Loading…

  “Right, goodbye, Joshua,” he said, nudging him with his foot. “My favorite human being.”

  “Really?” Josh beamed up at him. “What’s Pip, then?”

  “Ah, she’s a close second,” Ravi said, returning to her. He kissed her on the forehead, his breath in her hair and—when Josh wasn’t looking—moved down to press his lips against hers.

  “I heard that,” Josh said anyway.

  “I’ll just go say bye to your mom and dad,” Ravi said. But then he paused and pivoted, came back to whisper in P
ip’s ear: “And let your mother know that, unfortunately, you are the reason your ten-year-old brother now thinks a pervert is watching your house. Nothing to do with me.”

  Pip squeezed Ravi’s elbow, one of their secret I love yous, laughing to herself as he walked away.

  The smile stayed a little longer this time, after Ravi was gone. It did. But when Pip walked upstairs, standing alone in her bedroom, she realized it had already left her without saying its goodbyes. She never knew how to bring it back.

  The headache was starting to pinch at her temples now, as her eyes focused beyond the window, at the thickening darkness outside. The clouds amassing into one dark, lurking shape. Nighttime. Pip checked the time on her phone; it had just passed nine. Wouldn’t be long now until everyone was in bed, lost to sleep. Everyone but her. The lone pair of eyes in a sleeping town, begging the night to pass on by.

  She’d promised herself no more. Last time was the last time. She’d repeated it in her head like a mantra. But even as she tried to tell herself that now, even as she balled her fists against her temples to out-hurt the pain, she knew it was hopeless, that she would lose. She always lost. And she was tired, so tired of fighting it.

  Pip crossed to her door and gently closed it, in case anyone walked by. Her family could never know. And not Ravi. Especially not Ravi.

  At her desk, she placed her iPhone between her notebook and her bulky black headphones. She opened the drawer, the second one down on the right, and began to pull out the contents: the pot of pins, her rewound red string, an old pair of white earphones, a glue stick.

  She removed the pad of lined paper and reached the bottom of the drawer. The false bottom she’d made out of white cardboard. She dug her fingertips in at one side and pried it up.

  There, hidden below, were the burner phones. All six of them, arranged in a neat line. Six prepaid phones bought with cash, each from a different store, a cap pulled low over Pip’s face as she’d handed over the money.