Bait

by Kasi Blake

It was dark by the time the girls returned from their shopping trip. Van sent two of his men to help carry the bags to Bay-Lee’s room. Everyone, including Keisha, left her alone to put the clothes away. After hanging some in the closet and stuffing the dresser drawers full—a few of the trousers wouldn’t fit so she put them on top of the dresser—she went down to the third floor. On the way back to school Keisha had told her about the break room. According to Keisha it was the best place for her to get to know the other students.

  The break room consisted of four beige walls, two doors, one window, and was split into separate areas, games and television, with thick burgundy carpet on both sides. Students had a choice between playing pool, chess, checkers, or games on an old computer. On the opposite side of the room there was a large flat-screen on the wall with plenty of places to sit.

  When Bay-Lee entered, no one noticed because they were glued to the television. Even the kids who were playing games on the other side of the room were temporarily frozen in suspense. Several of them were standing in Bay-Lee’s way so she couldn’t see what was so fascinating. She pushed her way to the front.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Tyler Beck’s memorial. Shots of different cities and towns in America flashed across the screen. They all looked the same, people gathered in public places, candles in their hands. Some of them held their lit cell phones in the air. Girls sobbed while Bad-Rock’s greatest hits played in the background.

  “Man, will you look at them?” a boy said from the couch in a frustrated whine. The tips of his short black hair pointed at the ceiling. He turned around and looked at the door on the far right. “They’re crying over you, man. Ridiculous. All you did was sing a few crummy songs. Why do you get such a grand send off when good hunters die every day and no one cares?”

  Bay-Lee whipped around to see Nick framed in the doorway, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jeans. His eyes were on the television. He didn’t even glance in the loud boy’s direction. There was a lost look in those eyes Bay-Lee recognized. He was adrift, cut off from other people by something terrible. They were two of a kind. She knew exactly how he felt.

  Unaffected by Nick’s silence, the boy added, “Guess you won’t be signing any more autographs.”

  An awkward tension blanketed the room. One of the boy’s friends pulled on him, trying to redirect his attention back to the television. “Don’t push it, man. He’ll dig your grave if you aren’t careful.”

  “I’m not afraid of him.” The loud-mouthed boy stood up, determined to test the limits of Nick’s patience.

  Keisha intervened. “You should be.” She crossed the room to stand behind the couch. “If Nick doesn’t wipe the floor with you, I will. Now shut your trap and sit down.”

  The boy rolled his eyes as if to say he wasn’t afraid of her either, but he retook his seat without another word.

  Jonah stood in the corner, watching the scene unfold. He looked more interested in the other kids than in the memorial. His gaze was on Nick instead of on the television. Bay-Lee wondered about him.

  A reporter on the TV screen asked people what they thought about Tyler Beck being gone. Their answers mimicked the stuff Bay-Lee had heard on her last day at public school. Girls were in love with him and boys wanted to be him. No one believed he’d killed the people at the party. It was a set up. Someone else must have killed those people and made it look like Tyler did it.

  A few celebrities were asked about Nick. They voiced their grief, talked about what a great guy he was, fun to hang out with and how they didn’t believe he’d killed anyone either. In fact, one famous rock singer with a bad reputation for too much partying echoed the girl in Mrs. Abernathy’s class. “Tyler never killed nobody.”

  Bay-Lee’s gaze drifted to Nick.

  The grief in his eyes was an irresistible magnet pulling her closer. She wanted to say something to ease his pain. But what? What could she possibly say to make him feel better?

  The scene on the television changed again. This time they showed a video clip of Tyler Beck’s funeral. A disembodied voice reminded everyone that Tyler had been buried in a secret grave somewhere in Canada.

  At first glimpse it looked like every other funeral she’d seen. There was a dark brown coffin with at least a hundred people around it. She recognized some of their faces. Band members lined up in the front row. Mike Keebler was there, a stoic figure in black, looking like he’d just lost his best friend. Good acting job on his part. His arm was around their only female member, drummer Jordan Hayes.

  Jordan was tall and pouty with chopped platinum blonde hair and crystal blue eyes that couldn’t possibly be real. Too much time spent on the other side? At the moment those eyes were filled with tears.

  Mike’s eyes were a normal brown. What did it mean? Didn’t he log in time on the other side? Or was he wearing contacts like Van?

  A voiceover on television was saying, “... private affair, keeping it to family and close friends.”

  Bay-Lee glanced over her shoulder and found the doorway empty. Nick was gone. She pushed people out of her way, determined to find him before he did something stupid. Regardless of how mean Nick could be, he was hurting and she wanted to help. She blasted past several people on her way to the elevator. Somehow she knew he would be outside the building, searching for fresh air and privacy. It was where she would go if she was in his shoes.

  She caught up with him just outside the front door on the pebbled path. He’d stopped to light a cigarette. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you cigarettes kill?”

  He glared at her. Those incredible eyes sent an unwanted shiver through her. She wanted to hate him but couldn’t. He acted tough because he was hurting. Someone, a girl maybe, had ripped his soul to shreds and he’d lost the ability to trust, making them kindred spirits.

  His tight gray sweatshirt stretched across rock-hard muscle every time he moved. Bay-Lee tried not to notice. The nagging voice in the back of her head warned her to leave him alone, but she couldn’t. She was attracted to him like a moth to one of those bug zapping things people hang outside their houses. Even though every ounce of survival instinct she possessed told her to walk away, she couldn’t do it.

  “I already know how I’m going to die,” he said in a clipped tone, “and cigarettes have nothing to do with it.”

  She smiled despite the warning scowl on his face. “You are a strange person.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Not every day you get to see your own funeral. At least a lot of people showed up for it, that’s something. Do your friends and family know you’re still alive? Are they in on the cover up?”

  A harsh laugh ripped from his throat. “Family? I have no idea who those people at the funeral even were, only my band members. The others were hired by Van to put on a show. As for friends, you’ve already met him. Mike is probably my only true friend in this world.”

  “That’s sad.” She hadn’t meant it to sound like pity.

  He shot her with a violent glare.

  Bay-Lee watched him in silence. Words stuck in her throat. Everything she could think of to say was dumb and worthless. If she dared utter a single useless platitude, he would tear into her like a monkey on a banana. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Maybe she should have bowed to her inner voice and stayed inside.

  Unable to bear the awkward silence another second, she asked, “What happens now? Did you lose everything when Tyler was killed off?”

  “Aw, you’re afraid I’m broke.”

  “I am not.” Was he teasing her?

  “My money is in an offshore account, but everything I owned as Tyler Beck is gone. Fake relatives will inherit my New York condo and the house in St. Thomas. Van is going to have them sell the stuff. I imagine I’ll get the money, whatever’s left of it after they get their cut. My favorite sports car is gone. Van blew it up, but he’s already orde
red me a new one.”

  A question popped into her head. “Who was driving the car? How did they make it out alive?”

  “They didn’t. Van’s guy dug up a fresh corpse and burned it in my place. He has connections everywhere, better connections than the mob. He can make anything happen.”

  “But how did he do it?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. I don’t need the details of how they ruined my life.” Nick puffed on the cigarette again before throwing it down and grounding it into the dirt with his shoe. He stared at the forest in the distance. There was a deep yearning in the look as if he wanted to disappear into the woods forever. “You have no idea what it’s like to have the life you want ripped from you, to be happy only to have someone else take it away.”

  Memories of her mom’s last day on earth sprang to mind. Her mother’s screams filled her ears and drowned out what Nick was saying. Forcing the noise from her troubled past to fade, she concentrated on the present. He was wrong, infinitely wrong. She knew exactly what it was like to lose a wonderful life.

  Frowning at her, he said, “Heard you went shopping with Keisha today.” His brooding gaze raked over her new outfit, a black pantsuit with animal print lining inside the jacket. The disapproval in his eyes made her feel naked. She shouldn’t have let Keisha talk her into wearing the clothes home. It was too much too soon. Maybe she shouldn’t have even bought it. He added, “I guess you’re enjoying your transition from ordinary girl to hunter. Has she introduced you to her posse yet?”

  “No.”

  “She will. Don’t worry. Then you’ll have all the friends you could possibly want and you won’t have to bother me anymore.”

  Her jaw tightened as a small dart pricked her heart. Refusing to let him know he’d hurt her with his callous attitude, she crossed arms over her chest and stared him down. “Why are you such a jerk? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?”

  The blood left his face. “No. She tried to kill me.”

  Chapter Seven

  MENTOR-LESS