The boy’s eyes were green and mossy like the woods. There was a freckle on his left temple and matching dimples on both cheeks. There were no hard edges to his voice, no inside jokes lurking underneath the surface of his words waiting to come out and bite me.
But when I looked up at him, I could find nothing to say to him—to anyone—but no.
That night I got dressed in my pajamas. I washed my face, braided my hair, and slathered lotion on my hands and feet. Standing in front of my vanity mirror, I selected a lipstick from one of my many makeup bags. I removed the cap and twisted the base until the dark red hue was exposed. My hand hovered over the glass.
And then I wrote a message.
TWENTY
Marcy
I came into consciousness to find words on a mirror. Pleading, pathetic words. Only their color—red—made them appear angry. Otherwise they were as weak as skim milk and watered-down coffee.
They read: You have to stop this. You’re going to destroy us both. Please!!
I saw them and laughed. I didn’t know where I went during the times when I wasn’t here, only that I would eventually return.
Besides, my time was getting longer, I’d noticed, and this was good.
I hated Cassidy. She was spineless. A joke. She knew nothing but how to be a nice girl. That above all else was why I despised her.
When I spotted her feeble attempt to stop me I ran the side of my fist through it and smeared the words until the glass looked like it’d been covered in fresh blood.
I then chose my own color—pink. Maybe Cassidy would understand pink. It was a nice girl color, after all. And I wrote my own message for her to find, words written across the mirror.
A warning? No, more like a promise.
When I was finished, the violent pink read in all caps: HIDE AND SEEK, HIDE AND SEEK, IN THE DARK, THEY ALL WILL SHRIEK.
I stood back, studied the words, and smiled just for a moment before leaving. Try to stop me, Cassidy. I dare you.
* * *
I MADE ONE pit stop into the shed that sat on the side of the house. I rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for. A couple cans of spray paint. One orange. One white. I shook each and tested them on a workbench cluttered with toolboxes and spare fishing lures.
Once out front, the exhaust pipe coming from the Blue Beetle parked two houses over burped ghostly fumes into the night air. The metallic clang of the door rang out like a gunshot. “How long have you been waiting?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.
Lena twisted the cap on an empty can of Dr Pepper and dropped it into the open hole. “Only thirty minutes,” she said.
I nodded. “Not bad. Getting better.” I checked the clock on the dash. It was only 9:40. A breeze dusted the trees that ringed the cul-de-sac, bending them sideways.
I drummed my fingers easily on the armrest. “Do you have them?”
“Backseat.” Lena turned onto Main Street. “A couple packages arrived at my house, too. I had to get them from the porch before my dad found them.”
“Perfect.” The rest should be there by tomorrow. I twisted to retrieve the “invitations” that Lena had copied for each boy. On the backseat were three manila envelopes. I pulled them into my lap and slipped my hand into the top one. It was labeled Jessup Franklin and underneath Lena had neatly printed his address at Graves Hall. Inside there was a flash drive. I cradled it in the palm of my hand. “Where to first?” I asked.
“Sperry Street,” she said.
“Alex and Tate?”
“Do we have to use their names?”
“Sorry. Thing One and Thing Two?”
She nodded.
The climate shifted as we drove across the city line from Hollow Pines into Dearborn. We drove the length of fraternity row, but didn’t stop at any of the large colonial houses. For a Sunday night, the mood was dampened. We passed police cars parked at nearly every block. Where were they when I’d needed them or when Lena had? Or what about the dozen other girls?
Probably eating doughnuts.
I stared out the window at a policeman leaning against his cruiser, sipping from a mug of coffee.
“Safety first,” Lena muttered.
As she drove, fraternity row gave way to the town center, which was sparser still. Students walked in twos or threes—none of them traveled alone. Fear glued them to one another like a pack of animals. One boy was dead. One boy was missing. I rubbed the lines tattooed on my wrist and marveled—just a bit—at the shock waves I’d left rippling along the surface of Corbin College’s campus. They were lucky I didn’t burn this town to the ground.
Lena concentrated on her phone to navigate.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” I said. “Any of it.”
She rested her phone in her lap. “I’m not. I’m not doing it, I mean. I’m just opening the doors, laying the groundwork. What you do with that is your business.”
“But you know what will happen when I walk through them, Lena. And I will walk through them.”
“I only know what they did and what you did for me,” she said. “You’re a good person, Marcy.”
“Then you’re a terrible judge of character.”
We took a right at a stop sign onto Sperry Street. The houses here were mostly one story, made from yellowing brick. Bicycles were chained to posts. Trash cans overflowed with red cups. There was virtually no such thing as landscaping on this stretch. All dead giveaways that this was a street for off-campus housing. Music floated out from a few of the homes.
“It’s this one on the left,” she said. We rolled past a nondescript house. Closed shutters blocked out all signs of life inside.
“They’re probably not home, right?” I said. “It’s a Sunday night.”
“But look at all the cars parked on the street.” I did and she was right. Cars lined the avenues bumper to bumper. The county curfew was having its effect. “We could leave it on the doorstep,” she suggested.
I watched the horizon grow in the side view mirror next to me. “No. We can’t risk anyone else finding it. We have to make sure the message gets to them and only them. Park over there.”
I pointed at the end of the street where a fire hydrant marked the corner. Lena edged around it and parked a safe distance away. She cut the lights and the cabin faded into darkness.
“Coming or going?” I asked through the blackness that divided us.
She took a deep breath. “I’m coming. No reason to quit now.” I could think of plenty of reasons, but it wasn’t my job to explain them to her. She followed me out into the night where laughter came from one of the backyards. I handed the two envelopes to Lena and clutched the bottles of spray paint under one arm, then walked decisively to the address on Sperry Street.
There, Lena and I stood side by side on the front lawn as I tried to guess what was waiting behind the brick. At least from here, there were no signs of life. “Let’s check the other windows.” I kept my voice low.
Our feet swished through the grass as we walked single file. The first window was dark but the blinds were up. “Bedroom,” I whispered, peering in at the rumpled sheets I could just make out.
I moved toward the back of the house and located a bathroom—I could just make out the top of the showerhead—followed by what looked to be another bedroom. Lena kept glancing over her shoulder every minute. As we got closer to the backyard, I could hear voices drifting through the windows. Then I could smell cigarette smoke. At the very back of the house, I motioned for Lena to stay put. I flattened my back to the wall and peeped around the side. A shaft of light spilled from an open window onto the grass, spotlighting several cigarette butts littered on the ground. Thin fumes still spiraled into the air from one of them.
I stood frozen, listening to the din of male voices coming from inside the house. Slowly, carefully, I inched my heels closer. The rough brick at my back pulled on the fabric of my hoodie. Finally, I was perched beneath the sill with the light cascading o
ver me so that it cast a long, precarious shadow on the lawn. I turned and raised up on my toes until my nose was even with the window ledge and I could look inside. I didn’t even dare breathe for fear of drawing attention.
Four boys sat around a table off the kitchen, each with a fan of cards in hand. Blue, black, and red chips scattered across the center of the table. Beer glasses sweat beaded droplets onto the wood laminate. I dropped back down and skittered away from the light so that my shadow disappeared and blended into the shaded grass. I felt half predator and half prey crouched in enemy territory. Above me a chair shrieked across the floor. I bit my fist and tried to go as motionless as the dead. I counted out seconds in my head.
One … Two …
Seconds passed. Footsteps, then the chair screeched again. No one came to look out the window. I let out the breath I was holding. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t the window or the walls of the house separating me from them. It was one more night. That was all I had to wait.
Keeping my back hunched, I moved swiftly back to the safety of the house’s side where Lena waited, eyes wide and glowing like a feline’s. I wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pulled her farther away from the open kitchen window.
“They’re playing poker,” I said. “Circus Master and Lucky Strike—I mean Tate and Alex, plus two other boys.”
“Jessup?” she asked. I shook my head. She chewed a hangnail and glanced again over her shoulder. “Should we come back tomorrow then?”
I shook my head again. “No. We can do it now.”
“But—” Her protest was a hiss in the dark.
I was already skirting the side of the house, looking for my way in. I tried nudging open the first window. It stuck in place. Moving briskly, I shuffled over to the second bedroom window. Locked, too. I grunted in frustration as I tried to pry the two ends apart. Nothing. I considered breaking the glass, but couldn’t trust that the boys inside wouldn’t hear. In fact, I couldn’t even trust that those four boys were the only ones in the house.
I rounded back to the bathroom window. The opening was a little higher than the rest—presumably for privacy. I stood on my tiptoes and pushed the glass. It lifted with a rusty shudder.
I could smell Lena’s fruity lotion near me. “Give me a hand up?” I asked, staring up into the fluorescent light.
She hesitated. “I’m not a cheerleader like—” She stopped herself. “Okay, sure, I can try.” She laced her fingers together. I put my foot in the makeshift hold and used my grip on the sill to hoist my chest through the open window. From there, I shimmied through the gaping mouth and used the side of a bathtub to catch myself from face planting into the moldy tile. I popped my face over the ledge and stared out at Lena. Her lines were murky in the dark of night. One second, I mouthed.
The bathroom was a small, narrow room with a stained shower curtain and a puddled floor. My ears strained for any signs of life nearby, but all I could make out was the distant clink of poker chips and voices coming from the kitchen.
I poked my head out from the bathroom and glanced down either side of the hall before choosing left. The bottom of my boots stuck slightly to the floor and I wondered about the last time anyone had bothered cleaning it. At the first bedroom I pressed my ear to the door. When I heard nothing coming from the other side, I pushed it open. The hinges made a long groan that sent goose bumps prickling up the knobs of my spine. I pulled the door closed behind me and flicked the lock.
Crossing the room, I unlatched the window and slid it open. “Lena?” I stuck my head out.
Her voice was close and quiet, sticking near to the brick wall of the house. “Here.”
I reached out a hand. Her milky skin stood out in the darkness. Her skin pressed against mine and I helped her into the room. Our shoulders touched as we took in our surroundings.
A twin bed, rumpled pillow shoved between the wall and mattress. Stuffed dresser. Fancy speakers. Desk. Bookshelves, the bottom rows of which were stacked with Maxim magazines. I thumbed through some of the papers on the desk, searching for a name. Lena found it first.
“Wallet,” she called softly from her spot near the dresser. I came to stand next to her. She slid out a license. My instinctive response was a grimace when I saw the picture of Alex. The one that I called Lucky Strike.
Sure enough a carton of cigarettes was stashed on his nightstand.
Like a surgical assistant, she handed me the envelope with the flash drive and Alex’s name on it. I balanced the featherweight of it between my hands. It didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough.
Send a message. Get him to the location. And then I could make good on everything. One more night.
The smell of his cigarette breath hot on my neck as he held me in place lingered in my memory. He enjoyed my pain and I’ll enjoy his. Fair was fair. I shook the can of spray paint and, above his bed, I sprayed angry orange letters: Peekaboo. I see you. The envelope dropped on his pillow, complete with the flash drive inside and the scratchy message I’d scrawled that told him to meet me at midnight sharp tomorrow. Or else.
I turned to Lena, who was staring at the violent letters scrawled and dripping down the wall. Her mouth hung open. “I can’t … believe … you did that,” she said just before her mouth stretched into a bemused grin. “Crazy. Totally off the wall, crazy.”
She was right, of course. I felt beautifully crazy. Like I was balancing on a ledge and any second I might tip over into complete and utter insanity. “Your turn.” I went for the door.
“We’re going out there?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Scared?”
She rolled her eyes and snatched the spray can from my hand. “Give me that.”
I held out my palm and motioned for her to wait. I cracked the door and listened. A great guffaw of laughter sprang out from the other end of the house. Lena jerked to attention beside me. I waited another beat. Then two before gesturing for her to follow. Together, we crept through the narrow hallway, past the bathroom, and all the way to the next bedroom door. Again, I listened from the other side, and again, when I heard nothing, I entered and turned the lock, shutting both Lena and me inside.
I wondered how they’d feel tonight when they came in and found that someone had been inside their home. Would they feel violated? Would they think they had a right to feel that way?
Probably.
This room was tidy. A clean plaid comforter covered a double bed at the center. A series of Tarantino posters were pinned neatly to one wall—Pulp Fiction, Django, Kill Bill.
I picked up a framed picture and studied the faces in the photograph of a family on a girl’s graduation day. A sister perhaps? I set it down, unable to tell whether one of the boys in the picture was Circus Master. The meanest of them all. I opened a file cabinet and rifled through papers until I found a term paper. “The Effect of the Kemp-Kasten Amendment in Modern-Day Mongolia” by Tate Guffrey. My insides gurgled like molten lava.
I showed the name on the paper to Lena. “You’re up.”
She stared at the can of paint, took a step forward, and then looked back at me. I waited, not sure what she’d do. But she turned back and she aimed and fired. Instead of at the wall, Lena pointed the can at the made bed and scrawled a message identical to the one I’d left for Alex. She spun, one hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes all lit up. “I did it,” she half squealed before catching herself and dropping the volume of her voice. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I did that.”
“Welcome to the dark side,” I said.
But we had no time to celebrate because from somewhere on the other side of the door came a voice.
“Jesus Christ.” Lena’s sparkling eyes went cartoon-round.
I pressed a finger to my lips and listened. The voice was talking. I couldn’t make out words. I couldn’t tell if it was getting closer or farther or neither. Then a toilet flushed. My posture softened. A few short moments passed with the sound of running water.
“Marcy!”
Lena’s voice was strained.
Footsteps. A laugh. Words. I glanced around the room. Trapped. The doorknob jiggled.
“Hey, the door’s stuck,” said the voice. Tate. The poker game must be over. It jiggled again. I watched it like a grenade without the pin. “I think it’s locked.” He pushed against it and I watched as the thin wood bowed. “What the hell? Who locked this?”
“We’ve got to go.” I dropped the envelope with the flash drive onto his pillow. Lena stood paralyzed, staring at the door. “Now,” I said.
I struggled with the latches on the window. I got the first one unhooked. I thrust my weight behind the second, which seemed as if it must not have been opened for ages. Finally, it budged. My hand hit the glass with a loud clap.
“Is someone in there?” A fist pounded. “Screw you, guys. Who’s in there? Is this some kind of prank?”
Lena’s joints had come unlocked as soon as the window did and she helped me pry it open.
“I’m coming around,” Tate yelled. “Don’t be bastards.”
“Go, go, go.” I practically pushed Lena out the window. She landed softly on the grass below. I jumped down next to her. I took a final glance back. Together, we sprinted around the side of the house, disappearing into the next-door neighbor’s lawn just as I heard the front door open and shouting spill out into the night.
I followed Lena, my arms flailing and hoodie fanning out from behind me like a cape. She twisted the key and jumped into the driver’s side. I bobbed on my toes while I waited for her to pop the door on the passenger’s side. I climbed in and let out a whoop of triumph.
Lena fumbled with the ignition and it sprang to life with a roar. Her forehead dropped to the steering wheel. Her breathing heavy. Her back rose and fell. I watched the ridges of her back arch, my own chest heaving.
“Two … down…,” Lena wheezed. She turned her head and looked at me across the dark cabin.
I let my own head loll to the side. Lena’s bangs swept sideways and I wondered if I was about to kiss her again.
“One to go,” I said.
Teen Hyde Page 18
