by A. M. Taylor
I pulled away first, waiting for my senses to catch up with reality. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, I—”
“I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”
“Jesus Christ, will you stop apologizing? You’ll give me a complex.”
I let out a laugh, hollow and dark. “Nora would hate this, you know that, right? She absolutely hated the idea of us getting together.”
***
I wake to a mouth coated in grime, my head a solid brick enveloped in cotton wool. Groaning, I roll onto my side, and as I reach out for the glass of water I say a silent prayer of thanks to myself for pouring it when we got back to Nora’s last night. But before I can take a sip, Nora’s face is in mine, hot breath rolling across my skin.
“Jesus, Nora,” I say, blanching, “what’s the problem?”
Because clearly there is one. Her blue eyes are lit like righteous lanterns, piercing the dimly lit room.
“How drunk were you last night?” she demands.
“Pretty drunk,” I say, running my tongue over my fuzzy teeth as if to confirm it.
“So, do you or don’t you remember making out with my brother?”
Groaning again, I cover my eyes with my hand, and manage to mutter, “Yes, I remember.”
“And was it a so-drunk-he-could’ve-been-anyone make out, or was it a youwerefinallydrunkenoughto-make-the-first-move make out?”
“Does it really matter?” I ask, still hiding behind my hand.
“No. Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s never going to happen again.”
“What?” I say, voice strangled as I drop my hand from my eyes and sit up in bed to look at her properly. “You’re kidding, right?”
She shakes her head, her hair—still thick with the half a can of hairspray she used last night—remaining stoically still. “It’s too weird, Mads. It’s like my sister and brother suddenly dating.”
“It’s not like that at all,” I say slowly, turning to look as the door opens and Ange and Hale walk in, both bearing two cups of coffee. Ange holds one out to me, and I take it gratefully, gulping down a burning hot mouthful before saying: “I’m not your sister, and I’m certainly not Nate’s.”
“Uh oh,” Hale says, sitting at the foot of the bed, “I see Nora’s already raised the main issue of today’s meeting.”
I point my arm in Hale’s direction, but I’m talking to Nora when I say: “How can you even have a problem with me and Nate when you’re dating Louden? It’s so fucking hypocritical.”
“I’ve never claimed not to be a hypocrite,” Nora states.
“Well, that’s true,” Hale mutters, as I catch her eye.
“Nora, come on, you can’t be serious?” I say, but I can already see that she is. Nora doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean; in fact she’s so straightforward sometimes she doesn’t even get sarcasm. But this feels different, petty, selfish even. I never thought she’d put her own feelings over mine, but it’s clear now that that’s exactly what she intends to do. Me and Nate makes her feel uncomfortable, and so it simply can’t happen.
“I am serious, Mads. How would you feel if Ange all of a sudden started dating Serena?”
I look over at Ange, who just shrugs at me. “A little weird at first, I guess, but then I’d get over it.”
Nora makes a scoffing sound and stands up, bored of the discussion now. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to sound like a shitty person.”
“So, you admit you’re being a shitty person?” I ask.
“Sure, but apparently you’re a much more understanding person than me, so I know you’ll do the right thing.”
For a second, I’m not sure what the right thing here even is. Nora is being irrational, hypocritical, selfish, but if I ignore her and go right ahead with what I want, does that make me any less selfish? But then she turns around and our eyes lock. And I realize she’s right; I may not actually be Nate’s sister, but she is mine.
“Is that why …?” Nate coughed, clearing his throat. “Is that why nothing ever really happened, between us? Because you thought Nora wouldn’t approve?”
The night seemed to deepen then, the cold seeping into my bones as I turned away from him and stared out into the dark. I almost suggested going inside but couldn’t quite bring myself to. I could barely breathe, let alone speak. “Maybe,” I said, finally. “I think I thought it would be like betraying her. But I think I maybe also used that as an excuse a little bit.”
“So, you do regret it?” Nate asked.
“What?”
“Us sleeping together. After Nora’s memorial.”
“No … no, I don’t regret it.”
“Oh. I always thought you did,” he said quietly.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because it never happened again?” he said, letting out a puff of laughter.
“That doesn’t mean I regretted it, just that it never happened again.”
“You know I needed you too, right? Seems like maybe you think it was just you needing me, but I needed you too, so don’t worry about all the security blanket stuff.” He smiled. “I guess you were mine too.”
“So then why’d you leave?” I asked, when what I really wanted to ask was: why did you leave me all alone up here?
“Because I didn’t want to need you anymore.”
It was a punch to the gut when he said it like that. But I understood; I didn’t want to need him anymore either. I leaned back against the steps so that I could look up at the sky better without having to strain my neck. There were so many stars in the cold, black sky they entirely filled my field of vision. I wanted to drink them in the way you can take in big, huge, gulping breaths of fresh air and have it never feel enough. Even when the air burns your throat and scorches your lungs.
“It’s so easy to forget they’re there,” I said after a while.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Nate as he turned to look at me and then slid down so that he was lying next to me, his face turned up to the sky also. “You mean the stars?”
I kept my eyes on the sky. “Yeah. When you’re in the city, you know? It’s so easy to look up every night and think that an almost-black sky and one or two stars is how it’s meant to look, but it’s not. This is how it should look. And they’re there, the whole time, they’re just hiding. Hiding in the light. All those streetlights and headlamps, and neon signs. Hiding this. Seems kind of impossible, really. How could anything man-made blot all this out?”
Nate turned his face from the sky and I could feel him looking at me. “Someone’s feeling very pensive.”
“I just missed it, I guess. Don’t you?”
“We get stars in Texas.”
“Just the one though, right?”
“You know you’re not half as funny as you think you are.”
“I’m exactly as funny as I think I am,” I said, but I wasn’t done thinking about those cold, stony stars painting a silent riot above us. “They’re so much colder here than anywhere else. Unforgiving. Don’t you love it?”
Nate laughed and it was soft and warm and breathy and right by my face, filling the gap of cold air between us, however briefly. “I’ll leave the unforgiving stuff to you and the stars, I think.”
“What does that mean?” I said, suddenly sitting up.
Nate sighed, shifting away from me slightly, looking back up at the sky.
“No, really, Nate, what do you mean by that? Is this about me talking to Louden earlier?”
“I just think that you need to drop it. It’s dangerous for one thing, and for another I’m not sure it’s good for you.”
“Good for me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”
“I’m just worried,” Nate continued, slowly, slowly, “that if you keep tugging on this thread the whole world could unravel.”
“The whole world has unraveled, Nate
. That’s already happened. I’m just trying to stitch together a picture of what actually happened. Of how it unraveled.”
His jaw twitched and although he still refused to look at me I knew he was trying not to cry. His eyes looked like they were set even deeper and his whole face had paled. I could feel him wanting to say something, the words coming and then going but never quite reaching me; but whatever it was I didn’t want to hear it.
I made myself breathe in, out, turning sharp frantic breaths to something deeper and calmer. “You should go home,” I said, and he turned to look at me at last, “it’s been a long day.”
“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”
I was the first to stand, my feet numb from the cold, and I held out a hand to help Nate up. He took it, and his hand was somehow still warm as it pressed against mine. I wanted to hold on, but holding on felt harder than letting go, so I let go.
I spent the next morning battling with my parents and Serena about going back to Madison. Serena had gone as far as to offer me her couch in Chicago, just in case I simply didn’t want to be alone, my parents exchanging an anxious glance as they knew this would hardly help my case at work. I’d finally called my boss earlier that morning, caving in to the emails and voicemails and the dense pressure system that had built up inside my chest. I’d missed a whole week already, produced no doctor’s note, and generally behaved in a way that usually led to a firing. Carla liked me though, had been privy to the thinnest wedge of what I’d been through over the years, and she spent most of the phone call sighing heavily.
“You’re incredibly lucky, Madeline,” my dad said, “anyone else would surely have fired you by now.”
Serena snorted. “I missed a morning of work once—a morning—because someone had literally run over my foot with their fucking scooter, and I still almost got fired. For one morning! And I had a note from the ER doc.”
“I know, Serena,” I said trying to keep the groan out of my voice, “you’ve only told me that story a dozen times.”
Serena shrugged, raising her coffee mug to her lips. “I just think it bears repeating. My foot was in a cast and they still barely believed me.”
“I know,” I said again, this time not bothering to keep the frustration from showing. “I still have the photo you sent me on my phone. You’re incredibly impressive and have an unmatched work ethic, is that what you want me to say?”
“No, that’s—” Serena started to say before Cordy, wisely, interrupted her.
“Okay, can we just stop this, please? If Maddie feels like she needs to be here then that’s what she needs to do.”
I gave her a grateful look; even though I was the middle child, she’d always had to act as peacekeeper.
“Well, that’s all very well,” Mom said, training her eyes—identical to Serena’s—on me, “but she also needs to keep her job.” Her voice was gentle, but there was grit there too. She was tired, I could tell. Tired of having to constantly help me pick up the pieces every time I let my life fall down around me. I wanted to tell her that this was it, the last time, just one last time, and it might all, finally, be over, but the words couldn’t quite make it out and suddenly my phone started to ring.
I looked down, surprised to see Jenna’s name illuminated on the screen.
“Hi,” I said on picking up, “everything okay?”
“Yeah. I mean no, not really.” Her voice was breathy and light, as if she’d just come in from running.
“What’s up?”
“I just went on Facebook and I’ve got these weird messages. They’re about Elle.”
I sat up a little straighter in my seat. “Elle?”
“Yeah. It made me think of those messages you found on her Facebook?”
“Are they from someone called John Smith?”
“No, it says ‘A Friend.’ But I tried to go to their profile and it was private. And they don’t have a profile picture. I think it’s a fake account.”
“Have you told the police?”
“No, I … I didn’t know what to do, so I called you.”
“Oh,” I said, letting that sink in. I think it might have been the first time anyone had ever called me for advice. “Well, you should probably head down to the police station, show them the messages. Even if they turn out to be pranks.”
“Have you shown them the ones from John Smith? The ones you found on Elle’s account?”
“Yeah, I showed them to Leo as soon as I found them.”
Jenna didn’t say anything for a moment, and all I could hear was her breathing. “Okay, okay I’ll take them down. But will you come with me?” she said eventually.
“Sure, okay.” I said, blinking away my surprise. “See you at the station in thirty minutes?”
Jenna was standing on the steps to the police department when I arrived, looking around her and pulling nervously at the sleeves of her coat. She looked incredibly small, incredibly young standing there as giant snowflakes began to drift down silently. “Hey,” she said, sounding relieved as I walked towards her. “You’re here.”
“Of course. Have you been inside yet?”
She shook her head. “I was waiting for you.”
“Okay. I texted Leo, but he’s not around, so he said to find Bright instead.”
Jenna nodded her head rhythmically, seemingly unable to stop, but didn’t say anything, so I put my hand against her back and gave her a little push inside. The woman at the front desk was called Iris and had worked there for years. She recognized me almost immediately, cocking her head to the side and saying what a shame it was about that Altman girl. I agreed with her, glancing towards Jenna who once again didn’t seem able to look at any one thing for more than a second, and asked if Bright—or rather, Officer Brightman—was in.
Bright’s desk was in the furthest corner, easily the tidiest and least adorned in the entire room. He stood up as we approached, his eyebrows drawing together as we did so.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Jenna looked towards me, not speaking, so I explained about the Facebook messages and watched as Bright began to frown. “Can I take a look?” he asked Jenna, who nodded and silently pulled out her phone to show us both the messages.
“It’s not anyone I know. I found them in that filter bit where messages from people you don’t know go,” she said as she handed the phone over to Bright. It looked comically small in his hands.
Once he was done reading the messages, Bright passed me the phone, cold nausea rolling through me as I scrolled through them. The messages had started the day Noelle’s body had been found:
From: A Friend 01/08/ 2018 20:46
You’re next bitch
From: A Friend 01/09/2018 00:14
Your gna be next bitch just you wait
From: A Friend 01/10/2018 07:32
Whores and lesbians are fair game imo so guess your gonna be next
From: A Friend 01/10/2018 17:11
Your girlfriend deserved to die
She wanted it. She got wat was coming
From: A Friend 01/11/2018 10:04
Y don’t you reply bitch. Too scared? Little pussy girl too scared to reply? Good I’m glad your scared you fckin should be
“You only found them today?” Bright was asking Jenna.
“Yeah. I’ve had a ton of messages, so I didn’t see it until this morning. I was … well, I was looking for anything weird, like the ones Maddie found on Elle’s account.”
Bright raised his eyebrows; he was looking intently at Jenna, and his expression was as unreadable as ever but that had clearly surprised him. Looking between me and Jenna, he said: “What messages on Elle’s account?”
I explained about John Smith again, about how I’d logged in as Elle a few days before and found messages going back months from him, but Bright’s expression of confusion didn’t change. “Leo didn’t tell you?” I asked.
“No, I guess he forgot. He probably just told the agents about it and left it at that. I wouldn’
t worry about it.” He turned back to Jenna, and said: “The agents aren’t actually here at the moment, but I think you should wait and show them this. You okay with that?”
Jenna’s gaze flickered towards me. “You can’t just deal with it?” she asked Bright.
“It’s not my case. It’s not even the department’s case. The state got involved as soon as her body was ID’d.” Jenna swallowed, her face paling visibly and Bright said quietly: “Sorry. Didn’t mean to put it so bluntly. They’re going to want to ask you some questions though. More questions.” Jenna nodded, resigned, and Bright placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take her to the break room to wait. It’s warmer in there,” he said to me, “but stick around, okay? I want to talk to you.”
I shrugged my assent. It’s not like I had anything else to do.
“I heard you had a bit of a run-in with Nate at his parents’ place,” Bright said once he’d returned.
“We’re fine now,” I said, although I wasn’t really sure that was true.
“You know you’re the only person he ever really fights with.”
“Well, I guess that makes me the bad guy, then,” I said.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
I sighed. “Whatever, Bright. I’m too tired to talk about this with you.”
Bright sat down in his chair then, motioning me to do the same by pulling a chair out from underneath someone else’s desk. “Did you ever find out who was sending you those notes?”
“What notes?” I asked quickly.
“The notes you got when Nora first disappeared.”
“How did you know about that?” I asked.
“Serena,” he said smoothly. Of course, Serena. He cleared his throat, looking nervous suddenly as he leaned forward in his chair. I thought he was about to reach out and take one of my hands, or maybe even lay one of his over my knee, but he looked like he thought better of it, and just clasped them between his two knees. “She called me earlier. Your sister,” he said, clarifying unnecessarily. “She’s worried about you. What are you still doing here, Mads? It can’t be healthy for you.”
