Callie
By the time I pull up to the bookshop, I have about fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to meet Evie. But I guess being early is better than being late. I’d go inside to wait for her except all the lights are off in the bookshop and no one appears to be inside.
“Is it closed?” I look around for a sign that announces so, but can’t spot one anywhere.
Wanting to know the hours of when it’s open, I do a quick search on the Internet about the bookshop, but nothing comes up.
“So weird.” I drum my fingers on top of the steering wheel, unsure of what else to do. I don’t have Evie’s personal number, or Easton’s, only the office’s.
I decide to give the office a quick call, but no one answers. The only option that leaves me is to wait around for a bit and see if anyone shows up. I still have ten more minutes until ten o’clock anyway.
After I make sure the doors are all locked, I relax back in the seat and text Kayden that I’ve made it to the bookshop. It may be a Friday night, but this side of the town is dead, only a few other cars are parked on the side of the road, and none of the stores are open. The desolation makes me uneasy. I hate that it does. Hate that I can’t feel safe sitting in my car. But that’s the world we live in today, unfortunately.
Five minutes later, no one has shown up yet and strangely, Kayden hasn’t texted me back. Unless he’s at practice, he never takes more than a few minutes to reply, especially when I’m out and about alone and he asks that I check in. I’m about to call him, mostly because I’m bored, when I receive a message from Violet, Luke’s fiancé, who I’ve grown pretty close to over the years.
Violet: Hey! Are we still on for Halloween costume shopping tomorrow?
Me: Of course! We can’t break tradition!
A few years ago, her, Seth, and I all went shopping together for Halloween costumes. We had a lot of fun and bonded over helping each other pick out costumes. Since then it’s become a tradition that we go together, and I like that we do. Like that I have traditions with my friends. Like that I have friends.
Violet: Awesome. Are you driving or me?
Me: I think we should make Seth. He never does.
Violet: I’m down for that. Let’s make him buy coffee too. He makes us do it every time we go out.
Me: Sounds like a plan to me.
Violet: You want to message him or should I?
Me: Lol, I’ll do it. You two are too sassy to take orders from each other.
Violet: Hey, I’m not sassy. I’m just opinionated.
I’m about to respond when a light tap sounds on my window, startling me so badly I drop my phone. When my head snaps up, I relax.
Evie smiles at me through the passenger side window. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine.” I lean over to pick up my phone off the floor. “I was just in my own little world and didn’t see you walk up.”
She motions for me to get out of the car. “Come on inside, and let’s talk.”
I quickly gather my stuff and hop out of the car while she proceeds to unlock the front door to the bookshop. “Do you own the place?” I ask as I move up beside her.
“I do.” She nudges open the door and steps inside, wiggling the key from the lock. “The location is great. Nice and empty—where we can have a lot of privacy.”
I nod like I understand what she’s talking about, but really, I’m lost. Don’t most business owners want a location that will drive in more customers?
But I soon find out the reason behind her statement as she locks the door back up then leads me to the back of the store, beyond the dusty bookshelves, and to a door in the far back that’s secured with three deadbolts.
“Now, I have to warn you about what’s on the other side of this door,” she says as she begins working on unlocking the locks. “We’re not your average, run of the mill news agency. We like our journalists to get deep inside the stories. Like I told you in the interview, we pride ourselves on being in-depth and for occasionally solving cases. In fact, we prefer that our research can lead to arrests.” She’s on the second to last lock now, and my heart is thundering inside my chest. I don’t even know why, or what I think is going to be on the other side of that door. “But if people found out that’s what we’re about, we’d have a more complicated time going undercover, so most of what we do here at Offbeat remains a secret. We also like our journalists not to use their real names while they’re getting a scoop on a story.” She doesn’t unlock the final lock, instead dropping the keys into her purse and digging out an envelope. “This is for you to read and sign. Once you sign, I’ll explain more to you.”
Setting my bag down on a shelf, I take the envelope from her and open it. Inside is a non-disclosure agreement, which isn’t too strange. After reading through it, I dig the pen out that Evie gave me and sign my name at the bottom.
“Awesome.” She takes the paper from me and puts it into her bag. “Do you have that key I gave you?”
“Yes.” I grab it from my bag and hold it up. “Right here.”
“Good. Now put it in the final lock and unlock the door.”
This is by far the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced on a job, but I do as instructed and stick the key into the final lock and unlock the door.
“That key opens all the locks, including the one on the front door to the bookshop,” Evie explains as her fingers wrap around the doorknob. “If you choose to accept the offer I’m about to make you, you get to keep the key and use this place whenever you need it. Just make sure to always keep the door locked whether you’re staying or leaving. All of our research is locked up in here, and we don’t want anyone wandering in and finding it.” With that, she opens the door.
After such a build-up of anticipation, I half expect there to be some sort of futuristic, computerized room on the other side. But nope. It’s just a normal room with cluttered desks, computers, a coffee station, and, like at Evie’s office, research is tacked to the walls. A few people are typing away at computers, but no one looks up when I enter.
“I’ll make introductions later if you decide you want the job,” Evie explains as she leads me across the room and into a small, wall-enclosed area crammed with a desk, a filing cabinet, and a few computers. She plops down in a chair and signals for me to do the same. “Please, have a seat.”
I do as she instructs, sit down, and put my bag on my lap. I know I should be asking questions, but all of this—secret rooms, the package Easton delivered to me—it’s struck me speechless.
“You’ve been pretty quiet,” Evie states as she turns on her computer. “Have I scared you off already?”
I shake my head. “I’m just trying to process all of this.”
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I admit truthfully. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why the need for so much secrecy.”
“That’s actually the perfect opening for me to explain what I’d like your first job to be.” She double clicks the mouse then turns the computer screen toward me.
On the screen is a photo of a battered girl maybe a year or two younger than me. Her eyes are swollen, her cheek is bruised, and her top lip is split open. Her eyes, though, are what shatter my soul. So hollow. So familiar. Like staring into a mirror almost a decade ago.
My gut twists as my mind conjures up images of what could have happened to her. “Who is she?”
“I can’t give out her name to you just yet. Not until I know you’re in,” Evie explains, watching me assess the photo. “But this photo is one of many. The victims, they all have a few of the same traits. They were all beaten and raped at a party. They can’t remember much about what happened, which probably means they were drugged, and they’re all being blackmailed into silence. Or are too scared to go to the police.” She faces me and overlaps her hands on her desk. “I know one of the victims—that’s how I was able to find out this was going on and get some information on this. But n
o one’s been able to figure out who’s behind the attacks.”
“Haven’t the police looked into it?”
“Most of the women won’t go to the police, because of the blackmail and the fear and shame they feel. The only reason we have information on them and photos is that some of them took the photos themselves to have proof if they ever decided to come forward.”
“That makes sense. I mean, about being too scared and ashamed to come forward.” Sadly, silence is something I understand all too well. I had let the silence own me for years, let the secrets eat away at my soul. It was when I spoke up that I finally freed myself from the self-torment and self-blame. Knowing what I know now, I wish I’d spoken up sooner. “Maybe you could go to the police and show them these photos.”
“I wish it were that easy, but unless the victims come forward, I can’t do much. And I think, considering what you told me in our interview, you understand that even if I did go to the police, there’s a chance the case might not get anywhere.”
“Yeah, sadly I do understand that.” I rub my lips together, contemplating. “So, is this the story you want me to write about? About these girls and their attacks?”
The idea makes me nervous, mostly because their stories will be so connected to my past. Sure, I’ve dealt with what happened to me, but I worry it could trigger past emotions inside me.
She shakes her head, confusing me even more. “I don’t just want you to write about their story, Callie. I want you to figure it out and get justice.”
I blink at her. “You want me to figure out who raped these girls?”
“I want you to try,” she emphasizes. “I want you to get deep into the story. I want you to understand it and make others understand it. But most of all, I want justice for the victims.”
I pick at a loose thread on the seam of my pants. “I want justice for them too. I really do. But… But I’m just a girl in college who wants to be a journalist. I’m not a detective, and this sounds more like a thing for a detective.”
She smiles as if she expected that answer. “The last places you worked for—they were all about the story, right?” she asks, and I nod. “Well, Offbeat isn’t about that. We’re about getting justice through the story. If we weren’t, we’d be like almost every other news column out there, putting our words down and telling the world, but not really doing anything to change it.” She leans forward, her eyes bursting with the sort of excitement I wish I could feel at the moment, but honestly, I’m scared shitless. “Change the world, Callie. I know you have it in you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
“I want to.” Man, do I. I’ve thought about it so much. “But… it sounds sort of dangerous.”
“It is, but that’s why we’ll be pairing you up with a partner. They’ll also show you the ropes of Offbeat.” She doesn’t even try to sugarcoat it. “I don’t want to frighten you off, but danger kind of comes with the territory of being a really good journalist who writes about important things. All of the best journalists I know don’t just tell the story, they live and breathe it until it etches into their soul. They feel it. Experience it. It’s what makes a truly good story.”
Her words are powerful—they really are—but again, and for reasons I can’t even quite understand yet, I hesitate.
I smooth my hands along the tops of my legs. “But it’s not just about the story, right? It’s also about getting justice.”
“You catch on quickly.” She reclines back in her chair. “I know this is something you probably need to think about—it’s a really big decision—so why don’t you go home and think about it for the night? You can let me know tomorrow if you want the job. If not, no hard feelings. I promise.” She gives a short pause. “I really hope you do, though. With your background, I think you could really connect with this story and the victims in a way not everyone could.”
I nod. “Okay, I will.”
We chat for a few more minutes then she walks me out of the store. As I’m pulling out onto the road, I spot two girls around my age walking down the sidewalk. Just a ways behind them are a group of guys yelling at them and laughing. With my windows rolled up, I can’t tell what they’re saying, but with how fast the girls are walking, I’m betting they’re not nice and comforting words.
I drive down the street slowly until the girls make it a safe distance away, then I press on the gas and head home to talk to Kayden about what happened tonight. Because if there’s one person in this world that can help me make a decision like this, it’s him.
Six
Kayden
When Callie arrives home, she finds me sitting on the kitchen floor with a couple of empty beer bottles beside me.
“Kayden.” Worry laces her tone as she rushes across the living room, her bag falling to the floor as she crouches down in front of me. “What happened?”
I shake my head, still completely dumbstruck at what the guy told me. “I don’t even know.” I draw my knees up and lower my head into my hands.
“Hey, talk to me.” Her fingers wrap around my wrists, and then her gaze skims along the fresh cut on the side of my arm.
“It’s not what you think,” I murmur. “I dropped a beer, and while I was picking up the glass, I accidentally cut myself.” It’s the truth too. “I’m not going to lie, though. I thought about it. Cutting myself…” It’s been so long since I had the urge to do it. I forgot how overwhelming the compulsion could be. But picturing Callie’s face helped me talk myself out of doing it.
“That’s good you didn’t.” Her voice is so gentle, so Callie. “Do you want to talk about what happened? What set it off?”
“Not really. But I probably need to.” Sighing, I raise my head from my hands.
The moment our gazes connect, I start telling her everything that happened from the moment she left tonight. By the time I’m done, I feel a little better, but mostly I’m a confused mess.
She sits down on the floor in front of me and combs her fingers through my hair. “Do you think this guy was telling the truth?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know why he’d lie about something like that, though.” I hand her the card he slipped underneath the door. “He left this.”
She skims over the card. “Is this his card? Because if so, it means he works for a private detective agency.”
I shrug. “I’m guessing it’s his.”
She traces her thumb along the side of the card with her thinking face on. “He didn’t look familiar or anything?” she asks, and I shake my head. She pats the card against the palm of her hand. “Let me do a search about the agency online and see what comes up.” She rises to her feet. “You don’t have to, but I really think you should call your brother and see if he knows anything about this. Or if he can get in touch with your mom and see what she knows.” Remorse fills her eyes at the mention of my mom, who I no longer speak to.
Pushing to my feet, I nod. “I’ll see if Dylan’s still up.” Because I know that’s the brother she meant I should call.
About a year ago, Tyler dropped off the face of the earth and no one has heard from him since. Sadly, none of us were too surprised. Until then, he had relapsed quite a bit with his drug addiction and would disappear for days on end. I’ve always felt sorry for him and wonder if he uses drugs as a way to deal with what dad put us through. Or, well my fake dad, if what the guy told me is true. And what about Dylan and Tyler? Does this apply to them too?
Suddenly, I’m more motivated to call Dylan than I was before. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I dial his number while Callie wanders off to our bedroom to grab her laptop.
“Hey,” Dylan answers after four rings, and I can tell that I’ve woken him up. “You’re up late.”
“Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t even paying attention to the time,” I tell him as I move to the living room and sit down on the sofa.
“Is everything okay?” he asks. “Because you sound upset.”
“I don’t know.” I massage my temple with my free hand, letting
my eyelids slip shut. Come on Kayden, just spit it out. There’s no use dragging it out. “Some guy stopped by today. I think he works for a private investigation agency or something. And he told me that… That Dad wasn’t my birth father. And I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”
“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“No.” And I’m not sure if I want to find out. I’m unsure if I want it to be true.
I mean, what if this guy is worse than the man I thought was my real father? After all, he waited until I was almost twenty-two before tracking me down.
“Holy shit,” he repeats. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“I’m not sure… I ran off before I could ask him any questions. He left a card, though.” I rub my hand across my forehead. “I wanted to call you first before I call this guy up and see if you knew anything about it.”
“I don’t,” he assures me. “If I did, I would’ve told you.”
“So no one’s visited you and told you the same thing?”
“No. But I’ve been out of town for the last couple of weeks, so, I don’t know…” he curses again. “Fuck, this is some crazy shit. And… And what if it’s true? What if our asshole of a father isn’t really your dad?” He blows out a breath. “What’re you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “Callie’s looking up stuff about the agency online right now. After I find out if it’s a legit place, I’ll go from there.”
“Do you need me to come out there? Because I can.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, let me know… I want to be there for you like I wasn’t in the past.”
No matter how hard I try to convince Dylan what happened with Dad wasn’t his fault, he still blames himself.
“It’s not your fault,” I still make an attempt to convince him. “But I promise I’ll let you know if I need you to fly out here.”
“Good.” He drags out a pause. “I hate to bring this up, but I feel like I should because it could help you get some answers.” He hesitates again. “Do you want me to call Mom and see what she knows about this?”
Secrets We Buried Page 4
