by M. Pierce
“I will not!” I rasped right into his ear.
“Kiss him!” the crowed screeched. “Kiss! Kiss!” It became a chant.
I made the mistake of glancing down at Steffy. Her eyes were hard and black.
“It’s a show,” Seth murmured in my ear. I felt the full slow trail of his finger up the nape of my neck. “Kiss me on the cheek or something.”
I grabbed Seth’s jaw and jerked it aside. The crowd cackled. Seth winced. I planted a kiss on his cheek and climbed off the stage.
“Damn!” I heard him saying. “Better than nothing, right? Okay, one more song!”
I forced a smile as I pushed my way to the back of the club. Strangers whistled at me and girls glared. My lips burned hotter than my cheeks. What the hell was that about?
I found a pay phone in the lobby and jabbed in Matt’s new number.
Chapter 10
MATT
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept replaying my conversation with Hannah.
“We have a problem,” she said. She hiccupped in my ear. “I—I just—today—”
“Slow down, bird. I can hardly hear you. Where are you?”
“At a bar. Er, a club … thingy.”
“A bar?” I frowned. Maybe Hannah needed a drink after the memorial. Understandable, but … “Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“It’s about the book. Night Owl.”
I stilled, and then I smiled slowly. This is it, I thought. Hannah went to my memorial … and everyone knew about Night Owl. I could easily imagine her embarrassment. I felt the same embarrassment when Fit to Print exposed my identity last year, and the media ran with it, and suddenly the whole world knew the most private details of my life.
Night Owl had become a phenomenon, just as I was a phenomenon. And Hannah was the star of Night Owl.
Soon, I knew, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. The gossip. The speculation. The way my family must have treated her. She would understand how cruel the media can be. She would fear the public, with its vulgar curiosity and sickening sense of entitlement.
And then she would come to me. Then, finally, we could leave the country together. Disappear … start over … be free … just as I’d hoped and planned.
Hannah’s voice broke into my thoughts.
“Matt, it was posted on the Mystic Tavern. Like, first. What the hell?”
My heart stammered. What? No, this wasn’t in my plan. How did she find out?
“The Mystic Tavern,” I repeated.
“Yes! You know, the site where we—”
“I know.” I rubbed my mouth. “That … that’s…” That’s something you weren’t supposed to figure out.
“That’s fucking insane, is what it is,” she said. She sounded breathless. “Who else knows about that site? I mean, who—”
“A couple people, actually.” I got up from the couch. Get a grip, Matt. Get control of this situation. “Yeah. Mike, my psychiatrist … he knew. I think I told Kevin, too. And Hannah, let’s be logical here. Whoever put the story online must have hacked my e-mail, like I said. We’re talking about a…” I closed my eyes. My lies sounded truly ridiculous. “A really tech-savvy person,” I mumbled. “Someone who could trace me to that Web site … no problem.”
“Yeah … I guess.” Hannah sniffled.
“Babe, are you crying?”
“No. I’m in the lobby. It’s cold. I just … stopped for a drink before heading to the motel.”
“Hannah, how do you know it was posted on the Mystic Tavern first? I mean, it’s all over the fucking Internet. Maybe it got posted there randomly … a coincidence.”
Hannah told me about the lawsuit then. She told me about her meeting with Shapiro and Nate’s minor obsession with Night Owl. I gave her hollow reassurances. They have nothing. The book doesn’t prove I’m alive. Refuse to cooperate and Nate will drop the lawsuit.
Now I was lying for both of us.
I checked the bedside clock: 2:49 A.M. The gears in my mind wouldn’t quit turning. Night Owl … Shapiro … the Mystic Tavern … Melanie.
I told Melanie she wasn’t in trouble—but she was, apparently, and so was I. Night Owl pointed to Melanie. Melanie pointed to me.
I took my phone to the deck and sat on a snow-coated chair. The cold and damp quickly crept through my lounge pants. I lit a cigarette.
When the day’s first light hit the treetops, I flipped open my cell and called Melanie.
“Hello?” Her voice was muzzy.
“Hey. It’s me.”
Melanie coughed and went quiet for a moment. I heard water running. “Jesus. It’s like … six in the morning.”
“I know. It’s also Sunday. I assume you don’t have work.”
“I’m between jobs. But if I were working, I think I’d want to sleep—”
I barked out a laugh. “Between jobs. That kills me, that phrase.” I waved my hand. “Like the next job is right around the corner.”
“You really are an asshole.”
“Yeah, the legends are true.” I wanted to laugh—really laugh. “Listen, Mel, sorry I woke you. We’ve got a little problem.”
I paused and Melanie waited.
I was about to speak when she said, “How did you do it? The mountain lion. All that.”
I squinted against the sunlight. I was still thinking about Hannah and my failing plan to drive her to me, and wondering why I was such a dick most of the time, and why I couldn’t seem to change. And then I was thinking about the mountain lion. Her muzzle was pure white, like she dipped it in paint. Beautiful—and so terrible.
“The cat wasn’t part of the plan,” I said.
“Jesus…”
“Mm. I cut my wrist and my forearm. I took codeine … not enough. I had a tourniquet around my arm. The idea was to bleed enough to…”
“Enough to make it look like you bled out.”
“Right. Like I fell on my ice axe or something. Sounds stupid now.” I lit another cigarette with trembling hands. It felt good to tell someone what happened—someone besides Hannah. I’d spared Hannah the details because she’d go crazy with worry.
Melanie waited for me to continue.
“I fell,” I said simply. “I lost consciousness. The pain meds, the blood loss … the cold or the altitude, I don’t know, all of it. I blacked out. My plan was to hike out and wait for a fresh snow to cover my tracks. The cat…”—a cylinder of ash broke from my cigarette—“found me. Dragged me, I guess. Mel, I was out cold. I don’t know for how long. When I came to, she was shaking my leg, she was just shaking it and shaking it, and the skin, she was … it was tearing, she was shredding it without even trying. I was stuck on a rock. I saw, you know, I saw how she was trying to pull me over a rock and my pack was stuck.”
“Oh, my God,” Mel whispered.
I stared into the memory.
I wouldn’t tell Melanie how I thought I was dying—how I thought, This is it. How I wasn’t ready. How desperately I wanted to live, and how scared I felt.
“Anyway.” I laughed. “Long story short, I woke the fuck up and I screamed my fucking head off, and I waved my arms and all that, and I scared the shit out of the cat. She took one look at me and she was like, You really are an asshole, and she beat it.”
I forced another chuckle. I slid my bare feet through the snow on the deck. Cold. Cold that hurt, because I was alive.
“That’s insane,” Melanie said.
“Yeah, for sure.” I struggled to sound blasé. “Couldn’t have bribed the cat for a better performance. Blood, animal hair, the trail into the woods—mountain lion attack, case closed. I threw on my snowshoes and hiked out of there, and that was that.”
“Your leg—”
“Was fine, shallow wounds. I had a first aid kit. I’m fine.” I winced. Fine could never describe my hike off Longs Peak with a torn calf and bleeding arm in subzero conditions. Every few steps I stopped to make sure I wasn’t trailing blood. Every few steps I thought, I’m too weak to get t
o the cabin, if I sleep I’ll die, I’m going to die, I’m really going to die out here.
“Was it worth it?” Mel said.
“Was what worth what?”
“All that. Everything you went through to disappear. Was it worth it?”
“Hey, you don’t know me.” I stubbed out my cigarette in the snow. “You don’t know what matters to me. You don’t know how fucking bad it was, with half of Denver breathing down my neck every fucking time I went out for a cup of coffee—”
“Okay, okay!”
“Yeah. Okay. Story time’s over. You need to pull Night Owl off the Internet. Now.”
“What? Yesterday you told me to—”
“I know what I told you.” I sneered and dug my fingers into my palm. I wasn’t mad at Melanie. Not at all. I was mad that my plan was failing. Hannah didn’t seem to care how many people read Night Owl, or how much they might guess about her life. She was, as far as I could tell, no closer to leaving Denver and disappearing with me. And now she knew Night Owl was posted on the Mystic Tavern forum. How long before she suspected me?
I relaxed my grip and sighed slowly; I felt so fucking powerless.
“Just pull the e-book,” I said. “Everywhere you’re selling it, pull the title. My brother has a lawyer looking into it. We’re both fucked if they figure it all out.”
“Oh … shit. Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.” I rolled my eyes. “Hence my six A.M. wake-up call, okay? Do it now.”
“I will. I promise. I’m so sorry … if this … shit, if this comes back to you…”
I smirked and pushed myself out of the chair. I brushed snow off my pants.
“Hey, don’t worry about me, Mel. I could lie my way out of existence.” I practically did.
Melanie was still talking when I shut my cell.
She would call again, I knew she would, when Night Owl was gone from the Net.
Chapter 11
HANNAH
My phone and watch alarms went off simultaneously, chiming and beeping in the dark. I groaned. It was five in the morning. I had a flight to catch at seven.
And I missed Matt.
I missed waking beside his warm body, our limbs tangled together. I missed the things he muttered in his sleep.
I told you, he insisted once. I told you!
And another night: Peaches. No, a picnic. A picnic …
We laughed like crazy when he woke up and I told him. Now it was our little joke, signifying nothing. “Peaches. No, a picnic!”
I checked the packing job I did last night. Not bad, I only missed my boots and nylons.
I popped two Tylenol and showered quickly. As hangovers go, I was feeling all right.
My plan was to call a cab and be gone before Nate showed. I would text him from the cab, saying I decided to head out early.
I frowned as I rinsed shampoo from my hair. It was too bad about Nate and his Night Owl fixation. I actually liked Nate.
Seth, on the other hand …
I shivered and plucked a towel off the rack. Seth … I felt a swirl of emotion when I thought of him. Anger, interest, confusion.
I pulled on a gray V-neck sweater, skinny jeans, boots, and my Burberry coat—a gift from Matt. He spoiled me terribly. I dried my curls and tied them back. My hair was getting long again, hanging around my shoulders. I think Matt liked it that way. I know he loved when I dragged it over his body …
My cell rang.
It was Nate, of course. I let the call go to voice mail.
He called again. Really, Nate?
I rubbed my neck and sighed. But of course he was calling … and calling and calling. He’d committed to giving me a ride to the airport, and like the gentleman he was, he wanted to remind me. We hadn’t exactly touched base after the memorial. I rode back to Nate’s house with two of Matt’s cousins, hid in the basement, and then made my escape with Seth. (And then made my escape from Seth by calling a cab.)
When my phone began to ring for a third round, I peeked through the curtains. Fuck. Nate stood in the motel parking lot, phone to his ear, eyes aimed in my direction.
I grabbed my cell.
“Hey!” I said. “Sorry, I was drying my hair.”
“There you are. I was worried, Hannah. We should get going soon. Are you ready?”
“Yup … all ready.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
I watched Nate through the window as we talked. His posture relaxed the moment I answered. He nodded and raked a hand through his hair.
God, now I really felt like a scumbag.
Nate beamed at me in the lobby. I caught a touch of guilt in his smile.
“Hannah. Good morning.” He took my suitcase. “Did I scare you off with Shapiro yesterday? Did you get one of these?” He handed me Matt’s memorial card.
Matthew Robert Sky Jr. November 9, 1984–December 2013. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul…”
There was a picture of Matt on the back.
I skimmed the Twenty-third Psalm until I got to the “valley of the shadow of death” bit. I shoved the card in my pocket.
“Val helped me choose that. Matt liked the Psalms. Beautiful language, right?”
“Yeah, thanks.” I turned up my collar as we headed to the car. I decided not to mention Shapiro. Instead I said, “Matt liked the Bible? That’s news to me.”
Nate put my suitcase in the trunk and started the car. We swung smoothly into morning traffic and my eyes drifted shut.
“Oh, yes, of course. Matt always believed in God. His books are full of biblical allusions. Surely you’ve noticed.”
“Sort of…” Sort of not. My biblical background was woefully weak.
“‘The silver cord,’ that’s from Ecclesiastes 12. Matt’s with God now, of that I have no doubt. He had faith. He had principles. I’m sorry you didn’t get to know that side of him.”
Matt’s faith … Matt’s principles … more of Matt I didn’t know.
“Me too,” I said.
I dozed.
The speed bumps in the airport parking garage woke me, though Nate eased over them as gingerly as possible. He winced when he saw me waking. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. Jeez, I passed out.”
“You had a long day yesterday. I’m sorry about Seth, you know. He’s bad with introductions. He thinks…” Nate waved a hand.
He thinks I wrote Night Owl.
“I know,” I said. I was suddenly wide awake, and I did and didn’t want to talk about Night Owl. Now that I knew it first appeared on the Mystic Tavern, I was more confused than ever. I felt like someone was out to get me—or Matt. Or us. But why?
Who stood to gain by sabotaging us like that?
“I want to give you a heads-up, Hannah. Shapiro might be in touch. Also, that reporter at the service?” Nate pulled a face. “I knew his name sounded familiar. Aaron Snow. Turns out he ran that online magazine, Fit to Print. I’m sure you remember.”
“I remember.” I wished I could forget. Last year, Fit to Print exposed Matt as M. Pierce and had a field day with his personal life.
“Seems he’s part of a new online outfit, No Stone Unturned. I swear, some people don’t know when to give up. He thinks he’s a great investigative journalist, I’m sure. He was fixated on Matt, and now on Night Owl. He wanted to speak to you last night. I meant to humor him, only because he wasn’t pressing charges over Seth’s idiocy, but—”
“I snuck out.”
“Right.” Nate chuckled. “Just as well, Hannah. Snow doesn’t know about the lawsuit, and we’ll keep it that way. We don’t need his help. We surely don’t need the media’s attention, online or off. The book has done quite enough damage as is.”
I felt Nate gearing up for another NightOwl-is-filth-protect-the-family-name speech and I stammered, “I’m starved. Wow, I better grab something to eat before my flight.”
“Please
do. They have a lot of eating places in here.” Nate carried my suitcase into the airport. I struggled to keep up with his long-legged stride.
He stood at my side as I checked my bag and received my boarding pass.
“They have those dots. The ice cream dots. Owen loves them.” Nate was peeling bills out of his wallet. “But it’s early for that, isn’t it?” He tried to press the money into my hand.
“Nate, I—I have traveling money.”
“Hannah, please.” He stared off as he pushed the bills against my palm. He closed my fingers around them. “There. Don’t be a stranger. Aren’t you almost part of the family now? It feels that way. I know how much Matt loved you. What a mess we dragged you into.”
I blinked rapidly and took the money. Oh. Oh …
Nate was trying to say good-bye.
“It’s not a mess,” I whispered.
“You’ll come see us again? What do you think, in the spring? Or we’ll come see you. The kids love that zoo in Denver. I know Matt hated the zoo, animals in cages and all that, but the kids…” Nate frowned. He was rambling and seemed to realize it.
I clutched my purse and Nate’s cash and stared up at him, afraid I would cry if I spoke. Here was the most decent guy I knew—truly—and I was lying to him in the worst possible way.
“The kids.” He pulled me into a hug. “They love it.”
“Yeah.” My voice was barely audible.
Nate kept me in his arms, and I felt fine there. Nate wasn’t sleazy like Seth. He wasn’t impulsive like Matt. He was responsible. He was good. I trusted him.
Just before I got in line to go through security, Nate drew an envelope from his inner coat pocket. He handed it to me and nodded. I narrowed my eyes.
“What—”
“Read it on the plane,” he said. He walked away before I could return the envelope. I watched his dark head disappear around a corner. Typical.
Chapter 12
MATT
Melanie didn’t call. One hour turned to two, turned to six, and when my phone finally rang, I recognized the number of Hannah’s prepaid cell. I smiled and closed my notebook.
“Hannah. Hey.”
“Hi. I just got home.” Something thumped, a door closing or a suitcase hitting the floor. Hannah exhaled. “You won’t believe your brother.”
