Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  A reporter turns her head and spots me. Her body shifts around and she lurches toward me. “Amber, how do you feel about the charges against Paul Carson being reduced?”

  “Shit,” Chase mutters under his breath.

  “No comment,” I say, voice cracking. I’m the girl trapped in the concrete room all over again, barely surviving. Except this time instead of a defenseless kitten keeping me from dying inside, the man I love threads his fingers with mine and pulls me past the reporters, many who are shivering in their coats. Several of them look as thrilled to be here as I am to see them.

  Once we’re in the building, we go upstairs while Brittany fills us in on what happened this morning. Some people who live in the residence demanded that the reporters leave me alone. Some have been enjoying their fifteen seconds of fame, at my expense.

  By the time Marcus and I head to the library, the reporters have disbanded. I’m not a celebrity who needs to be hounded every second of every day for the elusive million dollar photo, and for that I’m extremely grateful. They get stalked by crazies, too, and I don’t mean the paparazzi. But how many celebrities are blamed for their overeager fans’ obsessions? How many of them are treated like they’re the criminals?

  And how many times does one of them—or someone they love—wind up dead because the fan felt justified in his actions?

  I shudder, and it has nothing to do with the freezing temperature. That’s what it comes down to. Paul felt justified to stalk, torture and kill me. His sister feels justified to protect him by doing whatever she can to destroy the case. And in the end, with everything that’s happening, including our argument this morning, Marcus might feel justified to walk out of my life.

  At the library, I sit at an empty computer. Marcus takes up residence at the one next to me. I have to locate books for my report, but there’s one thing I must do first. I pull from my bag the letter my father sent me last week—the only letter I’ve ever received from him since he abandoned us—and type Lily Cummings, Chicago.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amber

  “Am-ber. You and I were meant to be. Forever and ever. When will you realize your boyfriend didn’t love you? Not the way I do. You and he were never meant to be.”

  With what little will I have left, I lift my head and peer through slitted eyes. I’m alone and in the same concrete room I’ve been in for the past three, four, or maybe five days. Next to me is a plate of lasagna. One of my favorite foods when I was a kid. Paul knows this. He knows everything about me. Because I told him when I thought we were friends.

  “No,” I whisper, “Trent loved me. He wanted to marry me one day.” I have no idea who I’m saying it to. No one is here with me. I’m not even sure where Paul’s voice is coming from. Maybe it’s just in my head.

  “If that were true then why did he leave you? That doesn’t sound like true love to me.”

  “He didn’t leave me,” I scream through a raw throat. “He was in an accident.”

  Laughter thunders through the enclosed space. “It was no accident, Amber. It was fate.”

  “There’s no such thing as fate.”

  “Are you so sure? It was fate that we met. It was fate that your boyfriend’s brakes failed. It was fate that I found you stranded alone with a flat tire. And soon fate will have it that we will be one, like husband and wife.”

  I shudder at the implication behind the last part and get lost in the part about Trent. The police hadn’t released that information about the accident. How did Paul know?

  “What did you do to him?” I sob. “What the hell did you do to my boyfriend?”

  The room turns into the same one I’ve seen many times in my nightmares. The room of mirrors. And like all the other times, the mirrors shatter for no reason and shards of glass slice through my skin. But the pain they cause is nothing compared to the pain of knowing the truth.

  “I had to kill him, Am-ber. For you. His death is my gift to you.”

  And like I do every time I have this dream, and like I did in reality when Paul told me what he had done…I scream.

  “Amber,” Emma says from a distance. Someone shakes me. “Amber.”

  “Things are getting worse.” Brittany’s voice also sounds distant as my nightmare fades away.

  I slowly open my eyes and the room comes into focus. Pushing myself up, I shake away the sleep slogging around in my brain, and glance at my alarm clock. 3:15 p.m. I’ve been asleep for maybe thirty or forty minutes. That explains why I feel like a zombie who’s been partying hard for several days. “I wasn’t screaming again, was I?”

  Brittany shakes her head. “No. You were restless and muttering in your sleep.”

  I don’t want to know what I said, so I don’t ask. I remember what I was dreaming about, and I don’t want to mention it in front of Emma. Or anyone, for that matter.

  Emma studies my face, a frown on hers. I scoot my legs off the bed and she sits next to me. “You look like you haven’t slept in months.” Feels like it, too.

  “Maybe I could get an oversized teddy bear.” For the days I sleep in my dorm room. Which is sad when I think about it. I should be stronger. I shouldn’t need Marcus or a teddy bear to help me sleep through the night.

  Brittany grunts. “I prefer the idea of sneaking Marcus into our room. I can’t study with a glassy-eyed, giant stuffed toy staring at me.”

  A small smiles flits at the corners of my mouth. I can’t imagine Brittany being disturbed by a stuffed animal. She tends to scare people away. Or at least the people she doesn’t give a chance to get to know her—which is most people.

  “Not much longer and the trial will be over,” Emma says. “You know what you need?”

  “Caffeine,” I say. “And lots of it.”

  “Yeah, that’s one possibility. But I’ve got another one.” She scrambles off the bed.

  No, I’m pretty sure caffeine is the only possibility.

  Emma rifles through my drawers. I’m tempted to collapse on my bed and go back to sleep…at least until the bad dreams hit again.

  “Here, put these on.” She tosses me the gym clothes I wore when I played basketball with Marcus at the youth center. Before winter hit Chicago.

  I catch them and eye the pile in my hands, half expecting them to bite me. I don’t even wear them when I work out, since I’d rather keep the scars and tattoos hidden.

  “Trust me, you’ll feel better,” Emma says.

  “What are we gonna do?”

  “It’s open gym time. We’re going to play ball. And you’re not going to say no because you know I’m right. You need this.”

  Brittany snorts. “The girl can barely stand and you expect her to play basketball? Wow, you really are blond, aren’t you?”

  Emma glares at Brittany. “I know what I’m talking about. I know her better than you do.” She turns to me. “And we can get coffee on the way if you want.”

  I do want. Maybe the sugar and caffeine will give me an energy boost.

  Once I would have been self-conscious about stripping with Emma and Brittany in the same room as me, but both have seen my scars. I change into my clothes and pull my yoga pants over my shorts, then grab my coat.

  “Have fun,” Brittany says with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “And be sure to let me know when you want me to sneak Marcus in.”

  Emma and I push through the bitter wind clawing at our faces as we make our way to the sports center. It’s enough to wake up any warm-blooded creature, even one who is past due on her sleep.

  We decide not to bother with coffee. Now that the idea we’re going to play basketball has chased away the fog in my brain, I can’t get to the gym fast enough. I pick up my pace as the building comes into view through the blowing snow.

  A game’s already going on when we hit the court. All guys. None are from the men’s team, but they sure can play.

  Emma and I head over to them. Once they stop long enough to catch their breath, Emma’s in there, asking if we can join them.r />
  They give us the once-over, their gazes lingering on my scarred wrists and leg. Instead of looking disgusted, which is the reaction I usually expect, they nod and let us play. One of them recognizes Emma from the women’s team.

  “Shit, you’re good,” Troy, one of my teammates, says after I nail another layup. We high-five. These guys are even better than the teens Emma and I played with before Christmas.

  “You’re not so bad yourself. How come you’re not on the men’s team?” They all could. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

  He reaches for his water bottle near the sideline, where the rest of the guys’ stuff is piled. “I used to. We all did.” He indicates the guys, all taking a quick time out. “But I’m in grad school now and no longer eligible to play. Nor do I have the time. Same deal with everyone here. What’s your excuse?”

  “My excuse?”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re not on the women’s team, even though you obviously should be. So what’s your excuse?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering too,” a tall woman, with the same golden brown coloring as Jordan and wearing a tracksuit, says as she approaches. Coach Willmott. As in, the coach for the woman’s basketball team. “I haven’t seen you play before, so I know you aren’t playing for another collegiate team. So what’s your excuse?”

  Emma breaks away from the guys on her team and joins us. “Hey, Coach.”

  The woman grins at Emma. “I take it you couldn’t wait until practice to play?”

  “Something like that. Amber—” Emma points to me “—desperately needed to play. And you know how sacrificing I can be.”

  I laugh. “You wanted this as much as I did.”

  Coach Willmott isn’t too surprised to hear this. “You still haven’t explained why you aren’t playing collegiate ball,” she says to me.

  “I missed out on my senior year because I was recovering from burns on my leg.” Among other things. “No games. No chance of being scouted.”

  “That’s too bad. Well, if you’re interested in trying out for the team next year, I’d be happy to put you through the paces and see what you can do.”

  “Th-thanks! I would love that.” I do my best not to shriek my response.

  “Don’t worry, Coach,” Emma says. “I’ll work her ass off to get her ready.”

  Coach laughs. “I bet you will, Emma.” She nods at the guys who are back to playing ball. “I’ll let you two get back to your game, but Emma, try not to wear yourself out before practice in twenty minutes. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Coach Willmott strolls off and my best friend hugs me. “Oh my God, I can’t believe our dream might come true after all.” Trent, Emma and I had planned to play for the University of Chicago. It had been our dream since we were kids. But our dream was destroyed last year, and instead of going there, Emma and I applied to the University of Illinois at Chicago. While this might not be UChicago, being able to play for a collegiate team would put me a step closer to being what I was last year, before Paul stepped into my life.

  Emma and I hug again, not caring that we’re both sweaty.

  “Unless you’re planning to make that a group hug, and I’m game for it if you are,” a guy from Emma’s team calls out, “would you two ladies get your asses over here? We need you.”

  Laughing, we jog over to join them and the game resumes.

  It’s almost time for Emma to leave when Troy says, “Do you know there’s a guy over there—” he nods at something over my shoulder “—who’s been videotaping you for the past ten minutes?”

  I whirl around. A balding man in his midforties is holding a video camera. The woman with him has long dark hair and looks familiar.

  “How can you be sure he’s not videotaping everyone?” I ask.

  “Because every time I look over at him, the lens is pointed at you.”

  Before we can dwell on it more, the woman hustles over to us. “Hi. Amber Scott, right? I’m a sports reporter and I’d like to do a story on you.”

  “Why? I’m not on any team.”

  Emma and the guys join me. Like Troy, they’re standing with their arms crossed in a stance that signals “Keep your distance.”‘

  A warmth spreads through me. Not the same warmth that consumes me when I’m with Marcus and he’s kissing me. This warmth comes from knowing people, strangers, care enough to want to protect me from all potential threats.

  “Since when were you a sports reporter?” one of my teammate asks. “I thought you did general news stories. I’m a huge fan of yours.” His face is red, but I can’t tell if it’s from a hard game of basketball or because he admitted to being a fan.

  “You’re right. But I thought I could pitch the story to the sports team.”

  Something seems off. She wasn’t anywhere near us while I was talking to the coach. She has no idea I’ve been offered a chance to try out.

  “No comment.” I turn away.

  “So you have nothing to say about the sex video that was leaked showing your boyfriend? A video that shows he’s into S-and-M.”

  I can only stare at her. My mouth opens and closes in an attempt to formulate a reply, but there are no words that can convey what I’m thinking and the panic seeping in.

  She says something else before Troy and another guy escort her away, but whatever it was is lost on me as I stand frozen, my body growing numb.

  This is the evidence that could destroy me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marcus

  “True or false,” I say to Alejandro as I line up the pool stick with the white ball. “During the nineteen-ninety to ninety-one season, the Chicago Bulls won sixty-five games.” I tap the ball with the stick. It rolls toward the red-striped ball but only nicks it. Alejandro and Matt laugh while Juan releases a stream of Spanish curses.

  “False,” Alejandro says, still laughing at the same time Juan says, “You suck,” and then another stream of words slips out that I’m probably glad I don’t understand.

  “They won sixty-one games,” Alejandro continues, ignoring his friend’s rant. Of the three of us, he’s the only one who understands what Juan is saying.

  Outside, the wind howls against the cracked window, reminding us that even though it’s basketball season, it’s too fucking cold to play it unless you have access to indoor basketball courts. And in my old neighborhood, that’s as likely to exist as Santa in a Speedo.

  “Hey,” I say to Juan, “some of us were too busy studying in high school to have time to master the game of pool.” That’s complete crap. I’ve always sucked at the game, even after Ryan tried to teach it to me. He was the pool champion. But that didn’t bother me. I was the pool stud. Girls didn’t care how good I was at the game. It was how I handled my own stick that counted, but I’m hardly explaining that to the guys.

  Matt surveys the balls, walking around and checking the best possible angle to shoot from. He’s nothing like his two friends. Whereas Alejandro and Juan are loud, athletic and always ribbing each other, Matt is quiet, and sports isn’t his thing.

  With the exception of pool.

  Matt hits the cue ball and it slams into the red one. The red ball steamrolls into a pocket. Juan groans again, but this time keeps the cursing to himself.

  My cell phone rings from my back pocket. I pull it out and check who’s calling. Amber.

  “Hey, Kitten, what’s up?” I haven’t seen her in the last two days, and my entire body aches to be with her.

  Amber doesn’t say anything. The only sound is her jagged breathing. Panic hammers in my chest at all the possible reasons for this. “Amber? What’s going on?”

  She lets out a long slow breath. “Have you…have you ever participated in any sex videos?”

  I want to lie but there’s no point. She knows or she wouldn’t be asking. “Yes. Last year,” I say, walking away from the guys. I have a feeling this is a conversation I don’t want them to hear. “But it’s not something I’m into
normally. Ryan had just died. I was drunk and thought at the time that it was a great idea. Why? What happened?”

  “I’m going to text you a link to a video. You need to see it.”

  At the pain in her voice, I scrub my hand over my face. I’ve never seen the video. I just know it exists. I also know the girl I did it with had had no intention of making it go public. At least that’s what she told me. I guess I should have known better, but in all honesty, I had forgotten about it until Amber mentioned it.

  “Give me a second,” I say. “I’m at the youth center. Let me ask Dave if I can check it out on his computer. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Okay.”

  Dave’s office door is closed but I knock anyway. Part of me hopes he’ll say no and that’s the end of it until I get home. But the other part wonders why Amber’s upset. It happened well before I met her. She’s gotta know that.

  “Come in,” the former marine says, sounding distracted.

  I open the door and enter. Dave’s attention is focused on the computer screen. A jumble of documents is spread across his desk. “What can I do you for?” he asks, not looking up.

  “Can I check something on your computer for a second? Amber wants me to look at something on the internet.”

  “Sure, knock yourself out. I could use a break.” He stands and lets me take his chair, but it’s obvious he’s not going anywhere. I don’t blame him. It’s his computer after all.

  I stare at the screen, summoning all my strength. Having Amber and Dave watch me screw a girl doesn’t exactly make it to the highlight of my day.

  “You want a coffee or something?” Dave asks after a few seconds.

  I nod, and once he leaves the room, enter the URL. The page opens to a still shot that is definitely me, wearing only jeans. The video isn’t new but the download is. It went live five hours ago. I click on Play.

  The picture isn’t the best quality, due to the poor lighting, but it’s clear enough to see what’s going on. The girl steps on to the screen and runs her fingers down my chest. Although that night is a vague memory, I do remember a few vivid details about her that cause a shudder to race through me. While I have no complaints when sex gets a little rough, her preferences went way beyond that. I was drunk, but I wasn’t that drunk. I told her I wasn’t interested and she had been fine with it.