Still, he tried to move. But then he realized his hands were tied behind him—and his feet were bound together at the ankles with duct tape. Straining, he lifted his head and saw Cheryl lying on the bed, gagged and hog-tied. Her eyes met his, and she whimpered weakly. In a panic, Nate glanced around for Rene, but she wasn’t in the bedroom with them. What had they done to her?
He could hear the two intruders talking in the living room. Their words weren’t clear, but it sounded like they were firing questions at Gil.
“Go fuck yourselves,” Gil said loudly.
That much Nate heard. He also heard someone strike a blow—and Gil gasping in pain. It sounded like they were asking about someone named Rachel Bonner. Nate heard her mentioned twice. He wondered if this Rachel Bonner person had something to do with the valuable information Gil had alluded to the other day on the phone. Was all of this connected to his brother’s involvement in some shady deal to make a quick “shitload of money”?
Though it made his awful headache even worse, Nate writhed around on the floor, struggling to loosen the rope around his wrists. All the while, the muted conversation continued in the living room. He flinched every time he heard another punch thrown. He wondered why his brother was holding out. Or maybe Gil was stalling for time. If he had indeed phoned someone earlier, maybe they were on their way.
Nate thought he heard Rene’s muffled crying in the kitchen. He imagined her tied up in there—maybe on the floor or in a chair. Rene always came across as strong and composed—especially to the students in her yoga classes. But she actually scared easily and often had nightmares. Nate hated to think of her alone in the next room, frightened and helpless, all her nightmares coming true.
He could smell the shrimp they had planned to cook for dinner. It was spoiled now. But beneath the stink Nate picked up another odor: gas.
Nate realized they must have left the unlit oven on. How long had the gas been leaking from the oven?
“Okay, hot shot, have it your way!” Nate heard the guy say loudly. “Maybe you’ll start talking if I bring one of those bitches in here and start working her over.”
Her eyes full of panic, Cheryl started squirming on the bed. Nate kicked and thrashed on the floor, but the rope around his wrists hadn’t slackened at all. He heard footsteps in the kitchen and Rene’s stifled sobs.
Nate bellowed out: “Leave her alone!”
The footsteps stopped, and there was an awful silence. Nate held his breath.
After a moment, the floorboards creaked again and the footsteps got louder—closer. A shadow swept over the bedroom. Nate lifted his head and saw the man, in silhouette, standing in the doorway, holding a knife.
“You just gave me an idea,” the guy said, stepping into the room. He stood over Nate for a moment. Then with a grunt, he hauled back and kicked him in the stomach.
Stunned, Nate clenched into a ball, bringing his knees up to his chest. The blow knocked the breath out of him. An excruciating pain spread through his gut. He felt it in his shoulders, too. He’d almost torn his arms out of their sockets when he’d recoiled. His head spinning, he desperately gasped for air. He was barely aware of the man hovering over him, cutting the duct tape around his ankles. If he’d been thinking clearly, Nate might have kicked the guy in the face. Instead, he let the man pull him to his feet. Nate was still bent over from the pain in his gut.
“You could use some fresh air,” the guy said mockingly. “Come on with me.”
The man had the revolver in his hand now. He led Nate into the kitchen, where Rene was tied to one of the dinette chairs. A dishrag was stuffed in her mouth to keep her from screaming. Nate stopped. He tried to say something to her, but he could barely get a breath. The man pushed him toward the back door. Nate stumbled and almost tripped.
“Stinks in here,” the guy said, opening the back door. He shoved Nate outside and shut the door behind him.
The cold night air actually revived Nate a bit.
“What has Gil told you about Rachel Bonner?” the man asked.
Nate shook his head. “I—I don’t know who that is.”
“Fuck,” the guy muttered. He grabbed Nate’s arm and pulled him around the side of the house—to the front of the cabin. “You better pray your asshole brother tells us what he knows.”
He led Nate up the front porch steps to one of the big living room windows.
Nate shivered. He could see his breath. He gazed inside toward the desk, where, as a kid, he used to draw. He was horrified to see what they’d done to his brother.
Stripped down to his underwear, Gil was tied to the desk chair. He looked like a defeated boxer slouched in the corner of the ring. His handsome face was a swollen, bloody pulp. Cuts covered his body. On his right arm and shoulder were square patches where it looked as if they’d carefully cut off some layers of skin.
The woman was sitting on the edge of the desk, her back to them.
Tightening his grip on Nate’s arm, the man knocked on the window.
The woman quickly turned, the gun readied in her hand.
“Open the window,” the man called. “I want Gil to hear his brother beg for his life.”
The woman nodded—almost as if she approved of the idea. She moved to the window and opened it a crack.
The man jabbed the muzzle of the revolver against Nate’s temple and then took a step away.
Trembling violently, Nate realized the guy didn’t want to get splattered with blood. Nate remembered that image from the Vietnam War—of the prisoner being shot in the head. He was certain he was going to die. “Goddamn it, Gil!” he cried out. “Tell them what they want to know!”
“I’m really tired of this,” the woman announced. Returning to the desk, she started hunting through her purse. “We’re giving you ten seconds. If you don’t start answering our questions, my friend is going to shoot him. Do you understand, Gil? You have ten seconds to start talking or you’ll see your brother’s brains all over that window.”
One of Gil’s eyes was swollen shut, but he seemed to focus on Nate with his one good eye. He winced and slowly shook his head.
The woman pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her bag. “Ten . . . nine... eight . . .”
“Your brother’s a real asshole,” the guy muttered, the gun just inches from Nate’s skull. “It’s too bad for you . . .”
“Gil, for God’s sake!” Nate yelled. “Cooperate with them!”
Her butt against the edge of the desk, the woman kept counting as she tried to light her cigarette. But the lighter didn’t seem to be working. Nate could almost hear the failed clicks.
Then he remembered the gas.
“Four . . . three . . .”
“No, wait!” Nate screamed.
She clicked the lighter one more time.
It sparked a flame that erupted into a deafening blast. The windows shattered as flames and fiery debris spewed out of the cabin. Everything shook. The blaze shot up higher than the treetops. Logs, cinders, splintered wood, and glass flew through the air.
The explosion knocked Nate off his feet; it all happened in a flash, so fast he barely had time to realize that everyone inside the cabin was now dead.
Then, all at once, something hard and heavy fell on top of him.
Buried under the scorched, smoky wreckage, Nate knew that he was as good as dead, too.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later: Thursday, September 3, 4:04 P.M.
Lake Forest, Illinois
Hannah O’Rourke had made it her mission to learn everything she could about Rachel Bonner.
Seated in the upper deck of the North Suburban Chicago commuter train, the willowy, dark-haired eighteen-year-old studied her phone screen—and Rachel’s photo. Hannah hadn’t met Rachel yet, and she felt a bit like an online stalker. But she had a good excuse. Rachel Bonner was going to be her college roommate.
Hannah was on her way to start freshman year at Our Lady of the Cove University in the small town of
Delmar, two stops from now. Thanks to Google and Instagram, Hannah had already learned that Rachel Bonner was twenty, extremely pretty, and extremely rich. She was the only child of Richard and Candace Bonner of the Chicago Stock Exchange, Lake Shore Drive, and North Shore Country Club. Rachel was all over the Internet, mostly because of her parents’ wealth, but also due to her involvement in a lot of high-society charity work. A junior at Our Lady of the Cove, she would be living with Hannah in one of the dorm “bungalows.” Rachel would be acting as their “big sister” and adviser. Hannah had been worried that her big-sister-roommate might turn out to be a first-class snob, a goody-two-shoes Patty Simcox (Oh, we’re going to be such good friends!), or maybe just a major drip.
Taking off at eight-forty this morning, Hannah had flown from Seattle to Chicago, accompanied by her half-sister, Eden, who, much to Hannah’s chagrin, would also start her freshman year at the university.
For the trip, and to make a good impression on the kids at Our Lady of the Cove, Hannah looked pretty smashing in khaki slacks, a new blue sleeveless top, and blue flats. Meanwhile, Eden wore a black tee under a pair of hideous, unflattering yellow overall shorts, with red sneakers—just what every fashion-forward lesbian was wearing in Wyoming eleven years ago. Hannah had been totally embarrassed sitting next to her on the plane. And there was just enough family resemblance between them for people to figure out they were related.
Together, they’d taken the CTA from O’Hare to Union Station and then caught the Metra commuter train from there. It had been a long, grueling day so far. Eden had picked these seats on the upper deck because she’d thought it would be cool to sit above everyone else in the train car. But it wasn’t so cool lugging four big pieces of luggage up the winding, narrow metal staircase. No sooner had they gotten settled in their upper-level seats and secured the suitcases on the luggage rack than Eden promptly got to her feet again. She announced that she wanted to “explore” and then disappeared, leaving Hannah alone to look after all the bags.
That had been forty-five minutes ago. So typical. Eden had driven Hannah’s parents crazy by disappearing for hours at a time—or even for a day or two—without telling anyone. She was always off on some stupid, Kerouac-like mini-adventure, hitchhiking or taking the ferry someplace, and switching off her phone so no one could reach her. During spring vacation last year, Hannah’s parents had called the police when Eden disappeared. It had been three whole days before she finally called them from Oregon, where she’d been picking apples on some farm.
So Hannah told herself not to be too alarmed that her half-sister had wandered off. Still, it was unnerving. Every time Hannah heard the doors between cars whoosh open, she’d anxiously glance down in that direction, hoping to see Eden returning.
It was weird, because months back, when she’d learned that Eden would be going off to college with her, Hannah had been horrified. After the last two awful years at home, she’d desperately wanted to leave Seattle and start fresh someplace where no one knew her. Then, it turned out, the person who had caused her so much grief, humiliation, and shame was accompanying her to Our Lady of the Cove. So much for a fresh start. Hannah had hoped something would happen—like maybe her half-sister would pull another one of her disappearing acts and this time, not come back. Hannah didn’t want Eden dead or anything. She just wanted Eden out of her life. Why couldn’t her half-sister just run away and join a cult or something?
Now, Hannah was worried one of those wishes had come back to bite her in the ass.
She hated the uncertainty. Had Eden gotten off at an earlier stop to look around, and then missed getting back on the train? Maybe right now, she was on the train platform five stops back.
Hannah sent her a text:
Where R U? R stops coming up.
Just moments later, her phone buzzed.
But it wasn’t Eden.
Riley was texting her. His photo came up, the one of him in shorts and a T-shirt, standing on the deck of a boat. He was so handsome with his wavy blond hair, a tan, and that lean, athletic build. He was a sophomore at Northwestern. Several train stops back, in Evanston, Hannah had found herself smiling at the thought of that stop becoming a frequent destination.
Though she’d dreaded attending Our Lady of the Cove with her half-sister, Hannah did have a few things she looked forward to—and at the top of the list was Riley McCarren.
She hadn’t actually met him yet, but they’d been texting, video-chatting, and talking on the phone for weeks now. Hannah couldn’t help feeling that he was the one.
She touched the phone’s text icon:
What’s up? R U in Chicago yet?
Hannah worked her thumbs over the phone screen:
On the train. Delmar in 2 more stops! U were right. It’s not that far from Evanston.
Told U.
My stupid half-sister has totally disappeared. I keep thinking she might’ve gotten off at the wrong stop sometime back. I have 4 big suitcases here and don’t want to lug them all by myself. She’s got 2 B somewhere on this train.
Maybe she’s locked in one of the bathrooms. LOL.
UR a big help. When R U getting in? Can’t wait to C U.
Riley lived in Boston, and with his accent, he sounded like Mark Wahlberg on the phone. Hannah couldn’t remember if he was flying in tomorrow or Saturday morning. They’d agreed to meet this Saturday night.
Her mother had pitched a fit about her communicating and setting up a date with this guy she hadn’t even met yet. For all she knew, her mom said, some pervert could have been using a photo of a J.Crew model to lure her into his web.
Her mom was naturally cautious because of the thing that happened.
The thing that happened—that was what Hannah called the series of horrendous events that accounted for the last two miserable years. The thing that happened had made national news headlines for several days. She and Eden had become reluctant Internet stars, and they’d each garnered their share of stalkers. Though most of the whack-jobs had moved on ages ago (probably to other teenage girls in the news), a few nutcases were still out there.
But Riley wasn’t one of them. As he explained, his freshman year roommate had developed an Internet crush on her for a while—until he’d gotten a girlfriend and transferred to U of I mid-year. But last spring, the former roommate had forwarded Riley one of Hannah’s Instagrams about getting into Our Lady of the Cove—just a few Metra stops away from Northwestern. Riley couldn’t resist sending her a message and suggesting they get together when she came to the Chicago area. He’d said he thought she was “pretty cute, too.”
According to her mother, Hannah was only encouraging stalkers by posting so much stuff on social media. But really, she wasn’t about to give up the things she loved—just because of a few obsessive creeps. Besides, she took precautions. Unlike her half-sister, she didn’t talk to strangers or wander off alone for hours at a time. She watched out for herself.
Plus, if she hadn’t been posting regularly on social media, she never would have connected with Riley.
And Hannah was no fool. After a few texts back and forth, she’d insisted on some FaceTime sessions with Riley. She needed to make sure the gorgeous photo was real. She was delighted to see he was the genuine article. Making things even better was the fact that he was already a college guy. Plus he knew all about her, and he still liked her. After two years of feeling like a freak at her high school, Riley made her feel cool and desirable.
Nevertheless, her mother kept warning Hannah that she was telling this stranger way too much about herself. Maybe that was why, in the back of her mind, Hannah wondered if Riley was too good to be true.
From the three dots in the text box, it looked like Riley was writing something. It was taking him a while.
The train car doors hissed open, and Hannah glanced down, hoping to see her half-sister returning. Instead, some guy in a business suit stepped into the car. Hannah glanced back at her phone. Riley’s text finally came up:
/> Bad news. I’m not flying in until later this week. Family emergency. Major hassle, but it can’t B helped. Looks like I won’t C U until next weekend . . .
Hannah’s heart sank. She was crushed. She’d been looking forward to this all summer, and now she had to wait at least another week.
What if, by then, he met some other girl he liked better than her?
Of course, she couldn’t let him know how disappointed she was. She swallowed hard, typed in a sad face, and then quickly erased it.
I’ll miss U! Family emergency? Hope it’s nothing 2 serious. Is everyone OK?
There was no response, not even a wavy dot, dot, dot. She waited about twenty seconds and then texted:
U still there?
Then she waited another few moments, until he finally texted back:
I got a call here I need to take. Text U back soon!
Frowning, Hannah texted back OK. Then she clicked off.
“Shit,” she muttered, glancing out the train window. They sped past trees and phone poles. Some of the houses near the railroad tracks looked slightly neglected and sad.
The prospect of seeing Riley tomorrow was the one thing that had kept her from being totally homesick today. She wouldn’t see her parents or her brothers again for another three months. She’d never been away from them for more than a weekend—until now. She’d been so miserable at home for the last two years, and yet she’d give anything to be back there now. She particularly longed to go back to that time before the thing that happened, before Eden had come into their lives, before the murders and the headlines—back when they were so happy and didn’t know it.
Where the hell was Eden anyway?
The Bad Sister Page 3
