The Girl with the Wrong Name

by Barnabas Miller

  Andy finally stopped pacing and froze by my side. The weight was crushing him, too; I could see it. He was cracking from the pressure, even though the room itself was nothing but an empty shell. A stained twin mattress on a frame. A battered desk and dresser. A grubby mirror on the wall. A mirror image of Helena’s room, in fact, except for an ugly blue throw rug on the floor. He jabbed a finger toward the mattress.

  “She was there,” he said, his voice wavering like static. “She was crying on that bed. No, not crying. She was screaming. He wouldn’t get off of her. He was so much bigger. He was crushing her flat against that bed. He wouldn’t get off no matter how hard she squirmed, no matter how loud she screamed.”

  “Who?” I tried to get him to look at me. “Andy, who wouldn’t get off of her?”

  “I know him,” he said. His cheeks turned as pale as the walls. His eyes darted from side to side like a camera capturing every moment. “I mean, I thought I knew him, but I don’t. Not really. I don’t really know him at all.”

  I’d made a promise to myself, but I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t stop the doubt from creeping back in. “Andy, is it your face? Are you on the bed?”

  He turned and focused on the door. “There were other men, too.”

  “What other men?”

  “I could hear them running down the hall.”

  “Andy, look at me. Was it you on the bed? Was it you and me?” My chest was heaving—knots in my strangled throat. “Was I fighting you off? Was I scratching at the walls? Was it you and me?”

  “No,” he assured me. “But I could hear those other men shouting.”

  “What men? Maintenance men? Mac?”

  “No.”

  I shook my head. He wasn’t making any sense; maybe he’d distorted the memory somehow. How could a whole group of men have gotten in? How could a gang of men have sneaked in through that office window without anyone noticing? Helena said Emma was in the office all night. She would have seen them—she would have stopped the whole thing from happening. But then who? Who’d have the balls to allow a bunch of men through the front door of K.O.P. on a Saturday night?

  I thought of Delores and Mac. Maybe I was asking the wrong question. Never mind who’d have the balls; who would have the authority? That was the word Delores had used, authorization. And only one man would. The inkling landed like a mosquito, biting at my ear. A group of rowdy, shouting men . . . The Saturday before the wedding . . .

  A bachelor party. A bacchanalian celebration of Lester Wyatt. While his wife-to-be was here.

  “Theo, she was here,” Andy said, as if reading my mind. “She saw it. At least, part of it.”

  “Who?” I murmured, even though I knew the answer.

  “Emma. She was a witness.”

  Helena told me Emma had seen something through the window, but now I knew what she had seen. And I had the distinct feeling she hadn’t told a soul about it. I backed away from Andy, pulled open the door, and ran from Room Nine. I didn’t stop, and I didn’t look back to see if Andy was behind me. I kept my eyes focused forward as I dashed past Delores and Mac, their faces twisted in surprise. I ran as fast as I could out the door because I didn’t want Andy to follow.

  I was going to Delmonico’s Steakhouse, and I was going alone. No one would stand between me and Emma Renaux when I finally shook the fucking truth out of her.

  Lou thought I was faster and meaner now? She had no idea.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What happened to her?”

  I didn’t scream it. But I enunciated the question loudly enough to silence the chatter in the fancy dining room. I’d never seen so many adults shut their mouths at once. The buzz of conversation died a quick death, melting into the plush red-and-gold carpet. It hadn’t been hard to spot Emma; she was right at the center table, under a candelabra-style chandelier, surrounded by, I guessed, Charles and Sally Renaux and a college-aged boy who was probably her younger brother. All of them in expensive formal wear. All of them seated on silver satin cushions, like a royal family.

  “I know you were there,” I said to Emma. “I know you saw it all, so just tell me what you saw.” I wanted to stay calm and controlled, but I couldn’t stop my voice from climbing. “Was it Andy? Because if it was Andy, then you have to tell me. I need to know what happened in that room.”

  Emma’s manicured nails flew to her gaping mouth. Her eyelids fluttered in horror. A hundred eyes stared back at me. I was the party-crashing psycho in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, so I figured I might as well run with it while I could. It was too late to turn back now.

  “Do any of you people know Sarah?” I swept the room with a steady gaze, picking out a pair of eyes every two or three mortified faces, trying to read their minds. “You think you can just sweep her under the rug? You think you can act like it didn’t happen, and she’ll just disappear from everyone’s minds? Well, she won’t disappear from mine!”

  Emma burst into tears, breaking the silence. The next thing I knew, two powerful hands had latched onto my shoulders. They shoved me through the silent crowd. I tried to squirm away and caught a glimpse over my shoulder; it was Emma’s brother, of course. A fratty-looking friend joined him. Together they lifted me just far enough off the floor to keep me from breaking free.

  “No!” I growled. “NO! Somebody get them off of me!”

  But I might as well have been invisible. It was like Helena said; I was a ghost. Nobody uttered a sound or moved a muscle. I writhed and kicked as the two forced me into the ladies’ room and slammed the door.

  I do not respond well to enclosed spaces. Especially after I’ve been manhandled by thick-necked frat dudes in lavender pants. The door wouldn’t budge. They must have locked it. Or they were just blocking it with their steroid-pumped bodies. Either way they’d trapped me in here alone.

  “Open it!” I shouted. “Open it, assholes! Open the door!” I pounded on it a thousand times harder than I’d pounded on the bathroom stall at the Magic Garden. “If you don’t open this goddamn—”

  But the door burst inward, sending me reeling back into one of the stalls. Jesus, another bathroom stall. Emma’s brother charged at me, a sweaty blur of blond fuzz, thick lips, and rum-and-Coke-soaked breath.

  “Shut up!” he hissed. “What the hell is the matter with you? Are you on drugs? You’re scaring the crap out of my sister. You’ve just ruined the whole party.”

  “You think I give a shit about her party?” I pushed my face back into his. Then I hesitated. The next thought came quick. He was there. Emma’s brother was in Room Nine with all his repulsive fratty friends.

  The groom had to invite the bride’s brother to the bachelor party; it was an unbreakable rule. Even if Lester Wyatt thought Emma’s brother was the douchebag he clearly was. But had Lester Wyatt invited all her brother’s disgusting frat-bros, too? Had he brought them to a house full of damaged teenage girls in the middle of the night?

  “I honestly don’t care who you are or what’s wrong with you,” he said. “But you need to get the hell out of here now. Whatever happened . . . happened. What’s done is done. And there’s nothing any of us can do to change it now. So let it go.”

  My face shriveled behind my veil of hair. “Whatever happened . . . happened?”

  “Fine, okay, I’m sorry, I get it.” His skin reddened, fists clenching at his sides. “I get that you’re upset. I just need you to be upset someplace else.”

  “Jesus, what kind of sociopath are you?”

  “Will you shut it?” he whispered. “My sister has waited her entire life for this wedding, and I’m not about to let you fuck it up. Here’s how it’s going to go. You are going to walk out of here without saying another word to anyone. You’re going to stay away from this wedding, you’re going to stay away from my sister, and most of all, you’re going to stay the hell away from Andy.”

  “Andy? How
do you all know Andy? He’s never even been to New York—”

  “Tyler?” a slurred voice called, silencing me. Whoever it was, I could hear the fear in his voice. “Dude, where are you?”

  “I’m in here,” Emma’s brother answered from our stall, his eyes glued to mine.

  “Dude, we got one of the Motel Six coming. I mean, coming fast, like right—”

  I heard the door burst open.

  “Excuse me?” Helena’s unmistakable voice. “I believe this is the ladies’ room, no?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be out in just a sec,” Boarding Stool growled.

  “No, I think you’ll be out now,” Helena said.

  “Okay, okay, chill, Mama.”

  “Mama?” I wish I could have seen her face in that moment. “How about you call me ‘Mama’ again, and we see what happens?”

  A haughty sniff. “I was just leaving.”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” Helena called after him. “Theo? Where you at?”

  “I’m in here,” I called out.

  Tyler’s eyes flashed in fury. Before he could move, the door exploded open behind him, slamming into his spine. He winced and collapsed ass-backward on the tile floor.

  “Let’s go.” Helena grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “Out.”

  “No,” Tyler grunted. He shook his head, massaging his back, his flabby red features locked in a cringe. “We haven’t finished our conversation—”

  “I wasn’t talking to you, white boy. I was talking to my girl.”

  “Fine.” He snickered through his pain. “Your girl is all yours. Just get her the hell out of here.”

  It wasn’t until we were safely down the street that Helena finally let go of my wrist. “Girl, what the hell were you trying to do in there? What were you thinking?”

  “I was trying to get the truth,” I said, rubbing the tender skin where she’d seized and dragged me. “Helena, it was Emma’s brother. He did something to Sarah the night of Wyatt’s bachelor party. He practically just admitted it.”

  She arched an eyebrow. Her ponytail flopped limply over her shoulder. “Bachelor party? There wasn’t any bachelor party.”

  “Last Saturday night at K.O.P. There must have been a—”

  “You don’t think I would have noticed a bunch of assholes having a party in the middle of K.O.P.? I told you, it was creepy quiet that night. Theo, all due respect, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about Tyler. You saw what he did. He cornered me in that stall. He could have done anything to her. They could have done awful, disgusting—”

  “Theo, Sarah is fine,” Helena groaned.

  I stared at her. “What do you mean, she’s fine?”

  She glanced back through Delmonico’s front doors. “Listen,” she whispered. She eyed the noisy passersby, a gaggle of Wall Street tourists jabbering in French. “I just heard Mr. Wyatt in the kitchen. I heard him say Sarah was coming to the wedding.”

  I stood still, trying to process this. “Mr. Wyatt said that? You heard him say that for sure?”

  “Yes,” she insisted. She shifted on her feet, her eyes flitting back to the door. Something about her wasn’t right. “Me and Felicia were in the kitchen when you went all psycho on Ms. Renaux. We were trying to get a break from all the richies. Her folks dragged her into the kitchen right where we were hiding, and Mr. Wyatt ran in behind them to calm her down. I heard him tell her that Sarah wanted them to have the wedding. That she was going to be there with them tomorrow.”

  “No, that’s . . . maybe you weren’t standing close enough. Maybe you misheard him.”

  “I didn’t mishear anything,” she snapped. “I told you. Sarah is fine, everything is fine.”

  “If everything’s fine, then why are you so nervous? It’s Tyler and those boys, isn’t it? They’re trying to intimidate—”

  “Those pendejos?” she snorted. “With the purple pants?”

  “Well then, what?”

  She reached under the frilly collar of her dress, pulled a folded white envelope from her bra strap, and handed it to me. “It’s because Mr. Wyatt wants you to have this.”

  I stared at the envelope. “Mr. Wyatt? Gave this to you for me?”

  “Yes. Now just take it and go, all right?”

  “No, I want to talk to him.” I started back toward the restaurant.

  “Not right now, you don’t.” She grabbed my arm and held me back. “He wants to talk to you alone—as in, not in front of Ms. Renaux.”

  “About what?”

  “Theo, if I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you?” she murmured urgently. “This is the most Mr. Wyatt ever talked to me in my life. Someone must have told him you came to my room or something. Look, just take it and go. If Ms. Renaux sees me doing this, it’s going to be on me. Just be there, okay?”

  She jammed the envelope in my hand and turned to run. Before I could open my mouth to protest, she’d vanished back into the restaurant.

  Be where? I wondered, ripping open the envelope.

  I walked back home with the wedding invitation dangling from my fingertips.

  I tried to think, tried to latch on to one coherent idea, but I couldn’t. None of this made any sense. Why would Lester Wyatt want me at his wedding? Why would he want to talk to me at all? I was the party-crashing freak. The girl who’d snuck into his shelter. Who’d crashed his fiancée’s bridal shower. Who’d just screamed at his fiancée. And he didn’t just want, he needed me to be at his wedding. What did that even mean?

  I found Andy sitting on the pavement, leaning against the side of my building, looking as lost as I felt. As lost as he looked the first day I saw him.

  “Where did you go?” he asked. He sounded tired, beaten down. “You ditched me in that place.”

  “I’m sorry. I kind of confronted Emma. At the rehearsal dinner.”

  “You went to the rehearsal dinner without me?”

  “Yeah, lucky for us.”

  “Why lucky?”

  “Because Emma’s brother would have killed me if he saw me with you. I’m supposed to stay ten miles away from you.”

  “Emma’s brother said that?” Andy looked baffled. “He doesn’t even know me.”

  I sighed and sat down next to him on the ground. “Andy, he knows you. That whole family knows you, you just don’t remember.”

  “Right,” he mumbled, turning away. “Well, maybe Emma’s brother is right. Maybe you should stay away from me.” He refused to look at me.

  “Andy, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You thought it was me,” he said, staring down between his legs at the sidewalk.

  “What?”

  “In that room. When I was starting to remember things. You thought I was remembering something I did. You thought I could do something like that to Sarah.”

  “No,” I lied. “No, I never thought that.”

  “No, you’re right, you didn’t think I did it to Sarah, you thought I did it to you.” His head jerked up, his eyes finally meeting mine. “Like . . . like I did something so sick to you that we both blocked it out. So sick that we had to make ourselves forget. You thought I could do something like that to you.”

  My throat suddenly felt dry. My cracked lips struggled to form words. “I was in a panic. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’ve been that way ever since—”

  “What if you’re right?” he interrupted.

  That was not what I’d expected.

  “Not about the part where she’s you,” he went on. “I know Sarah is Sarah, but what if I’m the one that hurt her? What if that’s why I don’t remember? What if there’s some horrible part of me that came out that night and—?”

  I shut him up by shoving the wedding invitation in his face. His eyes quickly flashed over it. “What’s this? Where di
d you get this?”

  “Lester Wyatt gave it to me,” I said.

  “What do you mean, he gave it to you?”

  “Well, he didn’t actually give it to me. He had Helena give it to me.”

  “Why would he give you an invitation to his wedding?”

  “That’s the nine-million-dollar question. He says he needs me to be there. He wants to talk to me alone. And I think she’s going to be there, too. I think Sarah is going to be at the wedding. Helena heard Wyatt say it.” I almost took his hand. “Andy, I think she might be fine. I think maybe the stuff you remembered in that room—”

  “Never happened?”

  “All I know is, after everything we’ve been through this week, I trust Helena’s ears way more than I trust your memory.”

  A distant light seemed to flicker inside him. “You think she could really be there? You think all the stuff I saw might have just been some shit I dreamed or something?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But I’m going to find out at the wedding.”

  “Well, I’m coming with you,” he said.

  I shook my head. “You can’t. I can’t bring you with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just told you. Emma’s brother practically threatened to kill me if I brought you anywhere near the wedding.”

  “Well, screw Emma’s brother. I’ll deal with Emma’s brother.”

  “Andy, I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” He pushed himself to his feet, looming over me. “Theo, you’re not thinking this through. Lester Wyatt owns the shelter, right? He’s the only guy besides Mac and a few janitors with a run of the whole place, the only guy who can go into any one of those girls’ rooms whenever he wants. What if it was his face I saw? What if he was the one crushing her against that bed? What if everything I remember was real? I’ll bet you anything if I saw his face, the whole thing would come back to me. All of it.”

  “If you saw his face,” I echoed.

  “What?”

  A thought, an idea, an epiphany finally emerged from the sludge of confusion. “There is a way you could see it,” I said. “Without actually being there.”