Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  I finger the key he gave me and don’t bother worrying. Let him see to his fans. I’m the one he’s going home to at the end of the night.

  So I call for more shots, just like I used to in college, and dance and flirt the night away with all my brand-new best friends.

  ***

  Things start to blur.

  The faces melt together. All I see are flashing lights and distorted imagery.

  I keep dancing.

  My brain’s long since turned off, but I’m having so much damn fun I can’t stop to worry about anything. I have fewer inhibitions than only alcohol would account for. Maybe that should frighten me.

  Vaguely, I wonder if someone could have spiked my drink. But it’s a passing, fleeting, stupid concern.

  I’m in James’s apartment. I’m safe here. Nothing bad can happen.

  ***

  Less than an hour later, I begin thinking something is seriously wrong.

  And this time, it has nothing to do with my cancer.

  I’m conscious, but I can’t tell up from down. I keep losing track of myself. I’m only dimly aware of my surroundings. I can barely remember where or even who I am.

  The music, the bodies, the lights, all of them blend together into one amorphous blob of sensation. It swallows me whole. No longer do I feel in control.

  Sounds start to frighten me. I see terrifying masks on every single person’s face. My grip on reality is slipping, and I am helpless to stop it.

  I want to break down and cry, but I’m gripped at the same time by such a stunning euphoria that all I can do is keep dancing.

  I don’t see anyone. I don’t know anything. I lose myself in the never-ending assault on my sense.

  I stumble and fall. Instead of getting up, I just lie there. The floor feels nice.

  My eyes drift closed involuntarily.

  ***

  I wake in a flash, paralyzed by fear. Where am I? What am I doing here? What—

  I look around me. The party’s still going on. Fuck, the DJ’s even playing the same song as when I fell.

  But I’m not on the dance floor anymore. I’m on the sidelines in a cushioned seat.

  “Say, you’ve got to be more careful out there, honey,” a sickly sweet voice says in my ear.

  I look over. My eyes nearly bug out of my head when I see Angela.

  “You!” I try to say. But the word that leaves my lips is nothing more than a slur.

  “Yes, yes,” she says, patting my head. “Close your eyes now, sweetie. Rest. Sleep. You need it.” She gets up and checks her phone. She points it toward me, but I can’t make out whatever is on the screen. “I’ll be back in an hour. You should be fine until then.”

  She slips into the mass of bodies like an eel into the reeds.

  I can’t follow her. I can barely move my arms or legs. My head lolls from one side to the other in a drunken sort of stupor. But this is worse than being blacked out. It…it…

  I don’t know what it is. Thinking is hard.

  It’s so much easier to just close my eyes and let darkness take hold.

  14.

  Something’s happening to me. I’m being moved, or… something.

  I can’t tell.

  Everything is blurry when I open my eyes.

  Strong hands. I feel strong hands. Holding me, touching me, caressing me.

  Leading me away.

  I follow the lead. James is taking me somewhere, I think. James is…

  In a moment of utter clarity I see I’m being led not by James, but by a horrible stranger.

  Alarm rips through me. I don’t know who the hell he is. He’s walking me toward the doors, out the apartment—

  “Let go of me!” I shriek, ripping away. Shock flits across his face. “Let go of me, you fucking asshole! Let go of me, what are you doing, where are you taking me, what…”

  By then my screeching’s attracted attention. People turn to us.

  The man, not so confident anymore, lets go.

  I stagger and fall into a pair of girls. They hold me up. I blink once, twice—the man is gone. He’s run.

  I feel abruptly sick. That awful, familiar feeling grips my stomach.

  I’m going to hurl.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing off and running straight for the bathroom. There’s a line. I curse, and switch directions to the second floor. I stagger up the stairs, use James’s key to get in his bedroom and make it within five feet of the toilet before spewing all over myself.

  ***

  I can still hear the sounds of the party, long after I’ve managed to clean up.

  My head is spinning. Now I feel drunk. All the memories of the night fight for the appropriate attention in my mind. Each one wants to stand out and take the limelight.

  None of them do.

  I’m exhausted. I could have been raped.

  I step out of my clothes and crawl into James’s bed. Music drifts through the floor. Bass pounds against the walls.

  I think I’m going to have an impossible time falling asleep… but fade to black the second my head hits the pillow.

  15.

  I wake groggy and feeling like absolute shit the next morning.

  I look around the room. I’m alone.

  James didn’t come to bed.

  I wonder why. I bet the party got out of control, and he crashed downstairs. That’s okay, but—

  Christ. I hold my head. It hurts like a mother-effer.

  I need some water. I get up, stumble toward the bathroom, open the door…

  And nearly gag all over again when I whiff the stench.

  Holy fucking shit, I think, seeing the vomit on the floor. My clean-up efforts last night were not exactly meticulous.

  Maybe it’s a good thing James never made it upstairs.

  I splash water over my face rinse my mouth, drink a bit from the tap, and set about remedying the mess I made.

  ***

  An indeterminate amount of time later, I finish up. The bathroom is sparkling clean. The smell lingers a bit, but there’s nothing to do about that except wait it out.

  I go back to the bedroom. My headache’s a bit better, and much of the grogginess is gone.

  I look out the window. The city is coated in a layer of white. Everything is peaceful on Saturday morning.

  Hard to believe I’ve already spent half a year in Chicago. Hard to believe how much things have changed in half a year. From Summer, to James, to cancer—

  Then I remember: Shit, chemo!

  I check the time. I can still make it.

  But is it a good idea to do it while hung over?

  I quickly decide that I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll ask the doctor when I arrive. I promised James I wouldn’t be a passive passenger any more.

  For him. For us.

  So I’ve got to do everything I can to live up to that promise.

  I get dressed and rush out the room—and come to a staggering halt when I see what greets me on the lower level.

  The apartment is wrecked. It’s like the mansion in Klass’s remix of Haddaway’s What is Love music video. Jesus, there are bodies everywhere. On the floor, on the couches, some on the stairs. Empty bottles litter the floor.

  I spot a couple still going at it in one corner.

  James sure knows how to host a party, I think. But there’s no way I’m finding him now.

  I text him that I’m going to the hospital, pick my way to the elevator, and hail a cab on the street.

  ***

  I don’t hear from James for the remainder of the day. That’s fine. I’m sure he has his hands full sorting out the mess.

  I want to go see him, but I can’t. With exams starting Monday, I can’t afford any distractions.

  One week left. I’ve got to ace it.

  And then, I can run away with James wherever… for however long fate gives us.

  16.

  Sunday goes by without a word from James, either. I think it a little strange, but I don’
t really have the time to consider. Exam prep and last-minute cramming sessions fueled by coffee and Bronkaid are all I can devote time to.

  ***

  I start to get a little concerned about James Monday afternoon.

  It’s been nearly three days without a word from him. I’ve tried calling, and he hasn’t picked up.

  I consider going over after getting out of my first exam, trailed by Summer. In fact, I’m just about to turn toward his place when she grabs my arm.

  “Wow!” she exclaims. “That was something, huh? One down, two to go. Plus the written papers. Of course, Professor Landon’s exam tomorrow is canceled… but I still think we have to show up.” She bats her eyelashes at me. “Don’t you?”

  Something about her behavior feels off. Before I can put my finger on it, she tugs me the other way.

  “Come on, Celeste. Let’s grab some treats from the coffee shop to celebrate. After, you can quiz me on the material from Professor Kirkland’s class.”

  I shoot a longing look over my shoulder in the direction of James’s building… but one more tug from Summer makes me give in.

  “Yeah, k,” I say. “Seems like a good idea.”

  ***

  Tuesday morning I’m buzzing. I’d just gotten up after a solid fourteen hours of sleep.

  I crashed the moment Summer and I got home from the coffee shop. My body needed to catch up.

  I’m most excited, however, because today I’ll see James. This is our last class together. The one where we were supposed to write our exam, before he canceled it.

  I wonder what surprise he has in store for our final send-off.

  Knowing him… it’s going to be pretty spectacular.

  ***

  There’s a buzz of excitement among the students in the auditorium. Mostly, I bet it’s relief at not having to write the test today. I catch snippets of conversations. The party’s a hot topic of discussion.

  I sit down with Summer. I’m going to have to tell her my plans soon. I’m not looking forward to the conversation. But honestly, it’s probably the last real talk we’ll ever have.

  I wouldn’t mind just letting our rocky friendship come to its natural close.

  The doors to the front stage open. I perk up, expecting to see James…

  And feel like I’ve been punched in the gut when I see Dean Henderson there instead.

  Confused mutters sound all around me: Where’s Professor Landon? Why’s the Dean here? What’s going on?

  The Dean steps behind the podium. He looks serious.

  A dreary silence falls.

  Summer instantly sits higher and gives him a little wave. He acknowledges her with a nod then clears his throat.

  “As you can see,” he begins. “I am not Professor Landon. Professor Landon is not here. He won’t be here today, nor will he be back for the foreseeable future.”

  Murmurs of confusion abound.

  “I am here to explain why. The university is issuing a formal statement, which I will now read.”

  He takes a folded note from his pocket. He lays it flat, smooths it once, and begins to read:

  “The Administrative Board of the University of Chicago has been informed of an unsanctioned gathering that took place at Professor Landon’s home on the night of December 3rd, 2015.

  “Details have emerged of an event that night that required police intervention. Professor James Landon is currently being held by the Chicago Police Department. As such, he has been suspended from his teaching post—”

  Gasps and cries of outrage sound through the crowd.

  “—pending the complete resolution of the investigation. Professor Landon has been informed of our decision and has agreed to relinquish all teaching responsibilities and duties to the Administrative Board.”

  Dean Henderson tucks the creased statement back into his jacket. “I know this comes as a shock to many of you,” he says, “but I would like to assure you that your grades will not be negatively affected by this revelation. Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Ahem. I understand that Professor Landon waived the requirements for a final exam. Unfortunately, that will no longer be the case. Due to extenuating circumstances, however, you will be granted one extra week of study time. The exam will be held on the final day before winter break. The exact time and location of the session will be posted on the course website tonight.

  “Thank you.”

  A chorus of roars erupts around me, but I barely notice. My mind goes blank. I feel faint.

  James is in custody? What? Why? What did he do?

  That’s why he hasn’t called me.

  Summer nudges my arm. “Oh, hey, Celeste. Look at this.”

  She pushes a photocopied piece of paper to me.

  It takes me an extra second to process the writing. But when I do, the blood drains from my face.

  It’s a police witness report.

  I see her name:

  Summer Adams.

  I see his name:

  James Landon.

  I see the charge, in big, all-caps letters at the top:

  SEXUAL BATTERY.

  My body starts to shake. I stare at Summer in disbelief.

  She gives a vicious grin.

  “I did good, huh?” she asks.

  PART FIVE

  Secrets & Lies

  1.

  “You filed a rape charge?” I scream.

  I’d just stormed into our shared apartment to find her sitting cross-legged on the couch, acting for all the world as if nothing’s wrong. She’d slipped away in the mayhem that erupted after Dean Henderson’s announcement.

  “Of all the cruel, vindictive, malicious things you could do to him…” I trail off, unable to find words strong enough to match my emotions.

  “Oh, lighten up,” Summer says, tossing her hair over one shoulder. She picks at her nails. “I thought we were friends. Isn’t it me you should be concerned for?”

  “I know James didn’t do shit. I know it, Summer! He’s innocent, and—”

  “Your boyfriend’s innocent,” she interrupts. “How unbelievably convenient for you.” She snaps her eyes to me. “Wake up and smell the roses, woman. Your boyfriend, the infallible James Landon? He raped me Friday night. Spiked my drink, did to me as he pleased.” She bats her eyelashes at me. “At least, that’s what the police think.”

  “Summer, this is not a game!” I scream. “Do you understand the implications of what you did? How far this’ll go into the future? How…”

  I cut off as realization strikes.

  “Of course you do,” I say softly. “You’ve been at this for a long time, haven’t you? Why? To get back at me? I’m right here, dammit! Come take your swing!”

  She teeters her head from side to side. “Oh Celeste,” she sighs. Mournfully. She sighs mournfully, the dirty fucking lying bitch. “As much as I wish it were that simple, it is not. When James turned his nose up at me and chose you… when he snubbed me and started fucking you… well, that’s when things got very, very personal.”

  “So locking me out wasn’t enough? Vandalizing his car wasn’t enough? You had to go out and ruin the man’s life while you were at it?”

  “Not just like that,” Summer says. She rises gracefully. “I had to wait for the right moment, first of all. And second… well, second, I needed the right people on my side. Or,” she taps her lips. “More accurately… the right person.”

  “The dean!” my eyes go wide. “You made him suspect James. You told him what happened. The police wouldn’t have. Not so soon.”

  “I may have tipped him off, maybe.” She makes big doe eyes at me. “Oh Alfred, I have the most horrible news,” she starts in a schoolgirl chortle. Then she laughs. “Convincing him was easy. He played his part to perfection. As did you.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You locked yourself willingly away in his bedroom Friday night, Celeste.” She smiles. “Like the sweet, innocent girl you are. You locked yourself away and denied James his only chanc
e at an alibi. Oh! And if I remember correctly…” she taps the side of her lips, “…you also made quite a scene trying to leave the party with a stranger.”

  I’m seething.

  “You’re not going to get away with this,” I warn. “The cops will turn on you when they discover you’ve falsified charges.”

  “I wouldn’t be so hasty, there, Celeste.” She twists a finger through her hair. “The crime had a ready witness.”

  “Who?” I demand.

  “Angela.”

  I stare, astounded.

  “That’s right, girlfriend. The one and only. You saw her there,” Summer leans back. “I know you did.”

  “You orchestrated all of it, didn’t you?” I say. “How could you, Summer? This isn’t a game!”

  She sighs, and stands ups. “I can’t believe you’re so dismissive. Your boyfriend raped me. Shouldn’t you be the least bit concerned?”

  “Fuck off.”

  She clicks her tongue. “So very aggressive,” she murmurs. “I wonder what I ever did to deserve such treatment.”

  “You…”

  “Oh, shut up. It was a rhetorical.”

  “You’re an evil bitch.” I glare at her. “When the cops prove James’s innocence, you’ll be in huge trouble. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Rape is such a tricky thing to prove, anyway. And I’m the victim. They’re always sympathetic to those.”

  “You’re sick,” I fire back. I push past her into my room and start shoving my few essentials into my bag. My contacts. My notebooks. My laptop, charger, and–oh yeah:

  The chemo drugs.

  “Celeste,” Summer calls from the doorway. “There’s a way to make this all disappear.”

  My head snaps back. “What?”

  “Angela’s the only credible witness. She’ll testify on my behalf. But there’s something she wants. Something James never gave her. Something that you can help with.”