Throwaway Girls

by Andrea Contos

  And there’s not a single part of me that believes he’s played a role in the things his father has done.

  He locks his elbows, his massive frame looming over Aubrey’s body, and I’m too far away to stop him from crushing her ribs with CPR she doesn’t need when Aubrey comes to life.

  Her heels dig into the dirt and she shoves herself free, and Jake stumbles backward like he’s been tased. A string of expletives tumbles from his lips, and then we’re all breathing too hard to speak, all too afraid to move.

  Step Two complete — the damage from it already forming a forever bruise.

  He holds up a single hand, palm out, his voice far steadier than I expect. The words come haltingly, every syllable measured. “What. The fuck. Is this.”

  I squeeze tight around the butt of the gun and force sound through my ragged throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you knew but —”

  “Knew what?” He jumps to his feet and he’s all coiled energy and contained rage. “This was a test? You — you wanted to see if I was the one killing all those girls? What the fuck, Caroline?”

  “No! I didn’t — I said I was sorry!”

  “You’re sorry? You thought I was a murderer and you’re sorry?”

  I step forward, until I’m standing right in the place where Willa knelt beside the girl we found and asked who hurt her. “I didn’t think you were a murderer, but you can’t blame me for making sure when —”

  He pauses, his voice low. “When what?”

  Aubrey shuffles back a step, even though I’m not sure she has enough information to piece together what I’m about to say.

  Except I still haven’t said it, because the words will destroy him. I can almost understand Madison now, why she couldn’t be the one to unmask Jake’s dad. Almost.

  Jake will remember this night, this moment, forever. Just like I remember walking into “therapy” holding my mom’s hand, and then the cold emptiness left behind when mine slipped from hers, when my understanding of where we’d really driven settled in.

  Jake’s life has always been stable, his path clear. I’m going to ruin his life and make him a participant in its destruction. It’s not fair to him, but none of this is fair to anyone.

  His gaze flickers to Aubrey. “What’s going on?” She melts further into the cave of trees, and he focuses back on me. “Caroline?”

  It’s the tremor in his voice that undoes me, so I raise the gun and level it at him. “I need you to call your dad, Jake. And I need you to make it convincing.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Too much time has passed and Jake is still staring at his phone. It’s cradled in his open palm, screen lighting his face in a soft glow.

  It took minutes for him to stop staring at the gun in my hand, and then at me, silently begging me to give him more than I’m willing to.

  This isn’t the time to lay out my arguments for why his dad is guilty. He won’t believe any of them, and I know Jake. I know that as he’s staring at his phone, he’s calculating and analyzing. Pulling apart threads of information and weaving them back together.

  I wish I knew what pattern he’s seeing.

  He looks up at me with glossy eyes. “I can’t do this.”

  The gun wavers and I grip it tighter, because I can’t shield him from the truth, and trying to could determine whether Madison lives or dies. “There’s no other way.”

  His thumb slams against his phone screen.

  He crushes it to his ear and paces in a tight circle.

  One step. Two. Turn.

  A phone trills and we all jump, but it’s not Jake’s. Not Aubrey’s. Something deep inside my coat buzzes and I scramble to find my Mr. McCormack phone in my pocket.

  His name lights the screen, but it’s much too late for that.

  I hit decline, smearing a line of blood across the screen. Then again when the phone starts all over. This time, I silence it.

  Jake stills, a statue in flesh, and says, “Dad?” His gaze follows Aubrey as she tiptoes back to the empty place where the grass presses flat and lowers herself to the ground.

  His entire body trembles as much as his voice. “Dad, I fucked up.” A pause. “No. No, I — I didn’t mean to do it. It just … got out of hand and —”

  My phone rings again and Mr. McCormack is yelling my name before I get it to my ear. I don’t give him a chance to talk. I just say, “I’m sorry, about all of this. I’m going to fix it.”

  The power button cuts into the pad of my finger when I press it tight, and the screen blinks to blackness as I toss it to the ground.

  Jake turns, and the moment he sees Aubrey lying there, his knees give out and he’s crouched on the soggy ground, hand covering his mouth.

  Tears trail over his cheeks and I’m not even holding the gun on him anymore because I’m already doing more damage than any bullet could.

  Jake mumbles, “I killed her, Dad. I —”

  His face goes blank, and there’s only a shushed “Okay” to show he’s still thinking and breathing before he ends the call. He drops his hand to his side, and when he stares at me, I recognize everything in his eyes.

  I try to say I’m sorry but my voice is buried so I mouth it instead, and he responds, so quiet I strain to hear him, “He’s supposed to be out of town.”

  He doesn’t say his dad is on the way, or how long it’ll take him to get here if he is.

  For all my planning, I didn’t count on this variable. I can’t kill a man who’s not in the state.

  Jake says, “He didn’t do this,” and I shake my head because my words won’t convince him. There’s only one thing that will.

  I don’t know what version of myself I am now. Certainly not the student athlete with the four-point-one-three grade point average. Not the one who curls her hair and smiles just right for family photos. Right now I’m not even the girl who stole someone’s identity so she could be the person she thought her girlfriend needed her to be.

  I’m just the girl with the gun in her scarred hand and enough rage to kill us all.

  Time wavers again. Seconds stacking against each other until they become minutes and the moon is the only thing that moves. We’re all frozen. Caught in a spell only Thomas Monaghan can break.

  He appears without notice or warning.

  No car signals his approach, because he knows these woods. It’s too quick for him to have come from anywhere other than the cottage — or some other place, hidden in the miles surrounding us.

  But if he was nearby, it’s been too long. I can’t think about what he might have done in the minutes between.

  His gaze flickers from Jake to me to the gun in my hand and finally to Aubrey, and his expression never changes.

  Jake stumbles back a step, and it’s impossible not to compare the reactions of father and son. Impossible not to compare this night to the one before, when they stood in the coffee shop much the same way.

  Thomas clasps a thick hand behind Jake’s neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads touch and create a mirror image.

  Jake’s head nods as Thomas speaks. “It’s okay, buddy. You were right to call. I can fix this.”

  And then his voice drops and I can’t hear the words he’s saying, but I don’t need to. This man killed Willa, and he could have Madison wishing for death while he stands there with his hands on my friend.

  This man who sat across from me and apologized for my parents not making me feel safe. This man who promised to help. Who looked at me with his soft eyes and gave me hope that parents like him existed.

  And now he’s touching Jake with the same hands and I want him dead so badly my blood riots and my vision blurs.

  The gun’s safety is only an impression of a switch beneath my numb fingers, but it doesn’t stop me from forcing it off and chambering a round before I train the gun on Jake’s dad.
This time, my voice is strong. “Get your hands off him.”

  Thomas’s back goes rigid and his hands lift. When he turns toward me, he’s not any version of Judge Monaghan I’ve seen before.

  His head cocks as he surveys Aubrey, and then he looks at me when he says, “Aubrey, get up and stand behind me. And don’t run.”

  She obeys without question and I can’t blame her. I doubt there are many people who aren’t conditioned to obey a judge’s orders.

  And it’s this — how he commands and people listen, how we all put our faith in him and he used it against us — this is how he’s been able to ruin lives without suffering any consequence.

  He steps forward. “Now, Caroline, what’s this all about?”

  His conversational tone sets my skin on fire. “I know who you are. I know exactly who you are.”

  He sighs. “You’re clearly upset —”

  “I’m not upset. I’m —”

  “You’re crying, Caroline.”

  I blink and heat splashes to my cheek, a searing trail against my numb skin. I’m crying, for the first time in years, in front of the man who took the most important person from my life. And maybe the second.

  I grab my phone and the screen flares bright as I hold it out. “Her name is Willa, and you killed her.”

  “You’re not making sense. Now hand over the gun before you hurt someone.”

  Jake’s voice carries on the wind. “He didn’t do this.”

  I can’t look at him. I tell myself it’s because I can’t risk taking my eyes off his dad. “He did, Jake.”

  Mr. Monaghan holds up a hand, and whatever Jake was about to say vanishes. “Listen, I don’t know what games you’re playing, but this needs to stop. You’re all clearly not thinking correctly, and I hate to see any of you kids hurt.”

  If there was any doubt it’s a veiled threat, it disappears when he continues, “Aubrey, think of what would happen to your mom’s reputation if people found out you were involved in something like this. With our litigious society, people are looking for reasons to sue prominent surgeons. I’d hate for anyone to see your actions as a reflection on her.”

  Every word shrinks Aubrey smaller. There’s nothing else he could’ve said that would have had more impact, and he has to know it. This is how he’s survived. Preying on the weak and exploiting the vulnerabilities of anyone who dares stand up to him.

  I shift the gun to Jake, because he might be Thomas Monaghan’s only vulnerability. “Take Aubrey and go.”

  Jake spits out, “Fuck no,” but Aubrey’s already at his side, grasping his arm tight, pulling so hard her heels slide on the slick grass, and when Mr. Monaghan issues the command, Jake retreats.

  But they’re already a vague memory. I remember random details of them but not the whole. Blurred and distant and slow motion.

  It’s Thomas that’s clear to me now. Everything has narrowed to me and him, and there’s nothing I can’t see. Nothing that isn’t in such vibrant focus it hurts to take in. I can’t stop staring at his hands, picturing them poisoning Chrystal’s drink, encircling Willa’s neck.

  I blink away new tears and say, “Madison took pictures of you. I have them. I know about your cottage in the woods and the fucking box you keep under your bed.”

  He doesn’t answer. And I know then, his confession is in his stillness.

  “No.” Jake shrugs Aubrey off and charges forward, until he’s standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his dad. “I was just there, Caroline! There’s nothing there! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Thomas raises both hands in surrender. “I don’t want to hurt you, Caroline. I know how much Jake cares about you, and we can get you the help you need. Think of what it will do to your parents to have the world know you’ve been lying to them for so long. That they’ve let you live a double life without realizing it. They could be charged with neglect. Jake will have to admit he was so worried about your safety and your mental state he had to bring you to me, twice, for help. No one will believe your story, Caroline. They never have.”

  “Fuck off, you sadistic piece of shit.” Before I can think about what I’m doing, I’m throwing my phone into his chest.

  He catches it easily, cradling it in his hands. The hands that brought us all here. “You’re not going to shoot me, Caroline. Think of what it would do to Jake. It’s dark, you’re sobbing, you’re more likely to hit Jake or Aubrey than me.”

  He’s wrong.

  He’s wrong about every single thing he said.

  And this — all of this — is because of me. I led Thomas Monaghan into Willa’s world. It’s because of me that Madison discovered what he’d done. And now, I’ll be the thing that rips Jake’s life from its foundation.

  I’m the connection between everything, and I’m going to set this all right.

  I aim and squeeze the trigger, the force rocketing through my outstretched arms, the blast muffling the sounds of Jake’s shout and Aubrey’s scream.

  Jake stares at the space to his left where the ground erupted, and when I level the gun at his head again, I can’t bear to see as his expression shifts.

  This is the best I can do for him, sparing him the memories of what will happen next.

  I say, “Tell Jake to leave,” and I barely recognize the calm in my voice.

  Thomas whispers to Jake and it sends him back to where Aubrey stands. Where Aubrey stood. I can’t see her anywhere, and I silently beg her to run. To take her car and leave.

  I beg for her to be anywhere but here.

  I nod toward the phone and a shudder racks through me at the idea of Willa’s image in those hands. “Press the home screen and look at her.”

  He does, and it’s only because of the glare of my phone that I can see the slightest of smiles touch his lips.

  It’s the rest of his confession, and it’s all I need.

  The tears come so fast I can’t blink them away, and his form blurs as the taste of salt blooms on my tongue. My hands are shaking but I can’t feel them. I’m nothing but the heavy piece of metal at the end of my outstretched arms. “How long?”

  I don’t want to know the answer. I’m not sure I can stomach the answer, but I need to hear it. I owe it to Willa to hear it.

  His shoulders drop. Not with shame or remorse, but with the relief of shrugging off the version of himself that doesn’t fit. Here, there is no court stenographer, no witnesses, no one to hold him accountable except a seventeen-year-old girl who ran away from home and is a single demerit from getting kicked out of school.

  Here, he can be who he really is. He shrugs. “One letter for every day.”

  My stomach revolts and I swallow the acid that rushes to my tongue. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours, and the final moments of her life.

  He made Willa write letters so I wouldn’t think she was missing. He made Madison send a text to Mr. McCormack.

  I regrip the gun, my palms slick with sweat and blood, and I ask the question I already know the answer to. “Why her?”

  He doesn’t pause. “She was in my son’s way.”

  My arms burn beneath the strain of the weight in my hands, but I’ll gladly remember this pain. “Why any of them?”

  He shrugs. Like that’s all they were worth to him. Because he knew his status and power would insulate him, his twisted desire to dominate greater than the value of their lives.

  Because he could.

  I look Thomas in the eyes because I want to be the last thing he sees before he dies. “Tell him you’re sorry. At least give him that.”

  Jake rushes forward again, his father’s outstretched arm the only thing holding him back. “Caroline, this is insane! This —”

  Jake’s gaze catches on something behind me, and his lips part.

  It’s only then the sound of sirens filters in, wailing in the distance. Onl
y then I see the ripple of flames reflected in his eyes.

  It’s only then that I know I’m too late. I didn’t save Madison. I just hastened the inevitable. And when the wind brings an acrid hint of smoke from the burning cabin, I find myself praying that if she’s in there, she’s already dead.

  Jake whispers, “No,” but his voice is strangled. “I was just at the cabin, there is nothing —”

  “The fucking attic, Jake. You didn’t go in the attic.”

  His gaze snaps to mine and understanding unravels in his eyes. He stares at Thomas, and his voice breaks when he says, “Dad?”

  I can’t watch this — the moment Jake realizes he’s alone, that all the anchors he thought he had in the world were an illusion.

  Jake stumbles away, head shaking, and beams of light bounce through trees and shrubs in the distance, faint and growing stronger. Strobes of reds and blues dance over the ground, and the growl of an engine ramps higher.

  He stares at the flames behind me, words tumbling from his lips faster than I can piece them together.

  But when he whispers he’s sorry, it’s not me he’s apologizing to.

  There’s only one thing he could feel guilty for.

  I barely force the words from my lips. “You told him.”

  Except it’s worse than that. “You warned him, and he had time to —”

  “No! It wasn’t like that!”

  But it was. His warning gave his dad enough time to set fire to all the evidence he could. “When did you know, Jake?”

  “I didn’t!” He can’t stop shaking his head and his tears shine in the glow of the flames that rise higher on the cliff above us. “For a minute, I thought maybe — I went home that night, when Preston talked about the cell towers. But then I went to the cottage and —”

  “When, Jake? When did you know?”

  He can’t even look at me when he says, “There was another drive, in the safe. It was different.” He swallows hard. “It was painted, with nail polish, the pink color she always wore. I knew someone would find the safe eventually, and I knew she was jealous of you, that she was taking pictures, and I knew how you’d react if you found out. I didn’t even look at it until —”