by Debbie Civil
Chapter 2
The library is located on the fourth floor. Luckily, only one other girl, a red head named Sam, chooses this activity. She is a sophomore and keeps to herself. As we stand in the elevator, my stomach is a ball of nerves. What am I going to find? Part of me wished that I had asked Clair what she meant by me helping Adam kidnap everyone. The idea is stupid beyond belief. If I had been a master mind behind the whole thing, Peter wouldn’t have been involved. When the doors slide open, Sam is the first one to bolt from the elevator. Grace and I exchange a “What the?” look before following her down the white hallway. It saddens me that all of the floors look the same. But I understand why the administration doesn’t decorate much. Aside from the obvious, someone might use a decoration as a weapon, people respond negatively to certain items. I remember how pale Clair had gotten when she saw a painting of the beach while we toured a gallery. That particular outing had been really boring. I only wanted to go because Grace has an interest in art. We walk into the computer lab, which is essentially a room with six long tables that have three computers a piece. Miss Sarah is in charge of the lab and shoots us a smile. She is doing maintenance on the first row computers so the three of us just sit in the second row. We will not be monitored here. That’s what the staff promises. So I log in and pull up a search engine and type the name “Chelsea Philips” in the search bar. There are plenty of hits. My pulse races when I read the headlines.
Could this teen have been an accomplice?
What happened in the house on Garfield Street?
Adam Smith gives a candid interview to CNN.
Where is Chelsea Philips?
Is Chelsea Philips' family hiding her from the media or from justice?
Then, I see a few results from YouTube. Apparently, this interview has gone viral. I want to throw up. These idiots really think I’m involved? Why? I guess that there’s only one way to find out. I turn to Grace, whose facial expression tells me that she sees the same thing.
“Read the articles. I’ll watch the YouTube video,” I offer. She nods.
“There’s a lot of information about you online.” I brush off her concern and take a deep breath. I haven’t seen Adam since he held a gun to Peter’s head. This situation is uncomfortable. I wish that he hadn’t done this interview. What did he say? Why is all this speculation about me? Is everyone mad that I fell off the grid? Going to California hadn’t been a hiding tactic. My grandmother is convinced that this boarding school will help me deal with my mental health issues. For the most part, it has. I hate to say this, but I’m grateful to be at Gipson Academy. Now I know for sure what I want in life. A military career is out of the question. Despite the fact that the thought of holding a gun makes me queasy, I’m not mentally capable to deal with the pressure. Oh and let’s not forget the fact that I’m just not up to it physically. Although my broken ribs have long mended, whenever it’s particularly cold, they hurt.
I shake my head, not knowing why my mind likes to wander. I need to put on my big girl pants and click on the link. A guy had been trying to get my records. I need to know why. Does he work for the police department? Taking a deep breath, I put on a pair of headphones, I click on the link.
I immediately see a picture of the half-finished colonial that we were held in. My heart rate spikes and images of the dark basement bombard my mind. As soon as the picture is removed, another of the basement appears and I wince.
“Most of you probably recognize what I’m showing you,” a woman with blond hair and perfect pale skin dressed in a pants suit begins. Her emerald green eyes are filled with sadness. “Nearly two years later, this crime has shaken the Gately community.” More images flash across the screen. One of me being wheeled away in a stretcher, another of Eric being arrested, and then a few pictures from Uncle Vincent’s and Otis’ funerals. A tear falls down my cheek after seeing a picture of Uncle Ben bawling. “The trials for Eric and Nina Philips, the two masterminds of the kidnapping and murder of Vincent Philips and Otis Saint Paul, are being held in the fall. One of the accomplices named Adam Smith will be tried this summer. I recently sat down with him in the maximum security prison to hear his side of the story.” The image changes to a room with a long table. Adam is sitting at the table wearing an orange jump suit. The reporter is sitting beside him.
“Adam, how did you get involved in the murder plot?” For a moment, Adam’s face is full of emotion. Then, a mask of indifference slips over his face. A chill travels through me. Adam is about to lie, I know it.
“I met them through their niece Chelsea Philips.” That comment is complete bull. I never introduced Adam to any of my Aunts and Uncles. I tamp down the urge to yell at the computer screen.
“Can you describe the meeting?” she asks.
“Chelsea and I met up at a charity event for this kid who had cancer. Her grandmother didn’t want us together, so we had to sneak around. And that was the best way for us to meet. I got Chelsea, and we both went outside. After we talked for a little, a car pulled up. Eric and Nina were in the car. They were dropping off money that Chelsea forgot. After Chelsea went inside, we started chatting it up,” Adam explains. He’s lying by spinning half-truths. Everyone that was at the charity event for Hope won’t be able to deny this. We did go outside to talk. But Otis brought us envelopes. My heart sinks. No one besides my friends and cousins can corroborate my story. Otis is dead. And who will believe us anyways. Any Defense attorney with half a brain could convince the jury that we are lying.
“Did they talk about the plot?” the woman asks.
“No. Eric loved Chelsea. He said that I should stay away from her. I asked why, and he told me that Chelsea said I was abusive. I was shocked. I never hit Chelsea. If anything she hit me. Actually, on that night, I tried to break up with her and she kicked me in the balls. On another occasion, she stabbed me,” Adam says, gesturing to a scar on his bicep. The reporter looks shocked.
“She stabbed you?” she asks.
“Yes. Chelsea is a very emotionally disturbed girl. On the night of prom, she trashed the school bathroom.” The reporter nods as if already knowing that piece of information.
“Do you know why she trashed the bathroom?” the reporter inquires.
“Because I tried to break up with her. You see, I fell for another girl and Chelsea got really jealous. I was afraid of her, so I took everything back,” Adam lies. I feel sick. He’s twisting everything to make me look like a monster. Yup, this is all my fault. Grandma told me that Adam was a loser and I didn’t listen to her.
“When I interviewed Teresa, she told me that Chelsea was a social outcast in high school. Was that because of her violent nature?” the reporter asks.
“No. Chelsea is a spoiled brat. If she wants something, she takes it, despite the consequences. When Chelsea was a freshman, she slept with her best friend’s boyfriend,” Adam says and my mouth pops open. I’m a virgin. I did not sleep with James. But the world probably believes that I’m a slut. My head pounds at the thought.
“Did Chelsea do any drinking in high school?” “No,” I say just as Adam says “yes. Chelsea drank all the time. When she’s drunk, she’s even worse. One time she came over dressed like a hooker while my girlfriend and I were hanging out. She started throwing herself at me in front of my neighbors. It was pathetic,” Adam says.
“Okay, so Chelsea is a brat who drinks and gets violent?”
“Yes,” Adam responds, his face momentarily filling with anger. I can’t believe this. Adam is painting himself as the overwhelmed ex-boyfriend who had a girlfriend who wouldn’t go away.
Why is this happening to me?
“When was the next time you talked to Eric and Nina?”
“When Chelsea begged them to bail me out of jail,” Adam says. The reporter looks as if she has been given the story of the day.
“Why were you arrested?” she asks.
“My father had just died. I got drunk and got into a bar fight,” Adam responds, a tea
r falling down his haggard face. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“So you were vulnerable at the time?” the woman asks. I can’t believe her. Is she attempting to give Adam an out or is the woman trying to make me look bad? Or both?
“Yes. After my father's heart attack, I was a mess. That was the day Chelsea stabbed me. We got into an argument about money. She wanted to go to a really expensive restaurant and I told her I couldn’t afford it. She stabbed me,” Adam snaps, his face turning angry for a split second. Then, he goes back to looking miserable.
“Okay, so Eric and Nina bail you out of jail,” the woman prompts.
“Yes. That’s when I found out about the plan. Eric told me that I had to pay him back. I told him I didn’t have any money. He told me no problem, just show up at this address and he’ll give me instructions after that,” Adam explains.
“When you showed up at the colonial, what happened?”
“Chelsea and her boyfriend Peter were in the limo. Chelsea got out and proceeded to tell me that she didn’t really want to be with Peter. She wanted me. All I had to do was kill her grandmother and Peter and the debt would be repaid. If I didn’t do it, my girlfriend would be killed. I couldn’t risk her, so I went into the house and held a gun to Peter’s head while Eric demanded that the will be changed.” More tears begin to fall from Adam’s tormented blue eyes.
“So tell me about Chelsea’s heroic move,”” she demands.
“Heroic? She came in and shot Eric and told her grandmother that she would get everything. The old woman agreed and Chelsea let everyone go,” Adam says. “She decided that she didn’t want to get her hands dirty.”
“What happened next?” the woman asks. I can’t believe any of this. I feel sick. Some idiots are actually going to believe Adam’s sob story.
“Chelsea, shut down your computer,” a voice tells me. I pull off my headphones and look up at the computer attendant’s concerned face. She glares at the screen and I obey. I’ve heard enough to know that Peter’s defense is going to be that he was coerced into committing a crime. He’s using my past behavior as proof that I’m nothing but an impulsive spoiled monster. Nothing can undo what Adam has done. For the rest of my life, people will speculate about me.
“Are you all right?” she asks softly.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this,” I cry.
“We didn’t know,” the woman explains delicately.
“He’s lying. He’s lying, but no one is going to believe me.” Tears are falling down my face. Grace stands and wraps an arm around me.
“Chelsea, I believe you. Adam is a monster. Everyone will figure it out sooner or later.”
“I…” Words can’t escape my throat anymore. It’s as if the only thing my body can produce is tears.
“Chelsea, Doctor Rose is in a session right now. She will see you in a minute,” Miss Sarah announces. The thought of talking about this makes me cry even harder. Adam betrayed me over and over and all I did was take him back. Words that Peter said two years ago slam into my mind.
“I don’t think you have a forgiveness problem. You just have a problem forgiving the wrong people.” He’s right. If only his strong arms were around me right now. That would make everything better. It’s not my reliance on men that makes me crave Peter. It’s the fact that his love keeps me together. For the last two years, people have been trying to convince me that our love is nothing more than hormones and my desperation to be loved. At this moment, it runs deeper than anything.
“I need Peter,” I cry softly through my tears.
“No, you need to talk this out with Doctor Rose,” the computer teacher corrects gently. She means well, but I’m half tempted to slug her. But I don’t. Now that I know that the world thinks I’m evil, I want to go back to my family. We have to do something about this. Adam committed a crime and is going to get away with it. He nearly killed Peter. Only heaven knows if the guy killed anyone else. The only part of the story that even sounds remotely true is Nina and Eric bailing him out of jail. I don’t doubt that Adam participated in the killing because Eric forced him. But why drag my name through the mud?
“Chelsea, everything will be okay,” Grace whispers. Her words don’t bring me much hope. That interview was explosive. People will believe him. If I did a counter interview, everyone would probably say that it would be a tactic to take the heat off of me. Part of me hates the fact that the public’s opinion is important. But the juries for Adam’s trial is going to be pooled soon. What if he’s found not guilty? Will Adam leave me alone or will the guy find a way to blackmail me?
“I hope so,” I manage to say through my tears. Grace rubs my back. I’m relieved that she’s at least by my side.
Grace stays with me until Doctor Rose comes to get me. I follow the tall, slender woman into the elevator. Her gentle gray eyes study me as she presses the down button. My tears have dried up and nothing but cold fury has replaced it.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“No. The whole world thinks that I’m a crazy slut with impulse control issues,” I respond bluntly. The doctor doesn’t say a word. She walks out of the elevator and I follow her into her office. When I walk in, my heart stops. My grandmother is sitting in the plush chair by the window. She looks frail and weak. Her skin is paler than usual and there are bags under her gray eyes. I’m happy to see her, but displeased by the fact that she looks so unhealthy. I sit beside her. The woman stiffens. Doctor Rose shuts her door and turns to face me. She sits behind her desk and places her hands in her lap.
“Chelsea, your grandmother has a few questions to ask you,” the woman announces. I stare up at Grandma Betty and she just looks so tired.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I should have listened to you about Adam.” She sighs.
“Chelsea, how much of what he said is true?” I think for a moment.
“Probably the part about Uncle Eric bailing him out of jail. He called me from prison needing help. I told him no,” I say.
“I know. The call was recorded.”
“I didn’t sleep with James. I haven’t slept with anyone. I did stab Adam but that was when he attacked me after I wouldn’t give him 25 thousand dollars.” Grandmother’s face fills with anger.
“Why did he need twenty-five thousand dollars?”
“He told me that his father had a few gambling debts that became his problem. He punched me when I refused to pay. That’s when Ivy decided to get involved. She pushed me and I got into a fist fight with her. Malcolm saw from across the street and joined in. I got the knife from Ivy. She was trying to stab Malcolm from behind,” I explain in a rush.
“Did you know anything about my son’s plans?” Grandma asks.
“No. I didn’t,” I say and it looks like the woman believes me.
“Chelsea,” the doctor says. “You can tell the truth. Do you know anything?” I swallow.
“Doctor Rose, if I was a part of the plan, why was I attacked?” I snap. The woman holds up her hands.
“I’m not saying that you planned this. I just wanted to make sure that you were comfortable telling the truth to your grandmother,” she says.
“Comfortable or not, Chelsea, you have to go back to Gately. Detective Green has a few questions for you,” Grandmother announces and I feel like my whole world is caving in.
