by Sara Shepard
With that, she spun on her absurdly high heels and marched back to her car. Tears streaming down her face, Ava grabbed her purse, leaving her coffee on the table, and with one heartbreaking sob, she headed out the front door, too.
“Ava!” Parker followed fast on her heels. “Ava! Wait!”
But Ava jumped into her car and slammed the door before Parker could get to her. She revved her engine, backed roughly out of her parking space, and was gone.
Parker stood alone in the parking lot. Poor Ava. Why hadn’t anyone stood up for her? Why hadn’t she, just now? A crashing barrage of memories flooded Parker’s mind: of her father hitting her, her mother standing by watching. Of the sound of her father’s voice when she came home high on Oxy . . . that night. Of her mother saying “Oh, Parker, how could you?” as if it were all Parker’s fault. Her stomach roiled, and her head continued to spin. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in ragged bursts as she tried, desperately, to get herself under control.
Just as her heart rate began to slow, Parker’s phone let out a chipper sound in her pocket. She pulled it out, her grip steadier. Fielder, the screen read. Parker stared at it for a moment as the phone continued to vibrate in her hand, then she pressed IGNORE. She wanted to see him—she knew he really cared about her, that right now he might be the only person who really cared about her—but she didn’t want to talk to him until she got her thoughts straight.
Leaning back on the bench, Parker closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths. She smelled the tang of rain on the asphalt, felt the cool air brushing against her skin. Ava, you’re not alone. I’m here for you, she said silently, sending her thoughts out to Ava on the breeze.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TEARS LEAKED FROM THE CORNERS of Ava’s eyes faster than she could wipe them with her sleeve. She blinked to clear her vision and voice-dialed Alex on her car’s Bluetooth. When he picked up, her composure fell apart again. “She’s so awful!” she sobbed. “I can’t take it anymore!”
“Whoa . . . slow down,” Alex said. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
Ava took a few deep, slow breaths, steadying her voice. “I’m fine. It’s just—Leslie. She just attacked me in public, and now I have to go home and see her again, and this whole weekend is going to be full of family time and it’s going to be so terrible.” She couldn’t imagine what Leslie’s mother was going to be like—if she had even a tenth of Leslie’s attitude, she’d be unbearable.
Alex groaned. “I’m sorry. She’s so freakin’ evil.”
“Look, I’m sorry to ask you this, but can you meet me at my house? I need a buffer. And I don’t feel like I can rely on my dad right now.” She winced, thinking of what Leslie had said about him not wanting her around. It wasn’t true, was it? He didn’t think she was guilty, did he?
“Of course,” Alex said. “I’m at work. Be there in fifteen.”
“Wait, you’re at work?” Ava asked, sniffing. “You shouldn’t come over, then.” Alex’s boss at the ice cream shop had given him his job back as soon as the charges were dropped, but she knew it would take longer for people’s trust in Alex to be totally restored. This was not the time for him to be pushing it.
“Are you sure?” Alex asked. “Why don’t you go to my house instead? I can bring over double-double caramel fudge later,” he offered.
Ava sighed, slowing at a stoplight. “I wish,” she said, imagining the scene, hanging out and eating ice cream and being normal. “But I should probably face this.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? I’m out of here in . . .” She heard him pull the phone away from his cheek so he could check the time. “. . . ninety minutes. I’ll come straight to you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Ava was flooded with relief and gratitude. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
They clicked off the call just as Ava pulled into her driveway. Her heart sank at the sight of Leslie’s car, parked at a crazy angle, its front tires on the lawn. How could Ava face her? Then again, what was her alternative?
Just as she put her foot on the bottom step, she heard Leslie’s voice in the kitchen, rising and falling in an emphatic tirade. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the tone—angry. Ava knew Leslie was telling her father about her, and sure enough, a moment later, she heard her father’s low murmur in response. His voice sounded soothing. Maybe he was agreeing with everything she said.
Horrified and definitely not ready to face the music, Ava ran upstairs to her room and slammed her bedroom door. She fell forward onto her bed, misery washing over her. A knock on her door made her jump. To her relief, her father’s head peeked inside, not Leslie’s.
“Ava?” He sounded unsure.
Ava turned away, facing the wall. “What?” she asked woodenly.
He took a few steps into the room. “We were hoping you could come downstairs and help set up for the party.”
Ava said nothing. It was just about the last thing she wanted to do.
“You know I expect you to put on a good face this weekend,” her father said. “It would mean a lot to me and Leslie.”
“Uh-huh,” Ava answered, without intonation.
Then he cleared his throat. “Leslie told me you were mouthing off to her,” he added softly. “Is that true?”
Mouthing off. So what was Leslie doing to her? Ava looked down at the rug. As she moved, her father gasped. “Ava,” he pleaded, reaching for her arm, where there were still deep red marks where Leslie’s nails had dug into Ava’s skin. “Where did you get those marks?”
Ava looked at her father, then quickly turned away. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth. But even if she did tell him, Leslie would make up something to get herself off the hook and figure out a way to punish Ava for it later. What was the point?
“It was an accident,” she muttered. “Just some dumb thing at school.”
Ava’s father just looked at her, his eyes wide and sad. “You’ve become so different,” he said. “So . . . withdrawn. It’s like I don’t know you anymore. Leslie is worried about you.”
Ava stared at him. Leslie had him so convinced, and she was freaking sick of it. Something inside her cracked, like a dam breaking. “I’m not different!” she burst out. “You’re the one who’s changed! You’re the one who doesn’t spend time with me anymore, or give me the benefit of the doubt, and it’s like you’ve just forgotten Mom, and—”
A loud, sickening thump cut through Ava’s words. Ava and her father jumped off the bed and ran to look out the window—where the sound had come from. Ava gazed out across the yard but saw nothing amiss. Then she looked straight down, and screamed.
Leslie lay limp and still on the grass. Her body had fallen at an awkward angle, her knees pointing one way, her torso the other. Her neck was twisted in a sickeningly unnatural direction.
Ava made a small gurgling sound at the back of her throat. Mr. Jalali pushed around her at the window. When he saw his wife, his face paled. “Dear god,” he whispered. His knees buckled, and he clutched the windowsill to keep himself upright. Ava pulled him to his feet, and together they raced downstairs and outside.
The ground was wet with early evening dew. Leslie was in the same crooked position, but up close her face looked lined and haggard, and a thin dribble of chardonnay bubbled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh my dear,” Mr. Jalali said, dropping to his knees and throwing himself against her chest. “Oh my sweet, sweet dear.”
“Dad, don’t touch her!” Ava screamed. “You could hurt her!”
Mr. Jalali backed up, his eyes full of fear. Ava knelt down and put her ear to Leslie’s mouth, listening for breath. She heard a faint inhale, then a wheezing exhale. “Call 911,” she said shakily. Then she looked up at the house. Above them, the doors of the master bedroom balcony were wide open, as if they’d been flung outward. Had Leslie stepped out for some air? Lost her balance, toppled over?
Ava looked back down at
Leslie, who had turned a ghostly shade of gray. Her heart began to pound as she remembered her words about Leslie from that day in film studies. Maybe she could fall off her balcony after she finishes her nightly bottle of chardonnay.
Someone had done this.
And then something else gripped her: That same someone might still be in the house right now.
Ava jumped back up and faced the front door. Something moved at the corner of her eye, and she turned. Was that a shadow, creeping toward the backyard? Stumbling forward, Ava rounded the rose bushes at the corner of the house and burst onto the patio, which was half-decorated with elegant tables, place settings, flowers, and candles in elegant silver candlesticks, all for the party. But there was no one there.
Everything was still. Ava sucked in deep, gasping mouthfuls of air, terror and confusion and horror coursing through her. She wanted to tell herself that it was an accident—that she hadn’t seen anything at all back here.
But she knew, deep down, that this wasn’t an accident.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JULIE SAT ON A SWING in the playground a few blocks from her house. It was attached to a church, but only a few kids ever visited, so she always had the place to herself. She came here when she was feeling especially stressed, or when it felt like the walls in her house were closing in on her—which was, admittedly, quite often. Just sitting and swinging usually calmed her down, especially with the backdrop of the orange-and-purple sunset glittering through the clouds. But not tonight. Maybe not ever again. She felt scattered and horrible. She couldn’t stand to be at home—with all the cats gone, her mom had done nothing but wail loudly about how it was all Julie’s fault—but she couldn’t go anywhere, either. Apparently, Social Services had been notified that there was a minor living in the cat-riddled house, and someone was supposed to come out and interview Julie soon, but that didn’t make her feel better, either. So what—they’d send her to foster care? That hardly seemed like an improvement.
It felt like the whole world was closing in on her. She pulled out her phone and tried Parker one more time, but there was still no answer. Where was she? And what had she done?
Julie tried to go back to that horrible day on Tuesday, but she just couldn’t. All kinds of horrible scenarios of what Parker might have done to Ashley siphoned through her thoughts like water. It was easier to try and block it out as best she could . . . at least until she got hold of Parker and asked her the truth. Then again, did she actually want to know the truth? She was undoubtedly an accessory in her friend’s crime—if Parker had even done it. And if she hadn’t, well, Julie still was an accessory to someone.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered Ashley’s slack limbs and blue lips; the way her head bobbed and fell forward as Julie dragged her heavy body through the woods; the mud that covered Julie’s feet after she weighed down the body and rolled Ashley into the river behind her house; the disgusting thunk of Ashley hitting the water. And then there was the deep abyss of thoughts that kept rearing their heads, scaring Julie even more: What about all the other awful things that had happened? Nolan, Granger, Parker’s father? Parker had hated all of them—could she have been the one behind all those murders? Julie had kept such poor tabs on her friend lately; whole days had gone by when she didn’t know where Parker was. She had meant to be a better friend, to keep watch on Parker, but her personal life had spun out of control, and she hadn’t been able to keep track of both of them.
But she hadn’t thought Parker was off doing . . . this. Julie shut her eyes, terrified to even think it.
“Julie?”
She looked up sharply, then gasped. Carson stood at the edge of the playground, his arms at his sides. He was staring at her not unkindly, though he looked worried.
She jumped off the swing and grabbed her jacket off the nearby bench. “I have to go,” she said abruptly, not meeting his eye.
“Wait!” He followed after her. “I want to talk to you.”
Just a few days ago, the sound of his voice had made her heart skip a beat. Now she felt . . . nothing. “I can’t see you anymore,” she said bluntly.
Carson looked like he’d been slapped. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What did I do?”
Julie lowered her eyes. At first she’d thought Carson had baited her into going back to school as a favor to Ashley. A crazy thought, but she just didn’t know who Ashley had under her thumb. But in one of the many messages Carson had left for Julie over the past few days, he’d somehow sensed she was worried about this and told her it absolutely wasn’t true.
She believed him now, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t be with him anymore. Carson may have been willing to understand that her mother was a hoarder, but there was no way he’d understand that she was now an accessory to murder. If he found out what she’d witnessed, what she’d done, well. He’d want nothing to do with her.
And Julie couldn’t afford to be close to anyone except for Parker. She needed to protect her friend at all costs. She’d ruined Parker’s life once; she wasn’t doing it again. It was just easier this way.
She turned and faced him. “I just have a lot of stuff going on right now. I have to get my head straight. I’m sorry.”
“Is it the cats stuff? Animal control? How are you holding up?”
Julie wanted to laugh. She wished her life was that simple. “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s . . . complicated.”
“I’m here to listen, though,” Carson insisted, his voice gentle. “Who else do you have to talk to?”
“I’m fine.” Julie shoved her hands in her pockets and walked on. “I have Parker.”
Carson followed her. “Actually, Julie, we need to talk about Parker.”
Julie whipped around, the blood draining from her face. What did Carson know? What was he suggesting? “No, we don’t,” she whispered, and then she started to run.
She careened down the block, her jacket flapping in her hands. The streetlights had come on, and she could barely see, but she didn’t want to stop running until she got to her property. At one point, she peeked over her shoulder, relieved that Carson wasn’t following her. We need to talk about Parker. She should have known better than to ever get involved with Carson. Now he was trying to interfere with her and Parker. She wasn’t going to let anyone come between them.
Just as she reached her curb, her phone buzzed again. It was a text from Ava, who’d been trying to reach her a lot lately. Leslie pushed off balcony, the text said. In a coma.
Julie’s stomach swooped, and her knees felt wobbly. Another person off the list. This couldn’t be happening. Then her heart stopped.
Could this be Parker’s work, too?
She frantically dialed Parker for the millionth time. No answer. Spinning off her porch, she fled to her car and threw herself into the driver’s seat. She had to go to Ava’s now.
Police cars and ambulances swarmed Ava’s picturesque suburban street, their lights casting an eerie-colored glow over the manicured lawns. Julie parked far away from Ava’s house and cut behind the neighboring houses, across the backyards, drawn forward though she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She reached the thicket of trees on a slight rise above Ava’s backyard and looked around, suddenly having a premonition. Parker was here somewhere.
She plunged into the woods. Only a hundred yards in, a familiar figure sat huddled at the base of a towering tree, rocking from side to side. Julie gasped. Parker’s hoodie was pulled over her head, and her face was covered in dirt. Her eyes rolled upward. Just the sight of her brought Julie to her knees.
“Parker,” Julie whispered as she squatted down. She pushed the hoodie back from Parker’s face, but Parker didn’t look at her. Julie put a hand on her arm. “Parker?” she whispered.
Parker continued to rock and mutter to herself, as if Julie wasn’t even there. Julie leaned closer, panic rising in her chest. “Parker!” she cried, gripping Parker by the shoulders.
Parker stopped her movem
ent and went quiet. She looked straight into Julie’s eyes, her gaze suddenly lucid. “Julie,” she whispered. “Oh my god, Julie.” She sounded terrified.
Julie pulled her in and held her tightly. “It’s okay, Parker. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Parker’s face screwed up and she let out a loud sob. “I think I’ve done something awful. I think I’ve done a lot of something awful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PARKER HEARD JULIE’S FAMILIAR, COMFORTING voice as if from a million miles away. Then she heard her name again, this time a little louder, a little closer. Parker concentrated on bringing herself to Julie’s voice, and finally, she snapped back into place. She felt the damp soil beneath her and heard the rustling leaves on the trees swaying high above their heads. She was in the woods. Behind Ava’s house.
Ava’s house. Everything else rushed back, too.
Sensory memories flooded through her: her biceps flexing as she pushed Leslie, hard; Leslie’s fingernails piercing Parker’s skin as she clutched desperately, fighting to regain her balance; the sensation of relief when Leslie released her grip and fell, her mouth forming a frightened and silent oval, over the balcony railing before landing with a resonant thud at the bottom. Parker had done it, but it was as if her body had gone through the motions on autopilot or something. She didn’t remember deciding to do any of that.
And then more memories bombarded her, too. Ashley Ferguson stood in her bathroom, getting ready to take a shower. She spun around as Parker came up from behind her, her arms raised to defend herself, her face twisted in fear but not exactly surprise. Parker felt her wrists strain as she shoved Ashley back, hard, against the tile in the shower. Then she felt the sweep of her leg and the contact of her shin on Ashley’s calves as she kicked her feet out from under her. The floor vibrated as Ashley’s head cracked against the tile.
