Monsters Among Us

by Monica Rodden

  If I were going to meet with someone about something illegal or horrible or whatever, I wouldn’t get in a car with them. I’d want more control than that.

  A way to get out, at least.

  She reached for the door handle, even though she wasn’t sure, even as her hand moved back, why she was doing so.

  There was a plastic click from Henry’s side of the car. Her hand pulled, but the door remained firmly closed.

  “Trying to get out?” Henry said. Then, a beat later, he laughed. “Just kidding. Jesus, look at your face. Relax.”

  She watched his hand move on the armrest by his door. She heard two more clicks. The doors unlocking, then locking again.

  “Henry.” Her voice was soft, quiet. “I’d like—”

  “Right. You’d like.” The rancor in his voice took her aback. He seemed to notice this and exhaled, hard. “Sorry. Just…it’s nice here. I don’t know why you want to go. I mean, you were the one who wanted to come in the first place.”

  “Yes,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “But I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “So you changed your mind.”

  “I—yes. Yes, I changed my mind.”

  “Color me shocked.”

  She blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” His eyes flicked across her face and then away. “Why do you look like that?”

  “Like what?” She realized how much his breath smelled of whiskey. She, however, had never felt more sober.

  “Like you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” she said, and it wasn’t until the words left her mouth that she realized they were a lie.

  She swallowed and looked out the windshield. It was raining gently, a light pattering of droplets across the glass, slowly obscuring the night. It made her think of another rainfall days ago, at almost the exact same time, an untouched coffee in the cupholder.

  “Henry,” she said slowly, still watching the rain. “What was her name?”

  “What?”

  “Her name. Your ex. You never told me what happened with her.”

  “Leyna?” He sighed bitterly. “She lied, okay? That’s what I said. She lied.”

  “To who?”

  Henry shot her a dark look. “To fucking everyone. Thank God no one believed her.”

  Her blood beat like drums, like a red melody. It was that word: God. It flashed across her mind like a sword, cutting through her, bringing with it an accusation she hadn’t fully understood until now.

  A teenager…was attacked by a member of this church.

  This has happened before, when someone is valuable to you.

  You’ve gone through this before, with James.

  She heard the words again, as though she were inside the cabinet. Noticing, now, the pauses and nuances.

  Before. With James. She’d thought Ken was referring to James about all of Pechman’s cover-ups. But what if she’d been wrong? What if only the first time had been for James—with the prescription pills—and Ken was just using that as proof that Pechman would do it again? For anyone who was valuable…

  “Money,” she breathed.

  “What?” Henry asked.

  But she said nothing. She was seeing the girl in the grocery store, that look in her eyes. How had Catherine not recognized it? Fear. The kind when nightmares became real and you saw them during the day.

  Be careful out there.

  Don’t want to get hurt.

  A veiled warning. Too veiled. She’d missed it completely.

  It wasn’t James who Pechman had been protecting after all. At least, not only James. Because of course he would lose his reputation if James was convicted of a crime, like selling pills. But there was something arguably more important to Pechman than even his status.

  Money.

  Henry’s mother donated so much to the church. Henry had told her so himself many times. Pechman would do anything to stay in her good graces. A favor, he’d consider it, and she’d return it without question. Anything for her son.

  “Henry,” she said. “Please take me home.”

  He must have read something in her face, because his own features twisted. His breathing picked up. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go….”

  “Henry—” she burst out, a note of real panic in her voice now.

  But he cut her off.

  “You know, you could at least give me some credit here. Like, this wasn’t the first option.”

  She felt her lips part. “What…wasn’t the first option?”

  “I mean,” he said, “I did try, you know. With Brittany. Leyna. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe that’s why you’re mad. Because I thought they could be you. But I know that was stupid, Catherine, thinking anyone could be you. But then, it’s not like you gave me much of a choice.”

  And when she said nothing, he continued, his voice now fevered, adamant.

  “I tried, you know. I mean, you must have known. How could you not? Even in high school. You must have noticed. Josh. I mean, really? Josh Tyler? He couldn’t even ride a bike properly. Such a prick. Oh, like you didn’t know. And it wasn’t all my fault. Idiot never followed basic traffic laws, it was a matter of time before someone knocked him down. But then you go to college, right? And I think, I can handle it, I’ll go with her. Only you fucked me up so much senior year I failed half my finals and didn’t get into West Washington. Even with buying from James. It…it was a bad time. After prom especially. You came up to me in that dress, smiling and talking. I thought you were back then—that we were back—I really did. But I was wrong.” His face tightened for a brief moment, then relaxed again. “Anyway, like I said, I did try other things. I visited you. Not sure if you knew that. Just a few times. I saw you one night, with this guy. I was so…angry. Too angry, I’ll admit it. It wasn’t fair of me. But it also wasn’t fair of you. I mean, some random…But I saw you got my flower. You looked so happy.”

  He’d said everything very quickly, but his words seemed to come to her like a slow trickle of sand through closed fingers. As she, by millimeters and minutes, absorbed all he’d just told her, her mind seemed to separate from her body, flattening and darkening to a void, narrowing by the second, until it disappeared entirely like something falling down a well.

  She had no idea what to do.

  Andrew ran upstairs. Yelled at Bob in his office to put down his phone. Explained his theory—yes, a theory, goddamn it—as Minda waited behind him, looking pained and dubious all at once.

  “Andrew, I still don’t think—”

  “But why not?” Andrew half shouted, cutting her off, before turning back to Bob. He was going to give this another minute, and then he was going on his own. He didn’t care anymore. “What harm could it do? To check? If I’m right, if the TOD’s off, then he’s alone with her right now.”

  But Bob was looking at him with the same expression as Minda. It made Andrew’s desperation spike and he fought to keep himself under control.

  “Okay, tell me this then,” he said, his voice shaking just a little. “Have you seen Henry before we came to the station? Has he…been in before? For something? Does he have a criminal history?”

  Bob ran a hand down his face. “Andrew, I’m not—”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” Bob said reluctantly. “Not officially, but yes, we had a complaint.”

  “About Henry? For what?”

  “I’m not going to tell you something like that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—”

  “Because no charges were brought?” Andrew’s breathing was so fast it hurt. “That’s what you said, right? No charges. A he-said-she-said in the simplest of terms. So I’m asking you, what did Henry say? Or did you no
t even bother to talk to him?”

  Bob said nothing.

  Andrew gave a shaky laugh. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’ve been with this guy all week! Catherine’s been with him! And you didn’t tell me? I thought it was that James kid this whole time.”

  “Well, James did have trouble too,” Bob admitted. “But that was for something else. I never lied to you, Andrew. About James, or Henry. There was nothing to tell. Nothing happened with Henry. Even the girl took it back, said she’d made a mistake. We almost went after her for a false report but decided not to. If anything, we were easy on her.”

  “Easy,” Andrew echoed. He didn’t recognize the man in front of him. “That what Pechman say to do?”

  Bob shook his head. “This has gone far enough. Andrew, I’m telling you right now, enough. This is on me. I told you too much. Things you didn’t need to know. I thought, with you showing interest again, maybe you wanted to be involved, be part of the team, but now I realize my mistake. Forget this, Andrew. We are handling it, do you understand? Leave it alone.”

  Andrew’s desperation was bubbling over now. He didn’t have time to argue, to say he understood things a hell of a lot more tonight than he had in a long time. “You’ve always told me to trust my gut. You’ve always said I’m too smart for my own good and that I have the right instincts. Well, this guy has bothered me from the start and now he might not have an alibi and I fucking left him alone with her. So you can come with me or not, but either way, I’m going.”

  And he would go. Alone, if he had to. He’d thought it was guilt and penitence, not wanting to leave Catherine, agreeing to anything she suggested. But maybe it had been something more this whole time. The thought of her alone with Henry was making him shake where he stood, a fear so primal and basic it was like thirst or hunger. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Not again.

  Bob sighed, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes Andrew had seen before: a mixture of exasperation and pride that had always made Bob seem like family to him, even a father. But the recognition was blurred now, as though he were seeing Bob through glass, or rain.

  “What do you even want me to do?” Bob asked.

  “Get him away from her.”

  “The flower,” Henry repeated. He was looking at her impatiently again. “A dahlia. You know what it means, right? Betrayal, but,” he added quickly, “I didn’t want you to take it that way. I wanted it to mean forgiveness, too, like I knew about what you did but was still giving you something to show we could move past it. Also, you hate roses. You used to say they were cliché, remember?” He frowned. “You did…you did like the flower, right? You got what I meant by it?”

  “Yes,” someone else said in her voice. “It was beautiful.”

  He nodded, looking relieved. “Right. I knew you would.”

  “You put…” She struggled with herself. Fought to be within her own body and mind and think. “You put a lot of effort into all of this.”

  He half laughed. “God. You have no idea.”

  She tried to laugh with him but it didn’t work at all. “I’ll bet.”

  “But I’ve always been pretty determined, you know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Enduring, right? Stubborn?”

  Again, she tried to laugh. It was a little better this time.

  “Like, with the cabinet,” he continued, looking encouraged. “Going to the furniture store. Stuff like that.”

  “The cabinet.”

  “God, you were amazing with that. So incredible.”

  “Well,” she said, clearing her throat. She put her hand against it. “That was your idea.”

  “I suppose it was.”

  “A…different idea, admittedly…”

  He laughed a little again. “Yeah, I’ll take that, it was weird.”

  “So…why the cabinet?” All she could think to do was keep him talking. She hadn’t liked the glares he’d shot her before, in the silences.

  Henry shrugged. “It wasn’t about the cabinet. Or even Pechman, really.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He flashed her a searching look. “What’s the game here?”

  “No game,” she said, which was true enough. Whatever this was, it didn’t feel like a game. “We’re just talking.”

  “But you’re upset.”

  She forced herself to breathe. “Because you know more than I do. And I always hated that.”

  He grinned at her. “Tell me something I don’t know. But I’ll give you this: I always knew Pechman was shady as hell. How could he not be? God, it was so obvious. But a little too obvious, you know? James made so much more sense.”

  “Really?” she asked as something seemed to fall away inside her.

  “Well, yeah,” Henry said, as though this were all perfectly clear. “Connection to the victim through the church. Previous criminal history with selling at the high school—Pechman was all over that, and James told me everything, how his dad got rid of the charges, smoothed it all over, but still—it doesn’t hurt that the cops would recognize his name. And James is such a homebody. Just plays video games all the time. His alibi any night would be his parents. His mom, who is a total pushover, and his dad, who…”

  Henry looked at her expectantly.

  She stared at him, lost. Disbelieving.

  “…would be under investigation for…,” Henry prompted.

  “…financial crimes,” Catherine managed. “With the church.”

  “Making any alibi he provided…”

  “…worthless.”

  “Well, maybe not totally worthless,” Henry amended, “but certainly a lot less credible. It would either be us who brought it to the cops or Ken would have eventually. Still, that whole part was just extra, really. The DNA was the important part.”

  “DNA,” she echoed. She could feel the right armrest digging into her back. A fleeting image came to her of twisting around, unlocking the door, and running—but she knew he would catch her. “Henry…whose hair was on Amy’s body?”

  “Whose do you think?”

  And the awful thing was, she did know. Because whatever twisted path his mind had led him down, she was following it.

  “James’s,” she said softly.

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Her hand shook against her neck. It felt made of bones, but that wasn’t right, was it? “Because he liked her—”

  “Because he was obsessed with her. Saw her all the time at the church and finally she agreed to meet with him but then she rejected him, so…” His voice trailed off.

  “Silly of him,” she said faintly. “To leave DNA.”

  Henry shrugged. “It’s amazing how easy it is to pull some hair. James trips all the time, he’s such a klutz.”

  She could picture it, too: Henry play-shoving James, or waiting for him to stumble, then reaching forward just a little too high, grabbing scalp instead of shoulders. Apologizing as James glared and rubbed his head, then shoved Henry back, who laughed…

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Henry said quickly. “Just because it’s James’s hair doesn’t mean he’ll go to prison. It’s more there to exclude anyone else. James is probably going to be fine. Not like his DNA’s in the system, not for pills that aren’t even on his record anymore.” He gave her another of those searching looks. “Can I ask you something?”

  She nodded against her hand.

  “Why did you say you were going to transfer and then back out?”

  She stared at him. He raised his eyebrows, impatient again.

  “Oh, come on, you say college sucks and you’re going to transfer to Falls to be with me and then you just change your mind. Like overnight. Then you yell at me and message me to leave you alone.”

  She said nothing. His frown deepened.

&
nbsp; “I just want to know why girls do it,” he said.

  “Do…what?”

  “Change their minds. Why do girls always change their minds?”

  “I don’t….”

  “You do, though. You must. Why do girls lie? Like how Brittany tried to come off all smart but within ten minutes of our date I could tell she was an idiot. Even when she saw her dad she was like, Oh, whoops, yeah, I kind of didn’t tell him I was going out, and I was just sitting there and freaking out. Or Leyna saying she wanted to be with me and then deciding randomly one day that she actually didn’t want to? Like, why do girls do that? Is it a compulsive lying thing? Do they do it because they know they can get away with it? No, don’t look like that. I genuinely want to know.”

  Catherine didn’t say a word. She felt the overwhelming instinct to stay as still as possible.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just…get frustrated. But I know it’s a lot, all of this, all at once. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about any of that. Brittany or Leyna. That’s all in the past now, and I don’t want to get lost in it. I mean, you remember what we studied senior year? Like, talk about a cautionary tale, right?”

  The change in subject jarred her. Her mind already spinning, she just shook her head.

  “But you know the book?”

  After a moment, she realized he wanted her to answer. “What…Which one?”

  “Which one?” he echoed, and now he sounded almost disgusted. “Which one do you think?”

  Her mind raced even faster. What had they read? Dark books. Gothic. She cast her mind back, to castles and torchlight. But no titles came to her.

  “Wuthering Heights,” Henry said, cutting up the word, stretching it out. “Wuth-er-ing Heights. Please tell me you at least read the fucking book, Catherine.”

  “Of course.”

  She hadn’t. Not a single page of it.

  “Then you know!” he said fiercely. “You get it. You must get it. Catherine. I mean, God, you have her name.”

  “Catherine,” she said, her voice very faint.

  “Yes,” he said. “Exactly.”