by S. E. Green
I don’t want my mind to draw comparisons, but this is ringing way too close to my experience with my copycat, Catalina. She targeted all these innocent people who didn’t deserve it. So far, Adam has been nothing like Catalina, and I understand he’s angry and going off on the system. I also understand I am the catalyst for this anger. If I would have let him help me with Stabber Brother, he would feel avenged right now, not all wound up.
Or would he? It’s hard to tell. Maybe this is exactly how he would be no matter how Stabber Brother went down. Either way, I can’t knock the feeling that I’m responsible for Adam. This is my fault.
I try for reason one more time with someone I know he cares about. “What about your uncle, Judge Penn? Think about all those people he’s been forced to let go because the law won’t allow him to sentence them. With your train of thought, he would fall into your hit list, too. You and I both know your uncle would put every single one of those people away if given the chance. He’s one of the good ones.”
With a sigh, Adam closes his eyes, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything, and I hope my words are really sinking in and showing him reason. I don’t say anything. I just watch and observe and wait for the truth of what I said to sink fully in.
The puppy comes barreling back toward us, panting, the ball happily lodged between her teeth. I start to lean down to praise her, and Adam beats me to it, giving her a good rub down, and pointing her to the water bowl.
Okay, I think Adam’s back.
Still squatted down, he looks up at me, and I see a friendlier version of the Adam he was showing me seconds ago. I see the Adam I’ve come to know. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Can we forget what I just said? I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I nod, and in the interest of friendship, say, “It’s forgotten. And Adam, I really am sorry I did the brother without you. I honestly didn’t plan it, it just happened.” That much is true. I didn’t go there with intent, I slowly developed it.
He gives a slight nod, and I study his light brown eyes, looking for the understanding. Honestly, I can’t read him, but my gut tells me he’s not sure if he believes me.
Smart boy.
I really want to nudge him again on The Strangler but again now is not the right time.
35
THAT NIGHT AS I’m going to bed, Adam begins texting me.
Adam: DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT THE OTHER SIDE?
Me: OTHER SIDE?
Adam: When someone dies, and they go away. Is it heaven or hell or someplace else?
Me: I don’t know.
Honestly, I don’t think about that stuff.
Adam: What about ending someone’s life? Would you do it if it meant they were out of pain?
Me: You mean like a terminal patient?
Adam: Yeah.
Me: Yes, I would.
Adam: But it’s illegal and a sin.
Me: So is a bunch of stuff.
Adam: Good point.
I stare at my phone, trying to figure out where he’s going with this, but a lot of minutes go by and nothing else comes in. All I can think is, who the hell is he thinking about killing?
Adam: SIGNING OFF. GOODNIGHT.
Me: ‘NIGHT.
It takes me a little more time than usual to fall asleep, and the restlessness reminds me of the months following my mom’s death. I couldn’t seem to get my brain and body leveled out, and as I think through the dreams and nightmares that I had during that time, I begin to drift off…
Adam looks up at me from his hospital bed. “I know your secret, Lane.”
I look around the room. “Why are you in here?”
“If you help me die, you think you’ll be like her. Your mother.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Decapitator.”
“That wasn’t my mother.”
“I did some digging on you. I put it all together.” Adam reaches out and takes my hand. “It’s okay, Lane. You’ll never be like her.”
My eyes open, and I stare at the shadows playing across the ceiling of my bedroom. Restlessness, dreams, it means my mind isn’t at repose which is completely understandable given my new friendship with Adam.
There is no way he knows my mother was the Decapitator.
This is my first thought, and it’s immediately followed by another one that has me sitting straight up in bed.
Is Adam dying?
36
THE NEXT NIGHT Victor has the D.A. and Adam over for dinner. I like that Victor’s reaching out to the family. I like that my stepdad and the D.A. used to be high school friends and are becoming that again. He needs friends, and I like the D.A., especially now that I know her and Judge Penn are related, because I’ve always liked Penn. I like Adam, too, even though our friendship can be weird.
Seems like I like a lot right now.
There’s just something so normal about having dinner. Sitting around the table. Talking. Laughing. The smell of pot roast. Tearing off a chunk of bread. Washing dishes. Yes, it’s all so normal. So mundane, I guess, and soothing. Maybe this is what life is supposed to feel like.
“Show me your room?” Adam asks after dinner.
The only reason he’s asking that is because he wants to talk. I’m not entirely sure what he wants to bring up, but I’m curious enough to see. Maybe he wants to tell me he’s dying. I don’t like thinking that.
When we get to my room, Adam closes my door, giving us privacy. I knew it. He doesn’t want to “see my room”, he wants to talk. I brace myself. If he wants me to help him commit suicide, I honestly do not know how I’m going to respond. Is he really that sick? He doesn’t look sick.
From the front pocket of his shorts, he pulls out a flash drive. “Everything I could find on the strangled girls.”
I wasn’t expecting this and am relieved this isn’t about possible assisted suicide. Excitedly I reach out to take it, but he doesn’t give it to me. I should tell him a keep-away-from-Lane game is not one he wants to play.
“First,” he says, “have you given any more thought to our previous discussion?”
Shit. “Last night’s texting? What about it?”
He shakes his head, looking confused. “No, about the prison counselor.”
It’s not often I’m caught off guard, but I am right now. I thought we put that topic to rest. “Adam, I still feel the same way. You, we, can’t go after an innocent person.” I nod to the flash drive he’s still holding. “The Strangler is the type of person who deserves our focus.”
“I see.” Adam puts the flash drive back into his pocket, and I narrow my eyes. He is definitely pushing the line with me. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are.”
“Well, if you were my friend, you would help me.”
I wonder if this is what Reggie felt like when she said no to me. If so, I get it.
I lean in. “Help you what, exactly? Are you actually asking me to help you take out a prison counselor? A man who has done nothing wrong except facilitate the release of a few people who shouldn’t have been placed back into society.” I tap my forehead. “Don’t you realize how insane that sounds?”
Adam narrows his own eyes. “So what you’re saying is that you’re not going to help me?”
Leaning back, I fold my arms. “With the prison counselor? No.”
This time, Adam leans in. “Well, then, fuck you.”
Conflict resolution is not my strong point, and he is officially over the line now. “(A) I hate that word and (B) you need to go.”
37
MY CONVERSATION WITH Adam has me thinking about Reggie pretty much nonstop the rest of the night. Dialing her number is the first thing I do in the morning. I’m surprised that I find myself nervous as I wait for the call to go through.
It’s been months since we talked.
Reggie and I met years ago at a Science and Technology summer camp. We immediately did and have always gotten each oth
er. Reggie’s one of those friends you can hang out with and never say a word. She’s one of those friends you’re automatically comfortable with.
She goes to MIT and we used to talk or text daily. I screwed that up, though. I asked too much of her friendship. I took her for granted. I let my own desires get in the way of the truthfulness that has always been she and I.
“Yo,” she answers, just like she has a million times before. Like no time has passed. Like she doesn’t wonder why I’m calling.
I don’t take the friendly greeting for granted and launch right in, saying, “Reggie, I’m so sorry for being a bad friend. And I’m even sorrier for taking you for granted. Will you forgive me?”
“Let’s FaceTime,” she says and clicks over before I have a chance to answer her.
Her familiar pretty face fills my screen, and I smile. “Hi,” I say.
She smiles back, and the dimple in her right cheek sinks in. “You cut your hair.”
“Yeah.” I look at her shaved head. She’s shaved it before and has the face to pull it off, but the last time I saw her it was longer. “So did you.”
Reggie makes a face. “I didn’t mean to this time. I tried to color it purple and the process fried my hair. Shaving it was the only way to make it healthy again.”
“Well, like I said the last time you did it, you’ve got the face for it.”
“Thanks. Hey, how’s Daisy and Justin and your dad? Everyone holding up okay?”
Reggie came for Mom’s funeral and checked in with me nearly every day after that. Reggie loved my mom. “Everyone’s really good. Daisy and I are remarkably friends. Justin is having fun at summer camp. Dad has recently connected with an old high school friend.” I don’t tell Reggie that he was in the hospital. That will only worry her.
Her dark eyes brighten. “You mean like an old high school girlfriend?”
I laugh. “A little, I think.”
“I’m glad you and Daisy are getting along.”
“Me, too. What about you?”
She shifts a little to lay back on her dorm bed. “Well, obviously I’m in summer school.” She crinkles her nose. “I didn’t want to go home.”
I don’t blame her. Her dad is a horrible man. “You could’ve come here,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “It’s all good. Plus with all the smarties around here, I have to do summer school just to keep up.”
Reggie’s being modest. She’s the smartest person I know. But I don’t like that she’s not taking a break. “No going out then?”
“Not really.”
I shift, too, propping my feet up on my desk. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
Reggie sits straight up. “Shut up. Are you serious?”
I laugh again. “Yes, his name’s Tommy. He’s tall and blonde and rides a motorcycle.”
“Oh my God, please send me a pic.” She lowers her voice. “Have you done the nasty yet?”
“We’ve done oral, but no penetration.”
Reggie gags. “I hate the word penetration.”
On our conversation goes, from Tommy back to school. From her study partner to my new college plans. From her asshole dad to my new friend, Adam. We talk for nearly thirty more minutes before I cycle the conversation back around.
“Reggie, I really am sorry I screwed things up between us. You’re my best friend. I’ve missed this. Will you forgive me?”
She smiles. “I already have.”
38
DOWNSTAIRS, VICTOR IS packing Justin a lunch for his camp field trip into D.C. “You’re down kind of late.”
“I was talking to Reggie.”
“Did you guys make up?”
I grab a mug and pour coffee. “Yes, but now I’m fighting with Adam—” I stop myself. When did I become so share-y?
Victor puts a string cheese into the paper bag and folds it over. “Well, friends fight.”
“I’m not sure Adam would call me a friend right now.”
With a sharpie, Victor writes Justin’s name on the bag. “You’re a great friend, Lane. Never doubt that.”
Am I really? I don’t know. I’d like to think I am to the right people. Or if I veer off course, I’d like to think I recognize my mistakes and correct my direction. A year ago I would say the problem was Adam, but now I don’t. Maybe that comes with maturity.
Either way, life was fine before him and it’ll certainly go on.
Grabbing the remote, I flip on the T.V. and the headline is all about a new strangled girl. That makes four in all now. Forget about Adam, I’m figuring this out on my own.
39
LATER THAT MORNING I pull up a map of the area. The only information I have is that the girls are all young and they all have dark hair. I also know where the strangled bodies were found and their names. This is all public information.
Caley, Zabrina, Evelyn, and Yasmin. I write down each of the girl’s names and everything I can find on them: family, friends, activities, school. The one thing I immediately note is that they all live in Loudoun County, just like Ted Lowman and Scott Butler. They do not all go to the same school though and range in age from sixteen to nineteen.
The first girl was done when Teddy was still alive and the other three were done after. The first girl is the whole reason why Teddy hit my radar and I began to watch him. He either did the first girl and someone did the other three, or Teddy is completely innocent of murder and guilty only of sex with a minor, or rather multiple minors.
Next, I print off a map and put an X where each body was found. I also put a star on Ted Lowman’s house, noting all the bodies were found within a five-mile radius of his home. That’s almost too perfect. I also put a star on Scott Butler’s apartment, but it is miles removed from any of the bodies or Ted’s house.
The first body was found right over the border in Fairfax County, which explains how this landed in Penn’s court. How I first stumbled across Ted Lowman.
I study all the girls and what information I have, looking for a pattern there, too. Did they know each other? Did they know Scott and/or Teddy?
I write sex tapes and put a question mark. I try to remember the names of the girls on the DVD’s, but there were so many, I don’t immediately recall them. I kept copies, though, after I sent the D.A. the originals. It would be a simple matter of going through them to see if any of the strangled girls make an appearance. I’m not going to do that right now, though, I’ll do that later. Right now, I want to keep brainstorming.
Scarf. I write that word down. Adam had mentioned a scarf, and though that detail doesn’t show up in my research, I still jot it down. From what I can remember of the sex tapes, there were no scarves used. In fact, nothing but two bodies and sex.
Scott Butler and Ted Lowman… Why was Scott over at Ted’s house that night? How do they know each other? If the girls are on the sex tapes, has someone else seen them? Is that how they were picked?
Okay, backtracking to Scott and Ted. Let me see all the ways they’re connected.
I do some quick searches. Ted is older than Scott by a few years, so I know they didn’t go to college together. Scott was a high school guidance counselor and Ted, from what I can tell, lived off his inheritance.
Where would these two men have met?
I type in the school where Scott worked as a Guidance Counselor and find their Facebook page. I scroll through it, studying each picture.
I find one a couple years old with both Scott and Ted and a bunch of high school kids. The caption reads, “After School Program: Studying for the SAT’s.” I scroll through the comments and it looks like the students who attend are from all over Loudoun County, not just Scott’s high school.
Okay, that makes sense.
So Ted was a tutor? Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed. He didn’t seem bright enough to be a tutor. But at least now I have a good idea of how Scott and Ted met. How they began their sex tape friendship.
I zoom in on several photos of this study group and scrutinize the faces. A couple o
f the pictures are years old, but I do find one of the strangled girls with her arm slung over a friend, grinning.
The alarm on my phone dings, telling me it’s time to leave for my Patch and Paw shift. Tonight I’ll browse the sex tapes and see if the strangled girls make an appearance.
40
THAT NIGHT AFTER my shift at Patch and Paw, I’m walking across the parking lot to my Jeep, and I spy Adam parked right beside me, sitting on his hood.
I don’t nod an acknowledgment or say hello, I simply walk straight up to him and stand with my arms folded in front of him. The parking lot light towering behind and to the right casts an odd shadowy glow over the features of his pale face and makes his eye sockets appear deep set.
With a sigh, he pushes his glasses up. “I’m an idiot.”
“Yes,” I agree. “You are.”
Adam lowers his head and fidgets with the key ring loosely gripped in his fingers. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were looking for answers. For justice.”
“Yes.” He lifts his head. “But not that way.”
“I agree, not that way. Never by targeting someone innocent.”
“Thank you for telling me no. Thank you for being a good friend.”
“You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t say anything after that, and carefully I watch him. Some long seconds stretch between us, and then he sighs. “Sometimes I feel…out of control.” His gaze lifts to mine. “That sounds weird, doesn’t it?”
“No,” I assure him, “it doesn’t.”
“My mind gets bogged down by personal crap and when that happens I don’t make the best decisions. Thanks for reigning me in.”
I decide to use Victor’s words. “Sometimes friends fight. We had a fight. Okay? All over now.”
He gives me a very slight, grateful smile. “I really am sorry.”
