Someone is always watchi.., p.24
Someone Is Always Watching, page 24
“You did the right thing,” Callum says. “All of it. They’re dangerous, whether they mean to be or not.”
The figure deflates with a soft sigh. “Yes. It’s not their fault.”
“It’s CMT’s fault, and they need to be dragged into the light. Unfortunately, that means dragging everything into the light. But ultimately, it’s for the best.”
“Exactly. It won’t be easy, but everyone will get the help they need—or the justice others need from them. They must face their pasts, consequences and all.”
It takes every bit of Callum’s training to nod convincingly at that. He focuses on thinking about Tucker. Does he agree that Tucker should face justice? That his victim’s family should know the truth? Hell, yes. He stole his victim’s innocent life; he does not deserve a second chance at one himself.
“Okay,” Callum says. “Here’s what I propose we do…” He looks around, as if CMT security lurks behind the bushes. Then he steps closer. “We need to—”
He lunges. Grabs the figure by the shirt front, and slams them into the swing-set pole.
“We don’t need to do anything,” Callum says. “You need to do something. You need to tell me where to find Gabi.”
The figure struggles, but Callum jams his forearm into their neck, just as Tucker did to him. He presses on their windpipe.
“You have two choices,” he says. “Either I turn you over to my mother, or you take me to Gabi, and we work out a way to get her back to her family safely.”
“The Harrises aren’t her family. They’re—”
“They’re her parents, who love her and are worried sick about her, and are committed to helping her get better. I have no idea what’s going on at the top levels of CMT, but I know Gabi’s parents care. Either we figure out a way for you to get out of this mess or—”
His captive sucker punches him in the stomach. There’s a split second where Callum can’t believe he was so stupid. He hears his mother snapping at him.
You didn’t secure their arms? Did you expect them to just stand there and let you choke them?
Then he realizes he released his quarry altogether. That he’s doubled over, retching. That someone is grabbing him by the hair, holding him down.
Callum’s instincts kick in. He slams his fist up into his attacker’s arm. The grip on his hair vanishes. His attacker wheels to run, but Callum grabs them and yanks them back so hard that his foot slides on the wood-chip-covered ground. He falls backward, flailing, sneakers skidding to stop his fall. His attacker kicks the back of Callum’s knee. His feet fly out from under him, and he falls backward, head cracking the concrete footing of the swing-set post.
A flash of blinding pain.
Then nothing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
BLYTHE
It’s not until we’ve arrived at the playground that I realize the significance of Callum’s chosen spot. This is where I’d been with Tucker earlier today. He’d seen me. Now he’s called Tucker here for a private meeting.
I’d hoped he really did have information. Seeing where we are, I know better.
I won’t say this is about me. I don’t think it is. Otherwise, I’d be the one getting that summons. No, Callum has had time to feel the full burn of humiliation at Tucker’s hands. First at the school, and then in his garage. He wants to strike back, and so he’s chosen the location of yet another of today’s supposed humiliations: where he saw me alone with Tucker after I broke up with him.
I tell Tucker that. He only nods in that way that says he understands my opinion while not necessarily agreeing.
“I could be wrong,” I say, as we stand in the shadow of a neighboring fence.
Tucker rubs a finger over his chin. “I don’t like Callum much these days, but I give him more credit than that. I don’t think he’s going to stew about what happened earlier and call me out to some kind of duel. Lure me in and jump me and beat the crap out of me.”
“I’m not sure how well I know him, after all that’s happened, but I would agree with you. It still seems a weird choice of meeting place.”
“Oh, it’s significant. He has something for me, and this will be his price. Back off from you. That’s the message.”
“Maybe?” I say. I peer out at the playground, a hundred feet away. “But I’d still like you to be careful.”
He smiles. “Careful is my middle name.”
I snort at that. As he steps away, I melt back into the shadows. I don’t see Callum there. Is he hiding someplace? Waiting to make sure Tucker shows up?
If Callum is hiding, I think it’s because he’s concerned about Tucker sneaking up on him. I squint around, trying to catch any sign of movement. Then I spot a shape near the swing set.
A figure lies crumpled at the foot of it.
I run out to stop Tucker. I recognize the college sweatshirt and long shorts Callum was wearing earlier. He’s pretending to be in trouble so Tucker will run over, and he can catch him off guard.
Even as I call a warning to Tucker, I realize that makes no sense. Anyone who knows Tucker realizes there are a very limited number of people for whom he’d drop his guard and race to their aid. Callum isn’t one of them, especially now.
Tucker has already slowed, his head tilted as he assesses. He hears me call out and lifts a hand to warn me back. Then he breaks into a slow and cautious lope.
I run up behind Tucker. Hearing me, he glances back quickly, not long enough for Callum to catch him off guard. He doesn’t wave me off. He just continues walking, stops beside Callum, and stares down.
“Bliss?” he says, not turning. “Would you stay right there, please? Watch my back while I check him? I can’t tell whether he’s unconscious or faking it.”
I stop and hover there, watching, my fists balled as Tucker drops to one knee.
Tucker says, “If you’re faking it, Callum, I’m ready for that, and you’re going to wish you hadn’t pulled this stunt.”
No response. Tucker sighs, softly, and reaches for Callum’s shoulder. He shakes it. Callum’s head lolls back, his face turning our way, his eyes open and staring.
“Tucker?” I say, barely able to get the word out. “Tucker?”
Tucker hesitates a moment before his fingers go to Callum’s neck. His only reaction is a frown. As if to say, “That can’t be right.” He presses his fingers in harder.
“He’s—” I say. “He’s— oh God, is he—?”
I barely hear myself. My words don’t make sense. My thoughts don’t make sense. I fix on Tucker’s frown. On his confusion. See, even Tucker thinks this can’t be right.
“I’m going to call 911,” he says, his tone even, if a little hollow. “I know CPR. I think I should try that while you go, Blythe. Get away from here, and I’ll look after it.”
“Wh-what? No. Hell, no. You call 911, and I’ll try CP—”
Tires squeal, and relief courses through me. Help is coming. Someone is driving far too fast for this neighborhood, which means they’re coming to help.
I head in that direction as Tucker stays with Callum. With Callum’s body.
I stop as I realize I don’t hear ambulance sirens. Just squealing tires and a roaring engine, and Tucker is kneeling beside Callum’s dead—
Dead…
Oh God, Callum is dead.
I run back. Tucker is on his feet now.
“Bliss?” Tucker grips my elbow. “Go on. I’ll handle this.”
I stare at him. He’s perfectly calm, even that hollowness gone from his voice. His one trace of shock has faded as resolve settles in.
You go. Let me handle it.
Callum texted Tucker. He called him here, and that will be the last message on his phone. Come to the playground alone, Tucker.
Now Callum is dead, and Tucker is about to be found beside his body.
No. Hell, no.
I grab Tucker’s arm and yank as hard as I can. “We need to run.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“What? No. He texted you. They’re going to think you did this.”
“But I didn’t.”
He says it so calmly. So fucking calmly that I want to shake him. Then I realize it’s not calm. It’s shock. Shock, and maybe more. He found out tonight that he killed a boy once, and now he’s about to be found near another murdered boy, and maybe in this moment, that seems like justice.
“You didn’t kill Callum,” I say. “You were with me. Which means I’m your alibi, so I’m sure as hell not running. If you stay, I stay.”
He shakes his head. “We aren’t doing that again.”
“Again?” I look up at him. “I’m the one who put that boy in the hospital, Tucker. Not you. You’re the one who took the blame. I’m not doing that again.”
“What happened last time was both of us, and you tried to take the blame. If CMT hadn’t gotten involved, you could have been charged. That would have kept you out of college. So could this.”
“Do you really expect me to be thinking of college right now?”
“You should be. You have a future, Bliss, and I won’t get in the way of that—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I start to rise and lift my hands to flag down the car roaring around the corner. Tucker lunges and pulls my arms down.
I look him in the face. “If you stay, I stay.”
He mutters something that sounds like actual profanity. Then he takes my arm, and we set out, running bent over, until we’re back in the shadow of that fence. He looks over his shoulder, whispers “Up,” and helps me over the fence. He hops it just as a car crunches into the small gravel parking lot. Another follows. Car doors slam. Footsteps pound.
I peer through the wooden fence slats to see Ms. Kilpatrick running toward the swing set. My chest seizes, and I want to leap up, tell her to wait, race out, and stop her from what she is about to do. Stop her before she sees her dead son.
She’s already there. She drops to her knees and reaches to check his pulse, and then she lets out the most horrible sound, one that makes me gasp, pain ripping through me. Tucker pulls me against him, and I bury my face in his chest as grief rocks me.
Callum is dead.
There is no doubt now, not after hearing that sound.
Callum is dead.
My brain keeps insisting I’m wrong. The last twelve hours have been a whirlwind of emotions swirling around Callum. Have I hurt him? Did he hurt me? Can we trust him? Whose side is he really on? Our side. In the end, he’d been on our side. In the end, he was who I thought he was, despite the lies and manipulations. He was a decent guy, one I liked. A guy drawn into something that didn’t concern him. A guy who has died for that.
I want to cry. I so badly want to cry for Callum. But I am too afraid. Scared of what is happening here. Frightened for Tucker and for all of us, because this isn’t someone pepper-spraying me in the forest. It isn’t even someone knocking out Sydney and stuffing her in a drainpipe.
Someone murdered Callum, right after he texted—
My breath catches.
Murdered Callum after he texted Tucker? Am I sure of that? I’d known the texts seemed suspicious, but only thought they might be Callum plotting revenge.
What if Callum didn’t send them?
What if his killer did?
I glance up at Tucker to say something, but while he holds me, rubbing my shoulders in comfort, he’s focused on listening to the scene unfolding beyond the fence.
I slip from his grasp and move closer to the fence. When I peer between the slats, I can only make out two shadowy figures near Callum, both now out of the lights shining on the parking lot.
“He murdered my son,” Ms. Kilpatrick is saying, obviously struggling against her grief. “That psychotic bastard murdered my son, and I swear he is going to pay. They are all going to pay. They knew exactly what he was, and they let him around the children. Around my child. Around your child.”
When the other figure doesn’t answer, Ms. Kilpatrick straightens. “This could be Blythe lying here. You realize that, don’t you? You’re the one who raised concerns. Concerns they ignored.”
I catch my name, and I freeze. Then the other figure speaks. “We don’t know Tucker did this, Denise.”
Mom? I blink hard. I know that voice, and it is undeniably my mother.
“What?” Ms. Kilpatrick says. “Are you actually defending that monster?”
When Mom speaks, her words come slow, chosen with care. “We received an anonymous message saying Tucker had been spotted here arguing with Callum. That doesn’t mean it was true.”
“And the texts? I checked Callum’s phone records on the way here. He texted Tucker.” A one-beat dramatic pause. “Texted him that he knew who attacked Blythe.”
“Wh-what?”
“Oh, did I forget that part? Yes, apparently someone attacked your daughter tonight. My son was trying to figure out who it was. He texted Tucker, and that sociopath murdered him, because he must have figured out that’s who attacked her.”
Mom has her phone out. A second later, a text pops up on mine.
Mom: Are you okay? Did something happen tonight?
I quietly text back. “I’m fine.” Then I hesitate a moment and add, “I’m with Tucker.” Tucker sees the message and makes to grab for my phone, but I’ve already hit Send. Breath hisses between his teeth, but I only meet his look with a defiant stare. Then I turn back to the fence.
“Does that make sense, Denise?” Mom says to Ms. Kilpatrick. “Callum always struck me as a smart boy. If he thought Tucker attacked Blythe, is he really going to confront Tucker himself? Or is he going to let you handle it?”
“He’s a teenage boy. Who knows what was going through his mind? He…” Her voice catches. “Oh God, Callum.” She’s bending over his body, her head lowered, when her phone must vibrate, because she snatches it and snaps an angry, “What?”
There’s a pause.
“How?” she says.
Another pause.
“Stop them. Stall them. I need— Callum’s—” A sharp inhale. Then she straightens. “No, let them come. I’ll handle it.”
She signs off and says to Mom, “The police are on their way.”
“What?”
“Seems they got a tip, too. Multiple tips, including one to the state police, and we don’t have any control over that.”
“Which means whoever called in that tip really wants to make sure CMT doesn’t handle this themselves. Doesn’t that suggest someone is setting Tucker up?”
“You seem hell-bent on defending him. Quite a change from your earlier tune, Maggie.”
“I have always attempted to give Tucker the benefit of the doubt.”
“Except when it came to your daughter.” Ms. Kilpatrick waves off Mom’s protest. “You need to go. I’ll handle this. If someone’s intent on involving the police, keeping them out is only going to make things worse. We can make it seem like an accident.”
“At ten thirty at night in a playground?”
“He was with friends. Maybe there was a friendly fight, and they panicked and fled.”
“Are you actually trying to pass this off as an accident, Denise? Or do you want the police involved?”
“My son is dead.”
“And you understandably want revenge—”
“I am not a fool, Maggie. I will make CMT pay for this, but not by dragging them and their experiment and even their pet monster into the light, because that would also drag your daughters and all the other children into the light, and with one exception, they don’t deserve it. I will handle this internally. They will do something about Tucker Martel, and they will compensate my family for this, and I will make it hurt them as much as this hurts me, but I will not—would not—hurt your daughters and the others.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “For everything. I don’t know who did this, and, yes, it could have been Tucker, but putting that aside, I am just so, so sorry. I know—” She inhales, pain searing her voice.
Ms. Kilpatrick’s tone softens. “You know what it’s like to lose a child.”
“Callum seemed like an amazing young man, and someone should and will pay for this. I’ll help you make sure of that.”
“Thank you. Now, you need to leave. Let me handle this, please, and trust that I will.”
TWENTY-NINE
Mom leaves. We stay where we are. While Tucker wants to slip away, I need to hear what Ms. Kilpatrick says to the police.
I want to believe her when she insisted she wasn’t going to throw CMT under the bus, but she is grieving and in shock, and in her place, I’m not sure I wouldn’t be tempted to do just that.
Yes, my son was murdered. I even know who did it. Let me tell you a little story about my employer, and an experiment they’re running, and a boy who got away with murder.
That is not what Ms. Kilpatrick does. The police arrive, and she skates the line between grieving mother and security professional. Her son was out with friends. She suspects there was an altercation, teen boys goofing around. Her son fell and struck his head, and someone—likely one of his friends—anonymously brought her here.
I don’t know what the arrangement is between CMT and the Darlington Hills police. I only know that there clearly is one, because the police just say that they’ll need to take Callum’s body and have a coroner examine it to confirm that his death seems accidental.
Does that mean they’ll drop the matter? I can’t imagine that. Ideally, they would never have shown up, but now that they have, they must investigate.
Those messages are still on Callum’s phone. Can Ms. Kilpatrick remove them? Will she?
I don’t know.
When my phone vibrates with a text, it’s Mom.
Mom: I need you home, Blythe.
Me: I can’t.
Mom: Something happened, and I need you home now.
