Someone is always watchi.., p.6
Someone Is Always Watching, page 6
The letter ends there. I sit, staring at it.
She’s talking about Gabrielle. She’s telling me that the little sister in the story is Gabrielle, who witnessed something horrible and repressed it, and now it’s coming back.
I give myself a shake. I’m falling into that horoscope problem again. The letter writer asks me if I know any damaged girls, and my best friend is in the hospital after a breakdown. Even without that, do I know damaged girls? Hell, yes. Plenty of them. Damaged boys, too. What teenager—what person—doesn’t?
“Veritas” is telling me about one kid who supposedly died at the hands of another. An eight-year-old slitting another boy’s throat? Staging it to look like a pedophile attack? I can’t imagine that.
Because it’s not true. There is nothing in those articles about a slit throat or a naked victim or an eight-year-old killer. Veritas has taken a very vague news story and embellished it because she can. Without the dead child’s name, I have no way of verifying her information.
I read the email again. Then I type a one-line response.
I need more.
I hit Send. Less than two minutes later, it bounces back.
No such user here.
Of course. Because the email address shows as C-Prep, but I already know it’s spoofed.
Someone is playing with me. I’ll want more, and they’ll demand money for it. Just a random cyber scam.
Or someone actually from C-Prep playing a very cruel joke.
No, not a cruel joke. This would be outright bullying. I can’t imagine anyone having a vendetta against me, which would mean it’s just some sick asshole getting off on torturing a girl they vaguely know.
Whatever it is, I’m not falling for it. I take my coffee cup and plate inside and get ready for Devon’s visit.
* * *
—
Devon says one word to me when he enters the house.
“Outside.”
He walks straight to the back-patio doors. I follow, and he’s already crossing the lawn with a chair under his arm. The old Devon loved our pool. He’d always sit on the edge, feet dangling in the water, listening while the rest of us talked. There’s a moment where I hope he’s going to sit by the water, and I’ll see a glimpse of the boy I knew. Instead, he plunks the chair in the shade cast by the tall wooden fence.
“Would you like a soda?” I say. “Or water? I made coffee earlier—”
“This isn’t a social visit, Blythe.”
I tense at his snap. Then I pause, letting it roll off me. When I speak, my tone is measured. “Why not?”
“What?”
I sit on the chair. “Why isn’t it a social visit? Gabi and I stayed in touch when you left. You’re the one who stopped replying. We reached out when you came back. You made it clear you weren’t interested. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You haven’t changed, have you, Blythe? Always worrying that you messed up.”
“I did worry. So did Gabi. Until Tanya convinced us that it wasn’t us, it was you. That’s what I was saying. We did nothing wrong, so you can lose the attitude.”
His gaze meets mine. There’s anger there, but something else. Shame?
His jaw sets. “I went away, and I changed. I grew. Then I came back and found the same preppy, privileged brats. Do you think Tucker would get away with his shit somewhere else? The guy is living proof of white-boy privilege.”
“You came here for a reason. Get to it.”
He hesitates. He doesn’t want to drop that. He’s spoiling for a fight, and Tucker makes a good target.
Finally, he eases back and says, “Tell me what happened with Gabi.”
I stare at him. Stare some more.
He pulls his hands into his hoodie sleeves. “What?”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t need to get that information from me.”
“You’re her friend, and you were there.”
“Right. Which means I’m still dealing with what happened. You can sneer at me for always doing as I’m told, but that also means I’m not faking trauma to skip school.”
“I’m acting ‘inappropriately.’ My bad. Considering the source, I’m not too worried about that.”
I’m pissed off by his attitude, but it stings, too. When I inwardly bristle, I feel like exactly the prissy bitch he accuses me of being. So, instead, I tell him what he wants to know, just like the anxious, perfectionist people-pleaser he also accuses me of being.
When I finish telling the story, it’s my turn to get answers.
“So, you’re worried about Gabi,” I say.
“Of course. We were friends.”
“Right. You were friends. Best friends. Yet you treat her like shit.”
He flinches and his shoulders roll, as if he’s trying to pull on his sneer but can’t quite find it.
“I understand your interest,” I say. “It’s the urgency I don’t get. What’s up, Devon?”
I expect him to protest, to block, to evade. Instead, after a moment, he grunts. “Fine, let’s talk. I just need to use the bathroom first.”
I rise, but he waves me down. “I know where it is. You’re right that I shouldn’t have barged in on you when you’re still dealing with all this. Just let me use the bathroom, and I’ll explain everything.”
You’re right, Blythe. Let me tell you everything. Just as soon as I use the bathroom. No, don’t follow me. You sit and rest.
He’s planning a run for the exit, and he’s being so obvious about it, I have to smile. Once he’s inside, I scamper across the yard, my bare feet silent. I plan to go out the side gate and cut him off as he escapes. But through the window, I see him turn toward the bathroom.
I ease open the patio door and slip inside. Everything’s silent, the cool darkness washing over me as I pad through the kitchen. A board creaks from the side hall near the main-floor bathroom.
At a rattle from the hall, I tiptoe over as fast as I can and peek around the corner. He’s at the door to my parents’ office. He jiggles the handle. Then he bends to examine the lock.
“That’s not the bathroom,” I say, as I come around the corner.
He jumps back. Then he looks at the door and snorts. “Well, it has been a while since I’ve been in your house.” He peers down the hall. “Is that it?”
“The open door, through which you can see a sink? Yes, that is the bathroom. Why were you trying to break into my parents’ office?”
“Break in? I’m not a thief.”
“No, a thief would have swiped my laptop, which was lying on the kitchen table you passed. You wanted into my parents’ office.”
He says nothing.
“What did you want in there?” I press.
“Nothing, all right?” He strides down the hall.
When I try to catch up, he walks faster, heading for the front door. I dart through the living room to block him, but he wheels and heads for the back. I hesitate, and then hurry out the front. When he opens the side gate, I’m waiting.
“I’m trying to leave, Blythe,” he says.
“As fast as you can.”
“You going to stop me? Nah. You don’t do that yourself. You set Tucker on people. Unleash your hound. Send innocent guys to the hospital.”
Innocent?
The memory flashes, me huddled under a tree, torn dress pulled tight around me, Tucker’s outrage igniting my own.
What can I do, Bliss? Just tell me. What do you want me to do?
Something bad.
Devon passes me and strides toward the street.
I jog after him. “If you can help Gabi—”
He keeps walking. “Can’t.”
“If you know something—”
“Don’t.”
“Then what the hell is all this about?” I step on a pinecone and stumble, pain shooting through my foot. I limp after Devon. “Something’s up. Stop fighting me. I only want to—”
“Help. As always. And by help, you mean stand anxiously on the sidelines and not actually do anything.”
I swing in front of him. “You’re baiting me, and I’m going to stop backing down from it. There’s a reason you’re so interested, and if it can help Gabi—”
“Oh my God, you actually did call him,” he cuts in, gaze shooting to the road.
I glance over as a familiar BMW pulls to the curb. The driver’s door opens, and Tanya steps out and shades her eyes.
“The gang’s reuniting, and I wasn’t invited?” Tanya says. “Wow, guys. That hurts.” She stops in front of us. “So, what’s up? Blythe needs some chill-pills, and she called the local dope dealer?”
Devon flushes. Then he finds his scowl. “Don’t be a bitch.”
“That’s my line. You’ve been nothing but a little bitch since you got back, Devon. So, what’s up?”
“He thinks I called in the cavalry,” I say.
“I’m flattered, but no. Syd was hunting for a phone charger. I volunteered to come and get it. Seemed like a fine excuse for using the car to pick up lunch.”
“Sweet ride,” Devon says. “Must be nice having a daddy who’ll buy you a Beamer.”
One perfect brow arches. “Puppy is trying to growl,” Tanya says. “How adorable. Snark really doesn’t suit you, Dev. It also falls flat when you’re driving that.” She points to the car in front of hers. “Tuck and I share a hand-me-down that’s worth a quarter of your brand-new Corolla. Drug trade must be good, huh?”
“It was a gift from my parents.”
“Which means you don’t need to sell the dope. You just think it’s cool.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Martel.”
“Happy to learn. How about over coffee? Jitterbug after school?”
Devon stalks off without another word.
Tanya turns to see me looking at her car. “No, Tuck isn’t hiding in the back seat. I can call him if you’d like.”
Seeing my expression, she tones it down a notch. “Picking up Syd’s charger was an excuse to talk to you. Can we do that? Without my brother standing between us?”
“I’m not the one—” I clip that off. “Come on around back.”
* * *
—
“I want to talk about Gabrielle,” Tanya says as she folds her long legs under her, curling up on a lounge chair poolside. “First, though, what’s up with Devon?”
“He wanted to talk about Gabi.”
Tanya relaxes. “I’m glad to hear he’s taking an interest.” She peers at me. “You’re not happy about that?”
“I caught him trying to break into my parents’ office.”
“What?”
I tell Tanya the story, from Devon apparently giving me his number after Gabrielle’s first meltdown to the moment Tanya arrived today.
When I finish, she grunts, “Weird,” and lounges back in her chair. “Everything about Devon has been weird since he got back.”
“Something happened in California,” I say. “He says he fell in with a different crowd, came back, and decided we’re a bunch of privileged brats. But maybe, after a while, he started realizing how much he hurt Gabi, and now this happens, and he’s concerned. He’s just being clumsy about it. And as long as he’s here, he might as well check my parents’ office in hopes of making some quick cash.”
We fall into a silence that’s broken only by the rustling of fall leaves. Then Tanya looks at me.
“Does that theory work for you?” she says.
I sigh. “No, but I don’t know what else to make of it. While my gut says something’s up, I can’t force him to talk.”
“Not entirely true,” she murmurs.
I glance over sharply.
“The Halloween bash is this weekend,” she says. “Devon will be there, plying his trade. We could slip something into his drink.”
“No,” I say.
When she doesn’t reply, I say, “ No, Tanya. Devon’s our friend.”
“He was our friend. Past tense.” She straightens. “It’s still a couple of days until the bash. Let’s table this and see what happens before then.”
I shake my head, but there’s no point arguing until I’m sure she intends to pursue this.
“I want to talk about Gabrielle,” she says.
“Good. Then let’s talk.”
* * *
—
Everyone wants to talk about Gabrielle. I keep hoping one of these conversations will explain why my friend went from fine to “might never be fine again” in less than a week. No one has that answer. They all think I do. I’ve been her closest friend since Devon left. Surely, I have some insight. The fact that I don’t only makes me feel worse.
Tanya doesn’t like what’s happening with Gabrielle. Doesn’t like the lack of information. Finds it as suspicious as Devon’s sudden interest. I leap on that—I have cause to agree with her, and I’m not just doing it because I’m desperate for an excuse to mend our rift. All true, but I still may jump a little too fast, eager for that excuse.
We’re in the kitchen now. Tanya is unplugging Sydney’s charger.
“I actually lent her mine,” she says. “But I’ll still take this, so Devon doesn’t get all paranoid, thinking you called me in.”
She turns to me. “We need to see Gabrielle. Talk to her.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do. I don’t even know where she is. A private hospital, that’s all I have.”
“If I can find out where she is, will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
“Be ready tonight. I’ll call you.”
TANYA
Tanya is barely in the car when Tucker texts.
Tucker: How’s she doing?
Tanya: Lost her #, did you?
When he doesn’t reply, guilt prickles just enough for Tanya to sigh as she starts the car. She doesn’t understand Tucker and Blythe’s bullshit. It’s like some weird-ass Romeo and Juliet crap, with her stuck in the middle playing…well, she can’t remember the name of the dude who ran messages between them, but whoever he is, that’s her.
Even when Tucker and Blythe were BFFs, they pulled the same crap.
We’re just friends.
Both of them. Just friends. Yep, yep, yep.
Is that all you want to be?
Silence. Change the subject. Divert. Deflect. Like they were fifth-graders with a crush. For Blythe, that made sense—she could be that way. Tucker, though? Her brother mowed through life, grabbing what he wanted and slinging it over his shoulder.
Except Blythe.
We’re just friends.
Now they weren’t even that. Because of that bullshit “incident,” which Tucker won’t discuss, as if Tanya doesn’t know full well what happened.
She hits the gas, ignoring some old guy out gardening who shakes his fist at her.
The incident. Let’s not beat around the fucking bush. Let’s call it what it is. Blythe almost got raped by some asshole at a party.
Blythe had helped the guy mop up a spill, because that’s Blythe, who’d never suspect that the asshole spilled his drink to catch her attention. Then he gets her into the upstairs bathroom to help him “clean up.”
Dude strips off his shirt, and Blythe fails to swoon. So, he decides she needs a little persuasion. A firm but polite “No, thank you” from Blythe leads to a ripped dress, a whole lotta groping, and a bloody nose when she tries to escape. She does escape, though.
Uh, dude, you did know she’s working on her black belt, right?
Blythe flees, understandably freaked out, but it doesn’t take long for the shock to harden to anger. Tucker offers revenge, and Blythe accepts. Justice served.
Everyone has a dark side. What Tanya and Tucker lack is an ingrained moral code—conscience, if you must—that says letting loose the beast within is a bad thing. Tanya keeps hers muzzled. Tucker allows his a certain amount of leash.
They aren’t sociopaths. If they were, they wouldn’t be able to care about others. For Tucker, the ability to care is his conscience. That’s why he accepted this bullshit separation. Blythe needed to step back and come to grips with what they’d done. She would—Tucker had no doubt of that—and then all would be well. In the meantime, patience.
At a light, Tanya texts Tucker back. A woman in the next car frowns and gestures at the device.
I’m stopped, lady. Would you rather I texted while driving?
Tanya: Blythe is fine.
Tucker sends back a row of thumbs-up emojis, and she can’t help smiling at that.
Tanya: We’re going to try to see Gabrielle.
Tucker: Stealth-visit?
Tanya: Yep. We just need to find out where she is. It’s a private hospital owned by CMT.
Tucker: On it!
The light changes, and Tanya tosses the phone aside to drive. At times like this, she wants to shove their texts into Dad’s face. Such an ordinary conversation. That’s the point.
Your son is not a monster. He’s just wired differently. We both are. You know that. So why am I the good daughter, and he’s the ticking time bomb?
Mom was different. To some, their mother had been a stone-cold bitch, treating even her children with indifference. Tanya knew better. She looked at her mother and saw a mirror, and through it she noticed all the little ways her mother said she loved them. Loved both of them. Yet she still walked away. Tucker might have forgiven her for that, but Tanya never will.
Tanya takes a deep breath. Nothing like thoughts of her mother to set a ball of rage roiling in her gut. It’s fine. She and Tucker are fine.
Right now, her family isn’t the issue. Gabrielle is. Tanya needs to find out what the hell happened there. And if she can use it to nudge Blythe back in Tucker’s direction, that’ll be a bonus.
EIGHT
BLYTHE
Callum comes over after school, as planned. He’s brought homework—at my insistence—and we work on that. Not exactly a date, but this is what I need to regain my equilibrium.
