Survivor, p.20
SURVIVOR, page 20
Images flicker in my head. Hallways. Shoes. Music. Hands. “Rhys,” I step towards him, “I need to call Brad.”
***
Marissa is making a second pot of coffee. Half of us are still in robes or pajamas – actually, three out of five because Rhys and Damon are too proper to not be properly dressed. Chase rubs the stubble on his face while waiting impatiently for his coffee. I may have guzzled two cups while I was waiting for everyone.
My fingers drum on the countertops while I wait for Brad to answer my questions. I hear him tapping on a computer.
“Yeah, I can probably access the files. If not me, Dad can get them. But we can’t bring you all the files, Juliet,” Brad warns me.
“I don’t need all the files.” I’m so jittery that my pacing probably looks manic, but I don’t care. “I want the interview transcripts and physical evidence.”
Brad shuffles some things in the background. “I presume you want copies, then. What are you looking for?” He hesitates. “Jules, are you planning on going through all of this on your own?”
I stop pacing. “No, I hope to have help.” Damon nods at me like he expected it.
“What are you hoping to find?” Marissa asks, rephrasing the question from Brad that I didn’t answer.
“I had a dream—” I break off, swallowing hard. “I had a nightmare.” Marissa squeezes my hand gently in support. “Brad, I think I remembered something.”
Everyone in the room looks at me. “What did you remember, Jules?” Brad presses gently.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I know I sound crazy.” I try to laugh it off. “What have you been doing on your end?”
“We really are turning into the Scooby gang,” Rhys mutters, his brown eyes watching me curiously.
“We’ve been looking at current and former employees who may have had access to the file,” Brad says. “Cornelius is checking to see if any of them may have any connection to Paul Docker.”
Marissa pours coffee into waiting cups. “Paul Docker was an only child, right?” When I nod, she asks, “Do we have a list of extended family members? Girlfriends or friends?”
“We’re combing through that, but I’ll get copies if you want them,” Brad offers. “When are you all back?”
“The plan was Saturday…” Marissa’s voice trails off. “But we can come back tomorrow, if necessary.”
“Can you get me the files by Saturday?” I ask, looking down at the gooey cinnamon roll Chase has edged towards me. “Marissa can drop me off at home.”
“Wait, you’re not planning on going home, are you?” Chase protests. “That seems dangerous.” It’s hard to take Chase seriously when he’s wearing a fluffy robe.
“I’m going to be with a cop and the Chief of Police.” I couldn’t possibly be safer.
“I hate to say this, sis, but Chase has a point,” Brad sighs. “There’s a chance that the house is being watched. We got the mailing here, but the person must know by now you’re not here.”
“School starts in a handful of days. Eventually, I’ll be tracked,” I argue.
Brad is silent for a while. “Pops and I won’t be home this weekend. I’m working and Pop’s in meetings. And your dad won’t be here until late Sunday.”
“Why won’t Dad be there? Is he traveling for business? He’s never done that before.” I cross my arms because I know I’m acting belligerent. I’m anxious to get my hands on the files.
Marissa presses her shoulder into mine, trying to calm my nerves.
Brad sighs. “You need to talk to your dad, Jules.”
Cold fear shoots up my spine. “Brad, what aren’t you telling me?” I take the phone off speaker mode. “Brad.”
His reluctance makes everything worse. “Jules, about a year ago, they found a tumor. It was caught early. He started radiation therapy and then had surgery. They are doing targeted radiation therapy, and everything looks good.”
“No.”
“Jules, he’s going to be okay. The prognosis looks good.”
“No.”
“Jules, just talk to him.”
“No.”
Brad swears. “Jules, he’s staying at the hospital for a bit and Pops is staying with him.”
“I need to be there.”
“No, you don’t. Jules, I can’t explain this to you, but your dad does not want you there. He’s going to be fine.”
“No.” I feel an arm around my shoulders. “No. I’m leaving right now.”
“Juliet, please put Marissa on the phone. Please,” he begs me.
I look at the phone like I’ve never seen one before and hand it to Marissa. I stumble away. No, Dad can’t be sick. It’s not fair. Why my father? Why? Why?
My knees buckle, but I don’t hit the floor because Damon wraps an arm around my waist as my knees buckle. Damon picks me up and it would be gallantly romantic if it weren’t for the fact that my dad is being treated for cancer. He doesn’t say anything as he takes me up the stairs into my room.
Once there, he lays me on the bed and brushes my hair back. “Juliet, what’s going on? Do you need to be home?”
“Dad’s sick,” I whisper, frowning. “They didn’t tell me. He’s sick. I need to go home.” I grab Damon’s arm. “Why doesn’t he want me there?! I’m his daughter!”
Damon pulls me into a hug. I let his warmth seep through my chilled body. “How bad is it?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled in my hair.
“Cancer. Brad said it was caught early and he’s doing radiation treatment.” My brain starts to process what I’ve heard. “That’s good, though, right? If it’s just radiation? Not chemo.”
“I don’t know. I think so.” He adjusts us so that he’s leaning against the headboard and I’m against his chest.
“I need to go home,” I whisper.
“I’ll get you home, Juliet.” He pauses and I listen to the steady beat of his heart. “He may not want you to see him looking sickly, Juliet. Wasn’t he planning on stopping by during the week with Joe when school begins?”
I nod. “Do you think I shouldn’t rush home?” I ask after a minute.
“You do what you need to do,” he assures me. “If I need to buy you a damn plane, I will.”
Under normal circumstances, that would be a semi-romantic notion, but right now, it just makes me grimace.
He strokes my hair soothingly. “Brad’s worried you’ll be home alone.” I nod again. “My house is closest to yours. You could stay with me.” He feels me tense and waits out my reaction. When I remain silent, he continues, “We have security. I can take you back to school. But if your dad gets home quickly, I can drive you out there, too.”
“Damon.”
“Nothing will happen. You’ll have your own room. We can even invite everyone over.” I don’t miss the hurt in his voice at my hesitance.
“I’m not worried about you becoming lascivious on me,” I retort.
Damon stiffens before shifting to loom over me. His brows knit as he frowns down at me, his hands coming down on either side of my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?
I blink. “You’re not a perv and I don’t think you’d take advantage of me.”
He groans. “I’m not a saint, Juliet.” He falls back on the bed, covering his eyes with one hand. “Trust me, you don’t want to know the thoughts that go through my head.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“I don’t want to impose,” I say, “on you or abuse your generosity.”
“I want you to impose on me and abuse my generosity.” When I laugh a little, he then asks, “May I kiss you?”
I’m mulling the question when Marissa, barely sparing us a glance, enters the room with my phone. “It’s your father, Juliet.”
***
I talk to my father for an hour. There are tears, some shouting on my part, before I settle into resigned acceptance. It’s not like I haven’t kept things from him. I could be the emotional, hormonal teenage daughter and accuse him of hiding such an important fact from me. But I also know my dad. He wants to protect me, and I need to let him. The psychological toll of my abduction often gets lost – Cassie and I are not the only ones who suffer. My dad, Cornelius, Brad – anyone who loves us or has lost something – feels the agony. It isn’t the same type of pain, but it shouldn’t be discounted. I’ve seen my father sob helplessly in the dark, Cornelius slam his fists into walls, Brad take his rage out on punching bags, Joe scream at the heavens. It’s because of that knowledge that I allow my father this measure of control, this measure of illusion, one more time.
When I tell this to Marissa, she looks at me with a new understanding. I accept Damon’s offer of staying a day or two with him – surely if we are in different rooms, it isn’t inappropriate, right? – but Chase throws a fit about being excluded until Damon extends the invitation to everyone. On our last night in Napa, we crowd into the hot tub – Damon does remind everyone he has a hot tub at his house – and stare at the stars.
CHAPTER 24
Marissa frowns at the coffee pot. “I swear this thing gets slower every morning,” she pouts at me. “Can you believe Chase suggested we get a Keurig?” She shudders. “I make damn good coffee.”
One thing I’ve learned is that you don’t argue with Marissa over coffee. The dining hall makes decent coffee, too, but I have to admit that Marissa’s coffee is always perfect. I would marry her just for the coffee.
Over the weekend, Dad managed to stop by Damon’s house for an hour on his way home. Joe drove him over and everyone gave us privacy. Dad held me in his arms for an hour, telling me the story of my birth and his first year as a father. It wasn’t long, but it was enough. As Dad left with Joe, Joe handed me a box from his trunk.
I want to tackle the box right away, but common sense prevails. Homework, tests, blah, blah, blah. I’ve stored the box in Marissa’s room because she thinks it’ll give me bad jujus if I hold onto it.
I hear Chase before I see him shouting up the stairwell. “Acceptance letters are up on the portal,” he says, bursting onto our floor. I guess he didn’t want to wait for the elevator. Rhys and Damon enter right after him, breathing hard. Did they just run here?
Marissa grabs mugs for everyone while I pop open a laptop. Rhys leans on the counter, watching me. “I’m in at HIT,” he says.
Chase checks Hallow University’s portal for Marissa. “You’re in at Hallow University, sis. As am I.”
Damon’s quiet while I check HIT’s portal. Everyone’s watching me except for Marissa. “There is no way you didn’t get in, Jules,” she says calmly. “Your test scores are flawless and you’re going to be valedictorian.” She gives Damon a sunny smile.
“I’m in,” I breathe, squealing when Chase lifts me in a spin. “Is this really happening? Are we going to follow each other to college?” I look at Damon, who’s been silent, and I’m filled with trepidation. Is he no longer interested in HIT?
“You’ll still tutor me, right?” Chase asks, letting me go. His warm breath tickles my ear. “I hear HIT’s football team sucks so you can come to my games and cheer for me while making sure I understand all the stuff I’m supposed to be learning.”
“Damon?” I ask uncertainly.
Chase lets me go, backing off as Damon approaches. Damon’s gray eyes study me seriously. “Do you want me there, Juliet?”
I hear Rhys mutter under his breath as I frown. “It shouldn’t be about me, Damon. You should go where you think you’ll be happiest,” I say earnestly. I’m not sure what he wants me to say. “Of course, it’d be lovely for us to be together. We’re friends—”
Damon cuts me off. “Friends?” he repeats, his head snapping back like I’ve slapped him.
I lower my eyes. This is getting awkward. I’m aware that Chase and Rhys are listening intently with varying degrees of displeasure. “Damon, stop this,” Marissa says sharply. “Don’t pressure her.”
I’m confused by Damon’s behavior. He’d been supportive during our break together, not asking for more than I wanted to give. “I don’t understand.” I swallow, glancing at him.
“He wants you to say you want him there because you want to be more than friends,” Rhys snaps, his face darkening as he glares at Damon. “Not below a little arm twisting, are we, Damon?”
“Are you saying we’re not friends?” I ask. Has this attention only been because he wanted me to pick him? And if I don’t or can’t, what happens then? And what happens with Rhys and Chase?
Damon’s hands clench. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” He suddenly spins and walks off.
Marissa stops me from following him. “Let him walk it off.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “You know, this is why relationships are messy.” I jab my finger into Chase’s chest. “If you’re only being nice to me because you think I’m going to get all goopy and gooey with you, think again!”
“Goopy? Gooey?” Chase’s lips twitch. “Juliet, no, I get it. There’s one of you. Three of us. And you don’t seem to be into threesomes—” He flinches when Marissa smacks him in the head. “Ow, sorry!”
Rhys grabs my hand, the one with the three rings. “Juliet, we promised we’d be there for you and we will. You don’t have to pick any of us.” His dark eyes pin me. “Whether you choose to be with one of us or not doesn’t change my decision of attending HIT. I plan to be there for you.”
Chase nods. “I won’t ever think of you as a sister, but you are part of us – our ad hoc circle.”
His twin rests her chin elegantly in her hand. “Juliet, you can’t stop them from getting hurt. They’ve known that the moment they offered you those rings. You don’t have to hold back because you don’t want to hurt the other two.”
I bite my lip. “I know. It was just easier when I was annoyed with everyone.” I shrug helplessly.
***
“You sure about this?” asks Marissa, setting her phone down. Because the common area is accessible by anyone living in the dorm, we’re in her room.
I bite my lip. “Yeah. There’s just so much I remember and then there’s so much I don’t remember. I’m trying to jog my memory.”
Marissa and I are sitting on the floor with the box between us. I feel like we’re about to play with a Ouija board. I jump when someone taps on the door.
“Hey, sis, it’s me.” Chase’s voice is without his usual cheerfulness. It’s probably because we’re looking into a serial rapist-murderer. Not really a fun teenage thing to do.
When Marissa opens the door, I’m not surprised to see Rhys with him. But I am surprised Damon’s shown up. He’s been moody.
Rhys walks right in, pushing Chase aside. “We want to help sort through the information,” he says, and there’s a flash of defiance. He’s expecting me to say no.
“Unless you don’t want us to,” Damon mutters without his usual confidence. “I’m sure there are things in there that you’d rather keep to yourself.”
I lower my head, my fingers tracing the box’s lid nervously. The files inside are not the entire files on the Candyman. Brad and Joe got me what they could. There are things in there that even I don’t know. I’m not sure if I remember all his victims’ names. I don’t know specifically all the people they interviewed, the potential suspects, or the various theories about the Candyman. I have never read the transcripts of what I told law enforcement.
I miss the hard exterior I carried before I got to know this crew. I miss being flippant with their attitudes. Now I’m raw and exposed. I need to lay some ground rules.
“You can help, but I’ll hand out what I want you to read.” I refuse to meet their eyes. “That’s my requirement.”
The three boys agree. There’s a strange tension as I open the box. “I’m looking for something I missed,” I begin, “something I may have forgotten. I have this memory of being carried. I remember hands on my legs and a-a-around my body.” I pause, licking my lips. “More than one set of hands. I think there was someone else with him when I was kidnapped.”
CHAPTER 25
I need to give Cassie the 4-1-1. She listens quietly, supportively, and agrees with what I’m doing. She only bemoans that she’s not here helping me since she’s holed up safely with relatives. Yet, I don’t wish her here – we both don’t have to relive all the details.
Of course, the amount of time we need to dig through everything is limited by academics. Chase gets bogged down by a massive history paper. Rhys and I get paired to write an essay about Emily Dickenson. It doesn’t help that we can’t agree on the paper’s angle or the eventual outline.
“We should add a quote,” I suggest. “‘Tell all the truth, but tell it slant.’ I like that one.”
Rhys huffs at me. “That’s so cliché. I thought you were more original.” He lobs a book of poems at my feet. “She conveys emotional connection in her words, but she clearly never meant to connect with the outside world through her poetry.”
I throw my hands up. “I can’t believe we’re still arguing about this, Rhys. We’ll never get this paper done. It shouldn’t be this hard to write a paper!” I crumple the paper I’m doodling on and pelt his head with it.
“You threw your outline at me,” Rhys says sourly. “It must’ve sucked.”
“I will have you know that my essays are awesome,” I fume at him. “You’re impossible to work with. All of her poems are well-known, so it’s rather trying to find an original take on her work.”
I rub my eyes wearily with my hands, stretching my neck slowly. When I refocus on Rhys, I blink in surprise because he’s crawled over to me. He stops when his face is five inches away from mine and it’s clear he’s come to a decision. When Rhys kisses me, it’s so unexpected that I freeze for second. He’s expressed affection before, but he’s always been restrained with any physical interaction. Curiously, I don’t find the sensation unpleasant. I don’t pull away when his hand reaches up to wrap around my neck to deepen the kiss.
