I’m crazy and going crazier, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I don’t know how to stop this horrible darkness from eating me alive, and no one in the world is going to help me.
I’m alone.
Tonight I don’t need any parties, but I go to the Rho Alpha Alpha party anyway, because it’s become habit. Because it’s who I am now, who I always was. Who I used to be. Because once upon a time I was a stupid fourteen-year-old who drank and smoke and spat with the best of them in a desperate attempt to look cool, and I’d do anything to look cool back then, because when you’re huge people only see how huge you are and forget you’re a person with feelings, but if you’re huge and you party you’re a little cooler than not cool at all, letting them make fun of how big you are (whale, fatso, piggy) makes you a little cooler than not cool at all.
I look around at the faces in the party, skinny and tan and glittery with makeup and good-looks, and I know they’d be the first to call me fatso if I was the old me. They smile at me now, Heather and Livy and Tessa smile at me now, but they’d change so fast, become mean and ugly so fast, if I was the old me. They don’t like me for who I am – they aren’t Kayla or Wren, but I’m trying, trying to make them fit in the spaces left behind and I hate myself, I hate that they left me behind -
I hate them. I hate every single person here and I don’t even know them.
Kieran comes up to me, a coke and rum in hand. His frown is obvious, but I smile and take the coke with the practiced grace of an alcoholic marquise.
“Don’t give me that look, Kir,” I sigh. “Do you know how many professor dudes like him get away with shitty stuff? I mean, he was gonna get was coming to him. I just sped the process up a bit.”
“You put a brick on the gas pedal,” He corrects.
“I put a brick on the gas pedal,” I cheerfully agree and sip coke. “God bless America.”
Kieran waits for a lull in the music before he speaks. “My sister used to pull crazy stunts like you.”
“Used to?”
“She’s in a mental hospital, now.”
“Awful place,” I say. “Really sorry. You should bust her out.”
He stares at me, and I shrug.
“Well, if you won’t, I will.”
“You don’t have to save everyone, Isis.”
His words trip me, my thoughts skidding to a halt.
“I’m not saving anyone,” I say carefully. Kieran shakes his head.
“You try to. You try to stop all these injustices, and save people from them. But you never try to save yourself.”
I’m quiet. Kieran slides his hand down to mine, and squeezes.
“What are you waiting for?”
I look down at our joined hands, and whisper.
“Someone else to do it, I guess.”
Kieran leans in and kisses me, tasting like tequila and lime and salt, and for a moment his lips aren’t his, they’re Jack’s, and we aren’t at a sorority house, we’re at Avery’s, and there’s less glitter and heels and experience but just as much booze and swearing, seventeen isn’t so different from eighteen, and this kiss drives away the darkness, makes it scuttle back under the rocks, but then I open my eyes and see Kieran’s green ones and flinch away. I have to tell him. I can’t keep using him like this, but I am, because being with him is better than being alone, and I’m a coward. He looks startled, but before either of us can break the awkward silence, Heather runs up and grabs my arm.
“There you are! I’ve been looking so hard for you! C’mon, I wanna show you something.”
I follow her lead, glancing one last time back at Kieran. She leads me with impressive force up the stairs, and to a room.
“Uh,” I offer eloquently. “What’s in there?”
“Oh no, you just gotta wait in there while I get the stuff,” She hiccups. “But I promise you’ll like it!”
“It’s not drugs, is it? Because frankly, I’m extremely over drugs.”
She buzzes her lips. “Pftt, no! Like I would have drugs. Just go in! I’ll be right back and then I can show you.”
My curiosity wars with my wariness for an entire half-second, and then I push in.
Nameless sits on the bed, smiling.
I back up to the door, but it closes on my butt, clicking with the sure sound of an outside lock. I rattle the knob, desperately pulling at it.
“No,” I whisper. “No no no no no. Heather! Heather, let me out!”
No answer, save for a single high-pitched giggle that fades. I slam the door with my fist.
“HEATHER! Let me the fuck OUT!”
“Relax,” Nameless chuckles. “I’m not going to do anything.”
My eyes dart wildly around and I grab a nail file off a girl’s dresser, clutching it like a knife at him. He just laughs harder.
“Oh, you stupid little girl. I forgot how funny you are.”
I tighten my grip and back up as far as I can into the door. I briefly think of turning off the lightswitch to freak him out, but he’s got a lamp switched on by the beside.
“What do you want?” I hiss.
Nameless stares at me, thinking, and finally he claps his hands, applauding me slowly. Each clap is a bullet that pierces the building hysterical tension in my chest.
“I’m congratulating you for taking on such a dangerous person as a nemesis.”
I narrow my eyes. “Jack?”
“Jack,” He confirms. “I’m sure you got my email almost five months ago, with the picture of his hand on that baseball bat. I got it from a video, you know.”
“I know.”
“You do?” He quirks a brow.
“I know you hack. I know you stole that video from the feds.”
He laughs. “Steal? Don’t be stupid. Even I can’t hack into a federal vault. They gave it to me. Well, not me, but some friends of mine. We work together, you see, as freelance digital consultants. The feds contacted us, and gave us the video. They wanted us to enhance the video quality as much as we could, so they could identify exactly what happened.”
I swallow hard. Nameless smiles.
“And we did. But we never gave it back to them. Not yet, anyway. I wanted you to be the first one to see it, in all the enhanced glory.”
“Why?”
“I want you to see exactly who you were dealing with,” Nameless says smoothly. “Jack isn’t a nice guy. It’s a good thing you two aren’t speaking anymore, otherwise, you might’ve gotten hurt.”
A sick, dark fire flares up in my lungs. He hurt me. Not Jack. Nameless smirks at my impotent silence, then throws me a tablet with the play button smack dab in the center. My finger wavers, hesitating.
“Go on.” Nameless urges, smiling even bigger.
After months of sleepless wondering, infuriating hints, and half-truths, I have the whole story beneath my index finger.
I press play.
There’s two seconds of darkness, and then the sound of rustling leaves. The date in the lower corner reads 21:45:01, making it roughly nine at night, and 8/15/2007. I do the math – Jack was 13.
“Take the fucking cap off!” A voice that can only be Avery’s hisses. “God, for being such a huge nerd you’re kind of an idiot.”
There’s a muffled grumble I recognize instantly as Wren, a younger Wren with a higher voice but definitely Wren. The camera cap comes off, unveiling a leafy ground and tall trees that are so familiar. Avery, a young Avery with no curves yet, wears a tube top and a white skort and jelly sandals, looking imperious and bratty as ever. She grabs the camera and huffs.
“You hold it like this,” She points it at Wren. He’s so skinny and short, his glasses practically swallowing up his entire terrified, innocent face. His cheeks are still round with babyfat. He wears cargo shorts and a striped shirt his mom obviously picked out for him, and a massive watch twice the size of his tiny wrist.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” He whispers. Avery zooms in on his face.
“If y
ou chicken out, I’m going to tell everyone at school about your Mom cheating on your Dad. So you’re gonna stay here, and you’re gonna be the cameraman, if you know what’s good for you.”
Wren goes an even paler shade of white. The sun dips low through the trees, sunset just beginning. The camera focuses on Wren’s face, then goes dark. It starts back up again, reading a new timestamp; 22:07:15, or ten at night. It’s much darker, the sun long gone, and Avery swears.
“Shit. What’s taking them so long?”
“Does this thing have a…a light?” Wren asks timidly. Avery rolls her eyes but you can barely see it.
“Yeah, because we’re going to film secretly with a giant camera light.”
“Then how –”
There’s a jostling of the camera, and suddenly everything is night vision – green and shades of black and gray. Avery’s pupils are white, glowing eerily as she hands the camera back.
“Just stay focused on her, okay?”
The camera shakes, like Wren’s hand is unstable. “Avery, I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this anymore –”
“Shh!” Avery hisses, lying flat on the ground and pulling him down with her. “There she is. Just film.”
My breath catches. Wren zooms in on a pale figure cutting through the forest trees.
Sophia.
Thirteen-year-old Sophia.
Her hair is short, but the same color of winter moonlight. She carries a flashlight. She’s skinny, but much plumper than when I knew her – her cheeks are robust and filled out and her preteen curves are noticeable. A flush dons her face, and she skips. Skips! I never once saw Sophia go any faster than a floaty, leisurely walk. She’s wearing a sundress, floral and wavy around her calves. She looks around, calling out.
“Jack? Jack, where are you? C’mon, you’re freaking me out.”
“J-Jack’s not really here, is he?” Wren whispers.
“Of course not, idiot,” Avery scoffs. “I just forged a note from him and stuck it in her purse. They’re soooo in love, she’ll believe anything.”
The camera focuses on Sophia, now looking very scared. It’s eerie and heartbreaking all at once to see her alive on camera, and so happy. So different.
Her flashlight beam bounces around, landing in the bushes Avery and Wren are hiding in. They duck lower, and the beam passes as Sophia does a slow turn. She freezes, and then starts backing up.
“W-Who are you?”
The beam illuminates a beardy, middle-aged man with a cruel smirk. He wears overalls and an oily rag sticks out of his pocket.
“They’re just gonna scare her, right?” Wren whispers frantically to Avery. Avery doesn’t say anything, her attention rapt on Sophia. “Right, Av?” Wren presses. He swings the camera back to Sophia, his hand shaking harder and the camera shaking with it. Another man walks out of the trees, and another. Five of them. One of them has a baseball bat, another has what looks like a crowbar. The one in overalls talks in a low voice to Sophia as she backs up, into the trees, her face twisted with horror. Only Sophia’s high, panicked voice can be heard.
“Leave me alone! My friends are in the house! If I scream, they’ll call the cops!”
This earns a laugh from the man, and it spreads to the other men, until it resembles a ring of hoarse hyenas. She is so defenseless, I tremble with the urge to reach in and pull her out, pull her to safety.
“Av!” Wren hisses. “Call them off!”
Avery’s smiles just gets wider. “Not yet. They haven’t really scared her yet.”
“They’re going to – they’re not going to touch her, are they?”
Avery glowers. “No. I ordered them to just…just scare the shit out of her. But they can’t touch her. I told them they can’t.”
Wren swings back to the men, now so close they’ve formed a ring around Sophia. She tries to run, but one of them catches her and throws her to the ground in the center. There’s more laughter.
“Leave her alone!”
That voice is young, strong, angry. I’ve never heard I sound that way before, but I know who it belongs to by heart. Jack, proud and tawny-haired, draws all the men’s attention. His blue eyes aren’t icy, instead burning with white-blue fire. He still has baby fat on his cheeks, but the rest of him is tall, lanky; a boy-growing-too-fast kind of lanky. And he’s just as infuriatingly handsome. But he’s not the Ice Prince I know now – his expressions boil over, his emotions clear and legible in his every tensed muscle and flexing fist. He is a lion, a little king, angry and righteous and true.
Two of the men start towards Jack, but he ducks under their grasp and bolts for Sophia. One man throws himself on Jack, slamming them both to the ground in a spray of pine needles and dirt.
“Jack!” Sophia screams. Jack swears, kick and punching and thrashing like a wild animal, but the other two men catch up and put his arms behind him in a lock, forcing him to his knees.
A soft fog starts to roll in through the trees. The other men turn to Sophia, who screams and curls against a tree trunk like it’ll offer her some protection.
“Leave her alone!” Jack screams, a piercing scream that rips my heart into jagged pieces. “You fucking bastards, pick on someone who can fight back! No! No, Sophia! Sophia, run!”
“N-No,” Avery’s voice is clear, though Wren seems to be paralyzed, focused entirely on Sophia and Jack. “No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to – back off. Just back off.”
Her whispered commands don’t work. The men close in, and Sophia puts her head in her hands.
“Help me, Jack,” She cries. Some of the men sway, obviously drunk, as they close the gap and start pulling at Sophia’s dress. I choke back bile but Jack reacts quicker – the man holding him cries out and collapses, and Jack jumps up, scooping the aluminum baseball bat the man dropped and swinging it into the man, over and over and over. Avery swears, and even shell-shocked Wren flinches. Two men dive for Jack, but Jack slips through their meaty arms and swings for their skulls, a hollow, sickening thwack resounding through the trees when metal meets bone. The fourth man fumbles with something in his jacket, a gun maybe, but Jack ducks behind the first man who’s hauled himself off the ground, and the bullet cuts into the man’s shoulder, the force of it pinning him to the ground again. Jack takes the moment to lunge in, slamming the bat over the gunman’s neck. He crumples like a rag doll, the gun dropping into the leaves.
The whole time, Jack is grinning madly, his mouth and face blood-spattered.
The fifth man, the one who’d pinned Sophia to the tree, is frantically trying to pull his pants on. Jack slams the bat into his side, and the man staggers into the leaves, reaching for the gun. But Jack swings again, and Sophia screams. Something cracks, and it isn’t the bat, and the man holds his hand up, and against the night vision it’s a cluster of broken bones and mangled meat and dangling skin. The man looks at it, stunned, and then the pain catches up to him, and he starts crying and crawling away and begging.
“Please, man, we didn’t mean – we weren’t gonna –”
The man gets up, and starts running, and Jack throws back his head and laughs, and then chases after him. They disappear into the gloom, the night vision losing sight of them, but not of the sobbing Sophia, who staggers to her feet and tries to pull her dress back on. She’s shaking too badly. She tries to walk away, but trips on something, and her fall isn’t far but she rolls down the hill, hitting trees with vicious momentum until she rolls to a stop. There’s a stunned silence, minutes ticking by as Sophia squirms and there’s a squelching noise and then she goes still, her white-blonde hair splaying in the pine needles.
“Holy fuck,” Avery whispers. “Holy –”
From the darkness, Jack returns and a shiver runs through me, his grin gone and an even more terrifying expression in its place – one I’ve come to know very well.
The mask.
The ice mask is wearing him.
But it lasts for only a second, because when he sees Sophia he makes a chok
ed noise and runs to her, dropping the bloodstained bat and cradling her in his arms.
“Soph,” He whispers. “Sophie, Sophie please –”
He holds his hand out, sticky and wet with blood. Sophia doesn’t move. He pats the pine needles around Sophia’s body and chokes again, the sound of a wild animal shot through. Blood. A pool of blood around her pelvis, her floral dress stained with it.
There’s a noise, like Avery shifting and her shoe breaking a twig. Jack’s head snaps up, eyes glowing an unholy white with the night vision, and he grabs the bat, face twisting with rage. Avery swears and takes off running, and as Jack advances, Wren’s paralysis breaks and he drops the camera, the lens barely catching his shoes as they flash by. Jack’s bigger shoes pass just a split-second after.
“I’ll kill you!” His screams echo. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
He keeps screaming, the sound fading and coming back, like he’s walking in circles. The metallic noise of a bat hitting splintering wood resounds, and his screams are deep and strong and furious and riddled with pain, and over them, Nameless finally speaks.
“He keeps screaming for a while. And then the tape cuts out.”
The tablet screen goes blue, then goes dark. My hands want to shake, but I compose them. Nameless is watching me for a reaction.
“So?” I say. “What was I supposed to learn from this?”
Nameless quirks a brow. “You weren’t terrified? He beat four men into pulp and killed the last one – ”
“The last one ran off the cliff because it was dark,” I say smoothly. “Jack didn’t push him. He killed himself.”
“He wouldn’t have been running if Jack wasn’t chasing him,” Nameless counters. “Don’t defend him. He killed a man and he’s going to jail for it once we turn this tape in to the feds.”
“He didn’t, and there’s no body anyway,” I retort. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Belina Hernandez. You know her, don’t you? You went to visit her.”
“How do you know –”
“Her pathetic computer was very easy to access. She keeps a journal on it. Belina Hernandez is the wife of the man who ran off the cliff; James Hernandez. Your bloodthirsty nemesis has been paying her child support under the guise of federal funds because he’s so guilt-ridden. How do you think it’ll look when the jury sees that? He’s practically convinced he killed James, and that’ll convince the jury.”