Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
M y curiosity about the murders doesn’t lessen. If anything it gets stronger, until I’m tapping my fingers on Sitka’s head and wondering how uncomfortable I’m willing to make myself to get answers. While I don’t talk to anyone from SIU anymore, I still have two or three people added on social media.
I just pretend they don’t exist.
Once in a while, I stop what I’m doing to look over at Boone or Fletcher, but they act like nothing is out of the ordinary. It’s Christmas Eve at our lake house, just like it used to be, and except for the way I’m fidgeting and a little nervous, everything could be normal.
Like I never left at all.
Absently, I scroll through my phone, looking at a few things as I pretend I’m not about to see if I’m still connected to the few others from SIU who still exist to me. But it feels like I’m doing something wrong, and I find myself occasionally glancing up at the two guys when they walk into the room or whenever Boone laughs loudly. Which is, of course, every time he laughs. Volume control is a myth to him.
But God, I worry that I’m starting to look guilty. No matter how hard I try to just lounge casually in the recliner, my legs up over one side of it, I’m sure that I’m fidgeting or giving off vibes of doing something wrong. Though maybe if I’m really lucky, they’ll just think I’m nervous around them, or anxious about the situation instead of doing something wrong. It’s not like Fletcher can actually read my mind, I’m pretty sure, so?—
“You’re awfully quiet, princess.” The object of my worry speaks up from where he’s leaning over Boone with one hand in his hair. I should’ve realized Boone was being pretty silent, which only really happens when he’s sleeping or Fletcher has his attention.
“Hmm?” I look up, feigning casual surprise. “Sorry. You’ll be shocked to know I’m sort of tired.” That part’s pretty true, at least. I’m exhausted from the last few days and my constant worry and anxiety over all of this.
I grin wryly at them both, resting my head on my hand as I readjust in the armchair. “And Boone’s taste in Christmas movies sucks. Krampus is not that great, and certainly not a classic. We should be watching Jurassic World instead.”
“How is Jurassic World a Christmas movie?” Boone scoffs, sitting up straighter. From the corner of my eye I see Fletcher straighten, giving Boone’s hair one more affectionate pat before he pulls away.
“It’s set during Christmastime. Therefore, it is in fact a Christmas movie.” I smile sweetly at him, then drop my gaze back to my phone. “So when it’s my turn to pick, I will be choosing that to watch.” From the corner of my eye I see Fletcher wandering closer to me and I surreptitiously switch off of the app I’d been on. Instead, I go to google and quickly type in Jurassic World and Christmas . The result is the explanation I’d given and a picture of Blue in a Santa hat, which I turn to show Boone. “See?”
Boone leans forward and then rolls his eyes, slumping back against the sofa. “It is not a Christmas movie,” he gripes.
“Can I see?” Fletcher holds out his hand for my phone and I eye him flatly, pulling it back as my heart thumps painfully against my ribs as if letting me know I’m on the verge of getting caught.
Like I don’t already know that.
“No. You have a bad habit of taking my phone and I worry one of these days I won’t get it back.” I force myself to sound casual, like I’m just griping at him. But Fletcher eyes me warily, stepping closer until he’s right in front of the recliner and I have nowhere at all to go.
Crap.
I wish at least I had time to close out of what I’d been doing, instead of just hiding it behind my browser. But I certainly can’t do that now. Not with him staring down at me like he can see through my lies.
Slowly he leans down, hands on both of the arms of the recliner and meets my gaze. “Let me give you some tips about hiding things from me, princess,” Fletcher purrs quietly, his face only inches from mine.
“Sure, okay,” I reply quietly. “I’m always up for advice.”
“First of all.” He tips his head slightly, eyes dropping to my lips before flicking back up to my eyes. “When I ask for your phone, don’t be jumpy. Say less, not more. When you ramble…”—he reaches out and closes his fingers around my phone, tugging it out of my grip and laying it on the wide arm of the recliner—“it lets me know I’m right.”
This time I don’t reply. Instead, I turn to glare at Boone, as if he’s the source of my problems. He raises a brow, flopping over on the couch and tilting his head up to stare at me balefully. “Don’t look at me.” He sighs, twisting slightly to throw his leg over the back of the couch. “You’re the one who thought you could lie to him. Even I can see you’re hiding something.”
“Which brings us to my second point. Learn to control your body language, darling. Ever since you picked up your phone, you’ve been acting jumpy and glancing over at us to make sure we aren’t looking. You went from relaxed to tense and curled up. So show me.”
For a few seconds I don’t process what he said. But once I do, I look up at him, widening my eyes and opening my mouth to speak.
“I’m not interested in your lies or excuses.” He smiles, though it’s not a friendly or jovial look. “Show me what you’ve been doing.” His eyes dip pointedly to my phone, then back up at me.
“I…” Sucking in a breath I tap the screen, navigating to my browser to show him the google search for Jurassic World. “I was looking this up for Boone, and then I was also umm…” I hit the back button on the browser, not quite remembering what it’ll take me to.
A list of flights pop up on my page, showing that they’re still canceled and have yet to be rescheduled. Something uncurls in my chest and I look up at Fletcher, narrowing my eyes. “There. You wanted to see so bad? I was seeing if any flights started going out again.”
It’s reasonable and believable. At least to me. Why wouldn’t he believe it, when I’ve been very clear since they got here that I want to go back to Illinois. Something in my chest uncurls at having such an easy excuse, and I expect him to back off now that he’s seen this?—
“That’s not what you were doing.” His words come with a disappointed sigh, like I’ve failed some test. “Please, Conor. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“W-why do you think that’s not what I was doing?” I ask, cringing around the words. There’s no way I’m not caught now. No fucking way he doesn’t know I’m lying to him.
“Well, for future reference so maybe you can learn to be better at this…” He spins my phone around so he can read the screen, and swipes upward so that he can see all of the apps that are currently open on my phone.
Including my social media.
“You wouldn’t be acting nervous over looking for flights. You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to be here, and you aren’t quiet about it. So that’s pretty obvious.” Naturally he taps right on the app I’m trying to hide, and the page of a girl I went to SIU with pops up. Right on top it’s a picture of her in front of the admin building, with a caption stating the name of our school and the year out class graduated.
Suddenly I’d rather be swimming in Lake George than here.
He huffs a smaller sigh this time, shaking his head as he swipes to close the app. “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?” Fletcher chuckles. He stands straight, but when I move to grab my phone he takes it, shoving it into his pocket.
“I was just browsing my phone. What the hell, Fletch?” I’m not sure digging myself into a deeper hole is wise, but I’m not willing to admit?—
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Boone murmurs from his spot on the couch. “But maybe I can give you something else to be curious about, yeah?” He’s full of good humor as he rolls off of the couch, shoving Fletcher gently out of the way to sit in front of me on the floor. It’s an awkward position, and with his dark eyes and thick, tousled hair, he reminds me of a puppy.
A very feral and unfriendly puppy.
“Curiosity killed the cat, until satisfaction brought her back,” I snap automatically, my attention on him as Fletcher just walks away with my phone, heading into the kitchen. “If you throw my phone in the blender you’re buying me a new one. Like an actual new one,” I threaten, though I only have the nerve to do so because I can’t see him.
“Whatever you say, princess.” His voice drifts back to me and I hear the fridge open and close before Boone moves to wrap his fingers over my thigh.
“Want to hear a story? The one you really wanted to hear when we were kids?” he murmurs in a quiet voice, like it might be a secret. Screaming from the television makes me glance up, and I have enough time to see someone getting dragged away by something before I look back down at Boone.
“What story?” I’m distracted enough that I’m not sure what he could be talking about, since I can’t exactly recall a story I’d wanted to?—
Oh…
Shifting uncomfortably, I bite my lip. “No, Boone, you don’t have to do that. I’ve always said, even before I decided you’re the second worst person on earth, that you don’t have to tell me. It’s your business, and your life. I would never?—”
“Oh, shut up.” He swats at my hand, shifting to lean his chin on my lap. “I don’t mind telling you. I’m older now, and you’re my snow bunny. What are you going to do with the information, when you’re still so worried about calling me names, even when you’re terrified of us?” He has a point. No matter what they do to me, I’d never use Boone’s really shitty past against him. What little I know of it, anyway.
All I was ever told is he had lived with a few different families, and that he’d been rehomed . Though I’ve never found out what the context of that is. And he was sensitive to being called a freak because of something that had happened. Past that, I could only assume and make my own guesses, which I’ve given up on since I cut contact.
“Publish it in the local paper, clearly. I’ll tell all the news stations. Maybe I’ll write a book about you.” I flop back against the arm of the recliner, wondering where Fletcher has taken my phone and if I’ll get it back this year.
His fingers tighten on my leg, causing me to look back down at him, eyes narrowing. “You wanna know or not?” he asks, looking at me flatly.
I do. And that’s the problem. I really want to know. I’ve always wanted to know, but he’s never been willing to divulge those secrets to me. “I want to know if you want to tell me.” That’s as close as I’ll get to asking.
“I’ll even tell you Fletcher’s past. But his is less interesting. He’s boring compared to me.” I wonder if his flippant tone is to keep himself from remembering it badly.
I wonder if one day I’ll be able to talk about what happened to me that way as well. Certainly that day isn’t today, and I can’t imagine it’ll be anytime in the next few years.
“Don’t tell me something that’s going to piss off Fletcher, please.” I fight the urge to card my fingers through his hair, and wait for him to start. Even though he acts so flippant about it, I can see the way he’s hesitating and focusing on moving his hand over my thigh.
I’m just about to tell him he really doesn’t need to tell me that I’lll find a way to survive without knowing. But before I can find the words, he sighs out a long breath.
“I don’t remember my birth parents; they left me in one of those safe place things. Then I was in foster homes, being ping ponged around in our oh so wonderfully thought out system.” My hand inches towards his face, until I can’t help sinking my fingers into his hair. He groans appreciatively and leans into my touch sort of like a dog.
Like a big puppy.
“It wasn’t great, but that’s not unique. Lots of kids have shitty stories to tell you about their time in foster care. I was adopted when I was seven. This couple adopted kids from ‘troubled situations’ so they could help us.” He shakes his head, face curling in remembered disgust. “They expected us to love them and be grateful for what they did for us. No matter how small. I…” he trails off, tapping his fingers against my leg.
“I had attachment issues. I guess if we’re being honest, I still do. Not that you can tell. I hide it very well.” His tone is dry and he rolls his eyes up at me, humor glittering in their dark depths.
“They didn’t like that. Didn’t like how I couldn’t attach to them like their other kids. But they put up with it for a couple of shitty years, not hiding their dislike well. That I won’t give you the details of.” He shakes his head, and I certainly don’t press him for an answer.
“ So …They found a rehoming kids page on Facebook. Dressed me up and had me take some cute pictures. Then posted me online to get a new family. It reminded me of a shelter dog ad. You know, how they make them sound all cute and lovable and gloss over their flaws?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“Three more families later, I went back into foster care when the couple who 'adopted’ me got in trouble for illegally buying kids. Then Cheryl heard about me through her social worker friends and adopted me for real. Fletcher was already there, and I can assure you I attached hard.”
“Not that I ever complained about it.” Both of us look up to see Fletcher leaning against the wall, his fingers scratching behind Sitka’s ears. “And he’s right. He’s the interesting one. My parents were drunks who killed a pharmacy clerk while trying to get their fix. I went into the system and Cheryl got me out a few years later. I didn’t have the same kind of problems as him, and I won’t pretend to.”
But I can tell from the way he talks that just because he won’t take any of the attention off of Boone’s problems, doesn’t mean he didn’t have some of his own.
“I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t matter but…” I take my fingers out of Boone’s hair and lean back. “Also, if this is us having a ‘spill all’ session, I don’t have anything to spill. You guys were the ones who gave me shitty trauma as a kid.” I roll my eyes as I say it.
Boone shifts, looking suddenly frustrated, and glances up at Fletcher. “You’re?—”
“ Boone .” Fletcher’s voice makes both of us jump with how much it sounds like a reprimand. I glance up to see him glaring down at his brother, suddenly looking a lot less friendly than he normally tries to be.
The follwoing silence is uncomfortable and tense, with my skin prickling as the seconds pass too slowly.
“So. Jurassic World ?” I ask finally, hating how expectant and tense this feels to me. Like I’m the one doing something wrong.
And maybe I am, since I’m the one not willing to come clean.
Not that they should know anything about that.
“Still not a Christmas movie.” Boone throws his head back with a groan and gets to his feet. “Jesus Christ, at least the movies I pick have some aspect of Christmas in them. I’m vetoing your pick.”
“You’re not vetoing it. She gets next pick, then it’s my turn,” Fletcher declares.
I snort and settle back, hating how easy it is to remember years just like this, when we had our traditional Christmas movie marathon on Christmas Eve while Dad and Cheryl did a lot of last minute wrapping. This year no one mentioned it, or made a big deal out of it. Fletcher just turned on his pick, then Boone put on Krampus , and now…
My heart twists at the feeling, at the nostalgia of the whole evening, but I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bitter one. Things can’t go back to how they used to be. Especially with me being so fixated on finding out what happened last year, and why.
Besides, I’m still looking for a flight out of here at the soonest possible opportunity, to get away from the two boys who made my life hell for so long.
“I hate you both,” I tell them mildly, voice a low murmur. Not saying it for them, but to remind myself of that.
Though it’s Fletcher who walks over and grabs me by my hair, pulling my head back and getting a yelp in response.
“We know,” he tells me, leaning down until his lips brush mine. “You’re not subtle, princess. And you can hate us today. We don’t mind the challenge.”