Chapter 19
HENLEY HOUSE
“I’m glad you came,” Lynette says softly.
Shadows move over the unfinished, rough-hewn wood of the walls.
There’s a small fire crackling in the old stone fireplace, but it doesn’t give off much light.
There are three dusty shelves above a small table; they’re lined with random objects, things Rocky or Kendra had found around the property.
A few arrowheads, an old tin can that’d once held beans.
A heart-shaped limestone stone Rocky gave me the first time we came here together.
Against one wall, a small brass bedstand with a mattress and an old quilt across it.
The cabin hasn’t changed at all.
Lynette smiles. Her lipstick is too bright for her complexion, I think; it makes her look harsh, cheap. She always smiles with her mouth closed. She has crooked front teeth and has always been self-conscious about them.
“I don’t like it here,” I say, shivering a little. The words taste like heartbreak, though, because actually, I used to love it here. It had felt like a fairy-tale cottage when I was here alone with Rocky. It had felt special, before.
“Sometimes things go bad,” Lynette says, like she’s agreeing with me. Like she can read what I’m thinking.
I realize suddenly she’s in her old cheer uniform. The short skirt, the sleeveless top. PUMAS in bright gold appliqué. Her pale blond hair is crimped and teased into a mane. Big Texas hair, we used to call it. I know if I were to touch it it would be stiff and hard. She’s dressed for game day.
“You aren’t supposed to wear that anymore,” I say.
She fluffs the skirt out from her hips, swaying gently to music only she can hear. “Who cares? It’s just an outfit.”
“But you aren’t on the team.” I don’t know why it bothers me. She’s right, it’s just an outfit. It doesn’t mean anything. Except it does. It should. Mean something, I mean.
Her eyes are ice chips nestled in dark lashes. “Rocky loves it, though. He always did.”
I take a step toward her. I jab at her chest with my index finger, my fingertip landing on the nubbly chenille of the A in PUMAS.
Bang.
Her mouth opens wide, a terrible grin. Blood bubbles up out of her mouth to stain her crooked teeth. It pours down her chin. It soaks the front of her shirt. I look at where my finger is still touching her, but it’s not just my finger.
Now, I’m holding a gun.
There’s a dark cavern between the A and the S on her shirt, blood pulsing from within.
But she doesn’t fall. She stands there, grinning and red, while I stare at the wound.
At the gun in my hand. I can’t put it down.
I can’t even take my finger off the trigger.
And then, against my will, like I’m being controlled by someone or something else, I pull the trigger again.
Bang!
My sheets coil around my legs like shackles. For a second I think it was my own heart that woke me, but then I hear two more explosions. Bang! Bang! Then a squeal of tires. A car alarm going crazy. My heart pounds out a wild rhythm and I thrash around in the sheets, trying to get free.
The hall light snaps on under my door. I can hear someone—probably Mom or Dad—stomp down the steps. A few minutes later, a second pair of footsteps follows.
I take a deep breath and count to ten, waiting for my breath to slow. Then I untangle myself from the bed. I shuffle out of my room and down the stairs.
There’s a lingering smell of exhaust when I open the door. Mom is at the curb in her robe, looking at something on our mailbox. Noelle is there too, her eyes bright with terror, or maybe excitement.
“What’s going on?” I say.
They turn to me, and for a moment I think I should’ve just stayed asleep and taken my chances with Lynette’s wrathful ghost.
Mom just gestures at the mailbox. That’s when I see it: three jagged holes blasted in the side of the metal. The little red flag dangles loosely. My body goes rigid.
“You tell me, Iris,” she says. Her voice is soft but wire sharp.
I gape at her. Noelle, a few inches behind her and just out of her sight, seems caught between a frightened deer-in-headlights expression and a smirk.
“What … Why would you think I had anything to do with this?” I ask.
At Max’s house next door a light snaps on. Across the street I can see blinds moving in the Delgados’ upstairs bedroom. Mom must notice too. She jerks her head toward the front door and hisses, “House.”
As soon as the door is safely shut behind us, she turns to face me. “Is this because of that … that website?” she asks. She looks at Noelle. “Are people still talking about her there?”
Noelle avoids my eyes. We don’t have a great relationship, but usually we have a tacit understanding about snitching. As in, don’t do it.
The one thing that can undermine that agreement is the promise of a little approval from Mom.
“Yeah,” Noelle mutters. “It’s, uh, it’s escalated.”
I notice for the first time she’s still dressed. Was she still awake, in her room playing video games or watching movies? Or did she just fall asleep in her clothes?
“Yeah, but Mom…” I start.
She doesn’t let me get further than that.
“You know that your principal called me today? Something about property destruction?” she demands.
“How is that my fault?” I hate the note of petulance in my voice, but I can’t help it. “Someone vandalized my locker. I’m the victim here.”
“Iris Henley.” Her eyes narrow sharply. “We have done everything to help make you a success. We protected you from the media circus last year. So why are you stirring up trouble now?”
I recoil. “Mom. You don’t believe any of this stuff, do you? You don’t think I had anything to do with Rocky and Lynette.”
I hate the pleading note in my voice but I can’t help it. I need to know.
Her lips go tight. This is the only time I see vestiges of her preacher daddy. She may not be religious, but she’s got a judgmental streak.
“Of course not. But I told you in the spring, Iris, you have got to keep your head down. You’ve got to make sure no one can say even one bad word about you, you understand?
What happened to…” She hesitates. She hasn’t actually said Rocky or Lynette’s name since they died.
“What happened was sad, obviously. But you have to stay above reproach if you don’t want to be tarred with the same brush. ”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
She gives a little shrug to that. “You did something to get their attention, Iris. I don’t know what. But you’d better figure it out.”
On my way upstairs I stop on the landing. I can hear Dad snoring away in his bedroom. What a blessed life the man leads. Sure, his wife loathes him, his children don’t respect him. But he is utterly unbothered by anything.
Right now, that sounds like a luxury.
Back in my room I climb back into bed and pick up my phone. Max has messaged me.
MAX
WTF?
ME
Idiots shot up our mailbox. It’s okay. But somehow my mom’s made it out to be my fault.
MAX
Sure, that scans. Are you ok?
ME
Yeah. Thanks for asking.
But no. I’m not okay, and of course he knows it. All the rage and chaos of the Sekrit posts have officially escaped containment. It’s in the real world, now, and there’s no undoing that.
The real question is where it will end.