Because of who my brother is, not to mention his connections, there would never be any.
Sure, people speculate about the identity of the girl—even go so far as to pinpoint her as a tourist from Maine—but nobody is saying my name. And as far as us Kellys are concerned, that’s as good as a situation like this can get.
Still, guilt eats away at me, gnawing the frayed edges of my soul like parasites.
Maybe that’s why I check to see what people are saying; it’s as much of an honest form of punishment as my brother will allow, although if he knew I was searching the case online, he’d definitely revoke my Internet.
It’s been days, and still no word from the girl he supposedly raped? Yeah, okay. Red flag.
Just another groupie who got what she wanted and decided to exploit a celebrity. Shame, too—I love Aiden’s music. To Night And Fire are some of my all-time favorite songs!
I met Aiden James at Lollapalooza a couple years back. Nice guy. Don’t believe he’d do this.
Hope that lying bitch gets what she deserves.
A flurry of concern and empathy for the accused, and yet the support for the supposed victim doesn’t even compare.
Scrolling to the bottom of the page, I let their animosity soak to the bone, becoming one with my marrow until I can look at the next comment, no problem.
The shock of their magnitude of disgust never ceases to cut straight through me, no matter how many forums and articles I peruse. To these people, I’m not a girl caught in an impossible place, only trying to do what her brother says will keep her safe.
I’m not a starstruck teenager who had their dream night with their dream man completely ruined by a single rumor.
I’m subhuman.
Garbage.
Once again, proving my mother right.
When I shut down the laptop at night and shove my head beneath the pillows, it’s her whispering the comments in my ear.
Never letting me forget.
Not long after the incident—as those of us on my side are calling it—I ask Boyd to let me finish high school from home.
Most of my classmates at King’s Trace Prep seem entirely too suspicious of my identity, and while no one will come out and say it, I’ve been ostracized even more than I was before.
Nothing like adding social pariah to a résumé, right before you’re supposed to go off to college.
Boyd doesn’t approve of the idea at first, mainly because he works and thinks I need a babysitter, but eventually Fiona gets him to relent, and soon I’m spending my weeks learning AP chemistry and forensics online and fine-tuning my web design skills.
Some days, it’s easier than others to push the thoughts of Aiden from my mind.
But the guilt never ceases.
Unfortunately, my brother has set up some kind of protective firewall, so even if I wanted to contact anyone in Aiden’s life who could reach him, I can’t. At least, not electronically, and I have no clue where I’d even send a letter.
But that doesn’t keep people from contacting me.
It’s not long before an envelope shows up on my doorstep, the contents inside making me vomit into the kitchen sink.
More photographs of me and Aiden traipsing around New York—even though he’s got that disguise on, and I’m in those oversized sweats, I can tell it’s us. At the dry cleaners, again in the park, and finally in the tattoo shop.
They’re intimate pictures; ones that had to have been taken from a close vantage point.
Still, they aren’t the most unsettling thing in the envelope.
Evidence of my entire existence—my birth certificate, vaccination records, and itemized lists of every class and extracurricular I’ve taken, every website I’ve ever visited, my exact locations in New York City. They all fall out with the pictures and a note that only says “We know who you are.”
Tension notches against my sternum, permanently etching itself into my skeleton. I stuff the contents in the bottom of my dresser drawer, heart beating so hard that I’m afraid it might bust through my rib cage and splatter all over the floor.
Would serve me right.
I sit on the envelope for a few days in silence, trying to figure out what to do. If I tell Boyd, he’ll undoubtedly start a war with the James family, and feuds like that have a history of ending poorly.
On the other hand, I find it difficult to believe the James family would send such a cryptic piece of mail without having contacted me another way, or even trying to get me to confess.
Which means… maybe the envelope isn’t from Aiden’s people at all.
Maybe my mother’s ghost is haunting me in a new way, and the people from her past life are starting to catch up with me.
Not wanting to alarm Boyd, I set out with a plan—unsure of what I want the outcome to be, but positive in my convictions not to involve my brother.
The less he knows, the less he can be convicted of later.
I just want to put an end to all of this, and as I spend the next weeks living in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder, I realize there’s only one thing to do.
Blackmail is something of a trade in the town we live in; at one point, just about everyone in King’s Trace has fallen victim to extortion of some degree, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world when I finally dip my toes into that realm.
There’s exactly one man I trust—outside of my brother. I haven’t seen him since he saved my life after the attack, but I know without a doubt he’ll be able to help me.
However, he’s not a man you can approach and just ask a favor.
You have to force his hand.
15
My knee bounces, intermittently colliding with the underside of Boyd’s oak desk.
The air in his office is suffocating, though part of me thinks that has more to do with why I’m here than anything else.