Mrs. Ellery smirks like she’s caught me in something big. She has no idea that Bren’s going to be thrilled that I’m actually making friends after the Mini incident and the thrill will mix with the anger and that will leave . . . I don’t know. I highly doubt it’s going to get me thrown into convent school like Mrs. Ellery is hoping.
The older woman bangs out of the house and I lock the door behind her, setting the alarm even though it takes me two tries. My hands won’t stop shaking. I drop the knife into the sink and dial Carson. He doesn’t answer and I don’t leave a message, but, sure enough, a few minutes later, he calls me back.
“What?” Carson snaps.
“Are you even using that tracking app I put on Baines?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“Because Baines was just here and his tattoo matches the one I showed you in the pictures. He’s holding up Lell’s head, not Kyle.”
“Are you sure about this?”
I rub one clammy hand through my hair. “Definitely. I saw it. He knows I saw it.”
“Good. We can use that.”
“There is no we, Carson. He was here to kill me.” That may not be exactly true, but it feels true and saying it out loud makes tears cram the corners of my eyes. “He must have known all along. He recognized me in the woods. He saw me at the party. This isn’t about your glorious career anymore. People are getting killed.”
“Have a little patience, Wick. This can lead us to something even better. There has to be more to what’s going on, and if we play it right, Bay could end up sharing a cell with your dad.”
“And more people could end up dead.”
On the other end, someone says something to Carson. “I’ll call you later,” he tells me.
Only he doesn’t and I spend the next hour pacing through the house, trying—and failing—to get a handle on what I know.
One. Kyle’s the favored choice for being the murderer. Lell was his girlfriend. He had rage issues. He was paranoid.
Two. Jason could be the killer too, right? He was in the pictures. He was there. But why would he kill Lell? To prove something to my dad? To the other dealers? If he’s sending a message, it feels like he’s using the wrong people.
Which brings me to Three: Remember me? That’s a message too . . . but for what? Is it a message from Kyle to the people who wanted to put him away? Or is it a message from Jason, a command to remember how powerful he’s become? I have no idea. I don’t know what to think about any of this.
I end up in my bedroom again, watching the security camera feed of the front yard. It’s empty and that’s good. My stomach stays knotted though, and no matter how long I glare at my computer screen, waiting for inspiration to hit, it doesn’t.
I need something to take my mind off everything . . . except then I think of my mom. I could rewatch some of the interviews. I haven’t touched them since finding out she was murdered. There really didn’t seem like much point anymore.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be getting from watching them anyway. I seriously doubt they’re supposed to provide distraction. I’d be better off sticking needles under my fingernails. All they do is upset me and they shouldn’t—at all. They do though and I have to realize yet again that I’m not over what happened. No matter how much I want to be.
Norcut and Bren think I need more time to heal. Such bullshit. Yeah, time heals all wounds, but it leaves a scar and that becomes your pain’s new face.
I’m sick of it . . . and I can’t leave it alone.
I leave the security feed still running on one monitor and open the DVD file listing on my other screen, selecting the last interview. My mom appears and I hit play, tucking both knees under my chin to watch.
It’s the usual back-and-forth until someone says, “I’m tired of your shit. Give me something useful.”
I sit up a little. This is a new voice. Hard. Male.
Bay’s.
The judge sounds like she’s the bug and he’s the boot, but my mom smiles. “You don’t like my stories.”
“Not particularly. Tell me what you know.”
She shifts in her chair. “I don’t know anything. That’s what I keep telling you.”
“Bullshit.”
My mom looks at him, shrugs. For a heartbeat, she’s staring at something no one else can see, then her eyes refocus. “I love him and I hate it. How about that for what I know? Here’s the deal with love: You can’t control if you get love, but you can control if you give it.”
I like that. I’ve heard the quote before, just never wrapped in her voice and, somehow, that makes it even better. I like how she said it, that she carried the words around, which says more about her than it does about whoever she’s quoting.
Then I hear the downstairs door open and both my feet hit the floor. I stop the video and, barely able to breathe, I hover, hoping hoping hoping that I’m hearing things.
The alarm starts to beep.
I run to the top of the stairs and see shadows moving in the foyer below, drawing closer. For a terrible moment, I think I’m about to be finished, and then I realize it’s worse.
Because Lily just came home.
And she’s covered in blood.
43