So I let Bren think I’m deranged. Damaged.
It might be pretty damn close to the truth anyway.
As long as we’re on the subject of truth, Ian and Jason came clean the night they were arrested. Technically, Jason confessed first: why he killed Lell (to save her from Kyle), why he killed Kyle (to keep him from Lell). His love and his hate seem so sound-bite tidy when the police explain it like that. Everyone nods and I have to struggle not to gag.
The boys partnered with each other for the money—and also to get revenge on the father they hated. Kyle, for all his imperfections, was the judge’s favorite child, the one who would inherit everything, the one who was openly praised, the one who was noticed.
Jason was at the party to see Ian when I roofied him, a mistake that made Jason see me as a loose end and Ian see me as his own. This actually came up with the cops—how I roofied Jason. He told them all about it and he might’ve had something there too since Ian backed his story, but Bren swore I never left her side during the party. I still don’t know if she lied for me or if she just didn’t remember. Either way, Ian won’t see the outside of a prison cell until he’s old enough to retire and Jason won’t be too far ahead of him.
Bay lived. For a while, we were a few doors away from each other at the hospital. Then he was transferred to a rehab center with promises that he should be able to go home soon. As far as I know, he never did. The house was repaired and went up for sale. He retired—effective immediately—from his position. He moved. No idea where. I guess I could find out if I wanted. I like pretending he disappeared though. It’s almost as good as pretending the whole thing never happened.
In the end, Bren checks me out of the hospital once both doctors (the first opinion and the second opinion) say I’m good to go. We go home and nothing’s the same. Part of me mourns it. Another part of me thinks everything is just so much easier now. There’s less need to include me. Less pressure to be perfect.
Less notice when I slip away.
I don’t remember who I am anymore, who I’m supposed to be. Sometimes I go back to my old neighborhood and stare at our house. I’m not sure how I went from the girl who lived there to the girl I am now. Did it happen when Carson started blackmailing me? When Todd preyed on Lily? When Tessa jumped?
Or when my mom did?
I don’t know. I don’t know that I’ll ever know, but I do understand this: I’d struggled to survive for so long, I didn’t recognize when I was safe. I won’t make that mistake again.
Funny how safe brings me to Milo, isn’t it? The boy has a thing for explosives. How does that make anyone feel safe? Milo knows something’s wrong and even though I don’t tell him . . . well, I’m sure he’s figured out things aren’t so great at home. I think it makes him try harder with me. Some days I’m grateful because it makes me feel like I’m still here. I still exist.
Other days . . . I wish he wouldn’t because this isn’t who I want to be.
Naturally, Milo disagrees. He thinks we’re brilliant together. I think we’re dangerous. We’re too alike. There’s nothing noble, nothing good about either of us.
Except it feels awfully good when we’re together.
What else? Oh, Carson’s still gone. No one knows where he went. Agents from the ATF and NSA are searching for him and he must have better skills than I would have given him credit for because they’re coming up empty-handed.
It’s an interesting development—not interesting enough to keep my days from stretching into one long smear though. I open my hacking-for-hire business again. Not because I have to; because I need it.
I need something to distract me from Lily’s anger, Bren’s watchful eyes, and the voice mail from my dad. He called one day while I was in the shower, left a message saying, “You owe me.” The old Wick would’ve puked. The new Wick . . . well, I replayed the voice mail twice and thought, Maybe. He’ll have to catch me first.
Tough words considering it kick-started another round of insomnia. I’m barely sleeping and, when I do, I dream of Joe. I wake up at two or three in the morning drenched in sweat, skin slippery as blood. I don’t feel bad—I don’t—but his murder left a stain.
I just need some time for everything to settle. Only it doesn’t, because I come home from school one day to find Bren waiting for me in the living room. There’s a guy with her, and even before he turns around, I know him. Maybe because part of me has been waiting for this.
Officer Hart—only it isn’t “officer,” is it? That suit and tie look like Fed—stands next to our couch, and when I step closer, he comes forward, ready to shake my hand.
“I’m so glad to meet you, Wicket. Your mom’s told me all about you.”