But it didn’t matter. Jackie made it easy. She made everything easy.
Before long, Max was telling her about his fondness for movies, how he had studied all the great filmmakers, going as far back as Russia’s own Eisenstein and his film Battleship Potemkin, and right up to and including the films of David Fincher. His mother even bought him a cheap video camera for his fourteenth birthday, and Max, using a pirated copy of Avid editing software, spent most nights cutting together snippets and vignettes cribbed from video-upload sites. More than anything in the world, Max wanted to emigrate to Los Angeles, New York, or London and make movies. Having a connection to an American teenager seemed like a good first step, especially one as nice as Jackie.
It was clear to Max that Jackie was as unhappy in her life as he was in his. He almost came clean, telling her the truth about himself, but couldn’t do it. He was too invested in the new Max. And besides, he thought maybe Jackie needed someone like the new Max in her life. She deserved better than the real Max.
He wasn’t ready to admit it to himself, but Max was falling for his new pen pal … falling hard.
***
Jackie was having a dream about Max when Megan’s scream woke her up. She leaped out of bed and went for the door on pure instinct, but something deep in her gut stopped her. She stood there, hand on the doorknob, panting and afraid.
No more, Jackie’s brain was telling her, no more.
She could hear the commotion down the hall, near her father’s office. People were talking loudly and they sounded hysterical.
No more.
She sat back down on the edge of her bed, her hands folded in her lap. The trouble, she knew, would eventually come to her.
Jackie, who was one and a half years older than Trebuchet, thought of herself as the dog’s older sister. Her very first memories were of petting Trebuchet, her fingers plunging deep into his fur and grabbing his skin, the dog staying still and letting her explore, never complaining, never barking, never nipping.
The two grew up together, forming one of the special bonds that can only be forged between man—or in this case, little girl—and dog. As soon as she was old enough, Jackie joined Jared and Trebuchet on their daily walks, her father letting her hold the leash, the dog knowing when to moderate the force of his pull.
There was a soft knock on the door.
Jackie muttered a barely audible, “It’s open,” and Megan poked her head in. Jackie looked at her sister, seeing immediately the fear in her eyes, but didn’t say a word.
Megan came all the way into the room, closed the door behind her, and sat down next to Jackie. Where Jackie’s hands were motionless, Megan’s couldn’t stop moving.
For her part, Megan had always felt something between jealousy and relief that Jackie and Trebuchet shared such a special relationship. Jealousy because the dog hadn’t chosen her, and relief because she didn’t think she could handle the responsibility of that kind of devotion.
“Weird,” she would say when she saw the dog sitting outside Jackie’s door in the morning, waiting patiently for her to wake up. Megan understood enough about Jackie and Trebuchet’s relationship to want to shield her sister from the scene in her father’s office. But there was no way around the truth.
“Someone—broke into the house,” Megan stammered, looking for the right words. She looked confused; all the color was gone from her face.
“What happened?” Jackie’s voice was flat, defeated. She took a long breath before asking, “Is it Daddy?”
“It’s Trey,” Megan said.
***
After Trebuchet had been taken away, after Sherman Kingsborough had been carted off to jail, after all the other people had finally left Jared’s office, he and Deirdre were alone.
“What the hell just happened?” he asked her, truly confused.
“You don’t remember?” Deirdre asked, alarmed.
“No, D, I remember, but what I’m remembering can’t be real.”
“It’s real, Jare.”
“Sherman Kingsborough, the boy billionaire, broke into our house to kill our dog?”
“No, honey, Sherman Kingsborough, the boy billionaire, broke into our house to kill you. He missed.”
Jared didn’t know what to say.
“The police say he was the guy on eBay who sent you that message, the one wanting to know how fit you were,” she added.
“Huh,” was the best Jared could muster.
“How’s your head?”
“It’s got a brain tumor.”
Deirdre looked at him sideways.
“I’m kidding. Sorry. It feels better now that everyone is gone. The doctor says stress makes it worse.”
Deirdre took Jared’s hand. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you make a joke in weeks.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So what now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. The director said they’re going to take the show off the air for a couple of days.”
“Where are the girls?”
“In Jackie’s room.”
“Did they see any of this?”
“Megan did.”