Taylor lit one cigarette off the other, clinked her ice cubes. She pushed off the armchair and stumbled to the bar in the corner, dimly illuminated by a night light. She leaned close to the railing and Bridget held her breath, just one little misstep. She imagined her flipping, feet over head, into the abyss below, the chandelier swinging gently.
“It was all so fucked up. She was going to just disappear long enough to fuck him up. Get him fired. Ruin his marriage. She was gone too long. That girl was always too dramatic. Always too much.” Taylor poured more vodka from the bottle and flopped herself back into the chair. Caught her breath, like it was one big effort.
Finally, “He was mine first, that’s all.”
“He’s not now?” Bridget asked, wondering briefly if she meant Andrew or Nate. Andrew. Definitely Andrew.
“Not with the lies Lucia’s been spreading about him. It’s all going to shit now. Well, maybe not anymore.” She heaved another one of those big breaths, her hands splayed across her chest. “She ruins everything she touches.”
Everything you touch. Accusatory, not amorous, then. You ruin everything you touch.
“You wrote that note, Taylor,” Bridget could hardly breathe. “Who set it on fire?”
Taylor said nothing, just stared over her shoulder at the wall, shaking her head, an indistinct smirk playing on her mouth until her eyes darted away again. “Why? You love Lucia. She’s your best friend.”
Taylor leaned forward, her face white, her nose scrunched. “That girl. The truth?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m glad to be rid of her. She’s been nothing but an anchor around my neck. Jennifer always pecking at her, worried about her. It’s enough to make anyone sick.”
“The thing is, I didn’t say she was dead, Taylor,” said Bridget, trying to look bored. Taylor watched her keenly.
“What?” She stopped, her eyes at the ceiling, staring at the glittering chandelier, her eyes spinning, blinking, her tongue licking the corner of her mouth. Every time a car passed, its headlights scattered a flickering strobe light around the hall.
“A minute ago, you said Nate killed her. But I never said she was dead. I just said they found her. How’d you know she was killed by anyone?” Bridget asked again.
“You said it. You did.” Her eyes flitted around, her mouth working, twitching.
“What if I think you killed her?” Bridget whispered, her insides roiling like a careening car, the smoke and the sticky sweet smell of the house burning her eyes, the insides of her mouth, her nose.
“You’re hilarious, Mrs. Peterson, really.” Her head lolled to the side. “You can think whatever you want. No one listens to you, you’re just the town sad sack.”
Taylor snapped to attention then, stood up, unsteady, knees knocking and came toward her. Bridget backed up, the railing right against her back, all that blackness below, and wondered if this is how it was for Lucia, the inkiness about to swallow her.
She grabbed the railing behind her, and in doing so let the phone go. She heard it crack on the floor below, a tinny, hollow sound. It didn’t matter, she had the important part. The world had it.
It happened so fast. Before she could think, react, get out of the way, Taylor’s arms shot out. Bridget felt herself pinwheel, the wood of the railing against her back.
Right after Taylor pushed her, as she tumbled over the railing, she wondered if Lucia had felt this way.
If she’d felt, for just a second, like she was flying.
?????
She tried to kill me!
The voices were coming from inside her, screaming from her pelvis, her legs.
Then, miss, I need you to please step outside.
Then a scream. A slamming door. A siren. Then, finally, blessed silence.
CHAPTER 40
Lucia, Wednesday, May 13, 2015
“Lulu! Lulu!”
Lucia heard her before she saw her and wondered if Taylor would come all the way into the pulp room.
Taylor was afraid of the mill. Even when they’d come here two years ago, maybe more, with Andrew and Porter. Before things got weird, harder, when they’d build a fire and throw stones at the windows, the sound of the break becoming some kind of contest, the loudest raining glass eliciting a rumbled cheer from the boys. Daring each other to go inside. Alone.
Lucia was the only girl not afraid. She’d walked up to the pulper, the rotor shining in the middle, and wonder what it was like when it was bladed. They’d heard a story once about a man working there who’d fallen in, his body sliced to ribbons before they found him. Lucia had told Lenny about it and he’d laughed at her. It didn’t even have blades. It was just a mixer. The real danger was in the chemical they used. If you fell in, your face would slide clean off. Like The Joker.
Lucia heard the yelp again, a dainty cry, and slid down into a far corner behind the cement wall of the machine. Taylor wouldn’t come all the way in.
“Lulu!” Her voice, wobbling and wet, but close. Too close. “I know you’re here. I know you. God, you love this fucking place. I’m alone. Come out, okay? I won’t tell anyone. I just want to talk to you. The police are all up in our shit, looking for you. Can you hear me?” A scream, followed by a furious rustle, a stomping. Lucia covered her mouth with her hand. A spider. “Fucking spiders. Fine, you know what? Have it your way. I’ll just have to find you.”
Footsteps away from the pulp room, into the roller room. She kicked a cardboard roll, the hollow phlump! of the tube against the stone wall.
Lucia slid out along the side wall and climbed soundlessly through the front window. She edged along the outside of the building until she got around the corner and then ran for the dam, the weeds and grass up to her waist, licking at her bare arms.
It was hot for May.
Lucia didn’t have a plan. She didn’t always have a plan, but she usually had something in mind, the general outline of what to do next. This time, there was nothing but whiteness. A blank, beautiful whiteness like the foam of the dam flushing out her mind. She stood with her back against the widest oak, a bead of sweat zigzagging down her spine, and waited for the time to pass, for Taylor to get bored and leave.
“Found you, hooker. Knew I would. God, you’re so predictable.” Taylor shoved at her shoulder, hard, and Lucia was knocked sideways, into the oak, her elbow scratching at the bark.
“Jesus, Taylor, what the fuck are you doing out here?” Lucia rubbed her elbow and looked out at the water, the blackbirds looping around at the crest of the dam.
“See, I should ask you the same thing. You know everyone is looking for you. You’re hiding. Why?”
Lucia laughed then, this honk of a laugh that got swallowed by the dam, the loudness of it clouding around them until she could almost feel the spray on her face.
Taylor continued, but stepped toward her, into her space, her mouth twisting, like she’d sucked a sourball. “What’s your next move, genius? What’s your plan? Just come waltzing back to Mt. Oanoke High like everything is A-OK?”