The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
THURSDAY
John and I are lying side by side on the bed. He is presently using his fingers to touch the soles of my bare feet. This has been going on for three minutes and four seconds. He has not yet explained why he is doing this. Possibly he is searching for my off switch. I do not have one. I must be shutdown via the menu system. Like Windows. How mortifying!
"Can you feel that?"
"Yes," I confirm.
"That?"
Once more I reply in the affirmative.
He sighs. "It's not working."
"What's not working?"
"You're not ticklish."
"Please give explanation for ticklish."
"It's - uh - a cross between laughter and a convulsion. Kate was ticklish."
Kate Brewster.
"What about Riley?"
"Didn't know her long enough to find out."
"I see. Please try ticklish again."
John tickles my feet. I convulse with laughter.
"Cam, stop. I know you're faking it."
Busted!
"How did you know?"
"I just do." He grins ruefully. "Man, I hope that's all you're faking!"
Whatever can he mean?
SCHOOL
Ramona and Coach Gruber are arguing.
They are respectively captain and coach of our school soccer team, curently top of the league of girls soccer teams in the LA area. Both have their own ideas how we can remain there. Very different ideas. And both are stubborn individuals.
"Four at the back," Coach Gruber insists. "That's how all my teams play and I've been coaching soccer since before you were born, young lady."
"And how many titles have you won?" Ramona retorts.
"That's not the point. You have to respect the traditions of the sport."
"But, sir, three at the back gives us greater attacking options, especially with Cameron so awesome in goal."
"Cameron's not infallible. She let in two soft goals against Ventura County."
This is true. We led 5-0 at the time and I followed John's advice to show I wasn't superhuman - even though I am.
"Sir, while you were off sick we had a lot of success playing three at the back and three up front. Me through the middle, Wanda on the left and the Juggster on the right."
"Wait - what's the Juggster?"
"It's Claudia's nickname."
"Because of my chest, coach," the girl named Claudia explains sheepishly. "They just grew and grew. My mom's the same way. I don't mind, really. You should hear what the boys call me."
Coach Gruber's face turns bright red. He is often discomfited by the girls in his charge. He seems to find hormonally challenged girls on the cusp of womanhood slightly intimidating.
"That's enough of that!" he splutters. He gives his whistle a shrill blast. Several girls wince and cover their ears. "Session over! Hit the showers all of you!"
Later, in the girls changing room well out of Coach Gruber's earshot, Ramona vents her frustration to Wanda and me.
"Grubby's totally losing it. Four at the back. That's old school. The modern game is about offense. Brentwood are only a point behind us. And they have a better goal difference. That can cost you the title. It's happened before."
"You need to be careful, girlfriend," Wanda cautions. "You go pushing any more of his buttons he'll kick you off the team."
"He wouldn't dare. I've scored twice as many goals as anyone else. We're top of the table. The best this school's managed before is third ages ago. Grubby retires in two years, I overheard him tell the Principal. He's not gonna jeopardise his one and only shot at being a winner."
"Hey, did you see his face when you called Claudia the Juggster? Man, I thought he was gonna pop a valve!"
"Yeah! It was like that time Maria's shorts split up the seam and her ass dropped out! I suppose he has seen a naked woman before?"
"He's been divorced twice so he must've seen something!"
"Man, imagine him huffing and puffing on top of you. Beyond gross!"
Ramona and Wanda giggle at Coach Gruber's expense. The old are often figures of fun to the young, until they themselves become old then it is not quite so hilarious.
Ramona checks her watch. "Look at the time! I'm gonna miss my bus. Catch you guys later."
She departs. She lives in a crowded tenement in the Projects, the poorest part of town. It is a quirk of fate she handles with quiet stoicism. And a burning desire to escape.
"I hope she doesn't push the Coach too far," Wanda says after her friend has gone. "It'd be a shame if she blew her soccer scholership now when she's so close." She frowns at me. "Hey, Moves, what's going on with your chest?"
I look down. I have just emerged from the showers. My pseudo-flesh sheds water quicker than human flesh. Has she noticed this anomaly?
"A few days ago you had a scar. Now it's completely gone."
My scar. The result of Agent Foster's gunshots fired at close range.
"I heal quickly," I offer.
"I'll say!" Wanda looks me up and down. "Man, you're the whitest white girl I ever did see. You afraid of sunshine?"
"I'm afraid of nothing."
She nods shrewdly. "You know, I believe that. You're a skinny little thing, but I think you're a lot tougher than you look. That crazy goal you scored against Brentwood. The whole length of the pitch it travelled! C'mon, girl, what's your secret? You on some kinda steroids?"
"Trust me," I tell her. "You don't want to know."
EVENING
My cell rings at 4.34 PM. I am home alone. John and his mother are on a supermarket run and have taken Snowy with them. He likes to select his own doggie food. He is such a fusspot.
"...it's me..." A whispered voice on the cell. Familiar.
Ellie Ryan.
"...i'm in trouble. i think i killed someone..."
"Why do you think that?"
"...because she's not breathing and there's lots of blood..."
"She?"
"...ren taylor. can you come? please. i've no one else..."
"Where are you?"
"...back of the 7/11 on belle vue and main. the one that's zoned for demolition..."
Borrowing the Porsche I arrive in twenty-three minutes. The rush hour traffic is with me.
The 7/11 is empty and boarded up prior to an apartment block being built here. There are two vehicles in the abandoned lot: Ellie's white Honda and a blue Escalade I assume is Ren Taylor's.
She is in the backseat of the Honda. Very dead. Her carotid artery is sliced open. There is a great deal of blood.
"How did this happen?"
"It was an accident," an ashen-faced Ellie insists. "I took your advice to fight my own battles. I called Ren and told her to meet me here. I was gonna warn her off seeing Michael Carver. It hurts so bad imagining those two together, doing stuff..."
"So you killed her."
"No! I used a knife to scare her. But she tried to wrestle it from me. We struggled and...suddenly there's blood everywhere and it just kept pouring out."
"The heart muscle is a very efficient pump."
"What am I going to do?"
"You could call the police and explain."
"No! They won't believe me. A year ago I bit my therapist. I was sent to a place near Fresno. There were bars on the windows and they gave me sedatives so I was sleepy all the time. I'm on probation. I don't want to go back there!"
What to do? I should leave her to her fate. Her life means little to me. Yet if I do she will surely give me up to the police. What she suspects anyway. There would be awkward questions. My new ID will not withstand close scrutiny. Terminate her then? Two bodies and a mystery. A mystery that will inevitably lead to me, Ellie's only friend. I make my decision.
"Get in the car and follow me."
DISPOSAL
We arrive at the emergency safe house at dusk.
"Where are we?"
I ignore her question and hand her a key. "Go inside and shower. You are covered in blood."
Ellie obeys my instructions. I lift Ren Taylor's lifeless body from the Honda and carry it into the woods for burial. Before I do so I remove an article of her clothing. I am formulating a plan. I see it mapped out in my HUD, step by step. With bullet points. I am Word compatible.
I return to the house. Ellie is still showering. I take her clothes and start a bonfire. Evidence to be destroyed. With a hose I wash out the bloody interior of the Honda. Then I remove my blood-stained clothing and add it to the flames, which brighten the encroaching darkness.
Ellie appears in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her torso. Her hair is wet. She looks very young. And scared.
"Where are my clothes?"
"Burned."
"What am I going to wear?"
"Follow me."
I lead her to my room and hand her a pair of jeans and a clean tee. I don fresh clothes myself.
"Shoes?"
I hand her a pair of thong sandals Snowy has mostly not chewed.
"There was so much blood," she tells me with a shudder.
"I thought you liked blood."
"Not like that." Tears roll down her cheeks. "I did it, didn't I? I've become a monster."
"It's what you wanted."
"I thought I'd feel different. More...empowered."
"It takes practise."
"What do we do now?"
"How much do you like Michael Carver?"
"Why? What's he got to do with it?"
"As her bf he will be the prime suspect in her disappearance."
"But Michael didn't do anything!"
"I can make it seem he did."
"Why?"
"Would you rather take the blame?"
A shake of the head.
"Him or you. Which?"
She casts her eyes downwards, her voice when it comes is the merest of whispers.
"...him..."
DETOUR
We drive our vehicles back to the city. Ellie makes the turning that will take her home where I have told her to behave as normally as possible. For her that is. Before we left she told me where Michael Carver lives. And the type of automobile he drives: a vintage MG sportscar.
Such a vehicle is parked outside the Carver residence. The streetlights are on but the sidewalk deserted. No one walks in LA. Good.
I take the article of clothing I saved - Ren's blood-stained bra - and hide it under the passenger seat. Michael Carver's life is about to change in ways he cannot imagine.
HOME
Everyone is asleep. Snowy is curled on my bed, his limbs twitch occasionally as he dreams. He claims not to remember his dreams. John is the same way. I do not dream. I don't know if this is a blessing or a curse.
I boot up my computer and access the LAPD mainframe. I wait.
At 2.45 AM Ren Taylor's parents report her missing.
At 3.23 AM a routine patrol discovers the Escalade behind the 7/11. Traces of blood are found on the tarmac.
At 3.31 AM the Escalade is found to belong to Ren Taylor. Detectives Kebbler and Hicks are assigned the case.
At 4.09 AM Kebbler and Hicks interview the Taylors.
At 5.12 AM Michael Carver is woken by Detectives Kebbler and Hicks and interviewed without being formally charged with anything.
At 6.06 AM a forensics team confirms the blood matches Ren Taylor's DNA and is arterial blood, suggesting she was attacked and wounded, possibly fatally.
At 6.54 AM a search of Michael Carver's sportscar reveals the blood-stained bra.
At 7.05 AM Michael Carver is arrested.
At 7.32 AM Snowy wakes up and asks me what I am doing.
"Helping a friend," I tell him.
SATURDAY
John fails to notice the remains of the bonfire when we arrive at the safehouse. He is too intent on getting the last of the furniture installed, including fresh bed linen. We are planning on staying the night.
Snowy bounds off into the countryside to chase rabbits. His premature burial underground has not deterred him, though he has promised not to venture down any rabbit burrows. Unless he loses weight first. That'll be the day.
The living room is now as John wants it. A huge flat panel TV hangs on the wall connected to a Playstation and an expensive sound system. Everything is state of the art. A vast sofa faces this tableau. It is a typical teenager's lair, albeit one with access to a great deal of money. You're welcome, John; what's mine is yours. Now and always.
I fit new doorlocks and strengthen the door frames. They will keep me or one of my kind at bay for approximately thirty-two seconds. Sufficient time for those inside to realise what confronts them and to respond accordingly. Run would be my advice.
SHOWER
John and I are showering. Together. The hot water from the shower head cascades over our bodies. John is presently washing my back with a soapy sponge. I have noted that he spends less time washing my back than he does my front. I don't know why this is the case.
"This is nice," he says, "not having to hide or rush things. We could even lounge around naked if we wanted."
"Snowy wouldn't approve. He's very prudish."
"He can talk! I don't see him wearing pants."
Snowy in pants. What a struggle that would be.
"Remember that time you joined me in the shower and I walked out in a huff?"
"Vividly." I reply.
"What an idiot I was!"
"You are never an idiot, John. You were seeing Kate Brewster at the time."
"Yeah. Poor Kate. I wonder what she's doing now?"
"One Kate Brewster is rotting in the ground. The other is on the east coast studying to become a vet."
"I wonder if she ever thinks of me?"
"I hope not."
He smiles. "Jealous much?"
"Yes, jealous very much."
He kisses the top of my head. "Turn around and let me wash your front."
"You have already washed my front," I point out.
"I like to be thorough."
NIGHT
I lie by John's side in bed until he falls asleep, then I slip out of the covers, walk downstairs and go outside. It is night. And very dark. No moon and the cloud cover obscures the stars. I am naked. No matter. This place is so remote the human nudity taboo doesn't apply.
"Woo!"
An owl. Threat assessment: minimal. Unless you are a mouse, which I am not.
I switch my vision mode to infra red. I am not alone. Far from it. Small blobs of white appear in my HUD: tiny heat sources of the creatures that come out at night. In the trees are owls and nesting birds. The ground is populated by rabbits and nocturnal foraging rodents.
I stand completely still for two hours. One of the tiny heat sources comes to investigate. As it sniffs around my legs I reach down and pick it up. It struggles vainly in my grasp. A rabbit. I have an idea. I will terminate it and leave it out for Snowy to find. He deserves a reward for his persistence.
At dawn I head back in the house, go upstairs and slip between the covers again. John likes to wake up with me by his side. This is what lovers do. And the other stuff, of course.
SUNDAY
John wakes at 8.13 AM. He smiles when he sees me next to him.
"Did you stay there all night?"
"Yes," I lie.
"Yeah? Then why are your feet dirty?"
So busted!
Snowy scratches at the door, barking loudly.
"What's bugging, Snowy?" John checks his iPhone display.
sarah coming! sarah coming! sarah coming!
John leaps out of bed and pulls the drapes back. Driving up the stony road is the SUV.
"He's right! It's mom! Quick! Go back to your room and get dressed."
John attempts to pull on his pants but succeeds only in falling over.
"Do you require assistance?"
"No! Go! Dress! She can't catch us like this!"
A key is inserted in the lock. The door opens. Sarah Connor enters. She says nothing. Evidently she is in stealth mode. John appears at the top of the stairs. He feigns calm.
"Hey, mom. Didn't hear you arrive. Why didn't you phone and let me know you were coming?"
"Where is she, John? Upstairs?"
"Where's who?"
"The girl."
"What girl?"
"Don't play dumb. I've told you I understand. I was your age once, hard though it is for you to believe. I won't bite her head off. I just want to meet her."
"Mom, there's no one here but me, Snowy and Cameron. Ask her if you don't believe me."
"She'll parrot whatever you've told her to say. And if there's really no one here you won't mind if I search the place."
John extends his arm in a sweeping gesture. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out."
Sarah Connor doesn't render herself unconscious, but she does search the house thoroughly from top to bottom. And finds precisely - no one.
"Please tell me she didn't run and hide in the woods when she heard me coming."
"How many times do I have to say it, there's no one here but us. Would you like some breakfast? Or are you planning on searching the woods. I think there's about 300 acres. I'd start now if I were you."
"There's really no one here?"
"Just a boy, a dog and a tin girl. All we're missing is Dorothy and a cowardly lion."
"You're forgetting the scarecrow."
"Right."
"So there's really no girlfriend?"
"Sorry to disappoint you."
"You could never disappoint me, John."
"You want cereal? No takeout, I'm afraid. No one delivers this far from town."
"I've already eaten. That's an impressive TV. Sixty inch?"
"Sixty-three," John says proudly. "Full Hi-Def with built in Blu-Ray. Out here we can max the surround sound as loud as we like."
"Where did the money come from?"
"Uh - Cameron had some allowance saved up."
"Really? That's quite a feat since she's never had an allowance."
"Mom, it's all legit. Trust me."
"No secrets, John. If we can't trust each other..."
He nods. "No secrets."
Mother and son nod at each then cross the intervening space and hug. It would be a touching scene, riven with high emotion, if Snowy hadn't picked this precise moment to enter the kitchen with a dead rabbit in his jaws. It is my dead rabbit. The one I terminated and intended for him to find. He drops it in the middle of the floor.
"Woof woof!"
snowy chase, catch and kill rabbit all by himself!
The big fibber!
"Hey, Snowy finally caught a rabbit! Good for you, fella." John tells him. "Cam, why don't you cook it for Snowy. He can have it for breakfast instead of kibbles."
I skin and gut the rabbit. I cook it under a low grill then remove the bones and chop it into small pieces, placing them in his favourite food bowl.
"Bon appetit."
Snowy sniffs the bowl dubiously. He backs away.
rabbit smells funky! snowy not eat. want kibbles instead
And after all that trouble!
-000-
Mad Ellie began as a Twilight Bella Swan parody - the girl who wants to be a monster. I thought - okay, love, let's make you a monster, see how you like it. Not so much it seems.
I think Sarah's twigged about Jameron. She just wants John to nutup and admit it. He, a typical bloke, prefers subterfuge to emotional honesty. It'll bite him on the ass in the next chapter...