Jennie —3 Years, 27 Weeks, 2 Days
.
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Since the trial, Mom's been getting better.
I don't know if "better" is the right word. She had to be so strong for so long, just for me, and now that I'm back, she's leaning on me again, and I don't mind—it's the norm for us—but I can't help feeling sometimes like I'm a cane instead of a daughter, but then I get guilty about thinking that and make her dinner and bring her tea and tell her it'll be all right, instead. Love is being there for someone. If there's one thing I learned from Aunt Beth, it's that family means being there when no one else is. That's why she took me in when Mom couldn't handle the divorce and me.
Mom's going to twice as many shrink appointments after the trial, but they seem to be helping. I see Rosé at the office sometimes, and she gives me a passing sneer before flouncing out the door. She's bitchier lately, and that means she's happier, and that means Tzuyu's probably talking to her again. Rosé's basically her yo-yo, and Tzuyu pulls her back and forth for her amusement. I don't understand it, but I can see it happening the way you see a train approach a car on the tracks in slow motion. Rosé is desperate to atone for whatever she did to Tzuyu, and Tzuyu pretends it's possible. But at the very last moment, she's going to pull the rug out from under Rosé and crush her hopes once and for all. Fucking up is the worst. Not being able to make up for fucking up is absolute hell. And Rosé's been living with that this whole time. No wonder she has depression.
I feel sorry for her. I pity her. And pity's not healthy, but after everything Rosé's done to me, to Jisoo, to Lisa and Tzuyu and Chan, I can't bring myself to feel something better toward her. And it's shitty of me, and it's not very Jennie Kim-like. The old Jennie would've tried harder to be friends with Rosé again, even through all this bullshit. The old Jennie would've soldiered in with a smile and taken all the blows, because she knew how hard it was to keep living after being broken.
After seeing Tallie, a portion of the puzzle came together. Rosé is terrified of people seeing Tallie's grave. Tzuyu misses Tallie, demands to see her in the midst of her fits. Chan said it happened at Lake Galonagah. The grave is at Galonagah, too. Tallie was so young. Tallie couldn't have been Tzuyu's baby sister—her parents were long dead by then.
Logic dictates Tallie was Tzuyu's baby.
Tzuyu was in eighth grade at the time. Thirteen or fourteen is right around the time everyone else started having sex at school, for better or worse, and much to the stubborn, oblivious denial of their parents. I looked it up—a baby's skeleton begins developing in the second trimester. Ossification, the process of bones forming, is quick. It lasts from two months pregnant to about five months pregnant. The skeleton I saw was tiny, but whole and intricate. Tzuyu must've been about four months pregnant when she miscarried.
Miscarried. The word rings hollow in my head. When I was enduring the tortures of Nameless, Tzuyu was pregnant and then losing her baby. She's experienced so much loss and pain—so much more than me. She deserves happiness. She deserves to live. But the world won't let her.
Something in the back of my mind writhes, whispering: who slept with Tzuyu to make her pregnant?
I had sex with Lisa.
I push her echoing voice from that time on the rooftop out of my head and keep moving. The hospital is quiet. Like the grave. Except people here are trying extremely hard not to be in graves. Very hard. At least four morphine drips and two crappy hospital food trays worth of hard. Being back here always makes me feel claustrophobic—the smell of antiseptic, the people in gowns wandering like ghosts from room to room, the nurses and interns all staring and trying to decide where I belong in their mini-ecosystem of healing. Naomi isn't on duty, which I'm grateful for. I don't want this to be any messier than it has to be. For Tzuyu's sake.
I poke my head into the kids' ward for just a second when the guard steps away to pee. Mira and James wave frantically, and I wink and put down the plastic bag of presents inside the door. They come rushing over in their little cartoon-character pajamas with big smiles on.
"Mira said you'd never come back!"
"Did not!" Mira sticks her tongue out at James.
I laugh and ruffle their hair. "I can't stay long, but I'll come back in the daytime this week, okay? For now just open the presents. But don't tell Naomi where you got them. Just say it was from…uh, Jesus."
They nod frantically, and Mira hugs me around the neck so hard I think she's trying to merge with me on a cellular level. I manage to pry off her fingers and sneak out just as the guard rounds the corner. The sounds of tearing wrapping paper and squealing reverberate behind me. I made some spawn happy. And that definitely does not make me feel all gooey and happy inside.
Tzuyu's open doorway looms before me. It's dim, and the usual flower vases line her window. I can see her feet under the blanket.
I stand there for what feels like years. And then I take a deep breath and walk in.
She's not asleep like I'd hoped. She's very much awake, blue eyes staring at me over the cover of a romance novel. This one has a knight on it and a very lost-looking busty lady.
"Yo!" I smile.
"I thought I told you to leave me alone," she deadpans.
"Uh, yeah, I've never been very good at following directions. Or respecting people's wishes. Or anything at all, really. So here I am. Doing…here stuff."
She shoots me a withering look. "You're annoying."
"That, my dear, is nothing new!" I sit on the end of her bed. "In fact, 'tis ancient knowledge. The Egyptians foretold of my coming. Actually they mostly told stories about how Jennie the goddess of fertility got it on with her brother. Incest was big back then. So was not living past thirty."
Tzuyu doesn't crack a smile, eyes set and hard like blue-black flint.
There's no avoiding it. Whatever tenuous friendship we once had has been tainted by our mutual insecurities. It was easy when we didn't know anything about each other, and now it's hard. But that doesn't mean it's not worth it. Tzuyu's presence was always calm and gentle, but heavy, and I feel the weight of it now more than ever.
"I met Tallie," I say. There's a half second of silence, and then Tzuyu puts her book down slowly. I can't stand the quiet. "I found her. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for prying. I'm sorry for meeting her. I'm sure you don't want many people to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened to you in the first place—"
"What happened to me?" Tzuyu interjects viciously. "Please, tell me exactly what happened to me, since you seem to know so much already."
"Whoa, hold on, that's not what I meant—"
"Then why are you apologizing? Do you think that'll make anything better? Do you think that will help at all? Words don't help. They never have. And they help even less coming from your mouth."
I knit my lips shut.
Tzuyu glares. "I don't need your pity. That's what you came to give, isn't it? Or are you guilt-tripping me with the knowledge you have now?"
"No— Tzuyu, I wouldn't—"
"You would. Because you think like Lisa. And it's what she would do."
And just like that, all my anger wells up and blocks my throat.
"I. Am. Not. Lisa!"
My fist swings and accidentally knocks a vase over. It shatters, opalescent shards puddling on the ground. Tzuyu's glare breaks into a bitter smile.
"It's about time you got mad at me! I knew you weren't as manic-pixie-dream-girl as you make yourself out to be."
"Enough with the insults! Why are you doing this? Why are you being such a horrible poop-face to me?"
She stops smiling, eyes getting heavy-lidded.
"Because you have it all. You have your health. You have family. You have friends. And even though you have all that, you still want the one thing I have left. You coveted it. You tried to take it from me."
"I didn't—"
"You did. You kept pressing. You met her and tried everything to get her attention, and when you had it and found out about me, you still kept pushing. You kept yourself in her life. You wanted her. You still do. And it makes me sick—"
My hand stings. Tzuyu's face swings to the side, her eyes filled with utter shock and hurt as she looks back at me, her cheek red.
"I've never liked Lisa, and I never will," I say through gritted teeth. "She's yours. She's always been yours. So stop. Stop being such an ass. Let go of all this useless hate. I want to be your friend. Just let me be your friend."
She goes still, staring at me, and I watch as her eyes slowly start to fill with tears.
"I can't," she whispers. "I can't."
Her hands go to her eyes, and she starts to sob. I don't touch her. I want to, I want to hug her and call her Zuybutt and hold her hand like she held mine when I cried to her about Mom, and Liam, and what happened. But she hates me. I was wrong. Lisa might be the bad Princess, and the bad princess hurts, but a dragon hurts worse.
By talking about Tallie, by finding Tallie, I'm breathing fire over a village and burning everyone inside to a crisp. Tzuyu. And Lisa. And Chan and Rosé. It's not my delicate nightmare, but I'm inserting myself anyway because I think I can what, help? Make things right? Nothing will make things right. Nothing will reverse what happened that night in the woods, no matter how much I dig or how much I try to get them to talk about it. I'm stupid for even thinking I could make things better.
And then, just like that, Tzuyu reaches out for my hand and pulls it to her heart.
"I want Tallie back," she cries, angelic face swollen. "Please. Just give her back."
I squeeze her hand and nod.
"I will."
..
..
Two weeks after we found the body, we decide to finally talk about it.
At school, Jisoo's been avoiding me about the baby at the lake. I've tried to bring it up at lunch break, but she refused to mention it. Until now. It's like she had to recharge, get over her own shock, before she could face the reality of it.
She calls it Lake Baby. She didn't see the name on the bracelet, and I haven't told her. Mostly because she already goes the color of thousand-year-old rice when I bring Lake Baby up. If names were attached, she might just combust on the spot out of grief. I think that's what it is. Grief. Maybe she's just been raised in suburban America all her life, hard things like unwanted pregnancies and skeletons far displaced from her life. I've told her it isn't Rosé's baby, though, which is what she was worrying and crying about in the forest. It's Tzuyu's. But that just confuses her more.
"How do you know Tzuyu had a—"
"I just do. She asked Chan why he hadn't visited the grave lately. They all must know about the grave. God, no wonder they clam up about it."
"Wait, but what about what happened that night?" Jisoo munches a cucumber and every boy within five fifty feet is staring, enraptured. "The one in middle school? Did she— Did she lose the baby then? Or before?"
"Rosé said she hired some guys to do something to her, and Chan said Lisa drove them off. What if the shock made her lose it? What if one of them pushed her and she fell hard, and she miscarried right there in the woods? That'd disturb them enough into the crazy-weird silence they have going on now."
What if they had to bury more than one body that night? The picture from the email is still vivid, like a blind spot you get from staring at the sun too long. But there's another spot that sticks harder to my mind. Jisoo voices it first.
"If Tzuyu and Lisa were going out back then…"
My stomach curls in on itself. Jisoo's eyes widen.
"…does that mean—"
"You two look way too serious for eleven thirty a.m." Chan slides to sit by Jisoo, a smile on his face. Jisoo clears her throat and smooths her hair.
"Um. Yeah! We were just, um, talking about the prom! Senior prom feels like such a letdown after junior prom, I think."
"Well, it's the last time we'll have a school function," he says.
"And the last time we'll ever have to buy hand-me-down dresses from Ross," I say, "and put up with groping boys who can't tell the vagina from the anus while a DJ plays something about partying till the sun goes up from the top forty and people sneak cheap vodka from thigh flasks."
Chan and Jisoo stare at me.
"What?" I ask innocently.
"You sound like you've been to a lot of school dances," Chan says.
"I've been to exactly zero school dances." I puff my chest proudly and my nipple hits the ketchup bottle off the table and there is a fabulous red puddle on the floor directly in front of the shoes of Lisa Manoban. Jisoo and Chan freeze, staring at her as if waiting for her to say something first. I keep my eyes ahead, focused on the radical silver perm of the second-in-line lunch lady.
"I'd advise you learn to control your extremities," Lisa sneers. "Or lack thereof."
It's almost traditional. My mind nags at me that this is the normal procedure of things between Lisa and me. The memories are there, just hazy, and they all say I should snark something back about the way her hair looks like a vespa's helmet, but I can't. I can't say anything. She's terrifying. The email picture is fresh in my mind, and the image of Tallie's skeleton hangs just before my eyes, and I can't get rid of either of them. They're hers. They are extensions of her, and they terrify me—me! The girl who's afraid of nothing except centipedes. And the green Teletubby. And the front-row seat of Space Mountain.
So I just stare and don't say anything. Lisa waits, and Jisoo and Chan wait on her, and nothing moves. Lisa's expression is barely there, but the hint of smug wilts rapidly, and she steps over the ketchup puddle and leaves. Chan gets up with a wad of napkins and wipes the puddle.
"What was that all about?" he asks.
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't say anything. You always say something."
"Ignoring her is the best way to get her to back off." I shrug. "I've had enough, I guess. It's just boring now."
Jisoo narrows her eyes. "That sounds like bullshit to the max."
"You'd rather I fight her like I used to? Didn't that like, end in tears? And a broken head? Let's not go for a repeat performance just this once, okay?"
Jisoo and Chan look at each other but don't press it. And I'm grateful. The last thing I need for them to know is what I know. Because I know a lot. And it hurts my head. And possibly my heart. If I had one.
"Did you see her face?" Jisoo asks as we walk together to our next class.
"Whose?"
"Lisa's. Her lip was busted and scabbing. And that was a mean bruise on her cheekbone."
"Probably got in a fight with the mirror when she saw it was prettier than her."
"Jennie, I'm being serious!"
"So am I!"
"Look, I know you have like, amnesia about her and your feelings for her are all mixed up or whatever—"
"Feelings? What is this foreign word you speak of?"
"—but you don't have to be such a fucking jerk about it. She's a person, too, okay? You can't just cut people off and put them back in whenever you want."
The words sting, mostly because they sound too much like what Lisa herself said. Jisoo's too pissed to talk to me anymore, so I spend the period doodling exploding things on my worksheet.
Chan and I have yearbook together, so it's the perfect time to show him. I print out the strange email picture and pass it to him over the computers. There's a beat, and then:
"What is this, Jennie?" he asks.
"What does it look like?" I singsong.
"Where did you get this?"
"Someone sent it to me. Over email. That's Lisa's lovely hand, isn't it? Holding that bloody bat and standing over that guy who looks very much dead."
I can see Chan's hand on his mouse, and it's shaking.
"What interests me wayyyy more," I press, "is the fact that the quality is shit. Shit enough to be in a sewage pipe. Or my makeup collection. And see the way the pixels are a little off? Like they're wavy? It's almost like someone took a screenshot of a video—"
"What's the email address?" Chan interrupts. "That sent this to you?"
"Just random key smash. [email protected] Nobody either of us would know just from the address. You can't even say it. Ickwajihuk? Ikewjahooookk?"
I hear Chan typing, and I sigh.
"Trust me, I've already looked. Google's got nothing. I've dug in fifty-two pages and a lot of backlog. Ickwajhuk doesn't exist anywhere else on the internet."
"Jennie, listen to me." Chan looks at me from between our computers, expression serious. "Whoever gave you that picture is dangerous. Block the address and don't correspond with him."
"Why?" I laugh. "What's he gonna do, send me an unsolicited dick pic?"
"That's the video I took from that night," Chan murmurs. "I gave it to the federal investigator who questioned us."
"Wait—what? The Feds questioned you guys?"
Chan inhales. "There were…issues. We were the only ones signed into a cabin near the lake, so we were questioned."
"About what?"
He doesn't say anything. I sigh.
"Okay, so you're saying the Feds sent me the picture?"
"The guy who questioned us turned it over to the bureau's vault. He died five years ago of a heart attack."
"How do you know that?"
"I've been keeping close tabs on everything." Chan adjusts his glasses. "So it couldn't have been him. Whoever sent you this picture—he either works there or hacked into it. If he works there, he isn't good news. And if he could hack something that secure, he is really, really bad news."
"This is ridiculous. Nobody hacks the Feds except in movies."
"Trust me, Jennie. Wipe your computer. Wipe the entire hard drive. Don't take any chances. And don't ask any more questions."
"So that's it? I'm just supposed to forget I've ever seen this? Sorry, I have a better memory and more self-respect than that."
Chan sets his jaw. I lean in and whisper.
"I saw Tallie, Chan. I met her. I know where she is and who she is. And I know that's what happened that night. Tzuyu lost her. You all saw it. You buried her together. And maybe you buried other bodies, too. I don't know. But I won't stop until I do."
Chan clenches his fist and stands from the chair. "Then you leave me no choice."
He says something to Mrs. Greene and strides out the door. I try to follow, but Mrs. Greene harps with her shrieky voice.
"Where do you think you're going, Kim?"
"The South Pole?"
She frowns.
"Nicaragua?"
She frowns harder.
"Okay, fine, the piss palace."
"Emily left with the bathroom pass. You'll have to wait till she gets back."
"But what if I wet my pants? Do teacher salaries really pay enough to replace student underwear? I'm wearing very expensive underwear."
This is a bluff. My underwear is blue and three years old. We both know I am not That Girl.
"Sit. Down. Ms. Kim."
I cross my arms and flop in my chair with considerable grumpy pizzazz.
...
...
Lisa
.
For the first time in nearly five years, Chan walks up to me. He peeks into study hall, finds my table, and walks over, looking me in the eye as he does it, too.
This is my first indication that something has gone very wrong. He's cowardly. He's hesitant. And he's carrying years of guilt toward me on his shoulders. He would never approach me this boldly unless something dire was happening.
He slides a paper across the table. It's a printout of a picture, of a very familiar bloody baseball bat, and my hand, and a dark shape in the background I know all too well. I see it each night my brain decides to grant me a nightmare.
"Jennie had this," Chan says, voice strong but low. My lungs splinter with ice at her name, but I quell the pain and quirk a brow.
"And?"
"You know what it's from," he hisses. "Someone sent that to her in an email."
"Did she say what the address was?"
"[email protected] All in lower case."
The letters are simple to memorize. I sit back in my chair and struggle to look casual. "Sounds like a trash-byte spammer."
Chan leans in, now closer to me physically than we've been in five years. His green eyes are dark behind his glasses.
"I know you know more about computers than I do," he says.
"Correct."
"And I know—God, the whole school knows—you like Jennie."
I have to force the chuckle, and it comes out bitter. "Really? Fascinating. I love hearing fresh gossip."
"It's not gossip, Lisa, and it's sure as hell not new. It's the goddamn old truth and you and I both know it."
He's breathing heavily, his face flushed. He's frustrated and flustered, not angry. Chan never gets truly angry. I give him my best glare.
"Didn't you see her in the cafeteria?" I ask. "I don't exist to her. She clearly has no concern for me. Why should I care who she's emailing?"
"She'll find out the truth about you!"
"It's about time someone other than us did."
"This p-person—" He splutters and jabs his finger at the photo. "This person is dangerous. And he's talking to Jennie. What if he hurts her?"
There's a long silence. I scoff and look him up and down.
"I'm sorry, am I supposed to care?"
Chan's face falls like someone's slapped him. He grits his teeth and grabs the paper back.
"I thought you did. I guess I was wrong."
"Yes. Now, if you could turn around and march back the way you came in, I'd be very grateful."
"I care about her!" Chan shouts suddenly. Study hall goes quiet. The librarian looks up, but Chan doesn't seem to notice. His hair comes undone from its gel, and his glasses skew minutely. "I care about Jennie! She's done more for me than anyone, and if she gets hurt again, I swear to you—"
"You'll what?" I laugh. "Slap me with a ruler? Sic your student council lackeys on me? Oh wait, I know—you'll call in some favors and have my pudding privileges revoked with the cafeteria."
And then he snaps. Chan, the coward behind the camera and my mild-mannered ex-friend of ten years, snaps.
Before I can move, he's grabbed my shirt and shoved me against a bookshelf. The librarian frantically dials security. Girls shriek and boys start to clamber around us in an encouraging, scattered circle.
"Come on." I smirk. "Punch me. Do it."
Chan's green eyes blaze, his muscles taut for someone who isn't in any sports clubs. I eye his fist, and just as I see it pull back, he drops me and snarls.
"No. That's exactly what you want. Someone's already ground you into pulp by the looks of it, and now you want me to do more damage because you're a self-absorbed, masochistic asshole."
"You don't know what you're talking about." I laugh.
Chan nods, fast and hard. "Yeah. I don't. I just know that before her, you were dead inside and out, walking around like a zombie. Anybody could see that. And then she came, and you lit up like a fucking candle. And we could all see that, too. Even Tzuyu."
"Shut your mouth," I growl.
"Is that why Jennie ignores you now?" Chan laughs. "Because she realized Tzuyu means so much to you, and you were out here fooling around with her?"
"I never— No one ever—"
"You did!" Chan hisses. "You did, Lisa! Jennie's been through more shit than any girl should go through and you got her hopes up! And then she met Tzuyu and you fucking crushed them!"
"You have no—"
"How could she compete, you moron?" Chan's voice gets softer, but not any less deadly. "Just use that huge fucking brain of yours for two seconds; you've given up everything for Tzuyu. You send her letters. You've been with her since middle school. You had Tallie, and she knows about that, too—"
My mind goes white, a horrible keening noise starting in the back of my skull.
"She what?"
"She knows. She saw it. She went out and found it herself because she's Jennie and that's what she does."
Something in me plummets.
"What do we do?" I whisper, my own voice surprising me by how hoarse it is. Chan's eyes grow brighter.
"You tell her the truth. Before this emailer does, and gets her involved deeper."
"You forget she doesn't acknowledge my presence anymore."
"I'll take care of that," Chan says. "Just promise me you'll tell her when I give you the opening."
"You've become quite the little dictator," I sneer.
"I've had it"—he clenches his fist—"with running away. Every time I do, someone's gotten hurt. But not this time. I won't run this time. We have to own up to what we did. We can't keep living like this."
He turns and leaves before I can verbally cut him down to size.
The rest of the day passes in a panicked blur. I watch Jennie from the parking lot, feeling every bit the stalker but bent on studying her face in a new light. She knows what I did that night. That's why she's ignoring me. She's too smart not to put two and two together.
And she knows about Tallie.
My biggest secrets are in her hands now. Just as I've known hers for months. I've had her number for months. But I've never texted or called. Until now. My thumbs fly over the keyboard.
We're even.
I see her stop and pull her phone out, Jisoo chatting aimlessly at her. She looks up and scans the parking lot, and our eyes meet for the briefest moment. For one second, the warm amber engulfs me, and I let it.
And then I release it and turn away.
Tonight is the last night.
This woman is the last woman.
She's older—the trophy wife of a lawyer, confined to a house and left to treadmill and Martha Stewart her way into being ignored by her husband, who has enough hookers and blow to far outlast a wife. They have no children. She is miserable and in shape and anxious, and the hotel room is nicer than normal, and when she's satisfied and exhausted, she starts crying.
"Thank you."
I pull on my jeans and nod cordially.
"How— How old are you? I know I asked that in the lobby, but really, you can't be twenty-three."
I flash a smile. "Over eighteen. You're safe."
She covers her eyes with her arm. "Oh Jesus. I practically cradle-robbed."
I think of all the women who came before her, who were deceived by the fact that I'd looked twenty-one since I was fifteen. She has no idea. I grew up fast, and she has no idea.
"This is my last night," I say as I button my shirt. "Of this job."
"Oh? That's good. Someone as nice as you doesn't need to stay in this field. It ruins good people."
And yet you still use our services. I curl my lip where she can't see it. There are plenty of good people at the Jasmine Club. She's ignorant, just another person who considers sex work base and below her. Hypocrite. She showers and dresses, and I pull out my laptop and sit on the bed, taking advantage of the free, harder-to-trace wifi.
"The room is yours for the night," she says when she comes out, now in a pressed pink suit and perfectly styled red hair.
"Thanks," I grunt. The woman—I forget her name—leans over my shoulder.
"Ooh, what are you doing? It looks fascinating—"
"I'm running seventy-two targeting executables for a free-roam IP trace."
She gives me a blank look. I sigh.
"I'm trying to find someone."
"Oh! Girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend?"
Tiresome. Women like her always jump straight to romance. I roll my eyes.
"An anonymous email sender."
She laughs nervously. "Right, well, I'll leave you to it. Thank you again."
"It was a pleasure doing business with you." I nod. It was no pleasure at all. The last time I felt honest pleasure—not sickly release—from sex was the last time Tzuyu and I slept together. And that was nearly a year and a half ago. Before the pain flares got so bad she couldn't walk sometimes.
Before her soul got darker.
I wait until the door clicks shut behind the woman to pull up the trace results. I parse them down twice—once using the email address name and once using Jennie's email address. Which I also happen to have. She didn't exactly hide it when she put up posters around the school asking for people to contact her with dirty information bits about me.
She knows about Tallie.
I shake Chan's words out of my head and work quickly. I'm by no means gifted at computer hacking—if you could even call it that—but I know my way around a program or two. Ruby and C are far easier languages than any drivel humans speak. People much smarter have made sinfully simple IP trace programs for people like me to use and abuse.
After two hours of parsing, I'm left with 137,108 possible IP addresses the email could have originated from. I could go through them all one by one, but there has to be some connecting factor. And that factor is no doubt Jennie. Why her? I check Maryland and Washington, DC. There are two IPs there, but none of them from the federal bureau where the investigators have the tape. The tape Chan gave to them behind my back.
I'm not mad about it. I was at first. But then I learned the tape was badly damaged, and video-imaging technology back then wasn't the best. The police discovered Joseph Hernandez's body days after the incident, but ruled it an accident. The other three men Rosé hired were conveniently paid off by Rosé's parents, who knew something terrible had happened because of their daughter but never quite knew what, preferring to make the problem go away instead of linger on it. Those three men never spoke a word of what happened.
That reminds me—Belina, the woman whose husband is gone because of me, because of that night in middle school, will be needing her check sometime soon. I'd give it to Chan, but this was the last lump sum I'd have for a while. Of course, I'd invested a small amount in a hedge fund so she wouldn't be completely cut off when I went to college, but she'd quickly run out in a year or two. Hopefully, by my second year, I'll have an internship that pays well. No, I have to have one. It's the only option.
By then, Tzuyu's surgery will be over.
And she will either be dead or alive.
I press my fingers to my temples and try to focus. The majority of the IP address near-matches are located in Florida. I narrow my eyes. Florida is where Jennie used to live. That can't be a coincidence.
But there's one IP address that bucks the norm, way out in Dubai. The rest are in America. Whoever this person is, he clearly knows how to access information that isn't his. He's good. Rerouting his IP through proxy servers to Dubai would throw anyone looking for an American off the trail. Unless he kept his IP in Florida, purposefully, knowing something like Dubai would stick out like a sore thumb. Basically, every one of these dots is suspect.
I sigh and pick up the phone to order room service and a change of bedsheets. It's going to be a long night.
..
Between coffee and eggrolls at 1:00 a.m., I get a text. From someone in my phone I've labeled "Never." I ignore the palpitation in my lungs at the sight of that name on my phone.
What would you do if everyone hated you?
I pause and consider my answer carefully. Everyone has hated me at some point. Women, because I turn them down. Men, because I turn the women they love down.
I would ignore them.
I try not to stare at my phone, waiting. I have work to do. But I slog through it reluctantly until her answer comes, ten minutes later.
That's what I'm doing. But I don't like it much.
I reply.
Then stop doing it. Do what you like, not what you don't.
But what I like hurts people. I get in the way. I mess things up.
Sometimes people need to be messed up. It reminds them life is short.
There's a long silence. Just as I start regretting what I said, my phone lights up again.
She would have been a very pretty baby.
My eyes sting. The cold numbness of the woman I'd slept with earlier and the single-minded focus on finding the mystery emailer melts. Just like that, with a single sentence.
Thank you.
..
..
Jennie
.
The dark, dry trees loom like massive sticks of cinnamon. Lake Galonagah at midnight looks like a sheet of glazed black sugar. The moon resembles a perfectly white round of Brie cheese.
I am lost as hell. Also, hungry. But that's nothing new. I am hungry approximately 363 days of the year. The one day I am not hungry is Hitler's birthday. And also the day after Thanksgiving. Thankfully these two days are not on top of each other, otherwise we would've named it "ThankGodHitlerkickedthebucketbackintheforties-giving" and that assuredly does not carry the same ring capitalist America likes so much for their holidays.
In my vast and strenuous consideration of the importance of holiday cheer, I manage to get myself even more lost. Contrary to popular belief, flashlights don't contribute all that much to awesomeness other than being a cool thing you can use to put on a makeshift rave. I rave alone for two whole seconds and since it is horrible and quiet I give up immediately and sit down. On a skunk's home. The great brute is understandably displeased and pokes his butt out just in time for my ankle to get completely soaked by hellacious spray.
"Oh holy—" I gag and cover my nose with my hoodie sleeve. "You knave! Hear ye, hear ye, this stripey beast of yonder wood is an ASSHOLE! Oh Christ, this is never going to come out, is it?"
The skunk admires his work for a split second before taking off. I shake my fist at him impotently. I can't mess around with the local bitchy wildlife. I have to find Tallie again. The forest in the day is way different from the forest in the dead of night, and when I hear a crow caw hoarsely, I start to regret my decision to wander onto the apparent set of a horror movie. But I stick to the cliff side, careful to always know where the edge is, and follow it around.
Finally, the white cross peeks out of the trees, and I dash to it. The dirt's still soft where I dug it up and put it back, and I dig it up for the second time. Grave-robbing isn't my ideal job, but I'm getting pretty freakin' good at it. Not that anyone needs to know that. Ever.
"Hey, Tallie," I say in a low voice. "I'm back."
The little pink bundle is dirty. I brush the mud away and pick pine needles off it. Tallie looks up at me with her tiny, fragile eye sockets. They'd be blue, since Tzuyu has blue eyes and so does Lisa. I bet they'd be stunning, like lapis lazuli or the ocean on a summer day. And she would've been beautiful—with Tzuyu's hair and Lisa's height and face. I smile and open the bundle and grasp the bracelet with her name on it.
"Is it okay if I take this with me?"
Tallie lies there, and I nod and take it, the silver flashing in the moonlight. I close the bundle back up and rebury it for what I hope will be the last time.
"I'll come visit," I say. "Your mom can't, but I can."
"Hey! This way!"
Someone's voice cuts through the night, and the forest rustles with newcomers. Footsteps, heavy and deep, reverberate through the ground. Lots of them. Lots of potential serial killers ready to chop off my head with a fire ax. Or it's Rosé's parents. Either way, I'm fucked. I duck behind a rotting log and hold my breath. I can barely hear their words; they're a good distance away but close enough.
"Find anything?"
"No, sir. Are you certain this is the place?"
"Of course. My source at the police department is reliable. Keep searching. We need that leverage."
Leverage? My foolhardy marvelous curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek over the log. A man in an impeccable tweed suit stands with two other men in dark, matching suits. The man in tweed is so tall and broad-shouldered. His hair is a shocking white, and he has an old-white-guy-in-charge aura about him that makes me instantly dislike him. Not Rosé's dad—I've seen him at open house. And he's rich, but not rich like this guy—Rolex watch, Italian leather shoes, and anybody who runs around with two guys in suits taking orders from them is rich enough to have a lot of enemies.
"Sir, if you don't mind my asking—is Lisa Manoban really worth all this trouble? She's just a high school student," one of the suits says.
Tweed Guy sighs. "Yes. She's in high school. But she's four months away from college. It's just a matter of time before the Harvard scouts sniff out her brilliance, and I intend to recruit it before them. I won't let Aramon take this one from me. She's too smart, too ruthless. She's perfect. Now, get back to searching. The body has to be here somewhere. Look for a badly dug grave, small enough for a baby."
Body. They're talking about Tallie. I can't let them find her. I have to get to her first—
I move my leg because it's cramping, and it's the last thing I ever do. Theoretically. In the alternate reality where they have guns. But they don't. All they have are ears. Which is still slightly problematic.
"What the hell was that?" One of the suits looks up.
"Deer?" the other offers.
"No deer here," Tweed Guy says. "Moriyama, check over there."
A suit starts moving toward me, his back hunched and his fists clenched. Saying I don't wanna get caught by these guys is like saying being on fire is a mild discomfort. My heart throbs in my ears. I scrabble for a rock and chuck it to the left of me. The suit freezes and then starts gravitating toward the noise, and I move in the opposite direction around the log, slowly.
And then something fuzzy scampers over my leg, and, unable to contain my fabulous voice, I yelp. Or sing an opera. I can't be sure, because all of a sudden there's chaos, and I'm running, and someone's running after me, and the tweed guy is shouting, and a hand grasps my hair and I stop dead in my tracks and duck, and he goes soaring over my head down the hill, a chunk of hair in his hand.
"Thanks for ruining the do, doo-doo!" I scream. My gloating's short-lived, as the other suit catches up with me and puts his arms around my torso, pinning my arms to my side.
"Fuck you! Unhand me at once!"
"Don't think so, princess." He struggles to contain my flailing. I switch up my voice to make it sweet.
"Please let go of me. Your future children will thank you."
"What?"
I take his moment of confusion and dig my heel into his crotch. He lets out a strangled moan and collapses, and I tear away and slide down the hill. My car isn't far down the trail. Air burns like cold flame as it goes down. My legs want to collapse and never work again. It's not fear. Okay, it's a little bit of fear. But like, 15 percent—60 percent is elation at what a fantastic ninja I'd make, and the last 25 percent is my mind screaming at me to let Lisa know about these fuckers. Platonically. We'd texted earlier and I said some dumb shit about Tallie, but she didn't seem mad. Hopefully my luck sticks long enough. Hopefully my stupid newfound butthead fear of her keeps its voice down.
Finally the trail gives way to the parking lot, and I scrabble into my lime-green Beetle. Don't let me down, baby. It coughs and sputters as it starts, and I glance wildly back at the trail entrance. "C'mon, c'mon, now is not the time to fart out on me! Pick another time! Like, you know, when I'm not running for my life from mysterious gangsters with thousand-dollar suits and tiny nuts!"
The engine roars to life, and I do the greatest U-turn in Ohio. Which is saying a lot, because everyone here drives like they just got their license and are celebrating with six beers.
I pull over only when there are ten miles between Lake Galonagah and me, and fourteen McDonald's to choose from. They'll never find me. Unless they saw my car in the parking lot and are looking for it now, which is likely. I consider a midnight paint job. Maybe I could just, I dunno, bathe it in the blood of my enemies really quick and turn it red? Rosé doesn't have enough blood, though, and I feel kind of sorry for her, and the only other people I really hate are the people chasing me, and they are not an option because they are chasing me, and—
"Did you want ketchup with that?"
I look up, the cashier handing me my order of fries. Just fries. An entire bag of fries.
"Ketchup is the great illusion. Only when you put barbecue sauce on your fries will you know truth and freedom," I chastise.
He looks appropriately enlightened. I head to the nearest, least-greasy table and inhale my kill. When my writhing stomach is appeased slightly, I text Lisa.
I need to talk to you. In person. Right now.
Her response is nigh instantaneous.
What happened? Is something wrong?
I don't wanna talk about it over text. Where are you?
Come to the Hilton on First and Broadview. I'll meet you in the lobby.
I grab my bag of fries and head out. I shouldn't be scared. I shouldn't be feeling nervous. I told her off, but I'm the dragon, and she's just a princess, and I breathe fire and I meddled and hurt the people she loves, and her, but I'm still the dragon, and I can fly away if I need to. I'll be fine. I am always fine. I survived Nameless. I survived Liam. I can survive this. I'm fine. I'm fine.
I find a parking space four blocks away. The Hilton is small here compared to the one in Columbus, but it's fancy—fresh orchids and a fountain in the marble-floor lobby. The concierge smiles at me. Lisa is waiting, sitting in a leather chair with too-perfect posture and a lazy flannel shirt and jeans. She's on edge. The second I walk through the doors, she bolts up and walks over.
"What happened?" she demands. "Are you all right?"
"I won a million d-dollars," I say. I can't look at her face for some reason. Shame. Shame and guilt, probably.
"You're shaking like a leaf. Come on. It's warmer in the room."
"No— I—" I pull away. "I just, I just want to tell you something, and then I'll leave. I don't want to— I don't want to—"
"Be in the same room as me?" Her voice is low.
"Just…don't be nice to me. I'd appreciate it if you'd just momentarily forget I've been pretending you don't exist for the last few weeks long enough for me to tell you this. Just like, develop amnesia. Wait, shit. Don't. I've been there. It's terrible. Also, there's a lot of Jell-O involved."
"Jennie—"
"There're some people digging around in your past. Other than me, I mean. I saw them at the lake."
Lisa's eyes narrow.
"I'm sorry, I went to see Tallie again, because Tzuyu—she asked me to, and—"
She starts walking away, to the elevator.
"Hey! Wait! I'm not done talking to you!"
"Get in."
"Uh, no? Have you not seen any Japanese horror movies? Getting in elevators after dark is asking for the voodoos."
"You either get in this elevator and come back with me to the room, or you leave."
I puff my cheeks out and agonize for four whole seconds.
"Fine! But I'm leaving right after!"
"I'll kick you out promptly," She promises. Somehow, it makes me feel better, but in a weird twingy-gut way. The doors close and she hits the button for floor eleven. There are approximately thirty seconds of us standing together in a closed space. She smells like mint and sweat in the best way. I mash myself into the farthest corner and think about how much she and Tzuyu like each other, and it works, keeps my head above the swirling memories lurking just beneath the surface of that smell.
The elevator opens and she leads me to room 1106. It's not a big room, but it's beautiful, and the queen bed is perfectly made. I expected it to be messy and full of sex, whatever that looks like. Not that I'd know, and I really have to stop thinking about sex while I'm facing down my nemesis, who I incidentally do not like in any way, I am just concerned about various creepy suited men in my neighborhood because I am a Good Samaritan, that's all—
"Stop thinking out loud." Lisa takes off her shoes.
"I am overwhelmed," I say. "By certain recent events."
"You were thinking out loud. About sex. Has it been a recent event for you? Congratulations. Who's the lucky man?"
"Sea slug," I correct, and sit on a chair. Warily.
"I was trying to be nice."
"Don't. You suck at it."
Lisa's lips quirk in the shadow of a smirk, but it's gone quickly.
"Did you cut yourself?"
I follow her finger pointing to my jeans. A massive tear along the thighs shows an angry red cut, the blood staining the fabric around it.
"Aw, man! These were my favorite jeans! I saw my first concert in these!"
"I'd be a little more concerned about the gaping wound in your flesh," she snarls.
"Well, that's your deal. Personally, I'm okay with blood. Happens every month. Also you should stop rolling your eyes that much because I read somewhere that really hurts your eyesight and you wouldn't exactly be as aloof and enigmatic if you're running into walls all the time now, would you?"
"Get in the shower."
"You get in the shower!"
"You smell like skunk. And you're bleeding. You need a shower."
"There was quite a large skunk. But really this will only take two seconds and then I'll be out of your duck-butt hair, so listen up—"
She crosses her arms over her chest.
"Unfortunately, my powers of immense concentration are compromised by the stench of wildlife and the sight of blood. Take. A. Shower. There are towels, and a robe, and I'll have room service wash and dry your things."
"You're being nice, girl. It's sickening. The color does not match your eyes. Zero out of ten would not buy that nicey-nice makeup again."
"I'm being practical. I have work to do that's important, anyway. I'll have finished by the time you come out, and I'll be able to devote my full attention to your apparent chaotic experience involving my past. Now go."
"Oh, I hate you so much."
"Good. I prefer it to the silence."
She turns to the laptop on the bed and types away, lost in it. The guilt solidifies, clamping down on my chest. I move mechanically into the bathroom and wince as I peel off my muddy jeans and jacket. I'll have bruises for millennia. Thanks, Small-Nuts. The knock on the door makes me jump into the ceiling.
"Give me your clothes," Lisa says.
"Thanks, thanks a lot. Now I have a lightbulb for a head."
"What are you babbling about? Just give me your clothes."
"Go away! I'll drop them on the floor! I can't risk your cooties infecting me!"
"Fine. Just hurry up."
"You hurry up," I grumble wittily. The truth is my heart is pounding. Everything in me is pounding, bashing against my skeleton and skin to escape and slink away like a fleshy, independent meatbag. I'm naked. I'm naked and someone is within ten feet of me and I am panicking, but I don't let it leak through anywhere, not in my voice, not in my choice of words, because panic is normal, panic is what I'll always do when I'm naked and someone is around, and I'm shaking suddenly as I open the door when I'm sure she's gone, and I drop the clothes on the floor and lock it behind me.
My underwear is stupid. It's pink with a panda on it. She'll think I'm a kid. She'll think I'm immature.
Stupid little girl. You're ugly. Do you think anyone on this planet would want to go out with a fat, ugly girl like you?
I shake my head. Why the hell should I care what she thinks about me? She's Lisa Manoban, the greatest douche who's ever douched. Or not douched, because she's a girl. Ugh, I really do gross myself out sometimes.
I decide to wash myself clean in the waters of Jesus and emerge as a less gross, more mature girl. The hot water is a luxurious relief and helps with the shaking in my hands, and the fancy shampoo and soap smell like milky almonds. The adrenaline of my escape winds down, and when I exit and tie the robe around myself, I feel like a new person. A person who's not-me. And that'd be nice right now. Any other girl wouldn't shake. Any other girl wouldn't be panicking that I have to walk out there in only a robe. Any other girl would be calm and collected and know exactly how to act and what to say in this "hotel with someone" situation. There's another knock on the door.
"What is it?" I snap.
"I've got clothes for you. They aren't yours, but they're better than a robe. And there's a box of Band-Aids."
I deflate a little. She even thought of Band-Aids?
"Just drop them outside."
I peek out and pull the clothes in quickly. It's a soft skirt, long and shimmery and black, and a white dress shirt. The shirt is obviously Lisa's; it smells like her. And there's a pink lip imprint on the collar. I roll my eyes. No wonder she has a lady's skirt on her, and she's holed up in the Hilton. I put a Band-Aid on my cut and walk out of the bathroom.
"Just got done working, huh?" I ask. She looks up from the laptop briefly, pauses as her eyes find the shirt and skirt, and nods.
"Yes. For the last time."
"You mean, your last appointment? Ever?"
She nods.
"That's great!" I clap my hands. "Jesus, that's— That's really great. Congratulations on not being a sex slave anymore!"
She curls her lip. "Oh, be quiet."
"How's it feel? To be free and all?"
"It's riotous fun," she deadpans.
"Ah! You're distracting me!" I point at her. "Listen, some guys were looking around the woods where Tallie is. I overheard them talking, and they were looking for a body. A baby's body."
Lisa closes the laptop. "What did they look like?"
"Two guys in black suits, lackeys obviously, and one huge guy in a tweed suit. He had like, white hair and a really jerk-y presence, like he owned the place. Superrich watch. Superrich in general."
"Did he say who he was? Any hint at all?"
"No. Just that you were going off to Harvard and he wanted to recruit you for his company before all the other scouts. And he called you brilliant and ruthless and some other such nonsense, but I forget most of everything after that because I always tend to zone out when people start complimenting you. They were looking for Tallie's body."
Lisa's eyes narrow. "What happened after you overheard them?"
"Well, they overheard me. Specifically, my feet on the noisy ground. So I ran. Threw one guy down a hill and kicked the other in the balls. Not a bad night, if I may say so myself."
"And you just…got in your car and came here right after?"
I hold up the bag of fries. "Refueled a bit."
She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Dammit."
"Something wrong? I mean, other than the corporate dudes after your neck? Protect your neck, by the way. That's a Wu-Tang song. Also it's a mildly good neck. I've stared at it many times while considering choking it."
She chuckles. I cross my arms over my chest.
"What's so funny?"
She shakes her head, a bit of her stupid hair glancing across her stupid eyes. Her bruises are faint but still there, like inky imprints of a harder time.
"It's nice. Having the old you back."
"Oh."
"I missed it," she continues. Her eyes are softer, but all at once they become hard. "Never mind. Forget I said that."
There's a silence, and suddenly I'm blindsided by a headache. It throbs, sending lances of white-hot electricity up and down my spine. It's the same pain I felt in Mernich's office. Shit, shit shit. Not now, brain, not now—
I've worn her shirt before. The smell is the same. She gave it to me to wear for bed, because my Halloween costume was too tight, and I was drunk, and the room had pictures of the sea in it and smelled like lavender, and I was happy; for a few seconds she was leaning over me and kissing me and I was happy. We sat on a bench once, our backs pressing against each other as the stars watched and a party raged on around us, and yet we were an island of quiet, of peace. I felt at peace with her. Reality and my memories blur together. I'm in the hotel room but I'm in the seashore room all at once. The shirt is soft. The smell of her is the same. Except the Lisa now is sitting at her computer, staring at me with concerned eyes, and the Lisa of the past is leaning over me, her lips on every part of my neck, my collarbone, my mouth and the corner of my mouth, and—
"Jennie, are you all right?" Hotel Lisa asks. "Forget what I said. I'm trying to let the past go. Sometimes it's difficult, and I say ridiculous things. You're not a part of my life anymore, just like you wanted. I've blocked you off. I promise."
I like you.
Something painful and monstrous opens up in my chest, like a massive, shadowy Venus flytrap. The two me's reach for her hand at the same time.
"I remember," I whisper. Her fingers are long and delicate, but I can feel the strength in them. "I remember the Halloween party. I said I liked you. You— You kissed me. We—"
Tzuyu's words reverberate in my head.
That's why she kissed you. That's why she even bothered getting to know you. Because you're exactly like me. Hopeless like me.
I drop her hand like it's burned me.
"I'm sorry. Shit. I'm sorry."
"For what?" Lisa murmurs.
"I'm assuming things! My memories are back, but I know the full story now, too, so I'm sorry for even bringing it up!"
"Your memories are back?" Her voice is strangled, but she clears it. "That's— That's good. You don't have to be sorry for—"
"I just mean that wasn't— Obviously that night wasn't a real, uh, kiss thing. I mean, we were both pretty drunk! You didn't really mean it; you were just being weirdly nice like you sometimes are once in a blue-ass moon, and I was super drunk, so when I said I liked you I just meant as a nemesis, you know? As a friend I could fight with verbally and stuff! Yeah. I really did like you. As a nemesis. Man, fighting you was fun!"
I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"And, you know. I remind you of Tzuyu. We are kind of similar, deep down, so it makes sense you'd get confused and kiss me! Totally cool. Totally understandable. Man, I'm just sorry I drunkenly forced myself on you like that, and then did a total one-eighty and got scared like a little bitch. Like, wow, nobody deserves that ever, you feel me? I'm really sorry you had to go through that."
..
Lisa
.
I've wanted to hold her for months. It's a need I've tamped down, a carefully controlled fire kept locked in the center of an iceberg. And she's unknowingly tested me, over and over; she's prodded and poked and sometimes taken a chain saw to the ice, but she's never gotten through because I am l Lisa Manoban, and I am in control of myself at all times.
Except that one time, in the seashore room. The time she thinks was false. The time she is heaping piles of guilt on herself for. Guilt that's coming from her past and from Lucas Cavanaugh. If I don't stop this now, she'll hurt herself with it. The cycle of Lucas' damage will only dig its thorns deeper into her. If she can't do it, it has to be stopped now, by someone. By me.
"I don't want to scare you," I say finally. She looks up, warm cinnamon eyes surprised.
"What?"
"And I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"
"Um—"
"—but you are nothing like Tzuyu. You are Jennie Kim—stubborn and ridiculous and kind and strong. You are exactly you. And that's why I kissed you that night, because I wanted to kiss Jennie Kim. And I did. It was uncalled for. You had every right to stop and every right to pull away. You were afraid, and I exacerbated that fear by trying to kiss you, and it's my fault. Not yours."
Her face goes blank with shock, and she's silent for once in her life.
"Yes, we were drunk," I continue. "You were, more specifically, and I was a little. So I'm the one who should've known better, and I apologize. I went too far, too fast. I was happy." I chuckle darkly. "For once in my life, I was happy. It's no excuse, but I hope it helps you understand my actions that night."
Her shell-shocked expression doesn't change.
"I'm sorry." I smile. "It won't happen again."
She doesn't say anything. I have to break the tension. I get up and stretch, cracking my neck and wrists.
"You should go. It's getting late, and I'm sure you're tired. You need to get some rest. Thank you for telling me about the men. I'll look into them—"
Something crashes into me from behind, and it takes me a second to realize it's her, wrapping her arms around my stomach and pulling my spine to rest against her chest. She buries her face in my back.
"I want it," she whispers. "I…I want it to h-happen again."
The web of anxiety in me snaps, thread by thread, and every muscle in my body relaxes. It is relief, pure and bright, coursing through me. I'm not the only one who wants it. I am not the only one, and my skin warms and my breathing comes easier as that knowledge sinks in with each passing second of silence. What she said that night in the seashore room wasn't just a drunk babble. She likes me. And I soak in that realization for as long as I can, before she rubs her face against my shirt like an animal, something wild and used to marking others with its scent.
"I want to show you something," she says.
"All right." I keep my voice carefully even and low.
She puts her arms out on either side of me and pulls up the shirt on her right arm. She's always, always kept that arm covered. She's never worn short-sleeved T-shirts, and even when I saw her in that blouse, she kept the sleeve carefully covering it and her arm faced downward. It's almost a reflex with her, to keep the arm out of sight.
My breath catches.
There, on the delicate underside of her wrist, are the marks. Round, puckered white scars. Dozens of them. They molt her skin, the pockmarks overlapping like a dappled pond. Cigarette burns.
"How—" I stop myself, even though I know the answer already. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to ask."
Her arms tremble as she speaks. "Nameless."
I close my eyes. Hearing the confirmation from her is more infuriating, more heartbreaking than any conclusion I reached on my own.
"It's ugly, I know." She laughs shakily. "Sorry, I didn't mean to gross you out."
I turn and lace my arms around her, careful not to put too much pressure or squeeze tight to the point she'd feel trapped. Her mouth against my chest makes me shiver, but I suppress it at the last second. I can see her scar on the top of her still-wet head. She smells like almonds and forest pine.
"There is nothing about it that's ugly," I say. "Can I?"
She hesitates, then nods. I reach around and bring up her wrist, gently running my fingers over the marks. The raised ridges are rough, but in other parts, silky. I trace around each circle with my thumb.
"It looks like a galaxy," I say. "Full of stars and supernovas and conductive cryogeysers and a lot of wonderful science things I could go on to list that would probably bore the hell out of you."
She laughs, the sound vibrating in my ribs.
"I have another one." She gestures to her head. "It's not as ugly, but it's a lot bigger. Just call me Scarface. Head. Cranium. ScarCranium is definitely a Swedish death-metal band."
I lean in and kiss the top of her head, the scar smooth under my lips.
"We'll have to listen to them someday," I say. She makes a sound halfway between a squeak and a sigh. "Something wrong?"
"N-No. Just…having someone—kiss—um— Having someone…doing that—um—"
"You don't like it?"
"No! I-I do. It's really—um, just really, it's nice. It feels nice. Um." She buries her face in my shirt like she's trying to disappear, but I can see the red flush creeping up her forehead.
..
..
Jennie
.
I feel like I'm melting. My insides are warm, and I'm all weirdly relaxed. And I don't ever want it to stop.
I feel safe.
For the first time in a long time, I feel really, really safe. Like nothing can get to me. Like, for once, Nameless can't reach in his fingers and get to me through my memories.
"I was scared," I murmur. "When I was running from those guys. And I'm scared they saw my car."
"You can stay here, if you want," Lisa offers. "I can take the couch."
"That'd be rad."
"All right. I've got work to finish, but feel free to take the bed." She grabs her laptop and sits on the couch. I'm almost sorry for the loss of her warmth, but then I remember she's a nerd. I spot the empty plate of what looks like soy sauce, and my stomach makes a noise like a dying cow.
Lisa raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Hungry?"
"Shut up." I flush. "I've got my fries."
"Those are embalming you from the inside out," she says and picks up the phone. "Let's get something that doesn't survive radioactive deterioration, shall we?"
I dive under the blankets and try not to think about the fact that Lisa had sex with some old lady in them. She got the sheets changed, obviously, but it's still a used bed. Then again, it's a hotel! A lot of people have probably had sex in this bed! And it's so fluffy I might as well be lying on my own flabby belly.
"Hello, yes, this is for room 1106. I'd like the salmon Parmesan, with the spinach salad, and an order of the crème brûlée. Yes. Yes, thank you."
When she hangs up, I raise an eyebrow.
"Yeah? Suddenly rolling in cash?"
"My final client is paying for the room. We could order a dozen lobsters and she'd have to pay it."
"Ah, the perks of sex work." I flop into the pillows. She doesn't answer, absorbed in her laptop. "Hey, who was that tweed guy, anyway?"
Lisa shrugs. "Going by your description, I think I've met him."
"Oh yeah? At a gathering for the rich and snooty?"
"At a bar. Where he beat the shit out of me."
"That's where you got the beaten-hamburger look?"
Lisa nods. "He's good. Trained, probably. Karate, if I had to guess by his forms and strikes."
"And you're just trained in bat, right? Not the billionaire playgirl vigilante kind, but the baseball kind."
"I took tae kwon do until high school. He's much better than me."
"Someone sent me a picture," I say. "Of your hand on a baseball bat, and a body—"
"I know. Chan told me about it. More accurately, he screamed it at me. In the library."
"Chan? Screaming? C'mon, lying isn't funny. Except when it is."
"He was very worked up. Agitated. He's a lot of things, and we have a complicated history, but he's surprisingly loyal to the people he considers friends. Not that it mattered when he turned tail and ran that night, but still. It's the thought now that counts. Reform and second chances and all that drivel."
"You killed someone," I say. There's no fear behind it now. I've shown her my scars, and she didn't flinch. So if she says yes, I won't flinch, either. Her icy eyes flicker up. There's a long, languid silence in which I'm sure she can hear my thunderous, anticipating heartbeat from ten feet away.
"I don't know if I did," she says finally.
"What do you mean?"
"It was dark. The police—the police told us he walked off the cliff because he didn't see it. But he couldn't see it because I gave him a black eye."
"He still had one good eye—"
"That's no excuse," Lisa says sharply. "I may as well have killed him myself."
She's telling what she thinks is the truth—the guilt in her eyes is obvious. If it were a lie, they'd be clear.
"That's not true."
Lisa glares at me. "As far as you know, it is. You're not concerned? I killed someone. I'm a murderer, Jennie."
"You were defending Tzuyu. Just like you defended my mom and me from Liam. That's what you do. You protect people."
She opens her mouth, then closes it and stares at the floor.
"Look," I start. "I've done some things I'm not proud of. I know what it feels like to want to kill someone. I really do. I was going to try to kill Liam, when my mom first told me about what happened with her and him. I had it all planned out—I'd drug him with chloroform, and if that didn't kill him, I'd slice his dick off with a butcher knife, and then his fingers, and then his throat. I dreamed about it sometimes. I wanted it more than anything. I wanted to make him pay for what he did to her."
Lisa looks up at me. I shrug.
"So yeah. I know what it's like."
There's something like gratitude that flickers behind her eyes.
"So the guy in the tweed has an inside man on the police force," I say. "How would the police know about Tallie?"
"They don't," Lisa says. "But they saw Tzuyu. The EMTs or the doctors probably told him she…she lost Tallie. And the cops saw the blood in the forest when they were investigating the crime scene. It'd be simple for them to put two and two together, and for Tweed Incorporated to find that out. But the cops never actually found Tallie. Rosé saw to that. She buried her somewhere no one else would find, if they didn't know the area like the back of their hand the way she did."
"So why is Tweed looking for Tallie, then?"
"I don't know his motives," Lisa says. "Information on me, maybe? The more he knows about me, the more ammo he has to try to convince me to join him."
"Because you're the perfect candidate for his weird corporation?"
"Because I am perfect, period." She smirks. I throw the extra pillow and it graciously arcs over her laptop and hits her smack in the face.
"Thanks, physics!" I thumbs-up no one. Lisa belligerently coughs out a feather.
"What are we going to do?" I ask. "We can't let them find Tallie. I don't want them to, and I'm sure Tzuyu doesn't want them to."
Lisa's eyes get sharp, then soft all at once. "I'll figure something out."
She turns to her keyboard and types rapidly.
"Wow, you're super dedicated to that computery thing over there. Wow. I can't stop saying wow."
"Stop saying wow."
"What are you wowing? I mean, doing?"
"Tracing the email address that sent you that picture."
"Oh. Then what? What happens after you find him?"
"Then I blow him up," Lisa growls.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Crash his hard drive," she corrects.
"Slightly more legal," I agree. "Alas, not as fun."
The food comes, and the maid wheels it in and leaves after Lisa gives her a tip, and I inhale every little thing on the tray in less than five minutes.
"Jesus, woman, you're going to choke."
"Worth it!" I chirp, and slurp crème brûlée. I start coughing massively.
"Choke quietly." She turns back to the laptop and mutters to herself. "There. Finally. This guy is ridiculously good. But if I run the byte scan, I can—"
She goes still, like a deer hearing a gun cock.
"I'm…dying…" I remind her from the general vicinity of the floor.
"The IP traces back to Good Falls, Florida. Your hometown," she says. "Someone from your hometown sent you this. It has to be someone you know. Who do you know from back then who's good at computers?"
My heart stutters, and I stop pretending to die and start actually dying.
"Jennie? What's wrong?"
I stare up at the hotel ceiling, debating how many steps it'd take for me to get to the toilet. I don't wanna throw up on Lisa again, no matter how marvelous the last time was. Lisa's face looms over my vision.
"Jennie? You're pale—"
"Him," I say softly. "He won the state computer programming competition for the middle school division every year."
"Who?"
I thought he'd left me alone. I never thought the email could be him. An almost-year of silence convinced me I was free.
I grit my teeth and put my hands over my eyes, like it'll block out the darkness. It can't be, but it is. I had nightmares about this exact thing, about him finding me. I'd spent so much time away from him, I was lulled into a false sense of security, security built up by my new friends, and with Lisa's help. But I was stupid. Naive. I haven't gotten smarter at all. Deep down, past all my newfound strength and courage, I knew the safety wouldn't last long. It never does. Nameless is a scar in my life that will never go away. The darkness he's planted in me hovers in every corner of my soul, waiting for an opening, a weakness to force its way in. And no matter how hard my armor, no matter how loyal my friends and how gentle Lisa is, there's always a weakness in me. Maybe their kindness has made a weakness in me.
The darkness always finds a way in, just like it has now.
"Nameless."
...
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