That evening, Greta calls in at ours just after Jon gets home from work. They chat in the hall for a bit, voices hushed. I’m in the sitting room, cross-legged on the couch, still numb. When they join me, Greta beside me, Jon on the other couch, I fill them in on the day’s events. The long version. I’d texted both of them earlier with the news that Aimee—PR girl of my message—is a murder victim.
“I’m really worried now that there’s a link with me.” I pull a cushion on to my lap and briefly bury my head in it. “That Savannah and Aimee and Aimee’s husband—Rory was his name—were somehow, bizarrely, killed because of my message. I need to understand how all of this is connected ifnotby me.”
They both nod, indicating listening rather than agreement, I think, but I’d really rather they tell me I’m wrong.
I play devil’s advocate to my own argument. “Of course, it might all becoincidence. Because it doesn’t really make sense—why would someone kill Aimee and Rory just because she was mentioned in a message?”
Jon speaks gently now. “Could it have been murder-suicide? Like…” He swallows. “Could it be that Rory saw a screenshot of your message, thought Aimee was cheating, lost it, killed her, then killed himself?”
I let out a slow, controlled breath. “It wasn’t suicide, from what I’ve read online. It’s not mentioned in the news reports, but people are saying Rory and Aimee were hit with the same weapon. So it can’t be self-inflicted. I guess it could be speculation or maybe a leak, or even the person who found the bodies, but if it’s true, both of them were murdered.”
“That’s…better, I think?” Jon says, and though it sounds awful, I know what he means. Because the idea that Rory killed his wife, as a direct result of my message, is too hideous to contemplate.
16
Nika
Thursday
Nika Geary is furious. Ms. O’Donnell’s message is all over the place now, and Nika has many, many thoughts and feelings about this. She flops back on her bed, staring at the pink chandelier on her ceiling. First and foremost, the absolutecheekof a teacher, talking about a pupil like that.Unreal. She hopes Ms. O’Donnell gets fired, and if someone else doesn’t send the message to the principal, Nika will do it herself. Or at least, she’ll get her mum to do it. She’s still a bit in the bad books at school after the vodka situation, though clearly that was Jessica’s fault for dropping the bottle and Maeve’s fault for being so clumsy.
Ms. O’Donnell’s message is embarrassing though: “bratty.” It’s obviously rude, but also kind of…infantilizing? Is that the word? She might have preferred it if Ms. O’Donnell had called her “entitled” or “spoiled,” something more…princessy. Even if she’d said “brat,” that would actually be quite good. But not “bratty.” That makes her sound like a toddler.
And the stuff Ms. O’Donnell said about the rest of her family too.God. Nika hopes her dad will sue. He said he would. Then again, that’s the kind of thing her dad says about everything.We should sue. We shouldtake them to court. He never actually does it. And he’s walking around like a sad dog with his tail down at the moment, not surprisingly. How unbelievably mortifying to have that message doing the rounds, claiming he was with some other woman.Gross.He should definitely sue for slander or libel or whatever. That would show Ms. O’Donnell. And anyone else who might think the message is true.
Meanwhile, her mum is smiling her way through it, but quietly fit to kill Susan O’Donnell.
And Cody? Well, Cody’s the same lump he always is—hiding in his room, glued to his stupid Xbox, curtains closed all day like he’s some kind of vampire. Why can’t she just have a normal, not embarrassing family? She turns over on her stomach and picks up her phone again. From downstairs, the click of the kitchen door signals her mother may be on her way upstairs. On autopilot, Nika slides her vape from her bedside table into the drawer and lights a scented candle. No footsteps on the stairs after all. Celeste is probably hunting for Warren so she can hammer home that she’s not talking to him; the silent treatment only works if you’re in the same room.
Nika clicks into Ms. O’Donnell’s message again.
None of it is good, but the worst part, the bit that’s making her nervous, is the mention of her “boyfriend.” How is she going to get out of this one? Nobody’s put two and two together just yet, as far as she can tell, but it’s only a matter of time. She’s meeting Zach tonight and they’ll talk about it then, get their stories straight.
She checks her watch and hauls herself off her bed. At her vanity, she starts with concealer, eyeing herself in the mirror. She might wear her new Urban Outfitters dress; Zach likes her in dresses. He’ll be waiting for her intheirspot—the hidden grassy patch behind the football clubhouse, where nobody can see them. Her stomach knots. What if people find out about Zach? She’ll be dead. Literally dead. Her English teacher would tell her that’s not a correct use of the word “literally,” but to be quite honest, ifpeople realize she’s seeing Zach, it could end up being true. She pushes the thought away. If she’s careful, nobody will find out.
Her mind goes again to the message. The bunking-off school part is less worrying than the rest. Her mother believes everything Nika tells her. If she asks, Nika will say they had a free class and they were allowed out. Celeste hasn’t actually asked her yet, though it’s a full forty-eight hours now since Ms. O’Donnell sent the message. Then again, that’s not unusual. Nika is lucky that way. Her mother mostly leaves her in peace. And Nika does exactly what she wants.
17
Susan
Friday
Something jolts me awake. A dream? Bella? I sit up in bed, listening. There’s only the sound of Jon’s slow, even breaths and a passing car outside. The bedroom is pitch dark, but the plywood on the window keeps it that way day and night. I check my phone: 3:11 a.m. There’s a text. A number that’s not in my contacts, but, I see now, the same one that sent the death threat Wednesday morning. Ignoring common sense, I read the new message:
Lock your doors, Susan. I told you, if you tell anyone, I’ll be back. Remember, I know exactly who you are and where you are, and you know nothing about me. I’m the monster who comes in the night. I’m the monster who’ll make you pay. I’m the monster outside right now. Watching.
My hand flies to my mouth and, for a moment, I’m frozen, staring at my phone, then at the boarded-up window. Is someone out there?
“Jon. Jon.” I shake him awake, holding my phone out to show him the text.
He rubs his eyes, squints to read.
“Jesus.” He’s hoarse, groggy.
“We need to look outside—out the window, I mean, and we need to phone the guards,” I whisper.
I check on Bella, then together, Jon and I slip across the landing to the nursery that will be Bella’s bedroom. The blind is up. Jon is heading straight for the window, but I hold him back.
