“Bled out?”
“Yup. Stabbed.” He gestures to the back of his neck. “There was blood fucking everywhere. I guess he tried to get himself out to a doctor. Collapsed on the steps. My mom was screaming her head off when she found him.”
“What happened?”
Although I already have a theory, don’t I? The same Christmas Eve my mom had some kind of explosion, the writing teacher she was a little “too close” with gets stabbed?
“Who the fuck knows.” He shrugs, gestures at the street. “Believe it or not, this is a lot safer than it used to be. Anyway, an ambulance took him away. Police came later. I don’t remember the details. My parents were so freaked about the whole thing, they wouldn’t let any of us talk about it ever again.”
It isn’t until the train ride back that I text Will:Thank you for checking on me. I’m sorry, too.None of this was his fault, but I’m feeling jittery and needy again.I think I just really, really need some sleep.
Then I reread theConnecticut Magazineexposé about Haven House. There’s a mention of Daitch’s connections with local officials that allowed him to cover up all kinds of violations and bad behavior, exactly like Rose had said. The last thing Daitch would have wanted was for Haven House to be on the hook for a murder—and he had the means to make any evidence of such an incident vanish.
Wilson texts then—as I knew she would eventually—to ask about the screen shots I sent.
Cleo, what the hell is this?And then a second message comes through.And we need to talk about that boyfriend of yours, Cleo. It’s important.
Kyle—great. I knew Wilson was going to fixate on him. But there’s no way I’m answering her right now. She’ll definitely ask where I am.
As I tuck my phone away, the bad thought that’s been working its way to the front of my mind finally reaches its destination: What if my mom did run away? What if this person from her past was threatening to tell the world that she murdered Reed Harding, and she ran so that no one would ever find out what she’d done? Maybe finding her is the exact opposite of what she wants right now. I wonder if I love her enough to leave it at that. I’m not sure. Leaving well enough alone is a lot harder than it looks.
The four blocks from the West Fourth Street station to my dorm feel endless, as if I’m walking through wet sand. I’ve turned onto my street, when someone rams me from behind. I stumble sideways into the corner of my building. My head knocks against the stone and I see stars.Wow. Actual stars.Then there’s a forearm against my neck. My brain tries to piece it together—a person, on me. A face jammed in front of mine.
Kyle.
There’s a cut over his right eye, and the left one is purple and swollen shut. He bares his teeth at me and I can see that one of them is missing. There is a huge gap. And holy shit, does he look pissed.
“You fucking sicced the police on me?”
His arm is pressing so hard against my neck, it’s hard to talk.
Wilsonalreadywent to talk to him?
“What?” I gasp.
“That fucking cop your mom brought to my apartment beat the shit out of me.”
“My mom … what?”
“The cop she brought to my apartment!” Spit sprays into my eyes as he shouts.
“What cop, when?”
“Fucking months ago, before we broke up,” he says. And suddenly it all makes sense, how willing he was to let me go. Not that I thought he loved me, but he sure didn’t like to lose.
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, tonight he fucking showed up again, grabbed me out of nowhere, and did fucking this to me—said I did something to your mom. Did you tell him that?”
“No!” I’m starting to feel light-headed. “I don’t even know who he is.”
“Then who fucking sent him?”
“Kyle, stop.” I’m going to black out.
“Hey!” An old woman smacks Kyle in the side of the head with her handbag. “You let her go, or I’ll call the cops!”
And then I am free. The blows stun Kyle long enough that he releases me. “Mind your own fucking business, bitch!”
