Another Little Piece (8 page)

The screams crescendoed, now mingled with sobs, curses, pleas to God.

Three seconds later the lights were restored. Even the candles flickered back to life.

The camera searched for another thirty seconds, scanning the trees, and across the neighbors’ yards, and then turning back to search the panicked throng of bodies.

It was only when a siren sounded in the distance that Dex must have realized it was over. The screen went black.

Annaliese was gone.

TRUTH

I watched it more than once. More than twice, more than—well, I lost count. All the while I popped my breath strips, blindly, my own version of popcorn and a movie.

One time I watched it with the sound up extra loud. Next with no sound at all. I went frame by frame, watching eyes slowly widen, and tiny droplets of blood form and drip down one by one.

By the end of it I knew nothing more than I had after watching it the first time. Nothing I saw could tell me what had occurred between my last memory of Annaliese being told to cut out my heart, and her running screaming from the woods.

I turned away from the screen, searching for Dex. He’d told me that when the police had arrived, they took all of his equipment, even his laptop. Twelve hours later the one-minute-and-twelve-second clip was posted on YouTube with the name “Real-Life Horror Movie.” An anonymous email address sent the link to the entire school. It took less than fifteen minutes for YouTube to pull it down, but the damage had been done. It spread like the most virulent of viral videos.

Despite the one commenter who had written, “Bad fake blood, needs more viscosity. But that girl can act. Someone call Wes Craven,” almost everyone else turned it into a virtual prayer wall.

The police denied a leak in their own department and went after Dex, saying he must have uploaded it from his laptop. They came to his house and confiscated all his tapes, computers, and electronic equipment, including an electric shaver. In the end they couldn’t prove that the YouTube leak had originated from him.

“They couldn’t prove it”—that’s what Dex said. He didn’t say that he didn’t do it, and I didn’t come out and ask. It didn’t feel like a question a friend should ask. Especially not after Dex had treated me like a person who didn’t need to be packed away in Bubble Wrap.

In doing so, he gave me the courage to finally admit that I couldn’t run from this. I suppose I could continue to hide, but sometime during my numerous viewings, I instead decided to put the pieces together and find out exactly when Annaliese stopped and I began. And where the other girls on the razor fit in too. And the redheaded boy.

It was a lot. It was possible that it would never all make sense. But I would try. And for that Dex deserved a thank-you.

There was no sign of him anywhere, so I scribbled the words onto a scrap of paper that I found on his desk and signed it simply,
A
.

DAY OF SCHOOL

I JUST IMAGINED

I just imagined

conversation

one hundred thirty-two

with you.

The words are

not important,

but instead the way

you looked

at me.

You saw me.

I know in reality

you don’t think of me

that way.

You don’t think of me

at all.

—ARG

DRIVE

On Monday, the dad drove me to my first day of school. Or first day back to school.

He’d insisted on taking me, saying it was on his way to work and there was no need for the mom to go out. Saying it was the way they’d always done it, saying pretty much whatever he had to until finally the mom relented.

It was strange, but lately the dad had been pushing back against the mom more. Not really against, because it was all in the mom’s best interest. And in the case of school, mine too, because we all knew the mom would’ve insisted on walking me in and then would’ve waited to make sure I remembered how to open my locker, and then she’d want to be certain I made it to my first class okay. There was a very good chance she’d end up hanging out in the parking lot, knitting, until the end of the day, just in case I needed her.

So, the dad saved all of us from that.

The mom gave me an extra-big hug before I walked out the door, and then she waved the entire time as the dad carefully backed out of the driveway. I can only assume she kept on waving until we disappeared from view, but when I turned to look back, the dad stopped me.

“Don’t,” he cautioned, placing his hand on my shoulder. “If your mother sees you looking back, she’ll think it’s a sign of uncertainty, and the next thing you know she’ll be running down the street after us, saying we need to wait another week.” The dad said it with a smile, like it was a joke. And I laughed as if it were funny, and not sad and true.

So I didn’t look back. I needed school, and I needed to get out of that house. My sanctuary had turned into a prison.

It began after I’d returned from Dex’s basement. The mom was in a panic. I’d been gone for almost two hours, but luckily she’d only known I was missing for thirty minutes of that time. This meant she’d searched the entire house—top to bottom—twice, and was ready to call the cops. Lucky for the cops—not so lucky for me—that’s when I strolled in.

“Annaliese,” the mom shrieked, as if I’d jumped out of thin air . . . as if she hadn’t expected to see me. The phone slid from her hand and hit the floor. You could tell she didn’t remember she’d been holding it. I watched as it crashed and skittered across the hardwood floor, but her eyes never left my face.

“Annaliese,” she said once more, this time on an exhalation and the end of a sob. That’s when I braced myself for her to throw herself at me and wrap me into one of her anaconda hugs. Instead her body went boneless, and she dissolved into the floor. “Oh God, I thought we’d lost you again.”

The dad and I were at her side instantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay now, she’s right here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She went for a walk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Annaliese is home. She’s okay.”

“Please, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

And I was sorry. Even more so because I had been with Dex, and I knew she hated him, and I also knew that I would see him again. But I would never again let the mom wonder where I was, or let her think for an instant that I was missing. If we all had our personal hells, I’m pretty sure hers was one where she constantly searched for a missing daughter who never came home.

Eventually the mom calmed down enough to swallow one of the pills the dad gave her. Then he picked her up, and carried her to their room.

When he came back down, I expected him to yell at me. He looked like he wanted to, and it might’ve made me feel better as well. But he only sighed and sat on the floor beside me.

For a long while we just breathed. I guess we had both gotten pretty worked up, because it took some time before we were inhaling and exhaling normally again.

“I’m sorry,” I said, although by this point the words felt like a cheap shirt that has lost its shape after too many washings.

The dad must’ve agreed, because he waved it away with a flick of his fingers. “I’m not going to tell you to never leave the house. I know it can be hard . . . that your mother can . . .”

He stopped, and tried again. “We’ve already talked about where we went wrong the last time. We don’t want to repeat past mistakes and make you feel like you need to sneak around behind our backs.”

That one got me. I wanted to tell the dad that maybe sneaking around wasn’t so bad. That maybe lying to their faces was the kindest thing a child could do for a loving parent. Spare them the worry. Spare everyone the fights.

But I didn’t say any of this. The dad didn’t want to hear it, any more than the mom wanted to hear that there were some things parents couldn’t protect their children from.

“So please let us know anytime that you go out. If we’re home, find us.” The dad colored a little here, no doubt thinking of what I would have found had I gone looking for them this afternoon. “And if we’re not home, call our cells, or leave a note, or something. Don’t disappear again. Please.”

I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t disappeared. That I’d only been next door.

But again I didn’t say this, because Annaliese had disappeared, and I’d been the one to take her.

“I won’t,” I said instead. “I promise.”

During the next three days the strength of that promise never had a chance to be tested. The mom did everything but handcuff our wrists together. And if she had known that when I gazed out the window it wasn’t to “enjoy the last leaves before they fell,” but in hopes of catching a glimpse of Dex . . . well, she might’ve had handcuffs delivered express.

“Here we are,” the dad said as we pulled into the school parking lot.

Students milled around the front doors, and nerves replaced the relief I’d been feeling.

“Have a good first day,” the dad said cheerfully, unaware of my sudden change of attitude. “And don’t forget your mom will be waiting here, right after school.”
Don’t make her wait
, was the hidden message there.
Don’t let her worry
.

“I won’t forget,” I answered. “I promise.”

Opening the car door, I stepped out, and headed straight up the steps and into the school.

Once again, I didn’t look back.

THE WARNING BELL

The first bell for homeroom was only ten minutes away. The halls were crowded with students gathered into tight clusters.

I walked in.

Everything went whispery kind of quiet. All eyes were on me. The same students who had cheered my return at the Homecoming game now stared at me with hard eyes that looked hostile and betrayed. And then I caught the edge of a whisper.

“Anna lies.”

My heart jumped and lodged in my throat. They knew. They were calling me Anna. Somehow they found out I wasn’t Annaliese.

I managed to keep walking. The area directly around my locker had been quarantined; no one wanted to catch the sickness that was me. I smelled the red nail polish before I saw the word painted across the front of my locker.

AnnaLIESe

I gasped. Not with horror, but relief. They weren’t calling me Anna. They knew nothing about the blade with the girls’ names carved into it. They knew nothing about what had happened to Annaliese before she came running out of those woods.

“Whore.” This new word came bouncing along the top of the crowd like a beach ball kept aloft by so many invisible hands.

That’s when I remembered that they did know something of what had happened to Annaliese. The part with Logan. The part that he’d very recently, very publicly confessed. By now everyone would have heard . . . and that changed everything. I had been poor little Annaliese, the victim of a bloody and gruesome attack. But with the addition of s-e-x, I’d become something else—a girl who’d done the nasty in the woods with a boy. A boy who’d been dating someone else. And in the vicious high school world, that was a girl who got what she deserved.

Just like that, Annaliese had gone from victim to vixen.

A flash of color caught the corner of my eye. The redheaded boy. He smiled right at me and winked. Somehow I knew without a doubt that the words on my locker had been his doing. Only he knew exactly how much hearing the name Anna would rattle me.

Shaking, I pulled the locker open. All of Annaliese’s books, folders, and notebooks from last year were there, neatly stacked and waiting for her. I shoved my book bag in, hanging it from a hook, and peeled off my stiff new jean jacket, letting it fall to the bottom of the locker. Finally, I grabbed the books I needed for my first few classes and the notebooks that went with them. Then there was no more procrastinating. With a deep breath, I turned, closing my locker behind me.

The mob had shifted, pretending to go about their business. But they were still watching, and they had me surrounded. I avoided looking toward where I’d seen the redheaded boy, but I could sense him still standing there, enjoying this.

I juggled my books so they were tucked into the crook of my right arm, freeing my other hand to pull the breath strips from my pocket.

That’s when a girl broke away from the crowd. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were hard and unfriendly. I recognized her. The girl in the bikini at that party. The girl in the video with Logan. The girl from Dex’s story. Kayla Robins.

“Annaliese.” She pronounced it normally, but in a way that was snide, as if just like Benedict Arnold my very name had become synonymous with an insult. “Everybody wants to know. Did they find the horrible person who did this to you yet?”

Several people snickered. Even if I hadn’t already identified her as Rice Sixteen’s girlfriend, I would’ve known from her tone—this wasn’t a question from a concerned classmate. I could’ve walked away then, or told her to fuck off. But she had this scene scripted out, and if I didn’t say my lines now, she’d find me later and we’d have to do it all over again.

“No,” I said, keeping it short. I didn’t return her smile.

“Oh, that’s
terrible
. And you don’t remember anything, right? ’Cause you have amnesia? Right?” Her hand fell on my arm, like she was trying to comfort me. I shook it off.

“Permanent brain damage actually. But yeah, I remember nothing.”

“Oh, Annaliese, don’t be mad,” she cooed. “I had to ask because it sounds so crazy, like a soap opera or something totally made up, and we’re all just trying to understand. But I guess weird things happen, right? Like my trashy truck-driver uncle told me this story the other day about how for the past year he’s seen a prostitute working the truck stop on the Ninety right outside Fredonia, and he says she looked exactly like you. Isn’t that weird?”

The bell rang, saving me from answering.

But Kayla wasn’t finished. She leaned down and hissed in my ear, “Now we’re even.” The tips of her fingers connected with my sternum. More of a poke than a push, but to someone who’d been simultaneously hollowed out and flattened, it had the effect of a knockout punch. As Kayla flounced away, books fell from my numb arms. I collapsed against my locker, my liquefied legs melting beneath me, and slid all the way to the floor.

Shoving a breath strip into my mouth, I stared at my fellow classmates’ jittery knees and shuffling feet, which were so much less certain than their hard faces.

The late bell rang. Time to be in homeroom, or be counted late.

The feet moved, purposely scattering my books even farther, bending the notebook covers, and leaving tread marks on the pages.

I sat there watching, waiting for it to be over so I could collect my things without their eyes on me. Except before the hall could empty, everyone froze all over again.

This time their stares weren’t fixated on me, but on something at the other end of the hall, coming toward them. They craned their necks, straining to see, and I found myself looking too. A part of me half hoped it was the mom, coming to kick their asses for making me cry. The thought was almost enough to make me smile.

But it was Rice Sixteen who came bursting through the crowd, his head swinging this way and that as he wildly searched for something.

Or someone.

His gaze landed on me, and he stopped in his tracks. Holy crap. He was looking for me.

Or maybe not. He looked up over me, at my locker. His lips moved as he read the word painted in red, like he was sounding it out. Maybe he was an illiterate jock. Or maybe it had never occurred to him that his confession might cost me more than it did him. Either way—he was an idiot.

Never taking his eyes off the locker, he took six deliberate steps, until finally he was close enough to plant his fist in the metal. The clang reverberated through the crowd. They swayed indecisively, afraid this might blow up in their faces, but even more afraid they would miss the explosion and have to hear about it secondhand.

The final bell rang.

“Get to class!” An adult’s voice. Finally. Striding down the hall was Mr. Hardy, the smiling principal who had greeted me when I’d been on the tour with the parents. He wasn’t smiling now.

Everyone scattered; there would be nothing more to see.

And then there was only Rice Sixteen quietly collecting my books from where they had fallen, and me slowly rising to my feet, realizing I hadn’t even made it to first period before everything went kablooey.

Mr. Hardy’s glance swept across the scene. “This is a fine mess you’ve created,” he said while he stared at my dented name-calling locker. Shaking his head, he turned to Rice Sixteen. “Go see the nurse, Logan. Get your hand cleaned up, and then you will join me in my office immediately afterward.”

It was funny to hear him called Logan, especially when he was once again wearing that same hoodie with
RICE 16
across the back.

He didn’t even acknowledge Mr. Hardy’s order, just picked up my last notebook and added it to the stack in his arms. Then he turned toward me. I reached out to accept the books, but he placed them at my feet instead.

Standing to face me once more, his eyes met mine for an instant before being obscured by his hoodie, which he was now pulling up over his head. He held it between us, and then repeated the same actions, but in reverse. The hoodie came up, over my head, and down.
RICE 16
was now printed across my back.

His warmth and smell surrounded me. A girl could lose herself in this hoodie. Lucky for me, I had nothing left to lose. I pushed my arms into the sleeves.