Made for You (23 page)

I hear several other muffled gasps and laughs throughout the room. Nate turns around and looks at me like I’ve just lost my ever-loving mind—and I may very well have lost it. I don’t know what to do. How do I save Piper? She grins at me and walks away.

“Don’t leave, okay?” I call out to her. I don’t know what to do yet, but I can’t let her go home . . . which is absurd. What am I to do? I can’t insist she never go home. I muffle a cry of frustration against Nate’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he urges.

I want to tell him, tell
Piper
, but she’s walked away. Quietly, I ask, “Keep an eye on her for me?”

He freezes, lips open on a question he can’t ask in front of everyone.

I nod.

“Okay,” he says. I know then that he believes in my visions completely. He just agreed to watch Piper—a girl he can’t stand—because of my vision.

I turn my back to him and make my way to the sofa. When I reach it, CeCe is there ready to help me sit. I smile and say, “Thanks.”

“You have some brass balls on you,” she says in a low voice. “I thought you left those back in middle school.”

“I found them again,” I say.

“I see that. The way you’re acting is all but admitting there’s something going on with Nate.
No one
has had the nerve to do that.”

CeCe reaches out for my crutches.

I tense. This is what I need: to see their deaths and look for clues. I still tense as I wait for her hand to brush mine. After my vision of Piper, I’m not ready to do this, but I need to try. I don’t release my crutches until CeCe touches me. Her knuckles graze my hands—and nothing happens.

“Eva?” CeCe prompts.

“Sorry.” I release my crutches and balance on my one foot. “I guess I’m a little out of it today.”

“We all are.”

Why didn’t it work? I stare at her and resolve to try again.

She sets my crutches to the side and reaches out one arm so I can use it to steady myself. I wait until her arm bumps my hand.

Again, nothing happens.

I want to understand why it didn’t work, but I don’t know how to figure that out. It’s not the most pressing issue either. I need to figure out how to keep Piper safe and, hopefully, be sure none of my other friends here are victims-to-be.

I’m quiet as CeCe helps me to settle on the sofa. Holding on to her arm is almost like holding Robert’s or Nate’s. I feel corded muscles under her skin, and I’m astounded at how strong she is. Grace is strong, but her biggest strengths are in her legs—which I’m sure help her plenty but wouldn’t be very useful in the same ways. CeCe clearly works out differently. If the killer attacked her, maybe she’d be able to fight. Is that a factor? Is he only picking people he can overpower?

“You’re strong,” I say stupidly.

“Swim team, tennis, and weight training.” Her expression grows serious then and she adds, “Once you’re healed, I’d be happy to help you with your PT.”

“My . . . ?”

“Your physical therapy.” She motions to the leg that I have stretched out on the sofa. “I figure Grace will help with it, but if you need another person, I’m here. It’s one of the careers I’m considering.”

“Thanks. That would be great, actually.” I’m oddly relieved that she was thinking in terms of my recovery, not in terms of the killer out there.

The sudden peal of the doorbell startles me, but before I can get back to my feet, I hear Grace call out, “It’s Grayson and them.”

A few moments later, the familiar sounds of Robert’s closest friends comfort me. This is normal. This is my real life. Even when I hear Robert’s voice, I stay mostly calm. I know the detective questioned him, but I can’t believe for even a moment that he’s capable of the kind of violence that the killer has used already—and will use against Nate and Piper if we don’t stop him.

I listen as they talk softly. I can’t tell what they’re discussing at first, but then I hear the words “fireball” and “better if the speakers were moved.” I’m glad they came. Even with everything going on, they sound normal.

But when my eyes meet Robert’s for a moment, I realize that he’s simply pretending that everything’s normal. He looks terrible. I’m not surprised though. It can’t be easy to deal with visits from the police, Amy’s death, my accident, and his secrets coming to light in such a terrible way.

I offer him a small smile.

“Yeung said you were tired.” Reid’s voice pulls my attention to him as he flops in the chair across from me. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

Maybe guys just have a different way of seeing things. Someone attempted to kill me, broke my leg, damaged my brain, and scarred my face. Reid stares at me like it’s okay to gawk.

“What?” I don’t mean to snap, but my voice is harsh.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “I said something. You say something in reply. That’s how people have a conversation. You know this. We’ve done it a million times. So let’s start again.” He takes an exaggerated breath. “Yeung says you’re tired. I’m sorry you got hurt. Now, you say . . .”

“She says, ‘Why don’t you be a little more considerate?’” CeCe answers. “You’re staring at her.”

“Hmm, you don’t
sound
like Eva,” Reid says. His smile is so slow to follow his words that for a moment I think that he’s genuinely angry with CeCe, but then he shakes his head and adds, “Don’t treat her like she’s going to break if we mention it. She’s strong. She was in the hospital, but it’s not the end of the world. She’s still
Eva
.” He bends over the arm of the chair, twisting his body and glancing toward the door. “Rob! Hey, Rob!”

Robert comes to the door of the room. “What?”

“Do you mind if I go out with Eva now that she dumped you?”

“Screw you.” Robert’s face flushes in anger.

Reid has already moved on. He calls, “Jamie, what about you? Want to flip a coin to see who gets to ask her out?”

Before Jamie can answer, Nate strides into the room. “Mind your manners around Eva.”

Reid laughs and turns back to me. “See? You have a few cuts, but every guy here still wants you.” He lowers his voice until it’s barely a whisper and adds, “I think you’re even
more
beautiful now.”

Before I can figure out what to say to that, I see Robert coming to join us.

Reid glances at him, and then turns his attention back to me. His voice is at a regular volume again when he says, “You’re still
you
, Eva, and I’m not going to pussyfoot around you.”

I shake my head. I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose.

“Someday you’re going to say something stupid to the wrong person,” I tell him.

“Inevitably.” Reid swings his legs off the chair. “I’ll leave you to your guard dogs.”

As if he’s unaware of the at least half-dozen pairs of eyes fixed on us, Robert sits in the chair Reid just vacated. Unlike Reid, Robert isn’t slouching or throwing his legs over the arm of the chair. He sits like my father would, the picture of a stiff spine and correct angles.

“Are you okay?”

Robert shakes his head. In a near-whisper, he says, “No. Not really.”

“Me either,” I say just as quietly. “I’m so sorry that Amy—”

“Please don’t.” He pulls the chair right up to the sofa so we have some semblance of privacy. “I cared about her. You have to believe me, Eva. I won’t ever get to tell her how much, but I did. I just”—he shakes his head—“it seems stupid now. I lied to myself and to you. It was stupid, but I was so afraid of what my parents would say. Instead, I have to listen to them yell at each other, blaming each other and me, for the police, for what people will think, for what
your
parents will think.”

He reaches out and grabs my hand. I vaguely notice how clammy his skin is before I fall.

I open the medicine cabinet. My mother’s “nerve pills” sit there so innocently. My nerves are a mess, so it makes a strange sort of sense to me. I open the bottle, tap some of them into my hand, and then clap my hand to my now open mouth
.

Carefully, I set the bottle on the edge of her sink. It’s one of those pedestal sinks. It’s a term I only know because of her. I also know that it only took one tab of the Vicodin she had for her pain after her face-lift and “tummy nip,” and she was knocked out. I weigh more, but I also took the other pills, so I’m not sure how many I should take. There are only five pills left, so I take four of them. I don’t want to use all her medicine in case she needs it
.

I’m not trying to overdose. I just want to be calm enough to do this. I’m not sure how many pills that will take or how long they take to work. To be safe, I take another handful of the Xanax
.

I already left a note, several of them, in fact. I labeled each envelope, and then I dropped them in the mail on the way home. Sending it by email wouldn’t give me enough time, and leaving the letters at home would probably mean the police would get them instead of the people who should get them
.

Amy can’t get hers. I buried it at her grave though. Maybe that’s stupid, but I don’t know how the whole afterlife thing works. Maybe it’s the thought that counts or maybe the dead really do stay here on earth like ghosts. Better to be safe
.

My hand wraps around the grip of my father’s snub-nosed gun. I don’t know what caliber it is. I’m sure he’s told me repeatedly, but I don’t like guns. They make me nervous. That’s why I needed my mother’s pills. They work, too. My hand is hardly shaking at all as I put the barrel between my lips. It’s cold, and it feels strange on my tongue. I squeeze the trigger
.

I jolt out of Robert’s death, jerking my hand away, and whisper, “Don’t.”

“I would never hurt you or her,” Robert is saying, possibly repeating. “You believe me, don’t you? I couldn’t. Not you, or Amy, or Micki. God, Eva, you have to be—”

“Stop. Robert, just
stop
a minute.”

He looks like he’s going to cry, and I snatch his hand back and squeeze it so tightly that he winces. My earlier intentions about not seeming crazy have all vanished. I tug so he’s half falling into my lap and tell him, “You listen to me, Robert Anthony Baucom. I
know
you. You’re weak sometimes, and you shouldn’t have been unfaithful to me
or
Amy. But, so help me God, if you even think about hurting yourself, I’ll march myself right into Hell and drag you back. Despite what you did, you’re my
friend
, and I believe you. Your parents are being . . . well, being
them
, but you’re going to ignore their anger just like you have a dozen times before.”

He’s nodding, and he’s staring at me like he’s seen something horrible and wonderful all at once. “How did you know I was going to—”

“Doesn’t matter. I
do
know, and you better promise me that you won’t do it.” I squeeze his hand harder. “They’ll catch him, and I want you to promise that you’re going to be sitting in the courtroom with me. For me
and
for Amy. You have to be there at my side for her. I need you to be here. We’ll be friends again, but you can’t . . . you
may not
try to kill yourself.”

He swallows. “The detective asked questions that made it seem like she thinks that if it wasn’t me doing it maybe it was my fault. If you both got hurt because of—”

“They have to look at every possibility.” I wish there were reassuring things I knew to say, but there aren’t words that make this any better. I’m not even sure I can tell him that it’s fairly obvious that the killings are connected to
me
. All I can think to say is: “They’ll figure it out, though, and they’ll catch him. You promise me you won’t hurt yourself.”

“I promise,” he says.

For a moment, I stare at him, trying to see if he’s lying. I’m not comforted by the fact that he apparently lied to me successfully for almost a year, but I can’t do anything else right now. I add, “We’re friends, Robert. That’s what you asked me to be. I’m willing to do it, but friends are honest, okay?”

He nods, and we sit quietly for a few seconds. Then he says, “Thank you. I don’t know how you knew I was going to . . . but thank you.”

“You gave me your word,” I remind him. “Don’t break it this time. Swear it. You call me or come here or something if you need to, but if you kill yourself . . . I won’t forgive you.”

“I swear I won’t do it,” he says. He leans closer and kisses my cheek, and I don’t see his death. I wouldn’t this time though: I still have his hand held tightly in mine.

I let go, and he stands and walks away. Any doubts I still had about my ability are gone. Robert confirmed that he was suicidal
after
I saw him in my vision. I don’t know why or how I can do this; I don’t know if it’ll fade as I finish healing. All I know for sure is that I have a way to help save my friends. I just need to make sense of it.

I think I stopped Robert’s death. Now, though, I need to figure out how to save Piper. Even though I can’t see faces in the visions, I can see enough details to make a difference. I need to use them to figure out who the killer is—and I need to do it
now
.

DAY 14: “THE PROOF”

Eva

I
LOOK AROUND THE
room for Nate. Not surprisingly, he’s watching me. All it takes to beckon Nate over is a slight incline of my head. Once he’s at my side, I share my new idea: “I need you to stop hovering. It makes some of them nervous. Help me find excuses to have them touch me. Tell people to check on me to see if I need help or to come over and hold my hand to let me know that they’re not freaked out by my slasher-chic look.”

“Don’t say shit like that.” He brushes my hair back from where it had fallen on my cheek, exposing the worst of my scars in the process. “If any of them are making you feel like—”

“It’s not them,” I interrupt. “
I
know what I look like.”

Quietly, Nate says, “Obviously, you don’t. You’re the most beautiful girl in the room.”

Part of me wants to yell at him; the rest of me wants to kiss him until he admits that he’s an idiot for thinking we can’t date. I can’t do either right now, so I settle on telling him, “This is that boundary thing I was talking about. You can’t say things like that and then push me away.”