Private 04 - Confessions (7 page)

Dash had never been to the art cemetery before. As I sat on the one divan, fiddling nervously with the key he'd lifted from Josh's room to get us in here, he strolled along the walls, admiring the rows and rows of artwork by the dim light of the one lamp we had dared to turn on. He'd risked everything sneaking into Josh's police-taped dorm to get this thing, and later he'd have to risk it again to sneak it back in so that the cops wouldn't notice it was missing. Yet there he was, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled, like he was checking out a new SoHo gallery, instead of waiting for his dead best friend's brother to show up under false pretenses he'd concocted, after which he'd have to go back to his dorm and break the law. Again.

"What if he doesn't come?" I asked. My heart was pounding in my bones. My skull throbbed.

My fingers were moist. I was a PingPong ball of nerves. He leaned in closer to an abstract painting, inspecting the signature. Infuriatingly composed. "He'll come." "But what if he doesn't?" I clutched the key. Let it cut into my palm. "What do we do next?" "Trust me. I know Blake Pearson." There was a slight laugh in his voice. "He'll come." "How can you be so calm?" I asked finally. "Meditative focus," he answered. "My older sister's kind of a New Age guru. Some of the stuff is actually useful." "Your sister. A New Age guru," I said. He turned to me and smiled. "Kind of the black sheep of the McCafferty clan." "I can only imagine." A door clicked out in the hallway. We both heard it. I got to my feet, my heart slamming against my rib cage. As the footsteps approached, I shoved my sweaty hands into the back pockets of my jeans and stood next to Dash. His size was comforting.

The door across the room opened. Blake Pearson stepped inside. He was different than I remembered him from Thomas's wake. He wore a casual sweater and coat and distressed jeans over hiking boots. His black hair was mussed and curled at the ends, which made his face look less thin. There was more color in his skin as well, but that could have been due to the extreme cold. He froze the moment he saw us, his blue eyes like ice picks. I looked up at Dash. Dash opened his mouth, and Blake turned to go. Just like that. Without a word.

"Wait!" Dash shouted. It was so loud I was sure the Easton security force was about to descend. But it had its desired effect. Blake stopped. Dash took the opportunity to cross the room and get between Blake and the door. "We just want to talk to you, man," Dash said, raising his hands.

"Oh really?" Blake said. "About what?" My heart shriveled and I had to gasp for air. His voice was exactly like Thomas's. I hadn't heard it in so many weeks, but I recognized it instantly. I backed up against the wall and blinked back the tears of shock. Pain. "What's wrong with her?" Blake asked, with a dismissive glance. "You all right?" Dash asked me. I managed to nod. "I'm fine. Go ... go ahead." "You're sure." Dash was always the gentleman.

"I'm fine," I repeated firmly. "All right. We know you were here that night, Blake," Dash said. "Why haven't you gone to the police and told them what you know?" Blake crossed his arms over his chest. "All right, McCafferty, I'll bite," he said. "What do I know?" "That Josh is innocent," Dash said, frustrated. "You and Hot Secretary are his alibi."

"Her name is Cara," Blake said, his eyes flashing with fury. "Right. Sorry. Well, maybe you and Cara can do the right thing here," Dash said. "The right thing? What are you, still living in black and white?" Blake said, pacing away. "If I go to the police, then everyone's gonna find out about me and Cara. She'll be fired, her husband will divorce her, and it'll be yet another scandal for Easton. As far as I'm concerned those are three very good reasons to keep my mouth firmly shut."

"No," I heard myself say. "What?" Blake truly looked at me for the first time. My knees felt like they weren't even there anymore, but somehow I pushed myself away from the wall.

"You have to tell," I said. "You have to. Josh's life is on the line here. I think that trumps your need to protect your mistress." "Reed," Dash said. "No. I'm right, aren't I? I mean, Josh could go to jail for the rest of his life and you're worried about your precious Cara's husband finding out that she's cheating? Well, news flash! She is cheating! Maybe she deserves to get a divorce!" "That's it. I'm outta here," Blake said, gunning for the door. "Don't you even want to know who really killed your own brother?" I blurted. My fingers curled into fists. Blake paused. For a moment I thought I'd actually gotten through to him. Then he laughed.
He tipped his head back and laughed. Loudly. Openly. Evilly. "This is unbelievable!" he said. "Thomas is dead and he's still fucking up my life!"

Cannonball, this is my gut. Gut, meet the cannonball. "What?" Dash blurted, his face contorted with disgust. "Oh, come on, Dash, don't be so naive! You know what life was like with Thomas around," Blake ranted, spittle appearing at the corners of his lips. "Him disappearing for days at a time. My parents getting woken up in the middle of the night by phone calls from some random police station in Miami or Vegas or freakin' Columbus, Ohio?

Him showing up for events late, trashed out of his mind, making scenes, embarrassing my parents, embarrassing me!" He pounded his chest with both hands. I could feel the pain coming off of him in waves, the pent-up rage just bursting to come out. I knew what it felt like. Thomas had known what it felt like. Damn if the Pearsons didn't raise two very angry kids. "Thomas was a pointless waste of existence, and all he did was screw up the lives of everyone around him."

Blake paced around the small couch and sat down on the edge of it. Dash didn't move, but I could see his chest rising and falling, like he was trying to contain something huge. I hoped that meditation thing was as good as he believed it to be. "Take this situation, for example," Blake continued, once he'd caught his breath. "Cara has refused to speak to me ever since the night of Josh's arrest. She's the love of my life and she won't even take a call from me. When I got that e-mail I thought..." He trailed off and my heart broke for him. Just a touch. He clearly loved Ms. Lewis-Hanneman, as strange as that seemed to me.

It was obvious by the torment in his eyes. And all we'd done here was give him false hope.

"Thomas is dead, and still he managed to fuck up the one good thing in my life," Blake said stoically. He stood up and turned to face me. "So to answer your question, no. I don't really care who killed him." My stomach heaved. I had to swallow a dozen times to keep down whatever was trying to come up. There was pity on Blake's face before he turned to Dash again.

"Are we done here?" he said. Dash said nothing. He'd gone catatonic. I knew the feeling. He didn't make any move to stop Blake as he slipped by him out the door. It wasn't until the outer door of Mitchell Hall slammed again that either one of us moved. I leaned back and slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor. "What just happened?" I croaked, unable to blink or turn or do anything but stare straight ahead. Straight at the spot where Blake had stood just moments ago. "I had no idea," Dash replied. "I always knew those two hated each other, but I thought it was just sibling-rivalry hate. Not real I-want-you-dead hate."

Dash sat down on the couch and hung his head in his hands. Our best hope to help Josh had

just walked out the door and was probably already speeding south on Interstate 684.

"What do we do now?" I said. Dash took a deep breath. "I have no idea."

I hadn't spoken to Josh in nine days, and that was including him shouting to me across a crowded police station. Was he okay? Was he scared? Were they allowing his parents and his brothers and sisters to see him? Was he thinking about me? These questions occupied most of my brain space that Saturday night while I sat in front of the television in the parlor. Around me other Billings Girls studied, chatted, and laughed. Only a few, since most were upstairs getting ready for Noelle's off-campus romp. At least I had put to bed the question of whether or not I was going. The dirty-hair ponytail, ripped plaid pajama pants, and a Penn State sweatshirt had to be dead giveaways of my mood.

Part of me wished I could be up there with them. Wished I could be that carefree, thinking only about which shoes went with which dress and how to do my hair. I had just started to get into that stuff since meeting the Billings Girls and I missed it. I missed being able to enjoy those things. But I couldn't. Not now. Maybe not ever again. "So, girls, which do you think is a better Christmas present for a new boyfriend with rock-star aspirations?" Cheyenne asked, bouncing into the room. She was wearing a red plaid skirt and a white ballet-neck top. Girl seemed to have an endless supply of season-appropriate outfits.

"Backstage passes to the Fray and a meet-and-greet with the band, or three recording sessions in a state-of-the-art studio?"

"Recording sessions, definitely," Natasha replied, not looking up from her political science book. "The Fray doesn't fully qualify as 'rock,' anyway." "Who the heck are the Fray?" Rose added. Cheyenne blinked. "Both good points," she said, whipping out her gold-plated cell phone. "Studio time it is." Unbelievable. Adam Robinson had had a birthday over the summer when we'd been dating, and I'd gotten him a Philadelphia Flyers hat. On sale. Cheyenne quickly finished her business on the phone and sat down next to me.

She smoothed her blond hair behind her shoulder and smiled in a friendly way. "So, Reed.

How are you doing?" she asked, lightly touching my shoulder before bringing her elbow up to rest on the back of the couch. "Have you heard anything from Josh?" Natasha glanced up, probably as surprised as I was. Nobody had asked me this question. Nobody had asked me anything about Josh's arrest or how it was affecting me. Until that very moment everyone, including Natasha, who was probably my best friend in Billings at this point, had chosen to take the don't-ask-don't-tell tack. I was touched that she'd thought to ask, but at the same time didn't remotely want to answer.

"No," I said. "I guess he's not allowed to make phone calls, really." "You don't think he did it, do you?" she asked. "I know he didn't." "Good." She readjusted herself so that she was fully facing the TV and smoothed her skirt over her thighs. "The very idea that someone on this campus might have had something to do with it makes me wake up in a cold sweat some nights." I couldn't imagine Cheyenne sweating, let alone admitting to it.

"Did you think that he did do it?" Natasha asked.
"No. I don't know," Cheyenne said. "I never knew either one of those guys very well, but Reed did. Does. Whatever. If she says he didn't do it, then I believe it."
She flashed her perfectly straight, whitening-stripped smile, and I felt inexplicably warm. In a good way.
"Now all we have to do is convince the rest of the world," I said.
"What I want to know is when they're going to figure it out," Cheyenne said. "I just hope this doesn't turn into one of those unsolved-mystery things, because that would not be pleasant."
I turned green at the thought and sank down lower in my seat.
"They'll figure it out," Natasha said confidently. "They're just missing some piece of the puzzle. As soon as they find it, it'll all fall into place."
We heard the sound of voices and footsteps descending the stairs. Apparently Noelle and her troupe were ready for their big night. Cheyenne cleared her throat and faced forward, her back to the door, as Noelle, Ariana, Kiran, Vienna, London, and a couple other girls gathered there. The moment I saw them, dressed to the nines in silk and diamonds, teetering on their high heels and made up like movie stars, I almost caved. This was fabulousness personified. Wasn't this the reason I'd wanted to be friends with them in the first place? But I couldn't do it. There was a point to be made here. Plus there was too much risk. If I was caught where I wasn't supposed to be one more time, the dean would no longer be able to ignore it. Sneaking to the police station and to Hell Hall and the art cemetery was one thing--that was all for Josh. But this, this was just to get drunk and be seen. The only person I wanted to be seen by anymore was Josh Hollis. He was the only one who mattered.
"Well, we're off," Kiran said happily, lifting the slim strap on her red dress, which had fallen down over her shoulder. "Have fun getting caught," Natasha said under her breath.
"Are you guys sure you want to do this?" I asked, turning in my seat. They really did look beautiful, standing there all in a row, all perfect skin and dramatic eyes and shimmering fabrics. "Are you sure you don't?" Noelle asked. "Because we can wait a few minutes if you'd like to run off and take your first shower of the week." There were a few snickers, which I ignored. "You do realize that if you get caught, we're all going to be in trouble," Cheyenne said flatly.
"If we get caught, which we won't, nothing is going to happen," Noelle said, lifting her gold wristlet. "How long do you girls have to live in this dorm before you understand how it works?" "I don't know," Cheyenne said. "With everything that's been going on lately, I'm not sure the old rules apply." "Well, that's your problem then, isn't it?" Noelle said.
She walked over to the couch and leaned into it. "Reed, I'm not mad at you for last night, if that's what you're thinking. I know you're just stressed and overtired and you snapped. To be honest, I was actually kind of proud of you." "She thinks she's rubbing off," Kiran put in. I wasn't sure whether to feel sick or proud of that theory. I was more focused on how totally self-centered she was. Did she really think I wasn't coming to New York with them because I thought she was mad at me? Had she listened to absolutely nothing I'd said in the past week? "So come on. Don't be lame. Come with us," Noelle said, nudging me with her bag.

"Thanks. I'd rather watch the Rudolph special for the two hundredth time," I told her. Noelle's eyes darkened for a split second and my blood ran cold, but she quickly cleared it away with a smile. "All right then. You all stay here and work on spreading your asses. Meanwhile, we'll be hooking up and dodging paparazzi all night." "Well, have fun. Try not to bring home any new diseases!" Natasha joked. Noelle leveled her with a glare before turning and striding out. The moment the door closed behind them, we all laughed. Even me.