Dangerous Girls
Page 66
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“Who would do this?” Melanie finally demands, her voice raw. “Who would do this to her?”
I close my eyes and sink back against Tate’s chest, feeling his arms press tightly around me. But the sight of her body stays, vivid in my mind: so red, and torn, and empty.
“They’ll find him,” Lamar says quietly, Chelsea sobbing into his neck. “We’ll make him pay.”
We wait in a silence punctuated by sobs. Headlights pass on the main street nearby; we can faintly hear music from the hotel down the beach. Behind us, the ocean is an inky shadow beyond the bright lights of the bars. And Elise is gone now, forever.
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Now, Anna, I know that we all want to hear: What did you feel, when you heard that verdict being read?”
I pause, flashing back for a moment to that day in the courtroom and the few seconds that changed everything. “Relief,” I finally answer with a small smile. “Just, relief. I was overwhelmed, I could hardly speak. After all that time, expecting the worst, to finally be found innocent . . . And it wasn’t just about me,” I add quickly. “I was relieved for Elise, too. The worst part of all of it was knowing that if I was found guilty, the person who really killed her would be getting away with it. At least now, maybe they can find him.”
Clara smiles at me, warm and supportive. She’s walking beside me in the graveyard, fall leaves tumbling red and orange to the ground around us. The interview setting was their idea, of course: to cap my homecoming tell-all with a heartfelt visit to Elise’s grave. I didn’t want to do it—I didn’t want to ever lay eyes on Clara Rose again—but the money they were offering was too big to pass up. From the moment the verdict came back innocent, we’ve had networks and newspapers all clamoring for my exclusive interview. Every time I said no, it only made them chase harder, so in the end it was easier just to pick one and be done with it. And after all the money I cost him, it’s the least I can do for my dad to try to pay him back somehow.
“So what’s ahead for you now?” Clara asks, bundled in a fitted powder-blue jacket. I have a white woolen coat on, and pink mittens, the result of intense debate among the wardrobe team. They wanted me in red, but I wasn’t about to fall for that again. I insisted on the white, worn over a knee-length skirt and a pale pastel sweater. The colors of innocence.
“I’m taking some time,” I reply. “Spending time with my family, and friends. It’s good just to be home again for now; I missed it so much. Then I’m thinking about college. I’d like to study law, eventually,” I add. “This whole experience has shown me how important it is to have people who believe in you, and who fight for what’s right.”
“Inspirational.” Clara nods. “Just wonderful. Now, I know so many of our viewers were rooting for you,” she coos, “sending their thoughts and prayers all through your detention and trial. Do you have any message for them?”
“Just thank you.” I clasp my hand to my chest, looking directly into the camera. “The people who never gave up on me . . . It means more than you could ever know.”
“And thank you, Anna, for sharing your story with us.” Clara smiles. “I know that everyone here, across the country, wishes you all the best in what’s to come.”
“Thank you, Clara,” I tell her warmly.
“And, cut!”
“You get that?” Clara yells across to the producer.
He gives the thumbs-up. “Can we set up the graveside shots now? Maybe some more powder on Anna?”
I take my microphone off and let the makeup woman dab at my face as they dismantle the lights and rigging from around Elise’s grave. The headstone is fresh, gleaming marble, and there’s a flickering tea light set on top.
“Here.” A production assistant hands me a bunch of flowers to set on the grave. “Peonies, right?”
I nod. They’re out of season, but they were always her favorite. Something about this should be real, at the very least.
“Good work,” Clara chats, checking her cell phone. “We’ll start running the previews tonight. Have you finalized your book deal yet?”
“We’re still talking to people,” I answer coolly. “I haven’t picked a publisher yet.”
“Well, let me know when it’s coming out. I’d love to have you back.”
Of course she would. “Sure,” I reply, with a fake smile. “I’ll have my agent set it up.”
They finally clear the area, then walk me through the staging of the final scene. It’s a long-distance shot, wide-angle from across the graveyard. They want me standing at her graveside, then kneeling to place the flowers down, preferably with a single teardrop sliding down my well-powdered cheek. I follow their directions obediently, take after take, as they struggle against the wind and confetti of fall leaves. I don’t mind it so much. After everything, I know how important a single shot can be, the story that can replace facts and hard evidence with just a single, perfect frame.
“One more time?” The producer calls. I nod, and walk slowly back to the grave.
Elise Judith Warren.
Loving daughter, beloved friend.
Always in our hearts.
I lean down, and gently place the flowers on the damp grass. I trace the letters of the headstone, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I still miss her, every day. When they call it a tragedy, they’re right. We could have still been together, if only she’d been true to me. If she’d only known what she was bringing on herself, maybe she would have thought twice.
Instead, she had to go and break my heart.
“And, cut!”
They tell me it’s a wrap, and slowly the crew dismantles, packing up the vans and heading out. But I stay, right by her grave, until the last car winds its way out toward the main gates, and I’m finally alone. The skies are gray and overcast, the graveyard, totally empty.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull it out: the necklace. The chipped metal of the pentagram pendant, the chain broken, still stained with her blood.
I close my fist around it and lean in close to whisper.
“I win.”
BEFORE
“Babe, can you pass me that soda?”
There’s no reply.
“Tate?”
I reluctantly sit up, squinting through the dark glass of my shades. The gentle curve of the beach stretches in front of me: sparkling white sand leading down to the crystal-blue waters lapping gently against the shore. The sun is hot in a cloudless sky, warming my bare skin. It’s perfection.
I close my eyes and sink back against Tate’s chest, feeling his arms press tightly around me. But the sight of her body stays, vivid in my mind: so red, and torn, and empty.
“They’ll find him,” Lamar says quietly, Chelsea sobbing into his neck. “We’ll make him pay.”
We wait in a silence punctuated by sobs. Headlights pass on the main street nearby; we can faintly hear music from the hotel down the beach. Behind us, the ocean is an inky shadow beyond the bright lights of the bars. And Elise is gone now, forever.
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Now, Anna, I know that we all want to hear: What did you feel, when you heard that verdict being read?”
I pause, flashing back for a moment to that day in the courtroom and the few seconds that changed everything. “Relief,” I finally answer with a small smile. “Just, relief. I was overwhelmed, I could hardly speak. After all that time, expecting the worst, to finally be found innocent . . . And it wasn’t just about me,” I add quickly. “I was relieved for Elise, too. The worst part of all of it was knowing that if I was found guilty, the person who really killed her would be getting away with it. At least now, maybe they can find him.”
Clara smiles at me, warm and supportive. She’s walking beside me in the graveyard, fall leaves tumbling red and orange to the ground around us. The interview setting was their idea, of course: to cap my homecoming tell-all with a heartfelt visit to Elise’s grave. I didn’t want to do it—I didn’t want to ever lay eyes on Clara Rose again—but the money they were offering was too big to pass up. From the moment the verdict came back innocent, we’ve had networks and newspapers all clamoring for my exclusive interview. Every time I said no, it only made them chase harder, so in the end it was easier just to pick one and be done with it. And after all the money I cost him, it’s the least I can do for my dad to try to pay him back somehow.
“So what’s ahead for you now?” Clara asks, bundled in a fitted powder-blue jacket. I have a white woolen coat on, and pink mittens, the result of intense debate among the wardrobe team. They wanted me in red, but I wasn’t about to fall for that again. I insisted on the white, worn over a knee-length skirt and a pale pastel sweater. The colors of innocence.
“I’m taking some time,” I reply. “Spending time with my family, and friends. It’s good just to be home again for now; I missed it so much. Then I’m thinking about college. I’d like to study law, eventually,” I add. “This whole experience has shown me how important it is to have people who believe in you, and who fight for what’s right.”
“Inspirational.” Clara nods. “Just wonderful. Now, I know so many of our viewers were rooting for you,” she coos, “sending their thoughts and prayers all through your detention and trial. Do you have any message for them?”
“Just thank you.” I clasp my hand to my chest, looking directly into the camera. “The people who never gave up on me . . . It means more than you could ever know.”
“And thank you, Anna, for sharing your story with us.” Clara smiles. “I know that everyone here, across the country, wishes you all the best in what’s to come.”
“Thank you, Clara,” I tell her warmly.
“And, cut!”
“You get that?” Clara yells across to the producer.
He gives the thumbs-up. “Can we set up the graveside shots now? Maybe some more powder on Anna?”
I take my microphone off and let the makeup woman dab at my face as they dismantle the lights and rigging from around Elise’s grave. The headstone is fresh, gleaming marble, and there’s a flickering tea light set on top.
“Here.” A production assistant hands me a bunch of flowers to set on the grave. “Peonies, right?”
I nod. They’re out of season, but they were always her favorite. Something about this should be real, at the very least.
“Good work,” Clara chats, checking her cell phone. “We’ll start running the previews tonight. Have you finalized your book deal yet?”
“We’re still talking to people,” I answer coolly. “I haven’t picked a publisher yet.”
“Well, let me know when it’s coming out. I’d love to have you back.”
Of course she would. “Sure,” I reply, with a fake smile. “I’ll have my agent set it up.”
They finally clear the area, then walk me through the staging of the final scene. It’s a long-distance shot, wide-angle from across the graveyard. They want me standing at her graveside, then kneeling to place the flowers down, preferably with a single teardrop sliding down my well-powdered cheek. I follow their directions obediently, take after take, as they struggle against the wind and confetti of fall leaves. I don’t mind it so much. After everything, I know how important a single shot can be, the story that can replace facts and hard evidence with just a single, perfect frame.
“One more time?” The producer calls. I nod, and walk slowly back to the grave.
Elise Judith Warren.
Loving daughter, beloved friend.
Always in our hearts.
I lean down, and gently place the flowers on the damp grass. I trace the letters of the headstone, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I still miss her, every day. When they call it a tragedy, they’re right. We could have still been together, if only she’d been true to me. If she’d only known what she was bringing on herself, maybe she would have thought twice.
Instead, she had to go and break my heart.
“And, cut!”
They tell me it’s a wrap, and slowly the crew dismantles, packing up the vans and heading out. But I stay, right by her grave, until the last car winds its way out toward the main gates, and I’m finally alone. The skies are gray and overcast, the graveyard, totally empty.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull it out: the necklace. The chipped metal of the pentagram pendant, the chain broken, still stained with her blood.
I close my fist around it and lean in close to whisper.
“I win.”
BEFORE
“Babe, can you pass me that soda?”
There’s no reply.
“Tate?”
I reluctantly sit up, squinting through the dark glass of my shades. The gentle curve of the beach stretches in front of me: sparkling white sand leading down to the crystal-blue waters lapping gently against the shore. The sun is hot in a cloudless sky, warming my bare skin. It’s perfection.
