Beware That Girl (29 page)

Olivia got it now. Ha! She
got
Plath. Kate would be so proud. Kate. She had threatened Kate about even mentioning Mark. Olivia got up on shaky legs, avoiding the mirror at all costs. She would see them. They were worse than those of her Houston roommate, the cutter. With some pride, the girl—what was her name?—had outlined the ritual, the necessity, the release afterward. Olivia couldn’t listen. She was so completely freaked out by the scars. Whatshername had made them with a special paper cutter, or a kitchen knife, or in worst-case scenarios any old pair of scissors or sharp object. The thing that terrorized Olivia was that you could still see cuts that had been made months and even years earlier.

“Marked” forever. That’s what
he
said. Olivia chugged back the dregs of her wine before she slipped into her clothes. Mark lay on the bed, his head propped up by his beautiful sculpted arm.

She shuddered.

“Remember”—his voice was low, gravelly—“I’m growing impatient.”

Olivia nodded, finished dressing and stumbled out of the apartment and into a cab.

Somehow she got into the penthouse and into her room and into her bathroom. She stripped and turned the taps to scalding. She forgot to look away. On her way in, she saw.

2:46 a.m.

I shot out of bed like a bullet. The keening, piercing howl was animal-like. I scrambled in the dark, desperate to locate Bruce, but he was there right beside me. Ever since Olivia had started coming home at all hours, he’d taken to sleeping in my bed. Bruce did not like his bedtime routine disturbed. I switched on the light. He wagged his tail at me, but you could tell he was annoyed. Did I dream it?

There again. A cry from hell.

Olivia! I sprinted to her room, stumbling over dog bones and squeaky toys. Then complete silence, just the chugging of blood in my ears. I knocked.

No answer. Nothing. I opened the bedroom door and walked in, hovering at the foot of her bed. It was empty.

Bruce headed straight for the closed bathroom door and started pawing at it. I could hear the taps gushing at full blast. I knocked gently. There it was—a keening, though much softer now.

“Olivia?” I knocked louder. “Olivia, it’s me and Bruce. Are you okay?”

The crying stopped. The water did not.

“Olivia?”

“Sorry, guys. I’m okay. Too much wine and hit myself on the counter. I’m okay. Go to bed. Really, I’m good. Promise.”

Bruce and I looked at each other. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Promise.”

I stopped panting and turned around. Her new Zac Posen dress was crumpled on the floor like she’d just stepped out of it. He liked dresses. I bent over to retrieve it and lay it on the bed. It was ruined. The white silk lining was covered in strange little splotches. What? Was that blood?

Oh, God.

“I’m here, Olivia. Do you hear me? I’m here and always will be, got it? Whenever you’re ready. Olivia?”

“Please go away.”

5:03 p.m.

Olivia was panicking and in heavy pacing mode. Anka had come in “for to dusting” the artwork and lingered.

“It’s okay, Anka. I took it this morning.”

“I did not for sure be saying noting!” Anka did her best impersonation of someone being falsely accused. Bruce sidled up to her, recognizing her for the soft touch that she was. “Okay. Za dinner is in oven. Ven Kate is coming, please eat. I am taking za doggie for a big valking now.”

Olivia watched her housekeeper and house pet depart, and then she resumed marching.
How could she do it? She couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. Kate was her best friend, her lifeline. Couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t.

She didn’t have a choice.

At 5:35, Kate finally rolled in from doing her research on the crazies. She caught Olivia in mid-stride. “Hey, what’s up? Where’s…?”

“Anka took Bruce to Central Park, or at least that’s what I think she meant when she said ‘a big valking.’ ”

Kate smiled.

“Let’s eat, Kate, I’m hungry. Want to eat?”

Kate slid out of her backpack and school jacket, eyeing her friend warily. “Sure, especially if you’re actually going to ingest food. I’ll pour you some wine.”

The girls settled themselves at the kitchen island, doling out cutlery, grilled salmon, salad and wine. Olivia downed her glass in two gulps.

“Whoa, friend of mine, what’s up?” Kate’s smile faded. “Do you have to see him tonight?”

Have to.

“At eleven,” she said, pouring more wine. “And ‘have to’ isn’t fair, Kate. You…you so haven’t been fair to Mark from the beginning. Right from the start, you threw up roadblocks, even though he was so great about you chairing the Wonders and so concerned about you and…well, he cares deeply about us—about you, in particular—you know?”

She watched Kate swallow whatever she was going to say.

Olivia got up, holding on to the counter with one hand and her glass with another. “Not only should you cut him some slack, but you should, uh…”

Kate stood. “What’s going on, Olivia?”

Couldn’t shouldn’t wouldn’t…

“I’m just saying, well, he’s so smart and he can be incredibly sweet, and if you’d just give him a chance…”

Kate walked over and put an arm around her. “Olivia, stop. Why are you crying?”

She was crying?

Kate wrapped her arms around her friend. “Shh, it’s okay. It will be okay.”

“No, Kate.” She pushed her away. “No, it won’t. He wants
you
! He wants me to deliver you to him, like gift-wrapped or something.” Now she was shaking as well as crying. “And no, I’m not jealous! Not anymore—well, not much—but if I don’t, you have no idea…if I don’t, he’ll…oh, Kate, he’ll…”

Kate took the wineglass from Olivia and placed it on the island. “He’ll what?” Her voice was soft. “Tell me that you had a little gone-nuts episode? Tell me that you weren’t pregnant at all? That Houston was a psych ward stay? Is that what he’s threatening you with? Is that it?”

Olivia fell into the chair.

Kate took her hands. “It’s okay. I know it all, and I love you even more. I broke into Kruger’s secret files two days ago, and believe you me, this school is sitting on a crapload of ‘For Your Eyes Only’ stuff. You and me, girl, are the least of it. Listen, Redkin has access to our stuff because he’s been playing Kruger like a violin.”

“What?” Olivia could not stop shaking. “What?”

“It’s official—Redkin is a horror show. And he’s probably left a trail of crap at every single school he’s been at. Are you listening? It’s not just you. It’s not your fault. He is a MONSTER!”

Olivia reached for a paper towel and blew her nose.

“The man is a predator, pure and simple—and oh so proud of it. He knows I’m on to him. I let him know. In his warped world he thinks we’re alike, sick soul mates or something. Wait ’til you see the book he gave me.” Kate dashed out of the room and then dashed back, brandishing the copy of
Snakes in Suits.
Olivia took the book because it was expected of her, but in truth, she was several steps behind. She was still way back at the “I know it all, and I love you even more” part. She looked at Kate, trying to discern deception. All she saw was searing anger.

“Focus, Olivia. It’s time to focus! I know of at least one suicide at a school where’s he’s been, and I’d bet my soul that there are more. He gets off on it, on us, on girls and women like
us.
”

Us? That confused Olivia. The important takeaway was that Kate still cared about her.

“Turf me out or whatever, but pay attention. Redkin is dangerous—really, really dangerous.”

It was like being enveloped in a warm bath. “You really forgive me? Mark, the lies, my illness?” She felt her heartbeat accelerating. “If Yale finds out, I…they said it’s not likely to happen again. I’m really good about the pills—I really am—but…” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “Sure, the others have stuff, but I, like, really checked out from reality for a bit there.”

“I don’t care!
This
is our reality.” Kate squeezed her hand. “I’m not just patting you on the head. Everybody has something.
Everybody.
”

Kate reached into her purse and retrieved a newspaper clipping.

Olivia looked up at her, confused. “Who is Stephen Medvev?”

“Read it.”

THE CALGARY TRIBUNE, SATURDAY, AUGUST 13

“You Can’t Kill a Cockroach!” Says Murdering Father

Stephen Medvev was led away in handcuffs from 322 Bolger Avenue in Fort McMurray. His wife, Janet Medvev, 41, was pronounced dead at the scene, after what sources say was a brutal beating and multiple stab wounds. His daughter, thirteen-year-old Katie Medvev, was medevaced to Centennial Hospital in Calgary with life-threatening injuries. Neighbors called the police just after midnight when they heard screams coming from the Medvev house. Mr. Medvev was heard to say to a police officer that “they had it coming.”

Mr. Medvev is a supervisor with Energo Extraction. Colleagues and neighbors have expressed shock and dismay.

“Steve was the total package—smart, on top of things and totally in control,” said John Tilsdale, an executive vice president with Energo. “We offer our heartfelt prayers to the Medvev family in the face of this tragedy.”

Neighbors describe Mr. Medvev as charming and helpful. “Everybody loved him.”

Sources say that Mr. Medvev laughed as his daughter was being loaded into the ambulance. “Kid’ll be fine,” he reportedly said. “She’s like me, man. The kid’s a cockroach. You can’t kill a cockroach!”

Mr. Medvev was taken into custody without bail. Katie Medvev is listed in critical condition.

Olivia looked up at Kate. “What’s this? This isn’t…”

“Yes, it is. It’s me. It’s us—my father, my mother. I’m the cockroach.” Kate’s eyes looked hot. “As you can see, he was right. I made it. And I
didn’t
come through that circle of hell just to let Mark Redkin take me down. I promise you, Olivia. He won’t get either of us.”

“Medvev?”

“That’s his name, and it was mine.” Kate got up and then sat back down. “He’ll get out eventually and search for Katie Medvev. So she doesn’t exist anymore. He killed her in so many ways.” Kate hugged herself. “PTSD doesn’t begin to cover it. On the heels of that nightmare was the trial nightmare and the child services nightmare and the foster parents nightmare, and I know how this will sound, but”—she put her head in her hands—“after all that, the thing that almost broke me was the nonstop hounding by the press. I guess Cockroach Katie, indestructible kid, was too sweet a story to let go. They hunted me down wherever I went, wanting a ‘where is she now’ update, taking pictures, sticking mics in my face. And then it would start all over again—I’d become instantly untouchable.”

Kate stood up again and stayed standing. “I changed schools three times. Each time because a staff person let it slip or some kid Googled my name. And each time was uglier than the one before. I couldn’t go through it one more time.” She turned to Olivia. “It all got worked out at Trinity Prep. We legally changed my name. My mom was Irish, so O’Brien.”

Olivia was having trouble digesting this. It was as if the words came close to her but fell to the floor before they penetrated. Kate?

“Olivia, pay attention!” Kate snapped her fingers. “So Trinity Prep and Waverly both swore to secrecy, and other than Kruger and Goodlace, no staff would ever know the whole story. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Draper knows the story to this day. Look, I can take just about anything, but not my story coming out. Ever. People knowing, looking, the press, having to relive it all…and Redkin knows that.”

It was too much to take in. Olivia inhaled and caught herself. The rock in her chest was gone. She could breathe. At least she could breathe. She crumpled the newspaper clipping and tossed it in the garbage.