Deviant (20 page)

Abigail nodded. She furrowed her brow. “Right … I might know Jennifer …” Of course she didn’t know any of them.

“Really! If you see her, tell her hi from Uncle Jack.”

“I will do,” Abigail said quietly.

He was already buzzing her through the door.

A
FTER AN OVERLONG STAY
at the water fountain, she sat opposite Joe in the visiting area. His left arm was in a large plaster. He wore a sling. Injuries aside, he looked a lot better than he had the last time. His face had color.

“Hi, Joe,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“Broke my arm,” he said with a dull grin.

“Sorry, I should’ve—”

“I was just being stupid,” he interrupted. “I deserved it.”

Abigail searched his eyes. They were clear, but the voice was off. He must have been on painkillers. “Do you remember me?”

“Yes, of course I do. Abigail. From Scotland.”

“You know about Becky?”

“Yeah.” He smiled sadly. “What a waste.”

Abigail swallowed. “Are you okay?”

“I am.” Nothing flickered behind that attentive gaze. “I mean, even with the broken arm, I’m feeling pretty good. You?”

“Fine. Listen, I was just wanting to find out more about Becky. Do you have any stories or photos or anything? It’s just that I didn’t know her—”

“Stories?” he interrupted again. “Let me think. I met her out on the streets. She liked my graffiti. She asked me if I wanted to join. They were wrong, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“They had it all wrong. She was unhappy. I’m not surprised she killed herself.”

“What the hell?” Abigail spat. “Are you—” She stopped.

He shrugged. His vacant smile remained intact.

Goosebumps rose on Abigail’s arms. She didn’t know Joe very well—at all, really—but the kid she’d met the other night, the kid Becky was so desperate to rescue, was not the kid sitting in front of her.
I’m not surprised she killed herself
. It was Melanie déjà vu. He’d taken off his mask as the Alien Lizard Stepmom had done back in the laundry room. Only in Joe’s case, the true face
was
a mask, the same mask Melanie usually wore.

“So, do … um, do you have any photos or letters?” Abigail asked. She wanted to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

“No.”

“Have you seen Stick? Heard from him?”

“Matthew? No, he phoned after she died, said he missed her. They were close, those two. When they weren’t hanging out together, they’d be texting or chatting on their phones all day.”

Matthew
. So now he was going all formal on her. Had to be prescription painkillers, right? Or maybe the room was bugged and he was paranoid. He’d been a lot more fidgety before. Nobody was that good an actor; she’d been around enough desperate or drugged people to know. The stare was blank, but focused.
On her
. The mask was reality. She turned away uncomfortably and looked out into the quadrangle. Last time she’d peeked through that window, boys had been laying into each other with knives. Now they were sitting calmly on benches, chatting.

“Quiet here today,” she commented.

“It’s amazing. You can make anywhere pleasant, anywhere, with a bit of positivity.”

Abigail whirled back to him. This was Joe, wasn’t it? This was the Juvie, wasn’t it? Not only had Becky promised to spring him from this place—which wouldn’t have been so hard, by the looks of it—she’d committed suicide by way of reneging. The memory of Nieve’s funeral flashed through Abigail’s mind, of being trapped against her will. Maybe this
was
an act. Maybe he’d planned something to honor Becky. “Have you been painting?” she asked carefully.

“Nah.”

“They didn’t give your stuff back?”

“Oh yeah, they did, but … I’m thinking of doing an apprenticeship.”

“An apprenticeship? With a painter?”

“No.” He laughed. “Plumbing. Honest work. I’ve got leaflets.”

“Right.” Abigail took a few quick breaths. “So you’ve not heard from Stick?”

“Beg your pardon? I missed that. Your accent.”

“
Matthew? Have you talked to him?”

“No, I’m through with him.” He stood and extended a hand. “I should go back to my room. It’s really cool of you to visit, though. Thanks.”

Abigail didn’t return the handshake. She accidentally knocked a chair over as she fled the room. The guard buzzed her through.

“What’s going on here?” she hissed. Her fingers drummed the counter.

“I know, right?” the guard said. “It’s great. Something in the water. Last few shifts have been the best I’ve ever had.” He retrieved the phone Abigail had relinquished and handed it back to her with a laugh. “Pollok, Glasgow! Who’da thought it!”

A
BIGAIL REMOVED HER SHOES
for the walk home. There were some patches of grass along the way. Mostly the hot concrete burned the soles of her feet. She tried walking on her tiptoes. Sometimes she jumped from one discarded newspaper or shopping bag to the next, a lone frog on a toxic lily pond. The burning was better than the pain she felt when her blisters rubbed against her shoes. As far as the thirst, she tried to ignore it. Eventually, her mind filled with the familiar haze of drudgery. No need to go back to Glasgow, at least. This was just as bad, possibly worse.

Only once did something catch her eye.

A freeway overpass.
That
freeway overpass. The one she’d helped vandalize.

The billboard—where Abigail had held the ladder for Joe, where she’d tried not to admire Stick’s photographs, where she’d cursed her sister’s name—was blank.

Well, not quite. It was glued over with an advertisement for life insurance.

G
RAHAME STOPPED HER WHEN
she staggered into the front hall. His eyes swept her body from head-to-toe. “Good God, where have you been? What have you done to your feet?”

She opened her mouth.
Haven’t broken in my shoes
, she wanted to say. All that came out was a croak.

“Why didn’t you use the car service? Or call us?”

Before she could protest, he was rushing her into the kitchen and sitting her down in a cushioned chair. He ran a basin of warm water and filled it with antiseptic, lifting her ankles and dipping her feet in it gently. “This may sting a little.”

“Ow!” She jerked her feet out with a splash.

“I need to take care of you, Abigail,” he said. “I didn’t take care of Sophie or Becky.”

My God
. He’d actually said her mother’s name.

“You loved Sophie, didn’t you?” she asked, squeezing the words from her dry throat.

He drew in a quick breath. “Your mother was a handful,” he said. Once again, his tone became stern and distant. He
grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and handed it to her. “You’re going to need Band-Aids on those blisters.”

“Um … thanks.” She stared up at him.

“I’m heading out for a meeting.”

“Can I come?”

His eyes narrowed. “What? No. Why would you even ask?”

“I’m your daughter. You just said you have to take care of me.”

“Abigail, you misunderstand. I’m sorry. This is a business meeting.” He hurried from the kitchen.

Seconds later, the front door slammed behind him.

Abigail yanked her feet from the bowl. Melanie would have a fit if she walked in and saw this dripping mess, fouling up her kitchen.
Good. Let’s see a fit
. Abigail hobbled for some towels in the cupboard, wrapped her bloody toes, and then plopped back down in the chair.

Grahame was right. She
did
misunderstand. He’d washed her feet, and then he’d washed his hands—of her. Just like Stick’s dad. The fathers around here made no sense at all. Not that she cared. She pulled Becky’s phone from her pocket and began to flip through the texts between Becky and Stick.

Stick:
be there at 10

Becky:
he’s watching my every move

Stick:
sent you the file

Becky:
i think Melanie was done

Stick:
better move things to the house

Becky:
this morning he begged me to keep away. cried
.

Stick:
tomorrow afternoon!

Becky:
think someone’s been in my room

Stick:
we’ll get him out. meet you at new begs at 7

Before that last exchange, they read like gibberish. All but one, the day before Abigail arrived, from Becky:
he has a small box full of it in his den. he wants to do me. thinks it’ll help. I changed it. like the taffy
.

Abigail chewed her lip. The first day, Becky had referred to Grahame’s den as “the torture chamber.” Was Grahame into …?

No, there was no point in going to such a dark place. Besides, she’d seen runaway girls at No Life abused at the hands of their fathers. None of what she saw here sounded the same warning bells. This was just plain creepy, for reasons she couldn’t begin to guess.

There was only one video on the phone, the one she’d made with Becky. But there were dozens of photographs, all of the graffiti she’d done—up to that that last one with Abigail, signed with a large A at the bottom. Sliding her way from image to image, she counted seven works of “art” altogether. They were all exactly the same: faceless young zombies.

She checked the letters at the bottom.

One was signed with a “C.”

One with an “R.”

The next, a “G.”

An “H.”

Then an “O.”

Last, an “N.”

And, of course, the “A” at the sign she had helped with. Which was now gone. The images were in all kinds of places; they were huge and easy to see. Of course they were. It was
the Graffiti Tease, the big new craze corrupting LA’s youth, if Stick’s father were to be believed.

Well, he could rest easy, Abigail thought bitterly. The Graffiti Tease was over. More than over. As she’d just seen with her own eyes, it was already being erased.

M
ELANIE MADE THEM THICK
, rich, duck curry for dinner, with foul globs of jelly. If the stepmom was upset about having to clean the kitchen earlier, she didn’t let on. The default-content-wifey mask was firmly back in place.

Abigail opted out of the charade. Besides, the stink alone was enough to keep her away. She had zero appetite. And Grahame was too distracted from his “business meeting” to complain about her absence at the table.

At her desk, she printed out the graffiti images and glued them into Becky’s Book of Remembrance, one page at a time.

She found a picture of Stick online: a year-old Bebo profile pic, and stuck it to the next page. Weird; he was absent from Facebook and Google Images, just as he’d been absent from Becky’s funeral. Was it deliberate? Was he trying to stay under the radar? Joe had much more material on him, most of it relating to his arrest. Several newspaper articles, in fact. “
Youth gets six months for vandalism and resisting arrest,”
read a headline. She cut and pasted the image of his face from that one, printed it, and stuck it on the page after that.

What next? She’d save the letter from their mother for last.

Only the rich need fire in their bellies
. Becky had typed this on her computer the night she died. Abigail found herself
scribbling the words on the blank page. Then she grabbed the phone and copied down the text messages, as meaningless as they seemed. Any scrap, no matter how tiny and strange, still added up to Becky’s life.

be there at 10

sent you the file

he has a box of it in his den. I think he’s going to do me. Thinks it’ll help. I changed it
.

On and on … From memory, she drew a picture of Becky’s room as it had been before they cleared it. The desks, computers, bed, fridge, bar. Was she being silly, drawing pictures of the clothes she’d worn when they met? The crop top. The jeans. The belly-button jewelry—she’d never thought about it before, but the ring had a pendant: two tiny silver birds, their wings spread, free. Not unlike Nieve’s …

Her heart squeezed.

Best not to think of Nieve now. Not until she had a chance to get back to that house, and to take a good look at what was inside that chest.
If
anything was inside. If it hadn’t burned to cinders. She grabbed the iPhone and flipped over the graffiti Becky, Stick, and Joe had done, copying down the letters on a new blank page. They probably spelled something, right?

C.H.A.N.O.R.G.

C.R.A.N.G.O.H.

C.H.O.N.A.R.G.

N.O.R.G.A.C.H

In less than a minute, she’d driven herself crazy. The letters did not form a word. And, as far as she knew, the final letter had been painted. So, an acronym, maybe?

Come Hither All Nobodies Of Roaming Gnomes

No Ownership Reigns Green And Clear Help

Red Carpets On Hospitals Bring About Gangrene

She Googled “Graffiti Tease” and found hundreds of articles that had come out since the last letter was painted. Headlines included:
The final letter is A, but what does it mean?
And
Graffiti tease just a tease?
And, the most recent one—
I’ll tell you what it means: Nothing
.

She almost laughed. What was the point? It was meaningless, all of it. But just as quickly a lump formed in her throat. Her eyes watered. She threw herself down on the bed and shook with sobs.

Becky was dead. Nothing she could do would bring her back to life. On the other hand, what else did Abigail have but Becky’s death? If she had to live for the sake of ghosts, she would. She couldn’t let Becky die like
this
, unmourned except for a sham funeral.

No. There were two things she needed to do.

The first was to figure out what was so important about her father’s den. Why it was mostly kept closed, why Becky was so mysterious about it, why Becky had mentioned it in her text to Stick. And second, more importantly, she
had
to know what was inside Nieve’s chest.