If You Wrong Us (10 page)

“Ow, ow,” Becca starts howling from the front area of the Jeep. Travis turns toward her. I wait and watch, ready to act if I need to.

For a complete sociopath, Travis moves really quickly.

Becca is crouched down, like a tiger, ready to pounce.

He moves closer.

“Are you okay?” I can hear his muffled voice through the crack in the car door.

She moans some more. Then, when he gets close enough, she stabs him with the syringe. Direct hit, right into the neck. Becca stole the drugs from the hospital two weeks ago.

Travis bats at her, confused, but she quickly jumps out of his reach. He pushes himself upright and points at her before placing his hand to his neck. He rubs the injection site and leans his head against the brick wall.

“What happened?” His voice trails off and he slides down the wall, taking some skin off his face as he goes down.

Becca wasn’t kidding. The shit works fast.

He slumps into a pile and Becca rummages through his pockets, placing the contents into her bag.

“Okay,” she calls out to me.

My body on autopilot, I join Becca and pick up the pile of Travis. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or what, but he’s much lighter than I expected.

I follow Becca to her car. She opens the door to the backseat, which is covered in plastic. It reminds me of a scene from
Dexter
and I work to keep the bile at bay as it climbs up the back of my throat. Dropping Travis across the seat, I finally see his comatose face.

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut and reopen them again, trying to make sense of what they’re telling me.

It can’t be.

My gaze focuses in on the thin lips, long nose, pudgy face. It’s him, but it’s not.

“Just get in,” Becca snaps. “We’re running out of time.”

“But … ” I say, taking another look.

“Now, Johnny.” She spits out the words.

Stunned, I go to the passenger side of her car and get it. Becca slowly pulls away, careful not to bring attention to us.

I close my eyes and try to pull it together.

Then, I look in the backseat again. This time, I’m sure. I’m positive. The guy sprawled across the plastic sheet in the back is definitely not Travis.

15

B
ECCA

I
left the room first. I couldn’t stand to be in there any longer. The florescent lights; the stale ammonia scent; the look on my parents’ faces.

Down the hall and around the corner, the special waiting room was empty and the refrigerator was full of juice boxes. They’d become a comfort for me in here—something sweet to coat all the bitterness rotting my insides.

I closed my eyes and tried to block out everything. I tried to forget, until light footsteps caught my attention. I kept my eyes closed because I didn’t want anyone to bother me.

Please, please just go away.

“Becca?” a small soft voice called out. It was a voice in between—deep and crackling, yet still high enough to sound feminine.

Ethan Kent.

He walked over to me carrying a bouquet of daisies. It was like a scene out of a Disney movie: a just-pubescent boy with short sandy hair and proper manners making a kind gesture to set everything right.

“I brought these for your sister,” he said.

He handed the flowers to me; I didn’t take them. They were bundled together in that cheap plastic wrap, devoid of all smell. They reminded me of Travis. Appealing on the outside, but nothing of value on the inside.

“I’ll just set them here,” he said, putting them on the seat next to mine.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked him. “Did your perverse brother put you up to this?”

Ethan didn’t need to answer. I knew Travis had sent him here to show me he was in control, that he could do whatever he wanted. But this time, he’d messed with the wrong person. I’d been under my sister’s thumb for as long as I could remember, and I wasn’t about to be controlled again. Never again.

That day, a fire ignited in me. Heat that had been there under the surface, waiting. This move by Travis was the match that set it ablaze.

“What do you mean?” he asked, taking a step backward.

“She’s dead. She’s
dead!
” I jabbed his chest with my finger.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We didn’t know. Travis didn’t think you’d see him, so he sent me. He’s worried about you.”

“He should be worried about me.” I stood up, physically unable to be still. “He should be very worried.”

Ethan’s face twisted into something less Disney and more Stephen King. He trembled as his eyes cast down.

“Don’t say that,” he said.

I smiled. Ethan was scared of me. I stood a little taller, taking up more space in the room.

He took another step back.

I put on this new role like a welcome down jacket in a frigid Detroit winter. It was warmth and safety. I was finally the person on the offense rather than defense. I was in control and it was a heady feeling. One I’d eventually become hooked on.

“Don’t ever come back here,” I said with my hands clamped around Ethan’s shoulders, giving him a stern shake. “You tell your brother the same thing.”

I shook him again. Hard.

“Stop,” he said. “Stop, Becca.”

The words didn’t register. They didn’t make sense to me. I’m not sure how long we stayed like that. I’m not sure how bad I hurt the kid. Nothing made sense until I woke up in a ball on fourth floor, in a place affectionately referred to as the Nut Hut.

I’d been there before.

16

J
OHNNY

M
y girlfriend has lost her mind. Seriously lost it.

“What the hell, Becca?” I’m yelling now as she drives toward the site, just as we planned. All except for the fact that we, oh, have the wrong person in the backseat of our little crime scene.

She turns on the radio, and the streetlights shine on her smooth, pale skin. She could just as easily be driving to the library. Instead, we’re carting around a hostage. The White Stripes sing in the background—it’s that song “We’re Going to Be Friends.” The sweet track about school and numbers and letters and walking with a friend. The polar opposite of what’s happening in our car. It’s sinister. Sick, really.

“
This is not Travis
,” I hiss at her.

“Yes, Johnny. I realize that,” she says without any sliver of emotion.

“Then why are we driving?” I’m completely confused about this change of events, but it doesn’t seem to bother her in the least. Something’s not right.

“I actually had this planned,” she explains.

As the words sink in, I fall back in my seat. It’s like she’s coldcocked me in the face. “What? You had it
planned
to grab Travis’s kid brother?”

I should have recognized Ethan immediately—I’ve gotten to know him too, this past year. During all that time watching Travis, his brother was always around, and I know Ethan’s habits almost as well as I know Travis’s. But with the same walk and mannerisms as his brother, he had me fooled for a minute.

“Yes, I planned it,” Becca tells me as she turns down the radio.

Un-fucking-believable.

“He’s only a kid, Becca. He’s, like, thirteen or some shit.”

“Again. I realize that.”

“I don’t think you do.” I grab her arm and she swerves the car a little. Maybe she’s more freaked than she’s letting on. I need to work that to my advantage.

“Bec.” I soften my voice now. “He’s. A. Kid.”

“Yeah, well, so was my sister.” Her eyes turn icy again and I can’t help but feel her pain. “Please, please calm down,” she pleads. “I’m just following your lead.”

“What?” I ask, shocked again.

“You had the idea for the gun.” She glances in my direction. “You were clever, Johnny. I upped my game as well with another idea for back-up—to help us get what we want. Some additional insurance. Don’t you think that’s wise?”

For the life of me, I can’t remember how I fell for this asinine plan. But I desperately want it to be over so we can finally put all this to rest. Finally do something about Travis instead of all the talking. Talking. Talking. Talking.

We talked a lot in those first few weeks. I’d go the accident site and watch her work. She had all these theories and ideas. And when one didn’t pan out, she’d move on to another. I started looking forward to going there, which was disturbing. But being around Becca helped. Sometimes we’d even talk about things not related to the accident. I told her about the colleges scouting me and my troubles with my grades. I told her how I thought I was letting Mom down.

“So I’ll tutor you,” she said, like it was the only logical solution.

“Becca, I’m getting D’s in almost all of my classes,” I said. “I don’t need a tutor, I need a miracle.”

“Same thing.” She laughed.

“You really think you I could get my grades up to meet the college requirements?” Even my guidance counselor seemed to have lost hope.

“With my help? Yes, I do.”

Damn, she was confident. Not in a cocky or conceded way; she was just so sure of herself. She made me believe it too.

I started to get excited until I realized there was a problem. One gigantic issue.

Money.

I had
nada
.

“I know a way you could work it off,” she said.

“How?” I asked, willing to do just about anything.

“Help me make things right.”

That’s how we got started. It didn’t seem evil or criminal at first. We were just looking for the person responsible for the accident. Investigating. Well, that’s what I was doing. Becca? She was looking to prove what she already knew. That girl was always two steps ahead in everything she did. This was no different.

Once we had that proof? Well, that’s when things began to change. That’s when I began to get glimpse of what Becca was really capable of. She kept everything bottled up, but once we had a target—Travis—she let holy hell rain down.

She messed with him for almost a year. Started rumors about him on social media; used his account for her school lunches; reported him to the police for vandalism; placed him at the scene of another hit-and-run. Real detailed, calculated shit. Nothing stuck, but it raised suspicion.

At the time, I blamed it on her grief, on her parents, on anyone else I could besides Becca. But now there’s no one left. And I’m so ready to finish this and be done with her games.

“Johnny.” Becca gives me the softest kiss when we stop at the light. I wish I could ignore the effect it has on me, but I think my body will always respond to her. “Trust me, our opponent will be more responsive this way. We’ve captured his pawn.”

“In what way will he be more responsive?” I bristle, the betrayal thick in my throat.

“We needed this leverage.” She steals a glance at that leverage in the rearview mirror before accelerating. “Something, someone, he cares about. He’ll know we’re not messing around.”

“So what’s the plan with Travis then?” I ask, not daring to look in the backseat. It’s the only way I can get through this. “How will we communicate with him?”

“Oh, we’ll grab him too,” she says, changing lanes.

“When?” My stomach turns, trying to process the new information.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What are we going to do with the kid overnight? His parents will realize he’s missing.”

“Not if we get Travis to help cover for us,” she says.

“Why would he do that?” I ask, not following.

“Because we have a hostage, dumbass,” she snaps.

I wince at her words and slide farther toward my door, growing desperate for a way out.

Becca’s expression softens as she moves a hand toward me. She knows that was a low blow. We have unwritten rules. She never insults my intelligence, and I never call attention to her overall social awkwardness. But everything is unraveling tonight.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just can’t take it when you don’t trust me. I’m doing this for us, Johnny.” The speedometer inches its way up.

“So tell me the plan then,” I say, trying to talk her down. I’m up to the plate now and there’s no going back—we’re in too deep. And if we get pulled over, we’re done.

Becca makes no move to fill me in.

I can’t risk anymore surprises, so I nudge her along. “You’re saying that by tomorrow we’ll have
two
hostages?”

“Correct.”

“Do you realize that will double the felony count if we’re caught?” I ask. But I’m worried that maybe she doesn’t care anymore. Maybe this is her endgame.

“Then we better not get caught.” She shrugs, and I suddenly know, without a doubt, that I have no say whatsoever. This is the Becca show and I’m only here for the ride.