Authors: Melissa Marr
I remember him saying he “sacrificed” Amy, so I try to be careful in my words. “I don’t . . . I can’t do that sort of thing.”
“Sex?”
I nod.
Reid looks upward at the ceiling. “This is part of the test, isn’t it? I get it. I need to wait for Eva. Prove my worthiness. Fine.” He looks at me again. “Maybe after Eva gets here you’ll change your mind.”
There is no answer here that seems safe, so I say nothing. I’ve never been as terrified as I am here in this place with him. I don’t know how he expects to get Eva here, and I certainly don’t want her imprisoned, too. What I
want
is someone to get me out of here.
“I don’t want to die, Reid,” I whisper.
He nods. “I understand. I hope you don’t have to. It would upset Eva.” He smiles and walks over to a bag in the rocking chair. He unzips it, digs around inside, and pulls out a black collar with a little rectangular box on it. Then he pulls out what looks like a remote control with an antenna on it. “If you’re good, we can switch from the leash to a training collar. It’s supposed to work on dogs up to large breeds, and I don’t think you weigh as much as some of them.”
I can’t even speak right now. He’s crazy, absolutely, completely,
dangerously
crazy.
Smiling, he walks over to me with the shock collar. “I can’t use it when I’m out, but when I’m here, we could try it. It’ll be tricky if you and Eva are both here and I need to leave. Maybe I’ll pick up a second chain and collar while I’m out.”
I close my eyes for a second. This cannot be happening—all because I opened my door. That was all I did. I opened my door to a boy I’ve known for a few years, a boy who drove me home yesterday, a boy who has hit on me at parties and joked with me at school. Now, I’m chained up listening to him explain the appeal of a shock collar instead of a chain.
This sort of thing is not supposed to happen, not anywhere, but especially not in Jessup, North Carolina.
Reid puts the collar and remote back in the bag and then he walks out of my line of sight through the unknown doorway, vanishing farther into the house. I hope he’ll stay gone, but in a few minutes he comes back. He’s no longer wearing trousers or a shirt. Instead, he’s barefoot and wearing a pair of gym shorts. I’ve seen him and the rest of the guys in the same thing countless times. What draws my attention are the fingernail scratches on the base of his throat. Someone—presumably Madison—fought with him. I stare at him with mounting terror. Fighting him didn’t help her. She’s dead. I don’t want to die, too.
Reid is silent as he opens a package of wet wipes. He moves the black bag to the floor, sits in the chair, and starts wiping his face, arms, and chest. I watch as he drops one of the wipes on the floor. It’s not just mud he’s wiping from his skin. There’s blood, too. I realize with another wave of horror that it’s probably Madison’s.
After a few minutes, he walks over to the daybed and sits down beside me.
“Sit still, Grace. I don’t want Eva to be upset when she sees you, and you look like you were rolling in the mud.”
If I could stop staring at the blood on the wipes on the floor, maybe I would try to stop him from wiping my face and arms, but all I can think about is Madison’s blood. He killed a girl this morning, and now he’s cleaning mud from my skin.
“I’ve always liked you, Grace,” he says, wiping my cheek. “You’re a good friend to Eva.”
“Thank you.”
He tosses the wipe toward the others on the floor. “I’m tired.”
I swallow and force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Reid nods. “It’s been a difficult day.” He walks back to the bag and pulls out a Jessup High T-shirt, a sports bottle, and a cup. He pours some into the cup and walks back toward me. The shirt is in his other hand. “I need you to drink this, so we can nap.”
“Please,” I whisper. “I can nap in the other room or the floor. Please?”
“Relax. It’ll just make you sleepy.” He holds it out to me.
When I don’t speak or move, he adds, “I can
make
you drink it, but I don’t want to upset Eva. I
explained
that already, didn’t I?” He doesn’t sound calm or gentle now. His words are sharp. I’ve heard him like this countless times, and it didn’t scare me. That was before I realized he was a killer.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg. “You can nap without doing this. I promise.”
He stares at me. “Eventually, I’ll be able to, but not yet. My father kept
his
girlfriend here. He brought me to meet her when we were all in elementary school. Not you. You weren’t here yet. Anyhow . . . He explained how long it takes to build trust. He brought me here to meet the
next
girlfriend, too. They changed and trusted him, but it takes time.” He wiggles the cup a little. “Eva’s the girl for me, but we’ll talk about you once she comes to me. I thought she trusted me without this. I thought I could do it better than my father, but it didn’t work.”
“Maybe she didn’t know that you felt—”
“No!” Reid yells. “I sent messages. I did everything she wanted . . .” He takes a breath, smiles at me, and sounds calm again when he continues, “Bouchet is the problem. Once he’s gone, Eva will be better.”
I try to stay still and calm. I’m not sure what to do around him. It’s hard to believe that yesterday I laughed at his vulgarity, rolled my eyes at his attitude, and then rode home with him. I didn’t know him at all. I thought I did, but the person in front of me is a stranger.
He lifts my hand and puts the cup in it. “Drink so I know I can try to trust you. Prove I don’t have to force you to do this.”
I’m shaking as I lift the cup and drink.
“Swallow it, Grace,” he orders.
I’m crying again, but I do as he demands. I don’t like how he keeps saying my name. Reid used to call me “Yeung”; he isn’t doing that now. The person in front of me is calling me Grace.
“Good girl. In a few minutes, you’ll be tired, too. We can nap. You should probably go use the bathroom first. Here. This is more comfortable.” He hands me a T-shirt and points to the privacy screen where he said there were buckets. “Go on.”
He watches me walk to the screen. The chain jangles and drags behind me. The sound and feel of it bring hot tears to my eyes. I hope he’s not lying about wanting to sleep. I don’t know what he gave me, but despite the myriad things that are horribly wrong, I am clinging to the hope that all that’s about to happen is drugged sleep.
I change into his shirt like he orders me to, but keep on my bra and yoga pants.
When I return to the daybed, Reid is already there with his shoes kicked off. He doesn’t comment on my clothes, and I’m relieved by that. I couldn’t leave my legs bare, even though the shirt hangs past my hips. I know the thick layer of cotton won’t protect me, but it eases my mind a tiny bit.
Reid pats the bed beside him. “I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You will be.” He pats the bed again, and I sit. Reid continues, “Then I can sleep, too. I do want to trust you, but we’re not there yet and I don’t want you to try to hurt me in my sleep. We won’t always need the medicine.”
“I thought you only wanted me so Eva would come.” I try not to whimper as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me to him. He lies back on the bed, pulling me down so my head is on his shoulder, and wrapping an arm securely around me. It feels worse somehow that he’s holding me like I’m his girlfriend.
He straightens the chain so it’s behind me. “That was the plan, but everything happens for a reason. I don’t always see the Lord’s plans until I’m in them. It’s hard to explain. We don’t have to decide today.”
I feel the drugs start to take hold of me, and I whisper a prayer in my mind, “Please don’t do anything while I’m unconscious.”
Obviously, I must have said it aloud not in my head, though, because he answers, “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a
monster
, Grace.”
Eva
D
ETECTIVE
G
RANT ARRIVES QUICKLY
. My mother had me forward that horrible picture to her before she even arrived.
“My husband’s on his way home, but do you mind if I set the house alarm?” my mother asks.
“That’s fine, Mrs. Tilling,” Detective Grant says.
After my mother walks away, the detective sits in the chair across from me, and then she looks at me and turns on her recorder. “We’re going to go through what happened step by step.”
She says her name, the date, the time, where we are, and a case number. Then she says, “I need you to state your name, and then tell me about Reid Benson’s arrival here today.”
I summarize it as best I can, telling her that Reid was wet and muddy when he arrived, and that he seemed off and what he said as best I remember. I finish with “. . . and there was that picture. I can’t believe this. I’ve known Reid my whole life. We’re
friends
. He’s friends with all of us.”
“Including Amy Crowne?”
I nod.
“Michelle Adams?” the detective prompts.
“He knew Micki, but we all know the same people. Jamie, Grayson, Robert, Piper. We’ve
all
known each other our whole lives.”
Nate comes to stand beside me, and I reach out and take his hand.
Detective Grant glances at Nate and then at my mother. “What was Mr. Reid’s relationship with Madison Tremont?”
The tone in her voice lets me know more than I want. The detective sounds like she did when she asked about Amy; her voice has gone calm and emotionless.
“Madison was the one in the picture he sent,” I say, hoping I’m wrong.
Detective Grant doesn’t deny it.
Nate’s grip on my hand tightens. There are tears falling down my cheeks, and I can’t speak. I talked to Reid about her yesterday in this very room. I thought we were talking about him liking her. Then he showed up here today, mud covered and telling me he loved me. I think back to Amy’s death, drowned at the lake, and the mud on Reid seems more damning than I can process. I take a breath, my chest shaking as I gulp air. I don’t want these things to be true.
“He was here yesterday,” Nate answers the detective. He sits down on the sofa next to me. “They both were. Eva thought he liked Madison.”
I answer then, “Nate wasn’t with me when Reid and I talked about Madison. Nate was with Madison, and Reid was watching her. I suggested . . .” I look at the detective, stare straight into her eyes as the unavoidable truth settles on me.
“I suggested he talk to Madison. I thought . . . I thought he meant to
date
her. . . . He killed her. Reid killed her.”
“Miss Tremont is dead,” Detective Grant confirms just as my mother returns.
Hearing it said aloud is somehow worse than just thinking it. I saw Madison yesterday. She was here in my house talking to Nate. I talked to Reid about her. He held my wrist, and I thought he was the victim. I wonder if I would’ve seen him kill Madison if she came near enough that I could see her death. I start shaking as I say, “He drove
Grace
home. Grace and CeCe Watkins. Oh my God! I need my phone.” I try to get up, but Nate stops me.
“I’ll grab it,” he says.
“Grace needs to stay in her house.” I look from the detective to my mother. My voice gets shriller and shriller as I tell them, “You need to find Mrs. Yeung and send her home, and CeCe, we need to text CeCe. What if he thinks I was telling him to talk to them, too. I sent them with him after I said I thought he should do something about his feelings for Madison.”
My mother walks away to call Mrs. Yeung, and the detective offers me what looks like sympathy before she makes a quick call, too. Her sympathy makes me feel worse. Guilt twists through me. I think back to the messages in the flowers, the cicada, the card that said “yours,” the words cut into Amy’s skin, and the new words in Madison’s skin. He did all of those things in some sick attempt to send me a message. I should’ve known. I should’ve figured it out somehow.
I’m still sitting there when Nate comes back and hands me my phone. I text Grace and CeCe. “Are you home and okay?”
The detective returns.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “He knows me. Why did he . . . do this? How can he think? . . . I don’t understand how this happened. I should’ve seen something, a sign or whatever. I could’ve stopped him. If I’d seen it, I could’ve saved Maddy. . . .”
Detective Grant shakes her head. “Don’t. You are
not
responsible for what he did.
He
is.”
CeCe’s text reply comes in: “Yes. What happened?”
“Can I tell CeCe?” I ask the detective.
She frowns. “Just tell her to stay home. Don’t let anyone from school in, even people she knows.”
I pass on the message with a note to tell all the girls and Robert, too. CeCe sends back a quick reply that she’s “on it,” and I look back at the marked lack of reply from Grace. I send her another text. I call.
“Grace isn’t answering. She always answers.” I look at Nate.
“I sent a car over,” Detective Grant starts.
My mother returns and announces that Mrs. Yeung will be at their house in fifteen minutes. Mom shivers. “I’m going to be here, and my husband will be home shortly. We won’t go anywhere.”
The detective stands. “I need to take Grace’s statement about her interaction with Reid Benson yesterday, as well as speak to Miss Watkins.” She brushes her hands over her trousers like she has every other time. “I’ll be back. If you think of anything else or hear from Reid, call me.”
After she sees the detective out, my mother comes into the room and pulls me into a fierce hug. When she lets go, I see tears in her eyes. “He was in the house. I opened the door and let a killer into our house.”
“He won’t be here ever again,” Nate says. “The door is locked, and Mr. Tilling is on the way. I’m here too, and I’m staying.”
My mother nods.
“Why don’t you relax there? I can get you . . . a drink or something?” Nate looks at me, and the expression on his face makes me smile briefly. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know what to do.
My mother seems to collect herself at the thought of getting a drink. She stands, straightens her shoulders, and announces, “I’ll fix a pot of tea.”