Put Me Back Together (31 page)

“God, I’m going to need this to get through my exam,” he said, taking a sip. “Who’re you chatting with?”

“Just Em,” I said, pocketing the phone quickly. I’d been careful to keep my phone away from Lucas ever since I’d told him Brandon had been texting me. His nasty messages had been coming in steadily for the past few days, and they were just as curse-ridden as ever. If Lucas saw the true extent of those texts I was pretty sure he’d go mad and drag me to the police station kicking and screaming.

“So what do you think?” he said, looking at me expectantly.

“What?” I said in confusion, and then looked down at the table in front of me. “Oh, the pamphlet!” I saw now that it was a brochure for a local kids’ sports day camp.

Lucas said, “They need a basketball coach for this summer. I was thinking of applying.”

My mouth fell open a little as I looked from Lucas to the pamphlet. It stayed that way until he leaned forward and gave me a peck on my open lips.

“I guess your look of utter shock means you think it’s a good idea?” Lucas joked, but I could tell he really wanted to hear my opinion.

“I’m so glad,” I said, poring over the glossy photos of the recreation center that would be used for the camp. “I never thought you’d get here so fast. I thought it might take you months, even years to learn to love basketball again.”

“Well, I don’t love it yet,” Lucas admitted. “But I thought maybe helping some kids learn to love playing might help me remember the good times I had with my dad. And it’s a paid position, too, so maybe I won’t have to work quite so hard next year.”

“You’ll be a natural,” I said. “Though, I warn you, all the little girls will be falling in love with you.”

“Too bad I’m head over heels for my girlfriend,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat.

Girlfriend.

I leaned forward and hugged him, breathing deeply of that intoxicating Lucas scent. “I’m so proud of you,” I said into his ear. “If only your old party pals could see you now. I bet they wouldn’t believe their eyes, Lucas Matthews out there doing his bit for the community.”

Lucas waved at someone over my shoulder. “Well, I guess we can ask one of them. There’s Oleg,” he said.

I froze in my seat, gripping my drink with both hands at the sound of the name. Oleg was the friend Lucas had called to clean up my apartment while we were in Christie the day after the break-in. He’d finagled Mariella into letting him in. He’s done an amazing job, too, even cleaning all the red paint off my walls and buying me a new pillow so that when we returned the place looked exactly as it had been before. It was such a relief to have the mess gone that I didn’t have the heart to scold Lucas for letting one of his friends into my nightmare. He wouldn’t have understood, anyway. The secret Lucas held was painful, but if someone found out it wouldn’t break him. He didn’t live in fear of the world finding out the truth about him.

Lucas didn’t know what it was like to live in shame.

“He’s waving me outside,” Lucas said as he got to his feet. “Come say hi.”

“No, you go. I want to read over my essay one last time before I hand it in,” I fibbed. “Tell him thank you for me again.”

“He was doing me a favour,” Lucas said, shaking his head at me. “And I already thanked him for you, twice.”

“Thank him again anyway,” I said as I rifled through my bag looking for my essay. “That’s a good friend you’ve got there.”

Any friend who would come clean up a mess like that with no explanation at a moment’s notice was as good as gold in my opinion. As I watched Oleg give Lucas a big bear hug—apparently he gave these out freely, drunk or not—I found myself hoping that Lucas would tell him about his father. I had the feeling Oleg would be more understanding than he knew.

When I pulled out the binder that held my essay, a small, balled-up piece of paper rolled out of my bag. Still half-gazing out the window at the guys, I wasn’t even paying attention as I straightened it out. I was so distracted that my hands started to tremble before the meaning of the words really penetrated my brain.

Enjoying that hot chocolate? Hope so, because it might be your last.
Ditch your handsome friend if you know what’s good for you.

Crumpling the note in my hand, I subtly scanned the room around me. The strange feeling I’d had before suddenly made perfect sense. Brandon had been here, in the room, watching me. He’d been close enough to put the note in my bag. And this time he hadn’t sent a friend to do his dirty work—I was sure of it. No, I was more than sure. I
knew
it. The feeling in my gut that something was terribly wrong—I’d only felt that way once before, the day he’d leaned toward me, knife in hand, and whispered murderous words in my ear.

A wave of nausea threatened to overcome me and my heart began to pound. My eyes darted around the room, but I couldn’t find him. Maybe he’d already left? Didn’t seem likely. This moment, the moment I read the note he’d placed so perfectly, was his prize. He wanted to see me shake. He wanted to make me cry with fear.

Suddenly I realized that unlike every time I’d received a text from him, unlike the day of the break-in, I didn’t feel the urge to burst into tears or to hide. Instead, I felt an all-encompassing rage. My fingers gripped my drink so tightly the cup collapsed, sending scalding chocolate over my hand, though I hardly felt it.

He thought he could threaten Lucas and get away with it? We’d see about that.

By the time Lucas returned I’d composed myself enough to look normal. I figured if he noticed I was on edge he’d think it was about my paper. As I stood up to meet him, I turned over the napkin I’d left behind on the table.

“I was thinking of driving up to see my mom,” Lucas said as we crossed the campus. “I figure it’s about time, and I don’t have any exams for a few days. I could tell her about the job.”

I grasped his hand tightly. “Sounds like a great idea,” I said.

And it did, considering the note I’d left for Brandon on my napkin back at the coffee shop.

I’ll be waiting

18

But he didn’t come.

I knew Lucas wouldn’t make it easy for me. Since he couldn’t be there to babysit me while he was visiting his mom, he brought in reinforcements. That very night, just minutes after I’d waved Lucas off on his drive to Christie, Em showed up with a pile of rom coms for a movie night. She claimed we’d planned it weeks ago, but I knew better. Who planned a movie night in the middle of exams? By the way she kept glancing at me as Julia Roberts laughed her big-teeth laugh, I could also tell that Lucas hadn’t given her all the details about why I needed watching. He probably thought she already knew the whole story, and Em, who thought we told each other everything, would never have asked. Her expectation of a big tearful revelation—I could feel her readying herself whenever the movie went quiet enough for us to talk—made me fidgety. I ended up eating more than my half of the bowl of extra butter popcorn. Okay, I basically ate the whole bowl.

Then I realized I’d just ingested all those empty calories for nothing. If Em didn’t know why she had to stay, I could easily make up a lie to get rid of her.

It only took about ten minutes to convince my sister that: One, I knew Lucas had asked her to come over. Two, Lucas was just being way overprotective. And three, she didn’t really have to stay over because I wasn’t in any danger. I used my master lying skills to make up a story that Mariella had seen a creepy guy lurking around the building and Lucas had overreacted. But I was pretty sure it was just the super’s son, Gregory; I knew Em would buy this, because she also thought Gregory was creepy. I finished off with some sappy comments about how much I liked Lucas and how I was pretty sure we were falling in love—not even really a lie, at least on my part—and wasn’t it sweet of him to be so worried about me?

Emily ate it up.

By nine o’clock she was out the door and I went into defense mode. I pulled my baseball bat out from under my bed and put it on the couch. But one weapon didn’t seem like enough. What if he wrested it out of my hands? Then I’d have nothing. I prowled around my apartment looking for anything I could use as a weapon. At the end of thirty minutes I had two butcher knives, the lamp from my bedside table—it had a heavy base—a cast iron pan, and a roll of duct tape. I figured if I got him on the ground I’d need something to tie him up with before I ran for my life.

I assembled my collection on the coffee table—except for the bat, which never left my hands—and then I was back in my ideal spot on the couch, watching and waiting.

I had plenty of time to freak out as my eyes flicked from the window to the door to the other window to the hall, but I felt surprisingly calm. I was glad I’d invited Brandon to come and find me, glad to be waiting instead of always wondering. I was ready for this to be over. Even though I had no idea what I was going to say to him, I was ready to face him.

But he didn’t come.

As the hours passed my body began to protest. I’d been sitting with my muscles tensed for so long that when I put the bat down in my lap my fingers stayed curled. I needed water, but I didn’t want to move, sure that he was waiting somewhere nearby and the sound of my footsteps would alert him to my presence. But then, wasn’t that what I wanted?

My initial calm began to dissipate and a low-lying paranoia took its place as the night wore into the wee hours of morning. Every creak of the building, every tiny sound made me jump and grip my bat. At one point I nearly swung at Turner as he crept across the carpet. After that he smartly kept out of my way. I started furiously planning how I would handle each of my weapons, the best way to grip the lamp, how I would lunge, with the knife in one hand or both. These fantasies got more and more elaborate as I began to incorporate all the different ways Brandon might attack me. He’d probably learned all kinds of new techniques in jail, even if it was a youth jail. He was probably like an assassin now. I began to picture him wearing all black and a ski mask so he would blend in with the shadows. After that, even the shadows started to alarm me and I added them to my rounds of the room: window, shadow, door, shadow, shadow, window, shadow, hall.

Sometime around four a.m. I started to nod off from exhaustion. It was then, when my defenses were down, that the memories fell over me like a suffocating blanket. This time there was no hope of turning my thoughts away. The memories were too many and too strong and I was too weak. I could do nothing but submit to them. I could do nothing but clench my jaw against the screams and endure.

I saw the blade of Brandon’s knife against a background of green grass.

I saw little Tommy’s back as he ran ahead of me—
“Race you to the train tracks, Katie!”
—his white t-shirt bright against the dark trees.

I saw the look of horror on the old woman’s face as she took in the sight of me.

I saw the paramedic vomiting behind a tree.

I saw the caved in place where Tommy’s face should have been, the bloody hole that had once been his smile.

I saw blood, I saw blood, I saw blood, I saw blood, I saw blood…

Fingers gripped my own and somebody was speaking to me tensely, but I couldn’t understand the words. My hands hurt for a moment and then they were empty. But I still had my bat. I needed my bat so I could face Brandon. Because he was coming for me. He was coming anytime now.

A glass was pushed against my lips but I shoved it away. The person kept blocking the door and I didn’t like it. I needed to keep my eye on the door and the window and the other window. I needed to stay vigilant. I think I opened my mouth and said things, screamed things, but I wasn’t sure what the words were. Whatever they were, they had the desired effect. The person cleared out and I was alone again. It was better that way, anyway. Brandon wouldn’t come unless I was alone. And he was coming, I was sure of it. I’d told him to come. He would come. Any minute now.

A while later—I had no idea how long—I found myself staring down at my throbbing hands. They were red, raw, and shaking. They wouldn’t stop shaking. Someone had put a blanket over my shoulders, but I shook it off. I’d lost track of my bat but it didn’t matter. If I got the knife out of his hand I could get him before he got Tommy. I could stop him. He wasn’t that much bigger than me. It was just a knife. I could do it. I could save him.

I heard a voice that sounded like my own, crying. Was I crying? I touched my cheeks but they were dry. My tongue was dry. I wanted so much to lie down, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to save Tommy. People moved around me. Someone held my hand. I asked for my bat. I asked for my knives. I had to stay awake.