Very Bad Things (12 page)

“Did you see something that night, Charlie? Did Steve hurt that girl? Did
I
do something?”

“Whoa, what?” His friend’s eyes went wide. He shook his head. “I didn’t see squat, man.”

Voices suddenly rose in the next aisle as lockers slammed, and Mark saw Steve and a couple of other guys in white clomping past the aisle toward the ice. Steve caught Mark’s eye for an instant and then looked past him.

“Hey, Charlie!” he called. “You shouldn’t be hanging with the enemy. You’re on my side in this war, remember?”

“Yeah, coming,” Charlie said, and Mark heard a catch in his voice.

“I’ll be waiting.” Steve slapped his stick against the lockers, leaving the noise of clanging metal in his wake.

Charlie stared after him and there was the flicker of something like fear in his face.

“You’re afraid of him?” Mark said, because that was what it looked like.

“C’mon, get real,” Charlie replied, but he had sweat on his upper lip. “Getty can be an ass, but he doesn’t scare me.” He rubbed a gloved hand across his mouth.

“Are you sure? Did he warn you to keep quiet about something? About Rose?” Mark asked, and jerked the laces on his skates harder than he had to as he finished tying them.

“Why would you say that?” Charlie looked green, like he was about to be sick.

Mark had known the guy since they were eight, when Charlie had been one of the crop of grammar school newbies, teary-eyed and homesick. Mark could read him like a book. “You’re lying. You are afraid.”

Charlie shook his head. “Let it go—”

“You were there,” Mark cut him off. “You were the last one I talked to before I lost it.” He got up on his skates so he was eye to eye with Charlie. “I spilled beer on my shoes, I wanted air, but I passed out.”

“Everyone was wasted.”

“No,” Mark insisted. “I was barely even buzzed before Steve handed me a cup from the keg. All of a sudden, I was drooling. You don’t think it’s crazy that I went down after a few sips? You followed me upstairs, so you must’ve been worried. Did you see what happened to me? Do you know
anything
?”

Charlie jiggled his stick, glancing up the aisle. “I can’t help you, man.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Mark asked.

Charlie’s upper lip got slick again. “Did you tell the cops you were drugged?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they buy it?”

Mark shrugged and pulled off his blade guards. He tossed them into his locker before grabbing his gloves and slamming the metal door. “I’ve got no proof.” He looked right into Charlie’s face. “Unless someone knows something and isn’t saying.”

Charlie didn’t reply, but his jaw started to twitch.

“C’mon, bro,” Mark said, putting a glove on his friend’s shoulder and leaning in, lowering his voice. “Don’t let me take the fall. Is Getty behind this?”

“You think he killed her?”

“You tell me,” Mark replied, and secured the chin strap to his helmet. “Did he get a hard-on when he took that picture of Rose on top of me? Did she tell him to get lost, and he went ape-shit? ’Cause I doubt the dude knows how to take no for an answer.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what? Dig for the truth?” Mark kept his eyes on Charlie’s, but Charlie looked away.

“If you leave it alone, pretty soon it’ll all just go away,” Charlie said, and pulled down his grille, covering his face. “Who was that girl anyway? A waitress? She was nothing.”

Mark stared at him. “That’s not you talking, Charlie. That sounds like Getty.” What was going on? Mark’s pulse pounded in his veins. If his closest friend wasn’t talking, how could he ever find out the truth?

Charlie muttered, “Better head out or Coach will wonder where we are.” He started to walk away, but halfway up the aisle, he stopped. “You coming or what?”

“In a sec.”

“See you on the ice.” Charlie nodded, then shuffled off toward the rink.

Mark slowly got up from the bench, yanking on his gloves and picking up his stick. His shoulders felt tight. His whole body felt tight, full of pent-up frustration and fury so big he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Mark had never been thrown under the bus before, not by anyone. He’d always been well liked, admired even. And now …

When the going got tough, it was amazing how quickly everyone bailed.

Get your head in the game
, he told himself, and plodded along the rubber-matted hallway to the rink. Playing hockey was all he had left. He had to forget about Rose Tatum. Couldn’t think about what was in the box sent to Katie, or that prick Getty. He needed to focus on the scrimmage, putting every ounce of his energy into ice time before the upcoming game against Briarcliff.

But hard as he tried, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the party and how wrong it had gone. He’d been on top of the world that Saturday night, wanting to kick back with his teammates and celebrate making it to state.

Now everything had changed. Now his whole world depended on the cops finding a missing girl he barely remembered, on there being some kind of evidence that cleared him. Because he couldn’t seem to clear himself.

The coach blew a warning whistle just as Mark pushed out onto the ice and skated around the rink, hugging the boards, getting used to the feel of the stick in his hands, the cold on his skin. He told himself not to look across the red line at Getty, clad in enemy white.

The whistle shrilled again, and Mark forced his thoughts aside, skating to the nearest blue line and settling into a circle with his teammates in black jerseys for shooting drills.

A larger-than-usual crowd filled the stands. Mark couldn’t help but wonder if they were there because the team had reached the prep school state championship or out of curiosity because of The Box and the missing girl. He felt like a freak-show attraction. He wondered how many of them had already decided he was guilty. Mark knew of the talk behind his back. It ranged from “he’s way too clean-cut to kill anybody” to “he thinks because his dad is headmaster he can get away with anything.”

Focus on the ice. Watch the puck
, he told himself as he skated to the center, a teammate passing to him from near the net.

He heard a cry from the stands and glanced up. Two boys screamed, “Kill it, Summers! Kill it!” and banged on the Plexiglas. They had the hoods of their Soaring Eagle sweatshirts pulled over their heads, so he could barely see their faces.

“Summers!” someone shouted from nearby, and Mark turned in time to catch the puck on the edge of his stick,
whiffing the shot. It wobbled off to the right, bouncing against the skate of a teammate. “Jesus, dude, are you going blind?”

A loud burst of laughter erupted from across the rink, followed by a smothered cry of “Loser!” Mark was sure it came from Getty.

He took another skate around the circle, homing in on the puck that was pushed out to him. Heart pumping, he pulled back his stick and laid into the black disk, sending a fierce slap shot past Charlie and clear into the back of the net. He went around again and again, never missing a shot, until Coach Hart blew the whistle twice, setting the scrimmage in motion.

“Summers and Getty!” the coach called, and gestured that the two should face off in the center of the ice.

Mark skated over, clutching his stick, adrenaline pumping through him. He bent low, the foot of his stick on the ice. Across from him, Steve did the same.

They were eye to eye, staring through the plastic guards on their helmets.

Coach Hart whistled and stepped up as a ref would, prepared to drop the puck, just as Getty said under his breath, “Hey, Summers, when they throw you in jail for hacking up Rose, I’ll get to play first line and tap Katie, too.”

His pulse pounding in his ears, Mark muttered, “You touch Katie, I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll bet she’s wild. Way more than Joelle. The quiet ones always are,” Steve said, and laughed.

The coach let the puck go, and Mark dropped his stick and
threw off his gloves, going after Steve. All he felt was fury, all he saw was red heat. He swung at Steve wildly, pounding helmet and pads.

Then Steve’s stick hammered his skull and, for an instant, Mark saw bursts of light and then a face that looked like Katie’s. She was on top of him, kissing him, and then she was lying on the floor, not moving, and someone was saying, “She’s not breathing, dude. She’s not breathing.”

Was it Steve? Was it
Charlie
?

“Summers!”

Mark shook off the fog as the coach shouted, “Cut the crap!” Hands tugged at him, drawing him up. He steadied himself on his skates, blinked to focus, and spotted Steve smirking.

“Guess you do take after your dad,” Getty said. “He couldn’t hold on to his woman either. Pussy,” he muttered, and spit on the ice.

“You son of a bitch!” Mark hissed, and knocked Steve hard to the ice, sending his helmet flying. Mark kneeled over him, about to punch him in the face when Charlie stepped in.

“Relax, man.” Charlie dragged Mark up from the ice, pulling him away.

“You’re crazy, you psycho!” he heard Steve shouting before an assistant coach caught his arm and led him away.

Mark was breathing hard, tasted blood in his mouth, and it was still another minute before he could say, “I’m okay, I’m okay.” He shook off Charlie’s hands and picked up his gloves from the ice.

Coach Hart grabbed Mark’s shoulder. “What the hell was
that? You and Getty got a problem, settle it off the ice!” The older man’s face was purple as he looked at Mark, nose to nose. “I know you’re having a rough time, but you’d better pull it together or you’ll be lucky to play this weekend. Hell, we’ll all be lucky if we don’t have to forfeit. Now get out of here.” He let Mark go. “You’re done for today.”

Mark glanced up at the stands, hardly hearing the noise of the crowd. His gaze flitted over the rows of faces, stopping suddenly when he spotted the dark hair and dark eyes, the down-turned mouth.

It was Katie. And she didn’t look happy.

He blinked, and she turned around. He watched her back as she fled through the nearest exit.

Damn, damn, damn
.

Mark bent down to retrieve his stick and stared at his own blood on the ice, hating that he’d lost control with Steve again. He had to find a way to remember what had gone down at the party, or he’d never be sure he had nothing to do with Rose’s disappearance. And if he couldn’t trust himself, how could Katie trust him?

She couldn’t, he knew. And in the end, he’d lose her, too.

“G
ood morning, Tessa. You’re right on time, as usual.”

Dr. Capello got up from behind her desk as Tessa entered.

“Please, take a seat,” the shrink said, gesturing toward a pair of chairs near a large window that framed a narrow creek and a patch of forest, thick with pines. Her dark eyes followed Tessa as she crossed the office and sat down. “Would you like anything to drink? I’ve got juice and water.”

“I’m fine.”

“Great. Then we’ll get started.”

Tessa unbuttoned her blazer and crossed her feet at the ankles. She reminded herself to relax and keep her face as expressionless as possible. Shrinks could read an awful lot into a frown or the tiniest smile.

“I hope it’s been helpful,” Dr. Capello said, “coming in weekly again, what with all that’s going on.”

“Yeah, it has,” Tessa said. She knew that was what Dr. Capello wanted to hear. All doctors were the same, it didn’t matter what kind. She’d seen enough of them since the fire. When she’d first enrolled in Whitney at eleven, she’d had mandatory sessions with old Dr. Erwin. She’d quickly learned that all she had to do was shed a few tears and he turned into a marshmallow. He’d gone easy on her, never digging too deep. He’d let her ramble about whatever she wanted, while he’d sat attentively, stroking his beard and saying, “Ah, very interesting, my dear.” Whenever he’d asked about her childhood, Tessa had avoided discussing the fire. Instead, she’d bring up the orphanage in Russia where she and Peter had been dumped by their birth mom.

She really couldn’t remember much about the place. She had been only two when the Lupinskis adopted them. But Peter had filled her in, describing filth and neglect. “I banged my head on crib bars and lay in dirty diapers all day, crying nonstop,” she’d confessed to the doc. Peter had given her his share of rice cereal when she was hungry. Peter had wrapped her in his T-shirts when she had soiled her diapers.

After she’d finished her sob story, Dr. Erwin would dab his eyes. “Such a tragic tale!” he’d say. “Quite Dickensian. And look at you now. Once a bud with a broken stem and now a rose full-bloomed,” leaving Tessa to feel like she’d scored an A+ on a test.

Unfortunately, Dr. Capello wasn’t nearly as easy to impress.

“We’ve been talking about your friendship with Katie,”
the shrink said. She cocked her head so her dark ponytail fell across one shoulder. “You first met here at Whitney when you were freshman, is that right?”

“Yeah.” Tessa nodded, lacing her fingers in her lap. “They stuck us together at Amelia House. We’ve been roommates ever since.”

“Roommates and best friends?”

“Mm-hmm,” Tessa agreed.

“You feel a kinship with her, don’t you?”