Without a doubt, I knew who had ransacked Granny’s house. My parents. Most likely stopping over for a cheap night’s stay between casinos, searching for treasure and long lost secrets. The tension left my body. They would be long gone. Their loot already pawned. They would be drinking the proceeds and gambling on more earnings to keep them in the bottle and away from reality.
For now, I was safe from both them and Collin, though I had no doubt they would each hunt me down in time.
I went back to the garage and fetched Chrissy. After changing her into a pair of spare pajamas, I put her to bed in my old room. In no time her snores filled the house.
I picked through the detritus of Granny’s life, putting things back together on a very topical basis. A deep-down assessment of missing items would have to wait for later. By the time I fell into bed the grandfather clock had long since chimed midnight.
An hour later I woke to the sounds of retching. Chrissy huddled over the toilet. She looked at me between sobs and begged me to make it stop. I sat beside her and ran my fingers through her hair, keeping it off her face when she gagged. Like Granny used to do for me.
And your mom.
Rae’s voice gently nudged me.
Never my mom.
I had few memories as a child, and most of those centered around Granny and the years I spent with her. Of my early elementary years, home life was mysteriously absent. I didn’t remember good or bad, just a nothingness that smelled like smoke and tasted more acrid.
You are wrong.
Rae appeared beside me. After Collin’s apartment, the Dozen’s uncanny ability to be present in my life without me calling them no longer shook me. She fanned out a stack of pictures of moments frozen in time. They showed me and my mother—younger, prettier, not yet broken—planting flowers, sipping chai tea, reading stories and sifting through piles of rubble to find the gem beneath.
Anger mingled with relief at the wash of memories. I grasped at the newness of it and wondered what else I was missing in the black holes of my childhood. I hated that I couldn’t remember.
Chrissy turned her sunken eyes on me. Her breath smelled sour, like the slushy wetness on the bottom of the garbage can. It made my stomach curl, but the fresh memories of better times helped me hold my ground.
She seemed to sense my discomfort. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it.” I leaned back against the wall and propped my feet on the tub to keep from sliding across the floor. I patted the rug in front of me, inviting her to sit on the chenille rather than the cold tile.
“Can I…?” her voice trailed off and she pantomimed brushing her teeth.
I jumped up and grabbed an extra toothbrush from the cupboard where Granny kept her bathroom supplies. Just in case. I doubt this was the emergency Granny had in mind, but figured she’d approve.
Chrissy got unsteadily to her feet and made her way to the sink. She leaned heavily against it while she brushed her teeth, then washed her face in the cold water. She came back and slid her way down the wall and onto the floor. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“No problem.” We sat in silence, listening to the creaks and groans of the old farmhouse. “What were you doing with those guys?”
She shrugged, and limp blonde hair fell over her face, shielding her from my question. When she looked up, she asked one of her own. “What about you?”
“Yeah, there is that.” I didn’t know how to honestly answer my own question. There seemed to be nothing redeeming in stating that Collin was simply my psych partner—one I’d obviously been intimate with. At least according to Travis. And Indie.
“I’m an idiot?” She giggled tentatively.
Her laughter was infectious. “Then so am I. I wonder how many other girls have been snookered by their sweet talk and their psych smarts.”
“Oh, I don’t know how much smarts plays into anything. At least not book smarts. More like street smarts.”
I followed her gaze, tracing my way up the soft gold lines of wallpaper to the fan right above us. “How long have you known them?”
“Hmmm.” Chrissy’s voice softened. “Collin is my brother.”
My head jerked forward. “He what?”
“Sad, I know.” Chrissy reached out her hand and touched mine. Her skin felt soft and pure against my own, not dried up and worn out like I expected it to be. “Don’t look like that. It’s really…has been, that is…worse. He watches out for me as best he can. I think.”
My throat tightened. “His best sucks.”
“Not all of us have such a cushy life.” Her words were vague, but her piercing eyes were not.
“Seriously? I don’t know what you think of me, but I’m guessing you’re more wrong than you’ll ever know.”
“Oh, come on. There isn’t anyone on campus who hasn’t seen your Travis. My God, legends are made from men like him.”
I bristled at the implication. Especially because I had so thoroughly pushed him out of my life. “He’s not mine.”
Chrissy crossed her arms in a quasi-temper tantrum. “Well, he does a mighty good imitation of it then. One thing’s for sure, I wouldn’t waste my time with Collin if I had Travis wrapped around my finger.”
“Is that all you think about? Guys? And what you can get from them?”
“Is there anything else?”
Frustration welled in my chest, and I stood to leave. “I’m going to bed, Chrissy. I don’t need to hang out in my dead granny’s bathroom discussing the virtues of spreading your legs for a guy no matter what he looks like or what he gives you in return.”
Chrissy snorted. “We all have our flaws, little Miss PFU.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You honestly don’t know?”
“Besides the name of our college? No.”
Chrissy’s voice softened. “Look it up.”
My blood froze. I stumbled from the bathroom to the desk in Granny’s room. The computer was gone, but the internet cable snaked across the back. I connected my net book and typed in my search. My first attempt failed. The letters PFU took me to page after page of Prairie Flats University stuff.
Footsteps sounded behind me. “Try P-F and Y-O-U.”
I typed in the letters and hit enter. A web address topped the search list, followed by the website’s name: Porn Flicks YOUniversity.
Chapter 25
Collin’s roommate, Mister Media. Their apartment had been filled with more video equipment than a store. It made sense. Especially after what Collin said in the parking lot to Travis. And what Travis said to me on the phone.
Even as I clicked on the link, anxiety made my heart race. God only knew what had happened at Collin’s. My blackouts had increased, and I had no way of knowing what I had done. Consciously or unconsciously. Id. Ego. All of a sudden, I hated psychology and all it implied about underlying desires.
PFYOU. Porn Flicks YOUniversity boasted a classy home page despite the crass title.
With my gut churning, I clicked on a likely tag. A directory for Crazy Coeds popped up. Still tastefully done. Tasteful like Collin’s apartment. Why didn’t I see it then? Rich digs, massive parties. Certainly the video equipment should have given it away and the paparazzi-like pictures. No graphic designer and psych major needed all that stuff.
The apartment was nothing more than a set-up for their sick games.
Another directory listed names followed by two options: photo or video. A very few had both.
Alice. Still shots.
Annibel. Video.
Beth. Cathy. Mindy. Stacia.
I had no interest in seeing my peers make names for themselves in some flakey, college porn ring and scrolled through the names as quickly as possible.
Yet something nagged at my brain. I moved the cursor to the top of the alphabet.
Hannah. Indie. Isabelle.
I clicked on Indie’s name. The scream started in the pit of my belly—primal and angry—and rumbled its way up my throat and into the bedroom. Chrissy startled so badly, she fell off the bed, her hair sweat-skewed and her eyes puffy.
When I turned back to the computer, my face returned my stare. I was a player in Collin’s freak show. In clothes I didn’t own. In undergarments I never knew existed. Speaking words I never wanted to hear again. The video played out like a commercial.
The tease.
The product.
The promise.
Thankfully, not the act.
I replayed the video, just as stunned the second time around. Chrissy’s lack of response left me hollow. I needed her to understand this wasn’t me. “I didn’t do this.”
Chrissy laughed, a low guttural sound that held no humor. “They all say that after their boyfriends stumble across this site.”
“You’ve talked to them? These other girls?”
“Of course I have.”
“What your brother’s done is illegal.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so. They all sign a contract.”
You didn’t.
“How do you know?” I asked both the voice in my head and Chrissy, not caring which one answered.
“Because I’m there.” Chrissy’s eyes looked haunted.
“When?”
“Always.”
None of this made sense. “Why would you be there?”
“I bring them.”
My heart thudded against my ribs, and I felt myself slipping. I fought for control. “You what?”
“I bring them. My friends.” Chrissy curled back up on the bed.
“These are your friends?” The disgust seeped out with my words.
She nodded and closed her eyes, still under the influence.
“How could you?”
She giggled. “They like their payment.”
I leaned over Granny’s bed and shook Chrissy until she looked at me. “Your brother pays your friends to whore in front of the camera?”
This time her laugh was genuine. “They don’t whore themselves out. They know before they ever stand in front of that camera what they’re doing.”
Bile rose in my throat. I tightened my grip. “Not me.”
“No, not you. You were the surprise.”
I dug my fingers into her flesh and shook her harder, my anger straining to break free. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tears came to her eyes, and I let go of her shoulders. “Just that you were different. Collin called you the Mother Lode.”
I looked back at the screen. The date blurred in the corner. December twenty-third. One week ago. Understanding dawned. At least now I knew what I’d done those lost two days before Christmas. I swallowed down bile and focused on me. In still frame, I wore a leather bra and panties with high heeled boots. A large studded bracelet covered my right wrist, hiding my gash. A black hat pulled down over one eye, and my hair fell to my shoulders in waves. Nothing was explicit except what I said. “Is this it? Or am I on another video in here somewhere?”
Chrissy trembled. “This is it. As far as I know.”
“But you didn’t bring me.”
“Of course not. I knew right away in psych class not to mess with you. Not with Travis watching your every move.”
Something niggled at my brain. “Then how did I get there?”
“Duh, Collin was your partner.”
An icy finger of fear slithered down my spine. Not just my partner, but my peer mentor. I’d been meeting with him since the first week of school. “Does Professor Balt know? He paired us up.”
Chrissy shook her head vehemently. “Nobody knows. If anybody found out, Collin would never get his degree.”
This seemed to bother her more than the videos he’d made. Keeping the disgust from my voice, I questioned her further. “So, you were there every time he videotaped them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of the deal. I bring the girls and drive them home afterward. Collin can’t afford to have his name attached to a drunk minor.”
“Right.” I nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Because running a porn ring is so much better.”
A scowl crossed Chrissy’s face. “It’s not like he did anything wrong. Nobody prostituted themselves out. They just had a little fun for the camera. I can’t help the supply and demand. Guys want it, what the hell’s wrong with getting paid to make them happy?”
“It’s disgusting and immoral. Sober would they have done it?”
“Sober or not, the money’s the same, and they are all eighteen. It’s legal.”
“What about me? I’m only seventeen.” I waved to the computer screen, furious, but still unable to articulate exactly what bothered me most. “I’m willing to bet some of them are too. And by my count, that’s child pornography. Illegal no matter who got paid.”
“Watching out for the underdog, huh? Is that why you drug me here tonight?”
“What is wrong with you? Do you actually like being a part of your brother’s twisted game?”
Chrissy looked away, but not before her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t have a choice, okay?”
That undid me. I sat beside her on the bed, remembering her reaction to me in the car. I suspected abuse from a dad, but never from a brother. “I’m sorry, Chrissy.”