“If not, what?” I ask him, heart pounding furiously. I don't know why. Eric doesn't know it was me. In fact, he's thoroughly convinced that it was his sister. And he's never blamed her. All he's ever done is try to cover this up, brush it under the rug. He knows what they did to her, but he never tried to stop it. I wonder if he thinks cleaning up some blood redeems him for that.
“Shit, I don't know,” he snarls. “Things are going good for me, Naomi. I can't have this screw it up.”
“So you came looking for me?”
“Yes!” He throws up his hands and then pinches his thin lips together. “Katie is missing.” My heart skips a beat, starts up again at a galloping pace.
“Missing?”
“Yeah, as in gone. I can't find her anywhere, and Naomi, it's gotten worse.” I swallow hard.
“It has?”
“Yeah. So bad that she was committed.” Eric pauses and tucks his hands into his pockets. When the right one escapes, it's clasped around a silver flask. He tips it to his lips and drinks deep. Reminds me of the nights we used to spend looking at the stars and getting plastered. I used to think he took me out there because he liked me. In reality, he just didn't want to hear what was happening to his sister.
I take it and swallow big. If Katie is missing, then I have my answers. Not for sure maybe, but probably. It would explain a lot.
“Come on,” I say, turning away slightly and motioning for Eric to follow me. “Let's go find those scissors.”
They're gone, of course. Six years of carrying them around in the bottom of the purse I never use and suddenly, they're just missing. I sit on the floor with my legs bent at the knee, feet trailing behind me. Useless items sprawl everywhere in the tiny space – gum wrappers, tubes of lipstick, an old cell phone that doesn't work anymore held together with tape.
Eric is gone; he had no choice. Dax was still in the shower when we got back, but America was sitting at the table in front. I sent him away with a promise to call if I found the scissors. He gave me a business card and left. It's sitting next to my right knee now, under a box of gold thumbtacks.
Katie Rhineback.
I can't blame her for the problems she has; one time, her mother locked her in a closet for a week with two water bottles – one full of orange juice to drink, the other to piss in. She was ten at the time. I rub my hands over my face and I remind myself that it was worth it, that the Rhinebacks were miserable excuses for human beings. They had to die for what they did to Katie, for what they tried to do to me, for what they could've and would've done to many others.
“Fuck.”
“Everything okay?”
The voice to my right scares the shit out of me and makes me jump. But it's just Dax. I ignore him and start shoveling the items together, pushing them in the purse and out of sight. Back they go in the drawer beneath my bunk. I have to keep my shit there or Spencer fucks with it when she cleans. I stand up just in time to see Hayden appear from behind Dax like a ghost, all pale and sweaty, fucked up as shit.
She stumbles forward and catches herself on Dax's shoulder, gigging raucously, letting her tits fall out of the tight, black corset she donned for tonight's show. Dax's face shows no irritation, just concern as he helps Hayden find her feet and lets her throw herself into his arms. As she kisses his neck, he looks straight over her shoulder at me.
“I don't want to talk right now,” I tell him, hoping he'll understand. I consider asking him for a hit of acid, but I know that's just wishful thinking. If there's anything I shouldn't be doing right now, it's getting fucked up. Looking at Hayden sweating like a pig with pupils so big her eyes look like pits, I know that I won't be able to deal with this shit if I'm tripping. Katie, I now presume, is the one who sent the video and who killed the birds, stole the scissors, too. Definitely her MO. In fact, now that I'm thinking of her as a suspect, it doesn't seem so strange anymore. Murdering innocent animals so she can use their life force like macabre Crayolas? Right up Katie's alley. Raped her whole life, tortured incessantly, starved. It's a wonder she hasn't killed anyone yet. If she does decide to go rogue though, I'm probably first on her list.
“I know, but I think you should.”
“I'm not suicidal,” I tell him as Hayden leans back and grabs his shirt in two fistfuls, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“You can't have them both, you know,” she murmurs at me, and then goes back to trying to kiss Dax. He gently pushes her back and tries to help her lay down in bed; she lets him but then tries to spread her legs. She's not wearing underwear under that short skirt of hers. What a surprise.
“I'll deal with her,” I tell him as she grabs at the fingerless glove on his hand and slides it off seductively. “But please, just go away.”