Real Ugly(59)

I check around to make sure that she's gone and then jack a pair of her sunglasses. I doubt she'll even know I took them considering she's giving up the spotlight tonight to go take care of whatever it is she's so damn worried about. I'm singing tonight. I try to keep that thought out of my head, pretty damn certain that if I let it, it'll take hold of me and fuck me until I'm too nervous to even set foot on that stage. Being the center of attention isn't my thing either. That too, I leave to Hayden Lee. She thrives on that kind of shit. Me, not so much.

Dax and America are sitting at the table when I come out, but neither turns to look at me which is a bad sign. They pretend like they're not watching which makes it all the more obvious that they are.

“Sorry about the late night conjugal visit,” I say which makes America cringe and swivel to face me with clenched teeth. I pour myself a cup of coffee and drink it black, leaning against the counter and praying to god that I won't get any more plastic doll heads in the mail today.

“Yes, well. Hmm.” That's all America says, but I can tell she's holding back. What she really wants to do is tear off that stupid red tie she's got on and leap at my face, claw my damn eyes out and tell me to stay the hell away from Turner Campbell. Instead, she just spins back to face Dax who still won't look at me. I feel like I should apologize for some reason, but I know how stupid that is. I don't owe him anything. He has a crush on me. So what? That's not my problem; that's his.

I finish my coffee and toss the mug in the sink, too riled up to sit still. Besides, there's so much going on, all I have to do is reach a hand into a hat and pull out a name. Eric, Katie, Hayden, Turner. If I don't start dismantling these mysteries, I'm going to drown in them.

Fortunately for me, one of them is waiting right outside the door.

“Hello, Eric,” I say as I turn towards my former foster brother and admire the cream colored suit he's got on. The sharp cut of the shoulders and the perfect tailoring at the waist tells me that this, too, is one expensive fucking coat he's got on.

“Naomi,” he says, glancing around like he thinks the cops are lurking around the corner. I light up a cigarette and watch as he shifts his feet nervously. “Did you find them?”

“I told you I'd call if I did.” I pause. “They were stolen.”

Eric freezes for a moment and then nods, short and crisp, like this is all just a business transaction to him.

“Okay. So the police really do have them … ” He trails off and rubs at his perfectly shaved chin, gleaming like a damn baby's bottom it's so fucking smooth. “But why do they have my fingerprints on them and not yours?”

“Good question,” I ask him as I move closer and grab the flask he's just removed with trembling hands from his pocket. “Why don't you ask it a little louder, so the whole camp can be sure to hear.” Eric lets me shoo him away and over towards the same spot Turner and I were sitting last night. There are some teenagers nearby smoking pot, but we ignore them. They're already high as kites. “Have you heard anything from Katie?” I ask, wondering where that bitch is. She's really starting to get to me. If I let it, the paranoia could really become a problem.

“Nothing,” he says with a sigh, adjusting his black tie and watching as I take a massive gulp of whatever it is he's got. Whiskey. Good whiskey this time. Nice. I hand it back. “But the police are still out looking for me.” He sighs and sits down on the curb, burying his face in his hands. I watch unsympathetically. I mean, I feel bad for the guy, but if it comes down to me or him, he's the one that's going down. Call me cruel, but it's just survival. And his parents probably would've killed all three of us eventually, so in a sense, he owes me one. “I don't know what to do. Even if I find her, that won't change anything. Somehow, I got it into my head that if I brought Katie back, things would be different. They won't be though, will they?” I just shrug and keep smoking, glancing over my shoulder occasionally to stare at Indecency's bus. It's at least twice the size of ours and a hell of a lot nicer, and that's saying a lot because ours costs as much as a fucking house.

“You just have to fight through it. You know you're innocent, so tell the damn truth. They'll figure it out eventually.” I think back to the massive amount of questioning I was subjected to after the murder. I'm still having a hard time believing I got away with it, figure there has to be some other reason, some freak accident or loophole or sloppy police work that messed things up on their end. I mean, I was all over that crime scene. Eric, too, for that matter. And even Hayden was there, watching from inside the Rhineback's closet. I swallow hard.