Only If You're Lucky(41)

“Nicole,” I say again, reaching out to shake her shoulder. She’s half naked, huddled on the tile with a puddle of red bile beneath her. I turn back toward the hallway, looking at her dress. She must have gotten sick, peeling it off before stumbling to the toilet, falling asleep.

“Come on,” I say, digging my arms into her armpits, hard, trying to help her stand. I don’t think she was in here when I went into my bedroom earlier, but at the same time, I can’t be sure. It was dark and I was disoriented, basically beelining from the kitchen straight into my bed. “Nicole, come on. Let’s get in bed.”

She groans, her head flopped to the side like a newborn baby, a crust of dried spit stuck to her lip.

“No,” she mutters, holding up her arms before they flop back down again, gummy and boneless. That’s when I see the marks on her wrist: little bruises like fingers, faint but there, and there’s something familiar about the placement of them. Something about it I’ve seen before. “Stop.”

“Come on,” I say, trying to brush away the memory, focus on this. “Let’s go.”

“No,” she says again, but she lets me lift her—really, she has no choice—the entire weight of her leaning into my side, body limp like a dragged corpse.

I look down at the toilet, chunks of bright red vomit sitting stagnant in the water, and flush it with my free hand before bringing her back into my bedroom, wiping her face and tucking her in bed. I stare at her for a second, taking in the way the back of her hair is rough and matted, the frantic twitch of her lips like she’s already lost in some kind of dream. Then I curl in beside her and listen to the steady sound of her breathing, trying not to think about the fact that it couldn’t have been her I heard moving around earlier. She’s practically comatose.

That, and I can hear the tank running.





CHAPTER 29


AFTER

“Detective Frank is here.”

I look up at Sloane, two wide eyes peeking through my doorway. Lucy has been gone for over two weeks now and they’re here with a warrant, like we knew they would be.

“Okay,” I say. “Be right out.”

I flip my book closed and toss it onto my bed, steeling myself for these next few hours, even though we knew it was only a matter of time. We knew they would want to explore every aspect of her, peeling back her privacy and poking around. Sticking their fingers into all of it.

I walk into the living room to find everyone else already there: Sloane and Nicole on the couch, side by side, with Detective Frank standing in the center. There are a few officers with him, eyes perusing the room. The place is practically empty now, most of our belongings sealed up in boxes, but we tried to clean up as best we could, anticipating their arrival. We’ve been watching the news.

“I’m going to be straight with you,” Frank says, eyes on me as I walk to the couch and take a seat next to Nicole. “Your roommate’s last known activity was right here, in this house, two days before her employer called and reported her missing.”

I think of us in this room again, smoke whirling around as Lucy picked up that knife, my reflection gleaming in the metal. The way she had gotten up and gone outside, leaving her phone behind. I know they’re going to find it today. It’s dead now, it’s been dead for a while, stashed under her bed, beneath her clothes, just like we planned.

“So I’m going to ask one more time,” he continues, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “If you know where your friend is, you need to tell us.”

“We don’t know where she is,” Sloane says, practically pleading, but it’s all an act. I know it’s an act. We’ve rehearsed this so many times. “We weren’t concerned before but we’re worried now, too, okay? We’ve been trying to call, but—”

“But her phone is off,” he interrupts. “Or dead. We know.”

“You said you questioned her about Levi,” Nicole says. “Maybe she took off because she didn’t know what else to do. She acts tough, but she’s only human like the rest of us.”

Detective Frank looks at Nicole for a beat too long, bored with her monologue.

“She was probably terrified,” she adds weakly.

“You know, the more we learn about Lucy, the more questions we have,” he says, ignoring her. “Does that surprise any of you?”

“No,” I say when it becomes clear that Sloane and Nicole aren’t going to answer. “That sounds about right.”

“How exactly did you all meet?”

“She’s very outgoing,” Sloane says. “She’s never had a problem approaching people she doesn’t know, striking up a conversation.”

“And charming,” Nicole adds. “She can make friends with a wall.”

“Did you see Lucy spending any time with Levi alone on the night he died?” Detective Frank asks, shifting gears so quick it takes me a second to catch up.

“No,” I say at last, remembering the way he had stood up and immediately stumbled, legs limp and loose like a wobbly fawn. The way Lucy had looked at me, smiling, before she got up, too. “It was a big party. He was there, but we only saw glimpses of him.”

“Glimpses,” he repeats.

“Yes. We didn’t really hang out with him.”