“It’s all weird. Mike doesn’t want me to hang out with her anymore, not after—ugh. Listen, I have to go.”
“Okay, but wait, she was texting me and she—someone—said that it wasn’t Braithe. This isn’t making any sense… I think someone might have Braithe’s phone.”
“Rainy, it’s Braithe, okay. She’s going through something and—”
“But what if it’s not her? What if something’s really wrong?”
Tara was silent. When she spoke again her voice almost sounded bored. “She plotted for months to take Grant from you. I’m sorry, but you are delusional if you think she’s some saint. I hate to break it to you, but you got played, I got played. Whatever victim thing she’s doing, whatever game she’s playing—I’m not buying it. You know the night of Viola’s shower…？” Tara’s voice changed. “She was with Grant. That’s why she pretended to be sick. She wanted to talk to him about her feelings. So she ambushes him on your doorstep before you get home. And you know what? I freaking covered for her.”
Rainy’s shock was obvious to Tara, who sighed deeply. “If it makes any difference to you, he rejected her.”
It did make a difference, but she didn’t want to hear any of this from Tara. Why hadn’t Grant told her? She thought back to that night, how he’d been acting. Rainy swallowed, her throat tight and dry. She wanted to do nothing more than crawl into bed and process everything, but right now…right at this very moment, it couldn’t be about Grant; Braithe was in trouble. She closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose, and tried again.
“What if she’s in trouble? You just don’t care?”
“She threatened me after everything I did for her. She doesn’t care. Sorry, Rainy.” Tara hung up. She wasn’t sorry. This was going from bad to worse.
“Wow, okay.” Rainy set her phone on the floor near her foot and leaned her torso backward until it was resting against the wall. She thought for the hundredth time about calling the police, but didn’t know what to say to them. Was Braithe still at the same hotel they stayed at, or had she left and gone somewhere else? Rainy was half-asleep when her phone pinged.
She wanted it to be Grant. But when she lifted the phone to her face, the text was from Braithe.
Tattling to Tara, it said.
Rainy dropped the phone, chills running up her arms. She shook her hands out like something nasty had touched them. That was fast. Tara must have shot some hot-worded text to Braithe’s phone right after she’d spoken to Rainy.
You two having trouble? She was stalling, trying to think of what to ask next. Maybe if she knew where Braithe was, she could call someone to check in on her.
I only know Tara through her insipid social media posts. And the screenshots. Did you know that little Braithe has organized folders of her friends’ texts?
Who are you?
Now that’s a good question.
Prove that you’re not Braithe. Send me a voice text.
I don’t have to prove anything to you.
You want my attention, so you do actually.
Lol
She waited while the dots appeared again, shaking her foot from side to side as she started at the screen.
The voice memo appeared. It was three seconds long. Rainy hit Play.
“Hello, Rainy.”
She stood up, holding her hand over her own mouth; the room seeming to hum around her in a silent panic.
The voice was male. The voice was male. The voice was male.
“Fuck,” Rainy said. Then she started typing, her thumbs stiff with fear.
Where is Braithe?
Here with me
Who are you?
Greetings, fellow bondservant! This is Paul!
Paul who? Am I supposed to believe you’re some rando who kidnapped my friend?
She was digging her fingernails into her palms, eyes tightly shut. He was addressing her in a way that was…familiar. A coil of a sentence misted through her brain, but when she reached for it, it was gone. Was this happening? This was happening. Her body felt wired. Her phone pinged, the sound violent in her ears. Paul had sent his response:
That’s the question, Rainy! Now you’re getting somewhere. Who. Am. I.
She tossed her phone on the bed, frustrated.
Paul was a Biblical name, one of the most important figures in the New Testament. What else did she know? Think. He was Saul before he was Paul…that’s right…
She paced in small circles, her brain really whirring now. He was a persecutor of the first church until he had a conversion experience on the road to Damascus, after which he became Paul. None of this made sense.