Even if what Lucy said is true, there is no logical explanation for why anyone should be entering our house at four in the morning. Suddenly, the thought comes to me like a punch to the chest: What if Levi was listening to Lucy and me talking when he was in the shed? She had been wondering about Eliza, after all. Pushing me along, asking me questions. I didn’t say anything bad out there, I didn’t say anything wrong, but still. He had looked so strange once he emerged, like he had heard us. Heard every word.
“There was an argument,” I had said.
He wouldn’t have liked that.
I hear it again, something resembling a dry heave, and before I can think twice, I fling open the door and step into the hallway, the sudden pitch-black of it throwing me off-balance. I take a few steps out of my bedroom, but before I get far, my bare feet brush against something on the floor, warm and wet, and I immediately jump back, squinting at whatever it is on the ground.
“What the hell?” I whisper, kneeling down. Suddenly, a familiar scent fills my nostrils: vomit, warm and sharp, something fermenting on the floor. My eyes are starting to adjust now and I can see that it’s a piece of clothing, a costume, bright green fabric with torn-up edges.
I glance to the right, toward the bathroom, and see a dark figure slumped on the floor.
“Nicole?” I ask, realization dawning on me as I run toward the bathroom and turn on the light. After Levi showed up, I had forgotten all about her. Lucas said she was drunk, too drunk, but that Trevor was taking care of her … but now I remember Trevor, too, walking out back to boss around the pledges.
“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.”