Page 118 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
Nothing about my relationship with Havoc is what most people would consider healthy or normal.
I don’t care.
While I would discourage my sister from ever living a life like this, I’m throwing myself headlong into the dark.
I hop off the bed, looking around the room and trying to decide what it is that I want. Looking at it all now, it’s virtually meaningless. Things don’t matter, not at all. Be practical, Bernie, I tell myself, moving over to my closet and pulling out a dark blue Adidas duffel bag that used to belong to Penelope.
“Your room looks nothing like you,” Cal says, looking around as I pack underwear and bras, pictures and old journals. There’s an entire shoebox full of old poems under my dresser, pieces titled with macabre names like Suicidal Letters from a Stalker. There’s one about a girl named Penny who gets her leg cut off. I stare at the work for a moment and then shove it all into the bag.
I really don’t want to be here when Pam comes home. I’m not afraid of that bitch, but I also don’t want a confrontation in a dark, quiet house. What if I can’t control myself around her?
What if Cal can’t?
“Please,” Kali’s ghost says, staring at me with blood draining down the side of her face. She’s riddled with bullet holes from Aaron’s gun, but that doesn’t stop her from taunting me, even more so from beyond the grave than she did when she was alive. “You couldn’t kill me. You could never hurt your mom. You’re too soft and weak.”
I ignore her, moving out of the room and then pausing in front of the door that used to belong to Pen, the one that Pamela wouldn’t let her install a deadbolt on. When I open it, I see exercise equipment that belongs to the Thing.
“This was her room,” Cal says. It’s not a question; it’s a fact. He already knows. “Where are her things?”
“You mean the stuff that Pamela didn’t sell?” I quip, feeling my stomach bottom out. My sister was wiped from existence before the ink was dry on her death certificate. “In the attic.” Before we head up there though, using the hatch in the ceiling of the upstairs landing, I go into Pam’s room.
I steal her best jewelry, the stuff she’s so proud of pinching from Nordstrom or Neiman Marcus, from the rich women she hangs out with in Oak River Heights or Oak Park. I take it all, even though it means nothing to me.
It will, however, destroy her when she finds out it’s missing.
Callum helps me, making a systematic sweep of the room like the career criminal he so very clearly is. Doesn’t matter to me though. Just like he had no shame in his eyes when he talked about sitting outside my window, I feel none at taking things that don’t belong to me. Corporate thievery happens every day and people let it go because it’s legal, and it’s much harder to see. This isn’t any more or less honorable than raising the price on a lifesaving medical device like an Epi pen to rake in extra cash.
Actually, I lied: this has heaps more honor in it.
“Let’s clean her out,” I decide after Cal dumps an armload of valuables into another bag. We hit the downstairs next, and I’m surprised when Cal fiddles around with a wooden shelf installed on the wall near the front door. It opens up to reveal two pistols and plenty of ammo. “Holy shit,” I breathe as Cal takes that, too, filling his bag to the brim.
Finally, we’re standing at the top of the stairs and looking into the dark rectangle above my head where the last of my sister’s earthly possessions await.
I don’t want to go up there, but I know that I’m going to.
Taking a deep breath, I curl my hand around the first rung and force my shaking body up the ladder and into the dark. There isn’t enough room to stand, not even really enough to sit. Everything that’s stored up here is stacked around the edges of the opening, surrounded by insulation and mousetraps with tiny skeletons in them.
There’s just one box of Pen’s stuff in here, just one single box. Last time I checked, there were fifteen. Where are the others? Where are all of my sister’s fucking things? The last box is wedged against the wall, almost lost in shadows. Someone came up here to clear my sister’s things, but they missed this one, lost behind an open box with bits of plastic Christmas tree sticking out. There’s a pile of electronics still in the boxes, clearly stolen and ready for resale.
I grab Penelope’s box and pass it down to Callum. It says Old Homework and Assignments on the side of it, but I know it’s hers because I recognize the handwriting. She hid some of her most important things in this box, tucked onto the top shelf of her closet. She wrote that on the side to dissuade my mother and the step-monster from going through it.
