Page 129 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
“And what happened after that?” Sara asks, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb and frowning at me.
“She just kept saying …” I start, but then I choke on the lie. Fuck. This is one of the ugliest lies I’ve ever told. It gums up my mouth and makes my tongue feel like it’s coated in motor oil. It’s so ugly because it gives Pamela credit that she doesn’t deserve. “She kept saying what did he do to my baby?” I close my eyes and imagine how someone else’s mother might’ve reacted. Once, I saw a true crime show about a mother that found video footage of her husband raping his stepdaughter. This mother, she went and got her shotgun, and she blew the man’s head off while he was sleeping. That’s the mother I imagine when I close my eyes. “When Neil came home, she hit him. And she kept hitting him.” I open my eyes again and exhale. “I don’t think she’d have stopped if he hadn’t hit her back.”
Sara looks at me for a while, listening to the wind whip the flag around. I’ve got on a cashmere sweater that’s as pink as the dress underneath. Pen would’ve loved this outfit. She would’ve worn it with pride and listened to GRRRLS by AViVA, and then maybe she would’ve gone out and kissed one of them. That’s how I imagine her now, vibrant and full of color.
“So silly, considering she died broken and alone,” Kali hisses, but I ignore her. She’s just a plot, a storytelling device to throw back my pain in my own damn face. She is nothing. She never really was.
As soon as I accept that truth, as soon as I let it settle into my heart, I blink and she’s gone.
“Would you be able to testify on what you saw?” Sara asks me, but I shake my head.
“No.” I look right at her when I say it. “I’m not a dog for the police.”
“That’s not why you’re here, Bernadette,” she tells me, like she’s a fucking psychologist or some shit. “You’re here because you want to make things right.”
I laugh then, and the sound is as ugly as the sneering face of Kali’s disappearing ghost, the one I summoned up with my own pain and frustration.
“Penelope is dead, so nothing will ever be right again. But keep chasing your bad guys, Sara Young.” I step back and turn around, heading down the steps and waiting to see if she’ll call out to me. She doesn’t. And that’s a good thing because it means that for now, I’ve given her everything she needs.“I know how we’re going to handle Brittany,” Vic says, slapping a folder down on the table in Aaron’s dining room. I’m sitting there with my phone open to Oak River Elementary’s website. It’s shiny and modern and riddled with accolades … and I hate everything about it.
Even though I know that I’m being stubborn and selfish. Sending Heather to that school would change everything for her. And Aaron was right: based on the way things are rolling in Prescott, she’d be much safer.
I swallow and turn my phone off, but not before Aaron sees what I’m looking at. We exchange a quick glance before I turn back to Victor.
“Alright boss,” Hael starts, sliding his hand down his face. “Lay it out for us.”
“I think you’re going to be pleased by the idea,” Oscar deadpans, leaning back in the armchair and toying with a stress ball in the shape of a giant sperm. I know, it’s weird, but we were all given one during sex ed in sophomore year. I found Aaron’s between the couch cushions the other day. It’s probably been there for years. “This ties our responsibilities together nicely. And really, it’s a much better deal than the little witch deserves.”
“Are you sure we can even touch Brittany right now?” I ask, furrowing my brow slightly. Cal bites into an apple with a crisp snap, drawing my attention to him. “I mean, considering that her father is the captain of the VGTF?”
“Actually,” Vic begins, leaning against the peninsula with his big arms crossed over his broad chest. When I glance back at the folder and peek inside it, I see that it’s full of maps, activity logs, and lists of names relating to the Grand Murder Party. Intel, from Havoc’s crew. “We’re going to use that to our advantage against the GMP.”
Cal takes another bite of apple, studying the fruit for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine and smiling. “What do I get to do?” he asks absently, like he’s damn near certain that violence is going to be involved in this particular plan.
He’s probably right.
“We’re going to borrow Brittany for half a day,” Victor says mildly, rubbing at his chin in that way of his. His hair looks violet in the light of the living room lamps. “Cal will give her his special treatment—arms and upper back only. We don’t need any of her injuries showing up during an ultrasound.”
