Secrets and Lies 7 (The Ferro Family) (Secrets & Lies) (7 page)

I
drop
Nate’s class and avoid him as much as possible. I don’t leave campus though, and so I see him walk by once in a while. I don’t know where he’s living, but I’ve not heard anything else about the fire or his property. The fire marshal spoke to me once and scolded me for being so stupid, but he deemed the fire an accident. That means Nate should have insurance money, and Ferro will take the land. Nate couldn’t stop the fracking by being a holdout, but I admire him for trying. I wish I could tell him how much he means to me. It’s not until I lost Nate that I realize how I truly feel.

I love him. I’d do anything to see him smile, to hear his laughter again. He makes me feel alive and he makes me want to be a better person—but I’m not a good person. I’m me. I've done deplorable things, and I can’t hide it. I still feel raw, stripped bare. Every thought of Nate hurts, every waking memory of his lips on my body—knowing I’ll never kiss him again kills me.

Silence has become my best friend, and I avoid everyone else. Beth tries to talk, but I’m a bitch to her. I don’t cooperate, and I wander off in the middle of sentences. I care about her and know I’m being a shitty friend. She could do better. Eventually, she’ll see that and leave me alone.

Chelsey, on the other hand, still thinks we’re BFFs. I can’t ditch her. I pull my messenger bag over my shoulder and head to the art building to avoid her and her new boyfriend. Kevin and Chelsey. Who knew?

Josh doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s not spoken about anything of significance since he picked me up in the hospital. I start crying sometimes, and he holds me, saying nothing. It’s like we’re both stuck in the waiting room to Hell.

Josh is waiting for me outside the art building. We head inside and up the stairwell to the classroom. The door is unlocked, as usual, for students to work on their paintings. It’s past nine at night, so only a few people are around. They’ve mostly gone home, which is fine by me. I’d rather be alone.

As we walk through the door, Josh says, “I found something, about the bottles.”

I set my stuff down on a desk near my cubby and turn to look at him. His eyes are swollen and dark. Sleep deprived like mine. “What it is?”

He’s almost too afraid to say it. “That kind of wrapper—the collar on the bottle—can’t be tampered with or resealed. It’s not like shrink-wrap. It would melt if someone opened it and tried to heat seal it again.”

I pause, hand on my painting, and shake my head. “Then how’d the drugs get in the bottle?”

“It had to be done before it was sealed, but there’s a bottling plant for that brand of vodka in town. Can you guess whose father is the manager?”

“Who?”

“Sherry’s dad.”

I leave the painting in the cubby and walk over to Josh. “Wait a second, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“That Sherry drugged everyone? No, it wasn’t her. I asked her about it and guess who she got her bottle for the study group from?”

“Who?”

“Her brother, Scott.”

“Why the hell would Scott want to drug me? Or Beth? Or you?”

Josh sucks in a deep breath and wanders over to a table, and sits on the top. “I don’t know, but maybe we should go find out.”

“He’s down the hall in another classroom. I saw him on our way in.”

Josh nods. “I know. Let’s go find out what the fuck is going on.”

The two of us head down a few doors and slip inside. Scott has his back to us and is working in red on a painting that screams HELP ME. It’s filled with violent brush strokes and thin layers of paint piled so thick in spots that the image is nearly three-dimensional. Next to it is a second canvas that’s nearly complete. Monochromatic shades of blue swirl through the painting to form a man with dark hair hanging in his eyes, concealing his face. It’s Carter.

“Scott,” I call out as we walk over intent on asking him one thing then blindsided by the contrasting paintings. “Did you paint that one, too?” I point toward the portrait of Carter with the soft lines and light brush strokes. The way Carter’s head tips forward, chin tucked, makes him seem vulnerable.

Scott pushes his blue hair out of his face, smearing red through the top. He doesn’t seem to care. “Yeah.”

Josh cocks his head to the side. “Is that Carter?”

“Yes, it is.” Scott’s voice is quiet but obviously annoyed. “What do you want?”

I blink at the painting of Carter, my eyes flicking between Scott and the canvas. Memories flip behind my eyes like cards, flashing images of Scott behind Carter, always there, always silent. I used to think of the blue haired boy like a sentry, always standing guard, but that’s not it. That was never it. “Oh, God!” I turn to Scott and can’t stop staring. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Say what now?” Josh leans in, arms folded loosely across his chest. He’s standing on one foot, trying to get closer to me. He glances at my face, then at the painting of Carter, then back at Scott.

“Scott’s an upperclassman. Scott’s been here the entire time. Before me, before you…” My voice trails off and, for a second, I think I’ve got it wrong, that there’s no way.

But Scott bristles and turns toward me, leaving his brush on his easel. “You’re wrong.”

Holy shit! I’m right! A smile spreads across my face as the pieces of the puzzle land perfectly in place. “You’re in love with Carter. You have been since your freshman year. He moved in with you after the whole thing with Josh and his girlfriend. You knew everything. Carter confided in you and told you how hurt he was. You couldn’t stand it, so you got even for him.”

Josh flinches like he's been slapped. “He did what?”

“Your dad manages the bottling plant. Slipping drugs into a liquor bottle wouldn’t be a big deal. You wouldn't have to reseal anything. You could cut the original off, open the bottle, spike it, and use the machine to put on another plastic seal. No one would know.”

Scott laughs darkly. “Keep making up stories, Kerry.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? Once the why is there, it becomes obvious. You targeted the two people who caused Carter the most pain. You made it look like Josh raped Carter’s girlfriend, but he didn’t did he? You staged that entire scene then stood back and watched.”

“Bullshit.”

Josh has his arms folded across his chest. His gaze flicks between Scott and me. “He staged it? Why?”

“Because you hurt Carter. You both did, so he paid you both back, tenfold. That leaves Emily at the club. That was you, too, wasn’t it? You knew she liked Carter, so you took care of it. What about the other rape victims recently? Did they screw with Carter too?”

“What about the bottle at the study group?” Josh asks.

“That was an accident. Sherry didn’t ask Scott for the bottle, she stole one from his stash. She told us the bottles were expensive while she was eating cookies, and that the group didn’t bring in cheap stuff. She didn’t have the cash to buy her own, so she took his. Beth and I were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Josh’s hands fist at his sides. “Say something, asswipe. Refute it or say it’s true, but saying nothing just makes you look guilty as hell.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe this bullshit.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t look so goddamned tense, like she figured you out.”

Scott looks away, and clears his throat. “You would never have known if not for her.” Scott sneers triumphantly. “Payback is a bitch, isn’t it? You spoiled fuck. You had everything, and it still wasn’t enough. You got off light that night.”

Josh's entire body starts to shake. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Scott holds his head high. “You deserved it, prick. You’re a spoiled, rich asshole. You would have raped someone eventually.”

“No, he wouldn’t have! What the hell is wrong with you?” I find myself yelling, fighting for Josh. “Just because the guy came from a house with cash, doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“They all turn out the same in the end. Privilege makes them think they can take and take, without any penalty, ever. Well, I made sure he felt every bit as miserable as Carter did.” Scott laughs and shakes his head, before turning back to his painting.

Josh moves closer to Scott, arms lashed with corded muscles ready to fight. “You fucking asshole. I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing. There’s no proof except the word of a slut who’s been fucking the faculty. Good luck with that.” Scott is utterly calm, with a lazy, triumphant smile on his face.

Josh is ready to take a swing, when I stop him. I grab him by the elbow and step between them, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Can you say that again? It’d be better with video.”

Scott blanches. “You recorded me?”

“You’re a sketchy guy, Scott.” I back away from him, holding up my phone—which is now recording video, as well as sound. “I’d be an idiot to walk in here, accuse you, and not record it. I’m not that dumb.”

Scott rushes toward me, hand outstretched, ready to take the phone from me. Josh rushes him and lets out a slew of swears as his fists collide with Scott’s side. I leave the recorder running, and stuff the phone back into my pocket. I look around for my bag, ready to grab my can of pepper spray when I realize it’s still in the other classroom.

Just when I glance at Josh to see if he can hold his own for a second while I grab it, I scream. Scott has something silver in his hand, and as he slashes across Josh’s chest, there’s suddenly way too much blood. Josh crumbles to the floor like a wet rag doll.

Scott smiles at me. “You’re next, honey.”

“You’re crazy.” I back away from him, from the shining blade in his hand. It looks like a box cutter, the kind they use to open the art supplies and cut canvas.

“No, I’m a man with a plan. And for every good plan, there’s always a backup plan.” He glances at his red painting and then at me. “How hard would it be for people to believe you went completely unhinged and killed Josh before killing yourself? Not too hard. You’ve left a trail of crazy so thick even the blind can see it. But, one thing that will give it a convincing finishing touch is your final painting.”

“What are you talking about?” I inch back toward the door, ready to bolt. Josh needs help before he bleeds out and dies on the floor.

“You had all that drama with your mother stealing your first boyfriend, and then you became a slut. Your behavior was so erratic, so completely unhinged that this last part will stun everyone into silence. Come here, Kerry. I have a blank canvas for you. It’ll be your final work before you die, and one of the most evocative suicide notes ever created. You’ll be famous in a deranged kind of way, but isn’t that what all artists want? To be recognized?”

His voice is level and unafraid. I race toward the door, but Scott blocks it and grabs me by the neck. He drags me across the room, my arms ripping at his grip on my neck. I slip in Josh’s blood and smear it across the floor. He shoves me into an easel and commands, “Grab that blank canvas and put it on the easel.”

I do it, shaking so hard I nearly drop the thing. “Scott, you’re not like this. You don’t want to do this.” I try to talk him out of it, but I’m trembling so hard I can barely speak. It feels like time slowed to a chokingly unhurried speed. As my eyes sweep the room looking for a way out, any means to call for help, I come up empty. Josh is going to die, and when they find my dead body next to his, everyone will think I did it. It’ll kill Beth. And Nate… I never got to apologize. I never got a chance to tell him I love him. Tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks even though I wish they wouldn’t. I wanted to be strong, to be fearless but I’m not. At my core, I’m a coward.

Fingers covered in red paint snap in front of my face. “Kerry, move or I’ll make you.”

Reality cracks back into focus making me sick. My stomach churns nervously, threatening to spew its contents. Every hair on my body is on end, and my muscles are screaming to run or fight. Standing here frozen, doing nothing, goes against their wishes and the tiny jerky movements I make aren’t part of the plan. Scott grips my arm and shoves me toward the blank canvases.

“Take one,” he growls.

I place my hand in a vertical slot between the cabinets that holds unused canvases and pull one out. The bumpy texture of the weave of the fabric feels like needles in the pads of my fingers. My heart slams into my ribs rapidly and rings in my ears. I pull out the blank painting and put it where he wants.

Without warning, Scott breaks a glass that was holding dirty paintbrushes. The sound makes me jump, and it’s not until I see the shard of glass and his hand coming at me that I realize what he’s doing. I turn to run and take off for the door. My hand is on the knob, but as soon as I yank the door open, it's slammed shut and I’m shoved against it.

Back to Scott, he pins me in place and hisses in my ear, “I would have been quick about it, after all, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but fuck that.”

He jerks my wrists and whirls me around, then ties them together in front of me. “What are you doing?” My voice is strained, so choked I can barely hear it.

Scott reaches for the broken piece of glass he laid on the counter, but this time he doesn’t release me. When he has it in hand, he comes at me, jabbing the shard at my face. I flinch expecting to feel pain in my eyes, but that’s not what happens. For a moment there’s nothing and then a warm drip on my cheek followed by searing pain. I scream. It’s not weak or barely audible. It’s a high-pitched, dog-deafening, glass-shattering screech. Surprise flashes in Scotts eyes. He mutters as he grabs a rag and shoves it in my mouth, silencing me.

I can’t breathe like this. I go to spit it out, but he warns me, “I swear to God, I’ll tape your mouth shut and make things a lot worse if you make a fucking sound.”

With that, he grabs my hand and slashes the piece of glass across my fingertips. Bright red blood rises up on each one then rolls down my hand, into my palm. Scott pulls my arm toward the canvas and puts my finger on the fabric.

He tells me what to write and when I don’t move, I feel a piece of glass at my side. He’s behind me, towering over me, pressing the shard to my side. “Do you want me to push it inside? I can think of worse places, locations no one will think to look. Since you’re a total slut, you might like that. Maybe I’ll save that for last.”