Like a Sister(16)

Always? I’d assumed Desiree had been here only for the night. I wanted to ask how long she had been staying but didn’t want to get left. So I just thanked her and followed the detectives into the elevator.

Zizza fumed the entire ride up, then stomped out toward Desiree’s suite when the doors opened. I was right behind him, just as anxious to get inside for different reasons. Because this suite might answer the question no one else could: Why had she been coming to see me? Or the question no one seemed to want to ask: What if she hadn’t been by herself?

When we all got to 1407, I stared the door down like it owed me money. Green turned to me. “We will need you to wait outside.”

“For how long?” I said.

“For however long it takes,” Zizza said.

We glared at each other while Green put the card in the entry slot. “I’m not expecting longer than a half hour. We’ll come get you if we need help identifying anything.”

I spoke as he opened the door. “I really think I should come in with—”

I stopped abruptly. There was someone passed out on the couch inside. About the only thing covering her was vomit.





POSTED MAY 20, 2019,

12:30 a.m. Mountain Daylight @IHeartErinXOXO




Desiree Pierce’s face fills the screen. She’s filming herself. The filter includes sunglasses and bunny ears.

Desiree speaks loud enough to be heard over a buzzing sound off camera. “It’s midnight and someone has dragged me to a tattoo parlor.”

A voice. “Freck, you begged me to go.”

The camera flips to show Erin Ambrose getting a tattoo. She tries to smile seductively, but it’s a struggle even with the filter. It hurts.

“He’s almost done. I definitely made the right choice to go smaller. Who says bigger is better…” She trails off. Desiree’s not paying attention.

“Yeah,” Desiree says, but it comes out distracted.

“I think I’m gonna jump off a cliff after this.”

Desiree again. “Me too.”

Erin says nothing, just stares until Desiree speaks again. “What? Oh. Sorry. I got a text.”

Erin perks up. “From him?”

“Yep.”

“And…”

“He’s sorry and wants to talk.”

Erin smiles, despite the pain. “Say it.”

“Nope,” Desiree’s voice says.

Erin tries again. “Say it.”

“Fine.”

A pause as neither speaks. “I’m waiting,” Erin says.

“Youwereright.”

Erin cups her hand next to her ear. “Excuse me? I couldn’t make that out. Can you be more clear?”

“You. Were. Right.”

Erin smiles. “I’m so glad this moment has been captured for posterity. Now the entire world will know that one time on May something whatever year it is I was right and Desiree Pierce was wrong.”

“If I’d known, I woulda got you a medal.”

“No need. I brought my own.”

“Congrats,” Desiree’s voice says. Then, “He’s going to kill me when he finds out.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Like I’d let someone even stare at you the wrong way, Freck.”

The tattoo artist, who’s been ignoring the conversation, finally speaks. “All done.”

The camera moves forward, only stopping when the completed tattoo is on screen. A trail of tiny broken hearts lines Erin’s hip bone.

“It’s cute,” Desiree’s voice says.

“Thanks.” Erin reaches for the camera. “Your turn.”





Five



Green rushed in, moving faster than he probably had since the Police Academy. Zizza was close behind. They stopped a couple of feet away from the woman, the pool of dried vomit separating them like two landmasses. Neither spoke. Then Green finally said, “She’s breathing.”

I exhaled a breath of my own. In their rush to check on her, neither cop noticed I’d also come inside.

“You know her?” Zizza said. Green just shook his head.

I recognized her even if they didn’t, since she took the barely-any-clothes approach on her Instagram too. I could tell you her handle quicker than the square root of eighty-one. Desiree had certainly tagged it enough, usually followed by #likeasister #happy #lifeisgood.

#gag.

This bra-and-pantied white girl was Erin Ambrose. I didn’t share that, though, just watched as Green sidestepped rock-hard vomit to shake her shoulder. “Miss,” he said.

But she didn’t wake up. So he repeated the entire process, this time adding, “We need you to get up.” He kept on like this, gently at first but after two straight minutes not so much. My own nerves returned. I felt guilty for thinking ill of someone who clearly wasn’t okay. I took my cell out of my jeans pocket, ready to call for help, but she finally woke up, peering at him with eyes so red you could barely make out the blue of her irises. Then she looked behind him at me. “There you are, Freck.”

The cops both turned around. Zizza’s eyes narrowed at the sight of me so I chose to make eye contact with Green instead. I could see the question on his face. You know her?