The Accomplice(43)

“How about Mason?” Luna asked. “Can he keep a secret?”

Casey had been spending some time with Mason. The fact that his name came up when Luna was clearly distraught caused her some concern. This, whatever had caused Luna’s turmoil, couldn’t possibly be about Mason.

“What does Mason have to do with anything?” Casey said, her voice on guard.

It was all going to come out anyway, Luna reasoned. She wanted to be the one to tell Casey, if Mason hadn’t already.

“He knows my secret. I thought maybe, because you two are—what are you two?”

“That’s still to be determined,” said Casey. “Well, I guess he can keep a secret, if that means anything to you.”

“Good to know,” said Luna.

Casey was, by nature, a patient person. She sat with her hands folded, resting her eyes, until she heard papers shuffling. She turned to Luna, who handed her a yellow and battered newspaper clipping. It was a piece about the murderer John Brown. Casey had a vague memory about the trial, or at least about the second one. Casey skimmed the piece, her memory refreshing. Luna was always referred to as the sister.

Luna searched Casey’s eyes for that look—the hate, the horror, the realization when someone discovers they’ve been sharing space with an accessory to murder. Technically, an accessory after the fact, although Luna couldn’t be that generous with herself. But Casey gave away nothing. She was trying to imagine what she would have done in the same situation. She couldn’t answer honestly. No one can.

“Say something,” Luna said.

Casey crawled next to Luna and got under the blanket with her. “That’s a hell of a thing to live with,” Casey said.

“I got pretty good at not thinking about it,” Luna said.

“So, what happened tonight?”

Luna felt under the bed for Owen’s phone. She checked it again. Not another word from Scarlet. “Scarlet knows.”

“How?”

“Don’t know,” Luna said. “She’s been texting Owen. Wants to tell him about me. But I have his phone and I deleted her messages. Which was stupid. She’s going to tell everyone now.”

“The hell she will. Let’s call her,” Casey said, scrolling to Scarlet’s number on Owen’s phone.

“Don’t,” Luna said.

“Too late,” Casey said, as she pressed the SEND button.

Luna vomited in her trash can while Casey listened to Scarlet’s phone go to voicemail.

“Hmm, maybe she’s over it,” said Casey, ending the call.

“Doubt it,” Luna mumbled.

Casey got up, dropped the phone on Luna’s desk, and pointed at the trash can. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right back,” Casey said.

It was past two a.m. when Luna next checked the time. Scarlet’s discovery had retreated in her mind. Front and center was a spinning room, which felt like a horrible ride she’d taken at an amusement park years ago. You stood inside a round chamber and it spun faster and faster, flattening you against the wall. Even if you wanted to vomit, the centrifugal force would likely keep it inside you.

Casey returned with water and crackers, which Luna devoured by the fistful.

“You look like Cookie Monster,” Casey said.

Luna heard only the word monster.



* * *



—

Owen woke to a loud banging on his door. He checked the clock by his bed: nine a.m. Saturday morning, if he remembered correctly. It was socially acceptable to sleep until at least eleven on a Saturday or Sunday.

“Come back during business hours,” Owen said.

“Scarlet, are you in there?” said a female voice, which Owen identified as either Amber or Bobbi.

Owen tossed the covers over his head. He thought they would go away if he ignored them. They did not. There was knocking and more knocking. Female voices shouted Owen’s name, then Scarlet’s name.

“Maybe he’s out,” said Pete, Owen’s RA.

“He just told us to go away,” said A or B. “This is important. Do you have the key?”

There was further conversation, which Owen couldn’t decipher. Then another knock landed, duller but more powerful.

“Owen, open up,” said Pete.

“Seriously?” Owen mumbled.

Pete couldn’t decipher Owen’s words. And he hated using his key. No matter how many times he asked if someone was decent, he always found them indecent.

Pete knocked again and said, “Is Scarlet with you? Her friends are worried.”

“She’s not here,” Owen said.

“We should call the police,” A or B said.

“Dude, open the door,” Pete said.

Owen stumbled out of his bed and threw on his robe. He opened his door and spewed dragon breath on A, B, and Pete.

“For fuck’s sake, she’s not here,” Owen said.

“Then she’s missing,” said Amber.

“Missing?” Owen said. A and B could find drama in anything, he thought. “She probably went home with a guy or something,” said Owen.

“No one has spoken to her in twelve hours. Have you heard anything?” Bobbi asked.

“Have you tried calling her?” Owen said. Twelve hours, Owen thought. He’d be furious if anyone started hunting for him after twelve hours.