You Owe Me a Murder(78)

Things happen for a reason. Nicki would have had a reason and I was pretty sure I knew what it was. If I was right, I had a possible solution. I grunted in satisfaction.

I pushed away the worry that no one would come to the park. I refused to believe that all of this had been in my head. I’d deal with it if I had to, but I wasn’t ready to admit defeat.

I walked to the park and wove my way to the Peter Pan statue, but Nicki wasn’t there. I chucked the rest of my food into the bin. I glanced up and down the pathway, but no one was coming. I didn’t want to sit on the bench; it seemed too suspicious to wait there as the rain fell. Instead, I walked in circles, never straying too far, my stomach a tight, sour knot.

No sign of Nicki. I pictured the solution (if she did show up) over and over in my mind. It might seem like my mom’s usual woo-woo, but visualization made a difference. It had been proved in studies. I slowed the steps down, playing them in slow motion in my head, imagining how she would react and how I would respond. My feet traced calculations in the gravel. Doing the math relaxed me.

The rain slowed to a light drizzle. With my phone turned off, I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since I’d posted the message. I realized I was picking at my fingers and shoved my hands deep into my pockets to keep myself from peeling the flesh down to the bone.

I reminded myself of Emily’s letter. I was smart. Things happen for a reason. This trip had taught me at least one thing: I needed to rely on myself. I was the only one who could find the answers. I could do this.

I nibbled on a sliver of fingernail. At least an hour must have passed by now, maybe as much as two. If Nicki was real, then she would have seen the message. She’d be looking to reach out to me because of the night before. She knew everything. Which meant that if she didn’t show up, I was going to have to face the idea that it had all been in my head.

I didn’t have to tell anyone about Nicki. The police hadn’t been able to prove anything in Connor’s death. They hadn’t even officially said it was a murder. They didn’t have proof. And if Nicki was in my imagination, I didn’t have to worry about her accusing me. Figments of my imagination weren’t going to chase me down, threatening to blackmail me if I didn’t kill their mother. I would be free and clear.

Except for the fact that I knew what had happened. I was thinking clearly now, but who was to say I would stay that way? It was possible in an hour from now I could decide that Nicki wanted someone else to die, someone else in “her” way. Who knew—?maybe I’d get a dark wig and start running around, thinking I was Nicki while lost in some kind of fog.

If she didn’t show up soon, I would record everything I could remember into my phone, then call Detective Sharma. I’d let her take me to jail, or to a mental hospital, or wherever she thought I needed to be. It wasn’t about doing the right thing for my parents, or Em, or Alex, or even Connor. It was about doing the right thing because it mattered to me. I’d spent too much of my life trying to be what other people wanted, trying to make them happy. Being here, being stripped of everything, made me realize that what mattered most was my own opinion of myself.

“There you are!” I spun around. Nicki was here. “I thought we were going to meet by the statue?”

“I was walking around. Waiting for you.” My breath was slow and shallow.

Nicki spun in a circle with her umbrella as if she were Mary Poppins doing a dance number. “Well, here I am.”

I took a step closer. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

Another step.

“Of course I came. We have a lot to talk about.”

One more step. “We do.” I tried to calculate the distance. I lunged forward before she could dart away and seized Nicki’s arm. She tried to wrench it back, but I hung on, pulling her toward me until we were inches apart. Her eyes were wide, shocked. I could feel her breath on my face. I was close enough to count her individual eyelashes and stare into her eyes. I’d never really noticed the color before. I’d thought they were a light brown, but they were actually almost yellow. Lizard-eye yellow. I smelled the sticky sweet scent of her shampoo, like overripe strawberries. My nose twitched as I tried to suck in every detail. I felt the heat of her skin where I held her wrist and even the buried ripple of her pulse. There was a faint bruise by her mouth, covered with a thin layer of concealer.

“What are you doing?” Nicki hissed, still trying to pull back.

I leaned forward as if to kiss her cheek and lightly touched my tongue to her skin. Salty. “You’re real,” I said, the certainty of it spreading through me like fire.

Nicki yanked herself free and wiped her face. “What the hell? Of course I’m real.”

I felt lightheaded. I hadn’t invented her.

Nicki backed up a few steps and inspected me. Then she burst out laughing so hard she bent in half. “Oh my god, you thought you imagined me?”

“It’s not funny,” I said.

“That is so perfect,” Nicki crowed. “It never even occurred to me that you would think I was some kind of psychotic voice in your head. You must have thought you were going insane.” She trailed off in giggles. “I wish I could have known what you were thinking for the past few days. Wandering around all Lady Macbeth–like: ‘Out, damned Nicki.’” Her eyes popped and her mouth made a perfect doll O. “Wait, so did you think you were the one who killed Connor?”