Lettie
I see my mom walking to Uncle Ken’s house with Brooke, so I follow. Jay knows where I’m going, and makes no attempt to stop me. I wonder if my mom knows what I just learned from Jay—the photographic evidence I can never unsee.
The moment I set foot into Uncle Ken’s house, I know something is wrong. A strange smell hangs heavy in the air. I hear Evan’s voice down the hall, coming from Ken’s office.
“She’s a kid,” Evan says, and right away I know what he’s talking about.
The pictures on Riley’s phone were explicit.
Ken and Riley. The older man she was seeing—Umbrella Man—was her boyfriend’s father and my uncle. I never got a good look at him, didn’t notice Uncle Ken’s car at the hotel or see his face at the bar on that foggy, rainy night, but now I know, and everything makes perfect, awful, terrible sense.
No wonder Dylan had stopped speaking to his father. No wonder he took an overdose and chucked the phone. His suicide attempt had far more to do with his father’s betrayal than with any involvement of mine.
I’d seen Dylan use Riley’s phone before. He didn’t ask for her code back then, and I guess she didn’t think to change it after they broke up. Dylan already thought of himself as a disappointment, but add to that the threat of blackmail and the sickening discovery that his father was sleeping with his girlfriend? That would be too much for almost anybody, I’d say, but especially someone as sensitive as my cousin Dylan.
But I can’t think about Dylan or the pictures that Riley had on her phone—selfies of her and Uncle Ken in bed together, their naked bodies hidden by the bedsheets, thank goodness for that. All I can think about is my mother’s safety. I saw her come into the house, and I hear a tone in Evan’s voice that I don’t like. I’m not sure what’s going on, though I have a deep, dark feeling that my mother is in grave danger.
Instinct tells me to stay quiet, but the need to see what’s going on keeps me inching closer to Uncle Ken’s first-floor office. My back presses up against the wall as I work my way down the hallway, worrying my pounding heart is going to give me away.
“He slept with her. He’s been sleeping with her. He’s been having sex with my daughter,” Evan says loudly. “Willow told me she was seeing some older guy, and I decided to follow Riley, check this guy out for myself since she wouldn’t tell me anything about him. Stalking is something I’m good at—right, Brooke?”
Evan sounds insane—his speech is hurried, garbled, and his words are slurred like he’s been drinking. “I didn’t mean to do it,” he says. “I didn’t come here to shoot him. I just wanted to confront him. I told him I was coming over, that I wanted to talk—that’s all. But he must have known or at least suspected what it was about, because he had his gun in his office, on the desk, right in front of him.”
Evan pauses. I hear a slosh of liquid that I assume comes from him taking a drink. He coughs like it was rough going down.
At this point I’m about a foot and a half from the entrance to Ken’s office, but I don’t dare make myself visible. I’m panicked about getting out my phone, too, because I’m worried it’ll make a noise if I try to text my father.
“So I said to him,” Evan continues, “‘Ken—you utter piece of shit—how could you sleep with Riley?’ Next thing I know, he’s got his gun pointed at me. Me! I’m the father of his victim and he’s treating me like a criminal? So I grabbed for the gun. I was a lot quicker than he thought, and Ken always overestimated his athletic prowess. We struggled a bit, but I won out.
“Once I have the gun pointed at him, he’s not so tough. He starts begging for his life, telling me we can talk it over. But I’m like, ‘Talk what over? You can’t fix what you did. You took advantage of a minor—my daughter, no less. It’s called statutory rape, you know. You think you deserve forgiveness? You don’t deserve a second chance. You can’t take back what you’ve done.’
“And then I shot him. That’s what happened. That’s exactly what happened. I just shot him—three times in the chest.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep a scream from coming out. As I do, I see the door to the basement open slowly—and silently, thank goodness. It’s Mandy Kumar, moving stealthily the way I imagine a burglar might.
What’s Mandy Kumar doing here? Why is she coming up from the basement?
I let it go. No time for that.
Our eyes meet. Before she can say anything, I’ve got my finger to my lips. The urgent look on my face makes it clear that she needs to keep quiet. I motion for her to get against the wall on the opposite side of the office door from me. She moves there as silently as a ghost.
“Evan, you shot him in cold blood,” my mother says. “You may have murdered him.”
Evan laughs almost maniacally. “Yeah … yeah, I guess I did. I really did,” he says as if just coming to grips with it.
“You’ve got to turn yourself in,” my mother says. “We’ve got to try and help Ken.”
Brooke’s voice is next. “You’re not this person,” she tells him. “There’s a reason I never called the police on you. I was never afraid of you. You were just troubled, is all—but you’re not a killer.”
“Evidently that’s exactly what I am, Brooke,” says Evan. “And there’s a big problem. I just confessed it to two witnesses.” He laughs to himself like he can’t believe his own stupidity.
I can’t believe mine, either, because I’m reaching for my phone. There’s a risk I’ll give myself away, but I can’t let fear keep me from getting help.
Mandy’s eyes grow round as the moon. I’m sure she has the same concern I do. Thankfully, there are no beeps, but my hands are so shaky I’m worried I’ll drop the damn device. I go to text—can’t call, can’t speak—and the last message I sent was to Jay, so it’s that conversation I pull up.
Fear and terror don’t keep my fingers from working.
I manage to type: Call the police.
And I hit send.
Next message: 911.
Send.
Next message: Murder.
Send.
“What am I going to do now?” Evan asks himself.
Drink, I suppose, because I hear a gulp and more sloshing.
“Let the police handle this, Evan,” says my mom. “You don’t have to make this worse.”
“Worse?” he exclaims. “Worse than life in prison? I can’t do that.”
“We won’t say anything,” Brooke promises. “It was self-defense. We’ll back you on it.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you, Brooke? You might not have been afraid of me before, but you’ll be pretty damn scared of me now. My bet is you’ll want me locked away for good. I’m sure of it.”
“Evan, what do you plan to do?” My mom sounds anxious. No, make that totally terrified.
I’m looking at Mandy, who is motioning for me to check my phone. Sure enough, there’s a message from Jay.
On it. Stay safe. Called the cops.
Okay, so I just need a few minutes—I can wait this out.
Then I hear Evan: “I’ve got it—Bug Man … that asshole’s been here all day. He and Ken got into it. And you two showed up at the wrong time. I’ll drop a few hints to the police about Bug Man, and that’ll be that. Nobody but me knows about Riley and Ken, so I’ve got no motive.”
“Evan, you’re not making sense,” Mom tells him. “That’s a crazy plan, and it won’t work. It could never work.”
“Shit, you’re right,” Evan says.
The tight ball of fear in my chest deflates ever so slightly. Maybe there’s hope.
“But … it’s the best plan I got. It’s all I got. I’m sorry to do this, Alex. I really am.”
Everything slows down in that moment. I can’t see what’s going on inside Ken’s office, but I hear it.
Brooke says, “Evan, you don’t have to do this! We can work this out. You’re not this person. You’re not a killer!”
“Sorry, Brooke, this isn’t what I wanted. I’ll always love you.”
“Evan, NOOOO!” my mom screams.
I have this horrifying image of Evan raising his gun, pointing it at my mother and Brooke—ready, aim, fire.
That’s when my body and mind separate. I reach up and unhook a framed picture of Logan from the wall, one I know well from many viewings over the years. Logan’s decked out in his lacrosse finest after some big game, with his arm draped around Uncle Ken’s shoulders, his long hair glistening from the sweat of exertion.
Hoping I can create a brief diversion, give my mother and Brooke one more second of time, I throw the framed photograph hard as I can onto the floor in front of the office door. A loud crash follows, as the glass fronting the image shatters into countless pieces.
A second later, I hear a grunt from Evan, like something had hit him. Then comes another sound, as terrifying, heart-stopping, soul-crushing a sound as I’ll ever hear.
Gunshots—not one, but two.