Masquerade of Lies (4 page)

***

The next morning while my mother drove me to school, I tried calling Brooke’s phone, but she didn’t answer; instead, it went straight to her voicemail. When we reached the school, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door.

“Bye, honey. I’ll see you after school.”

“Bye, Mom,” I said, stepping out of the car. “By the way, thanks for trusting me with the car last night.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.” 

I smiled back and closed the door.

On my way into school, I saw Claire standing by the parking spaces reserved for popular seniors. She was leaning on her white punch buggy, and she was with Jessica and Katie. My plan was to avoid eye contact and keep walking, but she called out for me; she didn’t say my name, but I knew she was talking to me as she yelled, “New girl.” I stopped short and looked at her.

“Get over here, new girl!” she yelled again.

All of them were staring at me, so I bit my bottom lip and slowly walked toward them.

“So, new girl, how do you know my boyfriend Josh?”

“Well, I don’t really know him. I–”

“But you added him as a friend on Facebook.”

“Yeah, I was just adding random people, and we chat sometimes in geometry class.” Her eyes became hard. “Look, if it’s such a big deal, I’ll unfriend him.”

“No need. It’s not like I should be threatened or anything.” She tossed her long streaked hair over her shoulder and gave me a fake smile. All of a sudden, I saw Josh walking towards us. My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

“Hey, babe,” he said as he kissed Claire on the lips.

“Hi, handsome,” she squealed as she wrapped her bony arms around his neck.

“Hey, Hanna. How’s it going?”

“Good, thanks,” I said.

“Did you have fun at the bonfire last night?”

“Yeah, I did, thanks.”

“Hey jailbird!” a petite girl with long blonde hair blurted as she walked by. She was with a group of stuck up looking females. I recognized her from the bonfire last night. “Is it true that you served time?” I felt like I was being put on trial. I looked around fearful that everybody was staring at me. My heart hammered in my chest.
Is this what the whole school thinks of me?
I thought.
That I’m a convicted felon?
I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Claire shot. “Maybe you should spend a little more time waxing your upper lip and a little less time getting into my friends’ business.”
Friend?

She considered me a friend?

“Whatever.
Let’s go girls.”

“Toodles,” Claire said in a snarky tone as she wiggled her fingers to dismiss them. As they strutted away Claire and I exchanged a smile. I couldn’t believe she had my back like that. Maybe her reputation preceded her.

I then pulled out my smartphone and sent a text to Brooke:
Hey, what happened to you last night?
I looked up from my Motorola and caught all of them staring at me.

“Who are
you
texting, new girl?” Claire probed, raising her left eyebrow
. Look who’s getting into my business now,
I thought.

“Oh. Brooke. We were supposed to meet up last night, but she never showed up.”

“Brooke Tillier? That freak?” Claire blurted.

“Give it a rest,” said Josh.

“Be careful; she might sleep with your dad,” Katie said, and all three girls cackled.

“She totally hooked up with a teacher that used to work here. He lost his job because of her,” said Claire with a smug look on her face. Even though I knew what she was talking about, I acted surprised.

“No way!”

“Way! She’s been weird ever since. We used to be friends, but that was a long time ago. Things change.”

“I think she’s nice. We’ve become really close,” I offered.

“Okay, I’m officially bored with this conversation,” Claire said, then immediately changed the subject. “O…M…G…I have that essay due on Friday on the American Revolution for History class, and I haven’t even started! If I don’t finish it, I’m totally gonna fail!”

“I can help you with that. I did an assignment on that at my old school,” I said. I didn’t want to be on Claire’s shit list, so I figured it was better to be her friend than her enemy. Besides, the closer I got to her, the closer I got to Josh.

“Are you serious?” Claire asked, surprised.

“Yeah, it’s no biggie.” 

“That’s totally awesome! Hey, you should come to Angela Blaine’s party! Her parties always rock!”

“Are you sure she won’t mind if I come?”

“Of course not, silly; you’ll be with us.”

“Great. I’ll be there.”
Ohmigod. What did I just get myself into?

I really wanted to talk to Brooke about what Claire had said to me that morning. I tried to defend her against Claire, but my nerves got the better of me. Besides, Claire seemed okay to me. It felt like I was stabbing Brooke in the back, but really I just wanted to get close to Josh. Brooke was my friend, and I didn’t want things to be weird between us, especially after she confided in me about what had happened between her and Claire. Only, I couldn’t reach her, and she wasn’t in English first period.

Sitting through second period class was torture, with Mr. Harding rambling on about obtuse triangles. I kept looking at my phone, waiting for Brooke to send me a text message. At least I had the satisfaction of looking at the back of Josh’s head. If I leaned forward a little bit, I could smell the scent of his cologne.

Geography class wasn’t any better; I couldn’t care less about the latitude and longitude of a map. Suddenly, my phone vibrated to notify me I had a new text message. It was Brooke.
Finally,
I thought.

She texted:
Sorry about last night. Meet me at my house after school. My address is 534 Partridge Avenue.
I already had her address, but I guess she wouldn’t know that.

I texted her back:
what happened?

She wrote back:
will explain later.

I wrote back:
k, b there after school.

I needed a way to get to her house, so I decided to ask Claire for a ride. I’d overheard her talking to Katie and Jessica about their cheerleading practice in the gym after school, so that was where I planned to be.

When I roamed into the gym, I found Claire in the middle of a two-legged stunt. The boom of the music came to a grinding halt.

“Are you lost?” one of the cheerleaders asked.

“It’s okay, girls, I know her,” Claire bellowed. She jumped down and walked over to me.

“You’re not supposed to interrupt cheerleading practice, new girl.”

“It’s Hanna.”

“Whatever. What do you want?” she asked as she stood with her left hand on her hip. “As you can see, I’m a little busy here,” she grumbled.

“I need your help with something.”

“Of course you do,” she said, twisting some of her hair with her finger. “Spill it.” 

The other cheerleaders were behind Claire, chatting to themselves, waiting impatiently for her to return. I caught a couple of them rolling their eyes.

“I need a ride to Brooke’s house.”

“Oh sweetie, are you sure you want to go to her house? I mean, you see how she dresses; imagine what the inside of her house looks like.”

“Well, you tell me. You’ve been there before.”

“That was a long time ago, before she became weird. Who knows what it looks like now.”

“I’ll take my chances.” 

Claire had a good point, though; I couldn’t shake the feeling that the inside of Brooke’s house probably resembled the one in
Amityville Horror
...I mean, she drove a hearse for goodness sake.

“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I guess since you’re helping me with my essay, I can give you a ride. Meet me in front of the school in about half an hour.”

“Thanks.”

“Whatever. I have to get back to practice,” she said as she slowly backed away. “Don’t forget about Angela Blaine’s party Friday night, new girl,” she yelled before she turned around and walked away.

***

Claire steered into the narrow driveway of Brooke’s small house. It looked so different during the day. The exterior siding was dark green in colour, and the paint was starting to chip. Shingles were missing from the roof, and the wood porch looked like it could fall apart any minute.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Are you sure you want to go in there?” Claire said.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride. I’ll ask Brooke to give me a ride home.”

“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Bye,” I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

I got out of her car, and as soon as I closed the door, she drove off blasting her music. As I padded up the wooden steps to Brooke’s front door, I could hear Iggy’s song,
Fancy,
playing in the distance. I knocked several times, but nobody answered. I gripped the door handle and turned; it was unlocked. The chrome felt cold against my hand.

I slowly opened the door and entered her house. “Hello? Brooke, I’m here!” I yelled.

I closed the door behind me, then crept in the house. Ahead of me was a long hall, and to the right was the kitchen. I proceeded to the living room, but there was no sign of Brooke.

I slowly crept up the stairs. “Brooke?” I called out.

There was no answer.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw the bathroom door was slightly open. Nervous, I kept walking, and as I got closer all I could see was part of a leg dangling from the tub. My heart started pounding so loud, I could hear it in my ears.

A lump formed in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. I gently pushed open the bathroom door, and there was Brooke, lying in her own blood, alone and lifeless.

CHAPTER FOUR—WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME

“Ohmigod!”

I got closer to the tub and noticed Brooke’s wrists were cut. She was naked, and a couple bruises were on her forehead. Blood dripped from her wrists, which formed a pool of blood on the floor. The air was thick with a pungent smell similar to rusty nails. There was blood spatter on the wall, and one of her legs hung over the side of the tub. Her head lay at an oblique angle, and her long black wet hair fell to the floor. Her eyes were closed.

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. I reached in my pocket for my Motorola to dial 911, only it wasn’t in there. As I looked around, frantic, my hands trembled. Police sirens echoed and began getting louder and louder, then suddenly I heard the front door burst open, followed by several thunderous footsteps up the stairs.

“This is the police! We have you surrounded!” a deep voice boomed. I immediately put my arms up. “Step away from the body!” 

“I didn’t do this!” I shouted as I slowly backed away from the tub. My eyes were flooded with tears as they streamed down my cheek.

“We received a call that a girl was in trouble,” one of the officers said. At that moment, I realized I was set up.

One of the police officers put my arms behind my back and put handcuffs on my wrists. A man named Detective Walters then read me my Miranda rights. He was tall with a slim build. His head was oval-shaped, and he had short salt and pepper hair, dark brown eyes, and a long nose. He wore a dark grey trench coat and black shoes.

“I didn’t do this! I found her this way!” I protested, but no one seemed to care.

Within minutes, several cops were in the house and the outside of the home was surrounded by police cars. Some of the neighbours crowded around to find out what happened. Inside, yellow crime scene tape was draped across the bathroom door, and crime scene investigators were collecting evidence from Brooke’s body. Police officers stood outside the door to make sure nobody unauthorized entered. The forensic pathologist dusted for fingerprints and took photos.

As all this was going on, my whole body felt numb. I’d never seen a real dead body up close; the closest I’d ever come to a dead body was while watching
CSI
.

Detective Walters informed me that I had to go down to the station with him to answer some questions, then escorted me to his car. I couldn’t move my arms, as my wrists were still bound by the handcuffs. Everybody was looking at me like I was a criminal; maybe because in their eyes, that was exactly what I was. As I tread past everyone in the crowd, I couldn’t help wondering if the killer was among them.

***

When we reached the police station, an officer took off my handcuffs and put me in a pint-sized room with a table and two grey plastic chairs, one on each side. It was dingy, and a rancid smell similar to old shoes filled the room. The room was quiet, but I could hear the buzzing of copy machines and ringing phones from outside the door.

I sat down, folded my arms on the table, and rested my head on them; I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. A few minutes later, Detective Walters came in and sat down across from me.

I sat up in my chair. “I want to talk to my mom!” I exclaimed.

He raised his hand and gestured me to stop talking. “We’ve notified your mom, and she’s on her way.” I bit my lip. “Miss Clark, the forensic pathologist, found contusions on the victim’s body. It might suggest she was beaten before she was cut and left to bleed out in the tub.” My stomach began to churn. “The victim also suffered blunt head trauma. Whoever did this knew she was already dead and staged the scene to make it look like she killed herself,” Detective Walters finished.

Suddenly, it felt like the room was closing in on me. My breathing quickened, and it felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what happened,” Detective Walters said.

I sat up in my chair and bit my lip. My forehead was beaded with sweat. I tucked some hair behind my ears and took a deep breath.

“She was supposed to meet me last night at the bleachers behind the school, but she never showed up. I’ve been texting her since last night, but she didn’t respond until this afternoon.” I gripped my neck. “She texted me her address so we could meet at her house. When I got there, I found her…well…I found her…”

I tried to stifle my tears, but I couldn’t. I leaned over and put my face in my hands. 

“Miss Clark, we didn’t find the victim’s cell phone. Nor did we find the sharp object that was used to cut her wrists. Where is your cell phone?” Detective Walters asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know,” I said.

He stood up and leaned over the table so his face was in front of mine. “Well, isn’t that convenient?” He pressed his hands into the table and furrowed his brow. “Where did you stash the weapon?” 

I lifted my head. “What? You think
I
did this?” I straightened my spine. “I didn’t stash anything! I’m telling you the truth! I didn’t do this!” I cried, waving my arms. I could taste the salt from my tears.

He asked me the same questions over and over again to see if my answers would change, but they didn’t. He kept watching me, like he was waiting for me to break down and confess. It felt like I had been there for days, but it had only been hours.

I ran my hands through my hair. The door opened, and a man in a grey suit wearing a badge asked to speak with Detective Walters for a minute.

“I’ll be right back,” Detective Walters said, then walked over to the man.

The two of them whispered as they talked, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. At one point, Detective Walters turned his head and looked at me with his piercing brown eyes. He smirked and nodded his head as he crossed his hands over his chest. The man left the room, and Detective Walters closed the door and sauntered back to the table. He sat down and gazed at me with a crooked smile. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to look weak or guilty, so I held his gaze.

“So...it appears you spent some time at
Hessner.
” That word sent a shiver up my spine. “Why don’t you tell me about that?”

“I...I...”

Suddenly, the door cracked open and my mother walked in.

“Hanna! Oh my goodness! Are you all right?”

“Mom!” I jumped out of my seat and ran to her. “I didn’t do this, Mom! You have to believe me! Please don’t let them send me back!”

“That’s not going to happen, honey,” she muttered. “Just take a deep breath.” 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my head on her chest. The beating of her heart made me feel safe; I didn’t want her to let me go. The tears on my face dried, making my face feel raw.

My mother looked at Detective Walters. “How dare you question my daughter without my permission?!”

“Mrs. Clark–”

“Ms.!”

“Ms. Clark, we didn’t force her to answer any questions. She could have refused at any time.”

“Are we done here? Can I take my daughter home, please?”

“She’s free to go, but make sure she doesn’t leave town,” Detective Walters said in a stern tone.

***

The drive home with my mother was quiet. The radio was shut off, and all I could hear was the humming of the engine. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes.

“I called your father to let him know what happened,” my mom said.

“Why? He didn’t really care about us when we lived together, so why would he care now?”

“He’s still your father, Hanna.”

“Well, I wish he would act like it more often.”

Shortly after we left the police station, we arrived home. I was jolted awake by my mother putting the gear shift into park and the car grumbling to sleep. I unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind me. As I followed my mother to our front door, I encased myself with my arms; it was a bit chilly, and our street was so dark and ominous. There wasn’t a car or person in sight.

As I waited for my mother to unlock the door, I heard the bushes rustling. I looked over and saw a flashing blue light, similar to a cell phone. My mother turned around and looked at me.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I snapped my neck in her direction. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

When I looked back at the bushes, the blue light was gone. I had a feeling somebody was watching me...maybe the killer.