The Merciless (12 page)

“W
ho's next?” Brooklyn asks. She's trying to distract them. If they keep admitting their sins, they won't pay attention to me. And I'll have enough time to find Grace's pills.

“How do you know all this?” Grace wipes her tears away with her palm as she turns to Brooklyn. Alexis pulls away from her, pushing her hair back behind one ear.

Brooklyn smirks. A wild thought flies through my head—maybe she reads minds. Maybe Brooklyn already knows everything we've done.

“Grace stares at the floor when she lies,” Riley says before Brooklyn can answer. “Anyone can see that.”

Grace blushes and pushes herself to her feet. She backs into an alcove just off the main area in the attic and presses her body against the wall, like she's trying to disappear into the wood.

Brooklyn's eyes linger on her. “It's almost worth the fire, the drowning, and the brutal torture to hear about how shitty you all are,” she says.

“Do we need to gag you again?” Riley motions to the duct tape on the floor, but she leans over to pick up the wine bottle instead.

“What's the matter, Riley?” Brooklyn groans, struggling to move beneath the layers of rope binding her in place. “Afraid what your friends will think when you
really
admit your sins?”

“I already admitted them,” Riley insists. She pushes a sweaty lock of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, then drinks deeply from the wine bottle.

I scan the attic while Riley drinks, wondering where Grace stowed her pills. But Brooklyn's words stay with me.
Afraid what your friends will think when you
really
admit your sins?

I push the question away, and my eyes fall on the black backpack sitting by the stairs. Grace was the one who brought the bag up here. It would've been easy for her to slip a bottle inside.

“Or maybe you should go next, Lexie.” Brooklyn shifts her eyes to Alexis. “You could tell everyone why your sister's really in a coma.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Alexis hisses.

“I know more than you think.” Brooklyn's wolf grin deepens.

Riley lowers the wine bottle. “What's she talking about?”

Alexis leans back on her heels and grabs a lock of hair, winding it roughly around her finger. I think of the way she looked standing in that empty room with wispy locks of white-blond curls piled at her feet, like a fairy-tale princess stuck in a horror story.

“She's just making things up,” Alexis says. The skin around her fingernail starts to turn blue, but still she winds the hair tighter.

I edge my way closer to the staircase and the backpack. Nerves pull at my skin like tiny, pinching fingers and my heart jackhammers in my chest. I move slowly toward Grace, inching my feet across the floorboards. She hums a pop song under her breath, her eyes fixated on her shoes.

“You said you hoped she'd never wake up.” Brooklyn allows each word to hang in the air for a beat before she continues. “That's not the first time you wanted her dead, is it?”

Alexis shakes her head. “I never wanted that!” There's a faint sound, almost a rip, and the hair drifts away from her fingers. Alexis pushes herself clumsily to her feet, nearly stumbling into me as I inch along the wall behind her. Before she reaches for another lock of hair, Riley takes her hand.

“Just tell us what happened, Lex.” Still holding Alexis's hand, she drinks from the wine bottle again. Her words slur a little when she says, “We all have to admit our sins before God.”

Grace hums louder. The song tugs at my memory, just out of reach. She takes a step toward the stairs and lifts the faded black backpack from the floor, hugging it to her chest like a teddy bear. I drive my teeth into my lower lip.
Damnit!

“Are you nervous?” Grace asks me. I'm so distracted by the backpack I almost don't hear her.

“What?”

“About telling your sin.” Grace hums another line from the song, and now I remember where I heard it before. It was at that party I went to, the one at the house by the train tracks, where the jocks rated every girl who walked through the front door. Karen invited me to that party.

“No,” I say, but I
am
nervous. Not because I don't want to tell my sin, but because I don't want to relive it. Grace starts humming again, and now it's too late. I'm there, at the party. The entire house trembles as a train rolls past. . . .

• • •

I nervously make my way through the crowd of kids inside, stopping in the kitchen to get a soda. When I turn around, Lila's behind me. Her black hair hangs down over her narrow shoulders in a perfect, glossy sheet. Her red-painted lips curl up in a cruel smile.

“Wait.” Lila frowns, and her eyes shift to my hair. “You have something caught in your hair.”

Lila reaches forward and plucks something from my hair. The curl of her lips hardens as she pulls her hand away.

She's holding a Q-tip.

Some of the kids behind her start to snicker, but Lila manages to keep a straight face as she asks, “Now, where did this come from, Greasy?”

More laughter. It bubbles up around me until I can't tell who it's coming from anymore. Cheeks burning, I push past Lila.

Everybody at the party is staring at me, laughing behind their hands and into their beer cups. I try to move forward, but the kids in front of me crowd together, blocking my path.

“Where are you going, Greasy?” a girl with frizzy red hair asks. She tosses a Q-tip at me, and it gets caught on my sweater.

Another Q-tip soars across the room and hits me in the cheek. A third flies past my arm. Before I know it, everyone's throwing Q-tips and laughing. Horrified, I cover my face with my hands, but still they catch in my hair and on my clothes. I finally find a break in the crowd and force my way through the people—and run right into Karen.

She's standing next to Erin, holding a beer.

“Come on, Sofia,” she says, breaking out into a grin. “Take a joke.”

I stare, dumbfounded, as she lifts her hand and tosses a Q-tip right at me. It bounces off my chest and drops to the floor.

• • •

“Sofia, are you okay?” Grace loosens her hold on the backpack. I could take it from her now, but instead I lean against the wall. Sweat forms on the back of my neck.

With my eyes closed I smell the stale beer that coated the floors in that house, I hear the cruel laughter and the distant roar of the train. After that night I promised myself I'd never go to another party, never again be friends with girls who laughed at other people's pain. Now I'm trapped in an attic, and the only way I'm getting out is by reliving the worst night of my life.

“I'm fine,” I say, easing my eyes back open. Grace nods sympathetically, but I don't meet her eyes—I'm staring at the backpack. I was wrong; there is another way out of here. I just have to find those pills.

Alexis's voice rises into a yell. “It's not like Brooklyn's saying it was!” Alexis looks from Brooklyn to Riley, and her lower lip begins to tremble. “Riley, you know how Carly is,” she pleads.

Riley swirls the wine in the bottle, watching liquid slosh up against the sides of the glass. “I know you guys are really competitive.”

“Exactly,” Alexis says. “But it's not even a competition, because Carly
always
wins. Carly got into Stanford, and Carly's boyfriend is perfect. Do you have any idea what it's like hearing about how wonderful she is all the time?”

Alexis sobs and lowers her head to her hands. Her hair sweeps over her face like a curtain.

“Come on, Alexis,” Riley says. She takes another swig from the bottle, then wipes the wine off her top lip with the back of her hand. “Finish the story. Tell us what happened next.”

Sniffling, Alexis pushes the hair from her face. “It was an accident, like I said. Carly has a really bad peanut allergy. She has to carry an EpiPen wherever she goes. Last year she and my mom went on a juice cleanse to get ready for the annual charity gala my mom runs, and the only things they could eat were these gross smoothies made from spinach and lemon juice. One day I just . . . I snuck a peanut into Carly's smoothie. Just one.”

Alexis's admission shocks me so much that I forget about the night of the party and Grace's pills—everything but what she just said.

“You poisoned your sister on purpose?” I ask. I think about what my grandmother always said about confession as Alexis studies our faces, looking for sympathy.

“Words, they have power,
mija
. When you say your sin out loud, you admit it to yourself as well as to God.”

If I were Alexis, I'd have taken that secret to the grave, no matter what Riley or Brooklyn said.

“She was supposed to have her EpiPen with her!” Alexis continues. “Once she took her shot she'd have been fine. My parents would have made her stay home to rest like they always did when she had a reaction. I could have gone to the gala in her place. But she didn't take her EpiPen that day, because it didn't fit into the stupid designer bag she wanted to carry. So instead of getting sick, she . . .”

“She went into a coma,” Grace says.

Alexis grabs for another strand of her hair, but Riley slaps her hand away. “You're sick,” she says.

“Stop it!” Alexis yells. “You're drunk!”

“Don't you dare turn this around on me.” Riley's eyes are red-rimmed, but I can't tell if it's from the wine or the shock of what Alexis just admitted.

“Why not?” Alexis's voice trembles. “I'm not the only one who's sinned.”

Riley slaps her. Alexis's head snaps to the side, and her hands fly to her face. When she turns back to Riley, her mouth hangs open in shock.

“I don't have anything to hide,” Riley says. “Whatever I am, whatever I've done, it's
nothing
compared with trying to kill your own flesh and blood.”

“You're lying.” Alexis sways back and forth, her weight on the balls of her feet, like a ballerina's. There's a light in her eyes that I don't quite understand. It's manic, unhinged. “You're lying, but I know the truth. I know
everything
you've done.”

I
pull my arms close to my chest, staring through the open attic door to the ladder descending to the shadowy hallway below. I imagine prying the nails out of a windowsill with my bare hands. My fingertips sting just thinking about it, but I shift toward the door anyway.

“You pretend you're so much better than the rest of us,” Alexis shouts. “But you're a
slut
. Every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

“Like anyone would believe you after what you've done,” Riley spits out.

Grace hiccups again. She's crouched in the alcove next to the door, hugging the backpack. The attic is small—maybe only ten feet long and five feet wide—but because of the angle of the ceiling and walls I can't see what she's doing. Still, she's the only one between me and the door. She'd catch me before I made it to the stairs.

“I'd believe her,” Brooklyn says. A strand of hair falls over her eyes. She blows at it, and it flutters back over her forehead. “Whatever happened to coming clean before the Lord, Riley?”

Alexis laughs and shakes her head so violently her neck cracks. “Why are we even here? Because Brooklyn screwed around with your
boyfriend
, right?”

“Shut up.” Riley's voice trembles.

“But that's not really true, is it?” Alexis says. “Because he's not your boyfriend. Not anymore. He dumped you two weeks ago.”

“I told you to shut up!” Riley screams. Her hands fly to her head, covering her ears.

“And you know what the best part is?” Alexis yells back. “He dumped you because you're a
slut
. He found out what you did with Tom. Why don't you tell that to your precious God, Riley?”

Riley squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. I hadn't been paying attention, but now I turn toward Riley.

“Tom?” I repeat. “Wait, Josh's brother Tom? The one Grace . . .”

Grace steps out of the alcove. “What did you do with him?” she asks, her voice cracking.

Riley's red-rimmed eyes widen. “Grace, I . . .”

Grace drops the backpack and steps forward, grabbing Riley's arm. “I've had a crush on Tom since I moved here!” she says, but I'm no longer listening. All I see is the backpack abandoned in the alcove.

“I know,” Riley says. “But . . .”

“Did you sleep with him?” Grace interrupts. Riley hesitates, and Grace yells, “Tell the truth!”

“It was just one time. It didn't mean anything!” Riley says. She turns back to Alexis. “You bitch. That was a secret.”

“Isn't that the point?” Alexis hisses. “We're all sharing our secrets. You don't get to judge me if you're not willing to own up to yours.”

Riley shouts something back at Alexis and their voices grow louder, until they're both screaming at each other and I can't make out what they're actually saying. Brooklyn kicks my ankle lightly with her combat boot, and I look over at her.
Pills
, she mouths, nodding at the backpack.

Grace buries her face in her hands. I creep behind her, sliding into the alcove, where I'm hidden from everyone but Brooklyn. Star-shaped Christmas lights hang from the ceiling above me, and Riley pinned three dead butterflies into the wood with tiny pink pushpins. Their tissue-thin wings look brittle enough to break.

My sneaker brushes up against the bag and I crouch down, pulling it onto my lap. Grace lifts the bottle of wine to her lips again and again, trying to drown all the things she just heard with booze. As long as she doesn't turn around, I'm safe.

I unzip the backpack and thrust my hand inside, digging for the pill bottle. Riley's and Alexis's shadows stretch over the floor. If either of them takes a single step to the left they'll see right into the alcove. My fingers bump up against the wooden cross, but that's it—there's nothing else inside the backpack. Frustrated, I rip open the front pocket.

“I came here to help you, you ungrateful bitch!” Alexis yells. “But now I don't know why I bothered. You obviously don't care about anyone but yourself.”

Alexis's footsteps pound against the floor. I glance up as she steps directly in front of the alcove.
Shit
. I drop the backpack and stand, but her back is to me. I don't think she saw anything.

“Alexis, don't,” Riley says. Over Grace's shoulder I watch Riley grab Alexis's arm, dragging her back to the center of the room. My heart thuds against my chest. Grace takes another swig of wine, watching the fight unfold like it is a movie.

“You leave when I tell you to leave,” Riley says. Her fingers grip Alexis's arm so tightly her skin starts to turn red.

Alexis tries to yank her arm away. “Let go,” she says. But Riley holds on tight.

Heart hammering against my chest, I kneel and pull the backpack to my side. I grope against the fabric inside until my fingers enclose a plastic cylinder. I pull it out and quickly turn it in my hand to see the label.

AMBIEN
, it reads. My heart thuds against my rib cage. This is it. This is finally
it
.

A floorboard creaks. A chill streaks down my spine, and I look up. Grace's dark eyes are turned toward me, watching me.

Time freezes. My mind moves at hyper-speed, trying to come up with some excuse, some reason to be digging through the bag for the pills. But I can't think of a single reason, and all I can do is wait for Grace to call out to the others and tell them what I'm doing.

Grace considers me for a moment. Then she lifts a finger to her mouth, shooting a look over her shoulder at Riley and Alexis. Neither has noticed us. Yet.

Satisfied they aren't watching, Grace sets the wine bottle on the floor next to me, then turns back around, as if she didn't see me with the pills at all.