“No!” Emily screamed. “Stop!”
Her voice was so loud that the air seemed to shake with it.
Clay’s head whipped around. His eyes were wild.
“Stop!” Emily said, her voice urgent with fear.
Clay had frozen, but only because he seemed to realize where he was—inside a shed that was on the Vaughn property with their pregnant daughter watching. His hand went to his face. Instead of wiping the blood away, he smeared it like horror make-up across his cold, hard features. He had finally, deliberately, showed himself.
His real self.
The boy she had met in elementary school, the cool kid who had talked about art and books and the world, was a disguise for the blood-covered fiend who had nearly beaten his lover to death.
Clay didn’t bother to return the mask to his face. Emily had seen him now. She knew exactly who he was. He pointed his finger at her chest one last time. “If you tell anybody about this, I’ll do the same fucking thing to you.”
He shoved her away from the door. Emily stumbled, catching herself against the wall. The door slammed so hard the fractured glass panes finally toppled over, splintering onto the floor. Clay would go home to the Morrows now. He would clean himself up before he saw them. He would sit at the dinner table and eat his mother’s Thanksgiving dinner and watch football with his father and neither of them would know that they were harboring a cunning, sadistic animal.
Jack rolled over onto his back. He let out a pained cry.
Emily rushed over to him. She dropped to her knees. She used the hem of her blouse to wipe the blood out of his eyes. “Oh, Jack … are you okay? Look at me.”
His eyes rolled. He was panting. Blood poured from his nose, his mouth. An angry gash split his eyebrow in two. His front tooth was chipped. The pinky finger on his left hand bent awkwardly to the side.
Emily strained to help him sit up. He was too heavy. She ended up sitting on the floor. His head was in her lap. He was sobbing so hard that she started crying, too.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s all right.” She stroked his hair behind his ear the way Gram used to do when Emily was feeling bad. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“We-we weren’t—”
“I don’t care, Jack. I’m only sorry he hurt you.”
“It’s not—” He groaned again, forcing himself upright. Blood streamed down his face along with his tears. “I’m so sorry, Emily. I never wanted you to know what—what I am.”
Gently, Emily took his uninjured hand. She knew how lonely it could be when no one touched you in kindness. “You’re my friend, Jack. That’s who you are.”
“I’m not—” Jack took a halting breath. “I’m not who you think I am.”
“You’re my friend,” she repeated. “And I love you. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Emily knew she had to be strong for him. She wiped away her tears. She heard the thunk of her father’s car door slamming shut in the garage. He would shower and have a few drinks before she was expected at the dinner table.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Emily promised Jack. “I would never tell.”
“It’s too late,” he whispered. “Clay hates me. You heard what he said. I thought I could go to college with him, maybe find work, but …”
Emily felt her mind flood with reassurances, but they were all false. Clay was as finished with Jack as he was with Emily. She should count herself lucky that all he had done was turn his back on her. She had seen her father lose control so many times, but she had never seen a human being turn into a monster right before her eyes.
“I won’t tell,” Emily said. “Not that I think you should be ashamed, but if you—”
“Nardo knows.” Jack leaned his back against the door. He looked up at the ceiling. His tears ran unabated. “He saw me and Clay together. He knows.”
Emily’s mouth opened, though the real surprise was that Nardo hadn’t told the entire school. “What?”
“I—” Jack had to stop to swallow. “I asked Nardo if he’s the father.”
Emily leaned her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. She had spent hours poring over her Columbo Investigation. Had Jack figured it out? Why hadn’t he told her?
“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Nardo didn’t—he didn’t confess. He told me to fuck off, and then he said that he’d seen me and Clay together, and if I kept asking questions, he would …”
Emily felt her heart thumping inside of her chest. She knew the malice that Nardo was capable of. It made no sense that he would keep such a salacious secret.
Jack sniffed. “But I had already asked everybody. Even Clay.”
“But—” Emily didn’t know how to say it other than to be blunt. “Clay is clearly not into girls.”
Jack shook his head. “He likes girls, too. He’s not like me. He can pass for normal.”
Emily could hear the self-condemnation in Jack’s voice.
He said, “Everybody denied it, for what it’s worth. They all had their stories pretty much down pat.”
“Who is everybody?” Emily was having trouble understanding what he had done. She had shown him her Columbo Investigation last month and he’d said nothing. “Who did you talk to?”
“Nardo, Blake, Clay, Ricky, Wexler. The same people you talked to.” His breath wheezed through his nose. “I’m sorry, Emily. I know you were working on your own investigation, but you were so obsessed with it—obviously, for a reason—but I thought I could figure it out because I could look at it more clearly. Like, without the emotions you have. Nobody thinks much of me. I’m invisible at school, and I hear things sometimes, and I thought I could put it together, but I failed. I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me, Jack.” Emily took a deep breath. “Nardo implied that it was you.”
Jack gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, consider the source.”
“He said you sold him the acid we all took at The Party.”
“I did,” Jack said. “I got it from my cousin.”
Emily turned her head to look at him again. He hadn’t been avoiding her because things were tense. He had been hiding something. “Were you there, Jack? Did you see something?”
“No, I promise. I would’ve told you.” Jack turned to look at her, too. “Nardo made me leave before anybody got there. But after it happened, Clay was really upset. He told me that you got really mad at him at The Party. He saw you through those big windows that overlook the pool. You were outside, and you had taken your dress off. He made you put it back on. It was really cold. And you started screaming at him.”
“About what?”
“He couldn’t tell why you were so mad. He said you were hysterical. All he could do was go find Nardo.”
Emily conjured the scene in her head, not from memory but as a sort of projection of what could be the truth. Her standing naked by the pool, Clay rushing out to dress her. No—that was too chivalrous. He’d wanted to know what happened. He would’ve made some joke about her nudity. And then he would’ve gotten annoyed because she was overwrought, but she had been overwrought because someone had raped her.