It was still bigger, still fancier, but it was all I could do.
I’d mostly stuck to my room so far, but now I had the strangest of urges—I wanted to snoop. I wanted to get to the bottom of it, be like Nancy Drew and discover the truth. If my mom and I weren’t safe in this house, wasn’t that kind of important to know? Shouldn’t that mean we should skedaddle our asses out of here?
I mean, that’s what I thought, but it felt like my mom was content to stay here regardless of the truth.
Ugh. Whatever. I needed to not focus on that and get my homework done. Try to get caught up. It’d probably take me a few weeks to fully get in the swing of things—and if I was honest, I wasn’t a straight-A student—but I had to try. I had to put my blinders on and focus on the matter at hand, and that was adjusting to Midpark, not digging where I didn’t belong.
My resolution to keep my nose out of it lasted an hour. We didn’t eat dinner until late usually; most nights Ollie was out until six-thirty or seven, and he was always served his food first, leaving Mom and I to eat whatever was left. When I pulled out my phone—one of those cheap phones, not an iPhone or Android—I was able to see it neared four-forty-five.
Well, I’d been studious for a long while, hadn’t I? I thought it was time for a short break.
And by break, I meant Googling.
I pulled up the internet and hit the search bar, my eyes glancing to my shut door before getting up from the desk and walking to the bed in the center of the room. Only the headboard rested against the wall, its other three sides jutting out. The room was big enough for it. I’d already kicked my boots off under the desk, but as I climbed onto the bed, I tore off my socks and flung them to the floor.
Laying on my stomach, I typed in Celeste Chambers and clicked on the first few articles that popped up in the News section. I scanned them fast, getting the gist of it. When she escaped, she was only seventeen, so the news outlet couldn’t cover her story in detail. There were no pictures of her, either. No recent ones. The latest report—dated not even six months ago—had tried to contact her and talk about her future, but the only quote was from Oliver Fitzpatrick, who’d said Celeste was trying to move on with her life and leave her past behind her.
Huh.
I set my phone down, my mind racing. That could mean so many different things. Maybe her mom and Celeste had decided being with Ollie wasn’t a good fit; maybe they got divorced. But if that was the case, wouldn’t the news outlets have gone after Celeste’s mother?
Her kidnapper was never found, although Celeste’s biological father was found mutilated in a place most authorities claimed was where she was held. Most now assumed it was her father who had kidnapped her, and even then, some even went so far as to blame Celeste for his death. She got out, killed him, took her vengeance, and disappeared. But then who helped her? Surely a seventeen-year-old girl wasn’t capable of such violence all by herself.
Bobbi’s words rang true—Midpark had a dark underbelly, one you wouldn’t realize if you were just scratching the surface.
Mutilated. That was not a word I ever wanted to read, much less think about someone from this very town being. It was such a harsh, bloody word.
What if it was Ollie? He seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was quiet, closed-off. There was something hiding behind his tired blue eyes that I couldn’t place, and that bothered me. I liked to think I could read people. It was a good skill to have in life.
Living with someone who was capable of such slaughter…I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to put my mom at risk either, even if she liked the job. Even if it put a roof over our heads, cut down on the bills, and still paid her a salary she could shore away and save. I just couldn’t do it; could you blame me?
Of course, this was all me hypothesizing. I had no proof that Ollie was involved anything.
Proof. I had to get proof, knowledge that one way or another would put this matter to rest.
But how?
Chapter Six – Jaz
Bobbi and I made plans to meet next week after school to practice the songs we were learning in choir. We had a concert in less than a month, and whatever I was—alto, soprano, whatever—was still up in the air. I refused to really sing in class, kind of humming along with the girls around me.
I had that to deal with, and also a test in world history next week, which Archer was being kind and letting me borrow his notebook to copy tonight. That blondie was a cutie. If I wasn’t careful, I might just fall for his dimpled smiles.
Now that it was lunchtime, I was a bit hungrier than I was yesterday. I wasn’t letting the stares affect me as much, though maybe there weren’t that many stares to begin with. Today I wore flared jeans and a longer shirt. Maybe I fit in more with my outfit? Or maybe my newness was already wearing off. I hoped the latter.
Fortunately, I did not come across that blonde chick again, though there were still a few hours left in the day, so I should really bite my tongue.
After grabbing my lunch, I went to the cafeteria, energized and ready. Should I sit with the same kid again? Vaughn. He was attractive, in the dark, brooding and dangerous kind of way. The tattoos on his hands were a little much, but I supposed if he came from money, he probably had a family business to fall back on. There weren’t that many places out there who’d hire a young employee with hand and knuckle tattoos.
Must be nice, to be able to do what you wanted when you wanted, all because you came from wealth.
Mom and I weren’t exactly poor, but we weren’t rolling around in the dough. I always had a fit of tiny jealousy toward those who had both parents together and those who could afford the latest phone and newest gadgets.
Just like yesterday, the cafeteria was bustling with students, munching and chatting away, having a good old time. I felt a little lonely, looking at them having such fun times with each other. I had friends before but…well, it was strange, but it didn’t feel real. It felt like, my whole life, I’d been slowly putting up my walls, as if waiting for my life to come crashing down.
And it did. It came crashing down the moment my mom told me we were moving at the drop of a hat, right after turning eighteen.
It wasn’t fair.
I didn’t hate her for it, but I was a bit resentful of what these kids had that I didn’t.
The only wide-open table was, yet again, the one with Vaughn. Had no choice yet again, unless I wanted to be better acquainted with a bathroom stall. Since that wasn’t an option, and because I was me, I marched over to him and sat down—unlike yesterday, I didn’t steer clear of him. I sat right across from him, tossing my lunch down and pulling out the chair, aware that everyone nearby was watching.
If me sitting by the loner kid shocked these guys, just imagine how continuously horrified they’d be if I kept doing it day after day.
Vaughn merely watched me sit down with his dark, mysterious eyes. Or maybe that was just me attributing more to him than I should. He seemed like the mysterious type, the kind of guy you could never really know what went on in his head.
His dark hair was black and somewhat greasy, its top lengths sticking straight up. The sides of his head were cut shorter, to the point where his hairline seemingly faded away once it reached his neck. He wore a black shirt, along with dark jeans. I didn’t have any classes with him, but I could imagine that he constantly lounged around, looking bored.