Clutching the doll at his side, Asher peruses my collection of volleyball trophies. This doesn’t take long, as it’s one-fourth the size of his own collection. He looks up suddenly. “I’m sorry about Gideon, okay? I know how you feel about me talking to him on your behalf, but if you want—”
“I’ll let you know.”
He shrugs, smiling softly. The creases on his forehead are now smooth. “Fine. Feel better.” He winks before ducking out.
The rest of the evening, Gideon barrages me with coded texts about telling the “doctor” what I told him. But I know the desperate detectives will jump at the first opportunity they get to arrest someone.
Maybe tomorrow. Parents couldn’t get me an appointment today.
??
See you at school tomorrow
* * *
I wake up from a nightmare about the fire so vivid that my eyes are wet and swollen. Asher and I were in the playhouse, where we spent every summer moment before the fire. Where my mind has spent so many nights attempting to replay how the whole place went up in flames. But in the dream, instead of finding myself stuck and crying for Asher to help me, his screams rang out over the crackling and crashing.
The playhouse in the dream expanded so it was longer and larger than any real house. I tried to push through the smoke to find where the screams were coming from. Every time I found my way through a door, the house extended farther so that I stumbled into another cloudy room. My lungs were bursting when I finally caught a glimpse of Asher, pinned underneath a fallen beam. He wasn’t screaming anymore, and his eyes were empty, like glass. I called out to him. I shouted I was coming. When I finally made it through the last door, I was outside on the too-green grass, watching the entire playhouse crumble, engulfed in dancing flashes of red.
I rip off the covers, the overwhelming need to see my brother and hear his voice pulling me from the bed. Quickly, I dress for school, then knock on his door.
“Come in.”
I open the door to find Asher wearing the bizarre combination of house slippers and a suit. “What happened to you?”
He looks puzzled until I indicate his choice of footwear. “Oh.” He grins. “I’ve got a meeting in town later.”
I can’t see any natural connection to what I want to say, so I blurt, “I’m sorry I missed Melody’s funeral. Nothing excuses me. I didn’t sleep much last night thinking about it.” Asher sits down on the bed. “Was it a nice service?”
He nods and fiddles with his tie. But his eyes flood.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, blinking a few times. “I just realized Zombie Bride was on last night and I forgot to set the DVR.” He struggles to smile. “It obviously made me emotional.”
Guilt prickles in my chest. This is all my fault. Not just because I didn’t help Melody. Because everything I said to Brandon that night at the party—everything I wrote in that notebook—encouraged him. “I’m not sure there’s any real way to get over something like that, Asher.”
He laughs weakly. The front door chimes, and he wipes at his eyes.
“I’ll get it.” I scurry down the hall and through the foyer. I pull open the door to find a familiar parka framed in the doorway. But I can’t find my voice to say hello.
Brandon squints at me. “Hey, Cass. Asher’s expecting me.” He stretches his neck to peer over my shoulder. “He’s home, right?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry. He’s in his room.” I spin around. “Come on in and have a seat in the kitchen. I’ll get him.”
“Thanks.” Brandon steps through the doorway and my limbs shake as I follow him. “Asher!” I yell. I’m not letting this guy out of my sight. “There’s coffee in the pot if you want some,” I say to Brandon.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black.”
Right. Like his murdering soul.
I grip the carafe with trembling fingers and pour Brandon a nice, hot cup. “Asher!” I call again, lifting the mug. But my quivering fingers lose their grasp, and it tumbles to the floor, shattering.
Ceramic shards leap across the tiles and brown liquid pools, branching off through the grout.
I dash to the counter to grab a towel. “Here,” Brandon says, leaning over in his chair. He grabs at the biggest chunk of ceramic, and a small object tumbles from his jacket pocket.
The box.
17
Brandon nearly topples from his chair. The ceramic shard falls from his hand as he snatches the little white box.
I drop the towel to the floor. “What’s in the box?”
“Nothing. It’s just—”
“Show me what’s in there, Brandon,” I demand, taking two quick steps toward him. He lowers the box to his lap, fingers covering it protectively.
“Cass.” Brandon’s eyes plead with me.
“Why don’t you want me to see?” The force and volume of my voice climb.
His chin sinks. “Because you wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t understand! You’re still going to show me what’s in there!” I shout, crossing the slippery tiles and lunging at him. I grab his arm and try to wrestle the lid away as he clamps it back over the box.
But I catch a glint.
“Cass, calm down!” Brandon yells.
“I won’t calm down until you show me! You’ve got Melody’s necklace in there!” I’m on him now, scratching and yanking, but his hands tighten on the box.
Footsteps pound in the hallway. “Cassidy!” Asher stomps toward me. “Get off him!” He pulls me back, and I grunt, trying to wrench myself from his grasp. “What are you doing?”
“Brandon has Melody’s necklace! He killed her!”
“Cass.” Asher tries to lay a calming hand on my shoulder, but I twist away.
“I heard him that day in the woods! Brandon did it. The proof is in that box.”
Asher’s eyes are wide. His head swivels to Brandon, whose body hunches over the box. Hope flickers.
Then my brother says, “I’m so sorry about this.” He turns back to me. “Cassidy, get out of here.”
I halt, my espadrille landing on broken ceramic with a crunch. “You’re really not going to make him show us what’s inside?”
Asher’s face is stoic, his tone razor sharp. “Get out.”
“This is unbelievable.”