Stupid. Stupid. This is so, so stupid.
Cooper kept glancing at his rearview mirror, expecting to see blue lights. Which was...ridiculous. Skipping class wasn't exactly a crime. And he was eighteen, for crying out loud. What could the school administration do?
They could call your mother.
Which...yeah. That would be pretty bad. Cooper shifted in his seat and inched his foot down on the gas, encouraging the speedometer to wiggle over forty.
The last four days had been absolute hell. For once, his world wasn't completely falling to pieces—and yet, he'd never felt more alone. Venus still wasn't speaking to him. Calla had gone radio silent. And Vincent was...complicated. Cooper had managed to avoid him that afternoon at the Diner, but things had changed between them. Even the simplest conversations with his best friend now exhausted him, as if he were navigating a minefield.
At any moment, he might take a wrong turn and blow to smithereens.
And then there was the case file. The forensic pathology report had confirmed their theory about the drugs, but there just wasn't much else for them to go on. Cooper had hoped they might be able to find information about those missing pictures, but the witness and evidentiary reports were a bust. The police hadn't found a thing on Tom Sahein's camera the night of Tracy Smith's murder. Not one picture.
Sure, that had been a huge red flag, but what did it prove? That Tom had been too distracted at the party to take his job seriously? Cooper knew otherwise. Tom thought he had something to do with those missing pictures. Or at least, he suspected as much.
Cooper and Calla had parsed through those pages until their eyes were bloodshot, but it was no use. They'd hit a dead end.
Cooper had driven himself insane, lying in bed for hours on end, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how it all fit together. The missing pictures. The fairytale book. The death notes. He couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. A well-laid plan had been ruined. And somehow, Rachel had been caught in the crossfires.
Rachel. Cooper tried not to think about her. Tried, and failed. She'd been on his mind more than usual lately. Unsurprising, given what he'd been up to these last few weeks. But it was still unnerving.
The Mustang's engine began to whine. Cooper rubbed the steering wheel nervously, murmuring words of encouragement under his breath—as if he could keep the old girl running through sheer willpower alone. The engine sputtered in protest and then quieted to a steady rumble. He blew out a breath of relief.
"Just a little further," he promised, patting the leather seats. He'd made it this far, hadn't he? He couldn't turn back now. Not when they were so close to the truth...
Who killed Rachel Smith?
Cooper's grip on the wheel tightened. Anger ignited in his chest, hot and unfamiliar. He'd never been the vengeful type. But reading through the case file had made him realize just how furious he was. An innocent girl had died. How was that fair? How was that right?
It's not fair. It's not right. Rachel deserved better than that. Someone has to be held responsible...
Unease stirred in his gut. He knew who was responsible—and it wasn't Cory or Astrid or anyone else.
Calla Parker was to blame.
For all her righteous anger, she had been the one who set everything in motion by killing Tracy Smith in cold blood. Rachel was just collateral damage. Cooper had always known this, had always accepted it. But their fates were too entangled to risk throwing down the gauntlet now. No. He had to set his sights on someone else.
Did that make him a hypocrite? He considered that possibility. Tracy had been an innocent girl, too. Did she not deserve the same justice as her cousin?
Define "innocent". Calla's persuasive voice was in his head again, like some sort of demented guardian angel. Was she ever kind to you? Was she ever kind to those around her, beneath her? Miss Popular. Miss Beautiful. Not so beautiful anymore...
Guilt chased away his anger. He really was no better than Calla—cherry-picking who deserved to live and who deserved to die.
Cooper stared resolutely through the windshield. If he thought about it too much—about what he was about to do, and if it was the right thing to do—he would lose his nerve. And he couldn't afford to lose his nerve.
So he turned up his shitty radio in his shitty car, and he sang an off-key tune to pass the time. By the time he reached the city, his lunch period had come and gone. He knew because his stomach was punishing him for it.
His phone buzzed in the center console once, twice. And then a text message popped up on his screen.
Calla: Where are you?
Knowing he was probably signing his death warrant, he ignored her. She could wait. The little psycho needed to learn some patience.
Cooper made a sharp right turn and found himself at the heart of Montgomery-Pearson's campus. He'd made good time—but not good enough. Astrid's class would be out in less than ten minutes. If he couldn't get to her in time...
What's the goal here, Coop? The voice was back. That had to be a terrible sign for his mental health. Are you going to confront Astrid about her whereabouts at the gala? Excellent plan. And then what? What leverage do you have? What proof? She'll chew you up and spit you out before you can even blink.
Cooper frowned. He didn't have leverage, and he definitely didn't have proof. His palms began to sweat. This half-baked plan of his was bound to backfire. Not that it was a plan, exactly. More like a let's-poke-the-bear-and-see-what-happens gamble.
He turned into an open parking space and propped his forehead against the steering wheel. "Astrid's hiding something," he muttered aloud. "She's a remorseless liar. If I can just catch her off guard..."
But that little voice in his head merely laughed. Who cares if she lied? Who cares if she's a killer? Calla murdered Tracy in cold blood, and you call her friend. You're surrounded by monsters, yet you still pretend to have some sort of moral compass. The road to hell is paved with such good intentions, Cooper Daniels.
He opened his door and stepped outside, ignoring the voice in his head. But he barely made it to the sidewalk before he froze, crippled with uncertainty. He drew a bracing breath of fresh, cool air. "Come on, Coop. You have to do something. Something's better than nothing. Right?"
It had felt good to get out of the house—out of the house and away from prying eyes. Vincent, who demanded the truth. Calla, who demanded everything else.
Cooper was still trying to collect his nerve when heard the sound of a camera shutter—a distinctive sound, and one he knew well. His head jerked around. He scanned the parking lot, looking for the source. It had to have come from somewhere nearby. Somewhere—
"Unbelievable," he muttered, furious, as he caught sight of the thin figure across the parking lot, balancing on the edge of the curb.
Tom Sahein lowered his camera and gave Cooper a cheeky smile.
Keep smiling, Cooper thought savagely as he marched across the road, his eyes trained on the smaller boy—and his camera. Go ahead. See where that gets you.
Tom took a hesitant step back as Cooper drew closer. "What do you want?" Cooper snapped. He stopped a good arm's length away from the other boy. Not for fear of Tom, but for fear of what he would do to Tom if he got much closer.
Calla's rubbing off on me, he thought, alarmed. His temper immediately levelled off. Focus. You came here for a reason. A terrible reason, admittedly...
Tom's eyes darted around the empty lot. Before Cooper could blink, Tom snapped another picture, capturing his baffled expression.
Cooper took a threatening step forward. "What are you doing?"
Tom backpedaled and raised his camera, holding it between them. "I should ask you the same thing, Daniels."
"Tom." Cooper took a deep, steadying breath. "Do I need to file a restraining order, or something?"
The other boy flushed. The idea that anyone would get a restraining order against him didn't seem to sit very well. "Don't act like you don't know what this is about."
That did it. Cooper felt his left eye twitch, right before he exploded. "Tom. I don't know what this is about!" He threw up his hands. His next words were forced out through gritted teeth. "So. Why don't you enlighten me?"
Tom stared at him, his eyes full of doubt. He was half-buried in the black hoodie he wore; the sleeves swallowed his hands, leaving only the tips of his fingers exposed. "It's about the book."
"Thank you." Cooper nodded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That clears up so much. I'm so glad we had this talk."
"The book, Cooper," he repeated, lowering his camera so that it dangled from the strap at his neck. "The one you stole from my locker."
Cooper stared at him in bewildered silence, at a loss. He racked his brain, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was being accused of.
A different conversation came to him then. Read any good fairytales lately?
"You're talking about the fairytale book," Cooper said at last, piecing it together. "The second copy. The one you checked out from the school library, right before the murders."
Tom flushed. Cooper couldn't tell if it was guilt, or something else. Anger, maybe. "I was just doing my research."
"Research," he repeated flatly.
Tom bristled at the implication. "Yes. I was there that night too, you know. After the Halloween party, back at the station."
Cooper remembered that night well. It was hard to forget: the blood, the body, the vomit he'd left all over the crime scene. And Tom. There at the party. There again at the station, fiddling with that camera of his...
"The sheriff showed me the note they found at the crime scene," he said, interrupting Cooper's train of thought. "The note the killer left behind." His eyes strayed down to his shoes. "I knew it had come from some book. So I did a quick search..."
Funny. Cooper had done the very same thing, back when he'd had nothing better to do than skip class and hide in the library, searching for clues. The thought that he had anything in common with this kid put a bad taste in his mouth.
"The book at the library wasn't the same one that the killer used, obviously," Tom grumbled. "I just wanted to give it a look. Call it journalistic curiosity. I didn't think..."
He trailed off. Cooper saw the indecision in his eyes and pounced, acting on instinct.
"Are you sure about that journalistic curiosity bit?" Cooper asked. "Because your timing is pretty suspicious."
Tom paled. His fingers roved across the camera, fiddling with knobs and buttons. "Someone stole it," he whispered. "From my locker, someone stole the book, and they..." He hesitated. "I thought it was you."
"Me?" Cooper's cool facade cracked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Why would I steal it?"
"I thought you were trying to frame me. I still do." Tom straightened, as if bracing himself for what he had to say next. "You stole the book. You stole the memory card."
"Hold on." Cooper shook his head. "Back up. Memory card? What memory—"
"The memory card," Tom shouted, the words all a rush. "I took it out of my camera, before the police could get their hands on it. I knew I saw something that night, at the party. Someone, heading upstairs. Right before Tracy...well, I got the picture." Something like pride flashed in his eyes. "I just wanted to look for myself. To make sure. I thought...you..." Uncertainty crept in.
Cooper couldn't hide his disbelief. "You wanted to be the one to break the story. You hid evidence—"
"I'm no worse than you," Tom snapped, immediately on the defensive. "You're lying. I know you are. I saw you, looking for the book in the library." Cooper opened his mouth to argue—how long had this little shit been watching him?—but Tom plowed ahead. "And when you couldn't find it, and you realized I had it, you stole it. You stole the book, and the card—"
Cooper held up his hands, cutting him off. "Look. I didn't even know any pictures from the party existed until you started asking questions about it." He rolled his eyes. "And I wasn't anywhere near you at the party. I couldn't have stolen your stupid memory card."
But Cory could have, he realized. Or Stephanie. Or anyone who was there that night and keeping tabs on the geek from yearbook. Cory would've kept an eye on anyone being brought in for questioning. And Stephanie would've been watching him regardless, just for the opportunity to steal a juicy bit of gossip.
"You were at the party," Tom argued. "You watched me hide the memory card. Under the flower pot, the one on the front porch."
Cooper shook his head slowly, his head spinning. "This is the first I'm hearing it, dude."
There it was: a flash of doubt. Tom swallowed. "But—"
"And I had no clue someone stole the book out of your locker," he added. "To be honest, I thought you were the killer. Or you were helping him out, at least."
"I wouldn't—"
"It's how it looked," Cooper interrupted. Tom's face had flashed from white to red in a nanosecond. "It's how it still looks."
"I—I wouldn't—" Tom spluttered, shifting from red to purple. A vein in his temple throbbed. "You—can't think—"
"Calm down." The words came out harsher than he'd intended. "Tom. I don't like you following me. I'm not trying to frame you. I didn't take your stupid memory card." But someone did. Someone has those pictures. The thought was almost too horrible to contemplate. "And I didn't steal any book from your locker. Cory did that. You know, the lunatic who went on a killing spree?" Cooper waved a hand. "He probably wanted to cover his tracks and used you as a scapegoat."
A muscle flickered in the other boy's jaw. "So you say."
"Yes. I do say." Cooper scowled. "So. Now that we've cleared that up. Can you stop filling Vincent's head with your bullshit theories?"
Tom took several heaving breaths. His fingers worked furiously at the straps on his camera. It had to be some sort of nervous tic. Cooper almost felt pity for the guy.
Almost.
Once Tom had regained his composure, he managed to say, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just helping Vincent study. He has to keep his grades up for recruiting—"
"Don't lie to me," Cooper hissed, his temper rising anew. "And don't fuck with my friend. Leave him out of this."
"Out of what?"
"Out of whatever it is that you're trying to do," he fired back. "There's nothing for you to find here. The guy who tried to frame you? He's dead."
"Under very suspicious circumstances." A quick glance at the scar on the back of Cooper's hand. "Cause of death is public record, you know. Cory had...an interesting set of injuries." Tom's eyes narrowed. "But you already knew that. After all, you were there that night. You and Calla Parker and your so-called friend, Vincent Townson. He has some questions of his own, you know."
Cooper felt his pulse jump. Your so-called friend. "It was a weird night. We barely survived—"
"Why are you here?" Tom interrupted.
"I—" Cooper blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"Why. Are. You. Here?" Tom asked, gaining confidence with every word.
Cooper shrugged stiffly. "College stuff."
"College stuff." Tom snorted. "Really? Is that why your buddy Calla dropped by a few weeks ago? For college stuff?"
How does he know about that? Cooper said nothing.
"Word travels fast," Tom continued, obviously satisfied with himself. "Astrid didn't appreciate the visit. But apparently, Calla had some very interesting things to say." His eyes blazed with manic light. "And now here you are. So. What's Astrid got to do with all of this? Hmm? Why did Calla accuse her of killing Rachel Smith?"
Cooper felt as if the world was tilting on its axis. Any further, and he might slide straight into oblivion. How does he know so much? Where is he getting his information? "I don't know what you're talking about," he managed. "You're...you're trying to put things together that are completely unrelated."
It was a lame attempt at salvaging the situation. "Alright, then." Tom folded his arms, finally relinquishing his hold on the camera. "Answer the question, then. Why are you here? Go on. I'll wait."
"I don't owe you an explanation," Cooper said, breathing hard. He felt trapped. Like a caged rabbit.
Tom leaned forward, emboldened by Cooper's half-hearted deflection. "I already know Astrid was a suspect in the murders. That detective wouldn't stop asking me questions about her after that Rachel girl died. He had a lot of questions about Gareth, too. And Mike. Blake..."
Cooper couldn't help the dawning look of horror on his face. Tom smiled, though there was no joy in it. "What? You think you're the only one who can play detective? You admit you knew about the book from the start. That proves you've done some digging of your own."
Cooper could practically see the gears turning in his mind. Tom Sahein knew more than Cooper ever could have imagined. It was a terrifying realization. And a humbling one.
"And now you're reopening the wound," Tom muttered, scratching the back of his head. "You and that girl. I just can't figure out why. You have to know something. Something I don't." His watery blue eyes narrowed. "It's got to be about the book. Or whatever was on that memory card—"
Relief broke through the fog of Cooper's terror. Tom may have had a few good cards in his hand, but he didn't know everything. He was grasping at straws, trying to force together pieces of the puzzle that didn't go together. He couldn't look past his own failures—the stolen book, the stolen pictures—long enough to see the bigger picture staring him right in the face.
"I don't know what you've heard," Cooper broke in, forcing his fear down. "Or who you heard it from. If you ask me, I think Astrid is still bitter about the way things ended with Vincent." He shrugged. This time, the gesture felt more natural. "She'd probably say just about anything to make Calla look bad. You know how girls are. Maybe she thinks Vincent will leave Calla and come crawling back. I don't know."
Tom opened his mouth, only to close it again in surprise. He'd clearly never considered the possibility of everyday teenage drama playing a role in all of this.
"Honestly, Tom?" Cooper crossed his arms. "It sounds like you're the one trying to reopen a wound. Calla was never the same after Rachel died. So, yeah. We did what we could to look into the murders. I..." He took a deep breath. "I needed the closure, too. It's not our fault Cory was completely unhinged. We just wanted some answers, and we got a lot more than we bargained for." He held up his hand, showing off his scar. "Curiosity killed the cat."
Actually, Calla Parker killed the cat. And she'll kill you, too, if you get in her way.
Tom took hold of the camera strap, at a loss. "Something isn't right about this," he insisted, but all his bravado had drained away. "I don't...you can't..."
"Tom," Cooper said patiently. "You have a very punchable face. Don't make me punch you in your punchable face."
"No one," a low voice drawled, "is going to punch anyone."
Both boys turned in unison to find the sheriff bearing down on them, wearing his usual blue jeans and pale button-down. He assessed them both with a stern expression.
Cooper's heart sank. "Sheriff—"
"Nope." The sheriff held up a hand. "Both of you should be in class. Coop." Those disapproving eyes weighed about a thousand pounds as they settled on his shoulders. "I might have hoped you'd be here touring the campus. Making nice. But obviously," those eyes moved away, toward the other boy, "that isn't the case."
Tom looked smaller than he ever had. "Sorry," he squeaked.
I can't believe that is trying to intimidate me. Cooper inwardly cringed.
"I'm here to see my niece," the sheriff continued, folding his arms. Ali. Cooper had forgotten she was enrolled here. "And when I come back outside, I don't want to see any sign that the two of you were ever here. Got it?"
They both nodded and watched, sullen, as the sheriff disappeared inside the education building. Tom shot Cooper one last glower before he spun on his heel and stormed back to his car—a puny silver Beetle. Cooper tried not to roll his eyes as he marched over to his own (much cooler) ride.
He practically fell into the driver's seat. The adrenaline rush had worn off; exhaustion weighed him down. He settled back against the headrest, relieved to be back in his car.
But the relief was short-lived.
The front doors of the education building burst open. A cluster of students jostled down the stairs, waving farewell to one another before splitting off into groups of twos and threes. Astrid Baker was one of them.
Cooper, like an idiot, had parked right in front of the building. He ducked, trying to shield his face, but his car wasn't exactly inconspicuous. Astrid's eyes were drawn to it like a moth to flame. Their eyes met and held.
She stiffened at the sight of him. Again, he wondered what she knew—if she'd put the pieces together. She hadn't seen him that first day on campus; Calla had insisted on flying solo. But their friendship wasn't exactly a secret.
If she didn't know you were involved before, she definitely knows now.
Astrid smiled at him, and there was nothing friendly about it. In fact, it left a gaping hole in the pit of his stomach, even after she'd turned away, her phone already in hand.
I'm so screwed.
He buried his face in his hands. Astrid had already blabbed about Calla's last visit here. He knew, with absolute certainty, that she would do the same again.
Might as well enjoy this moment of freedom while I can, he thought, dejected. Once Venus hears about this...
How the hell was he supposed to explain? Astrid would no doubt frame his trip to campus as some bizarre, romantic advance. He could hear the rumors already: Cooper Daniels is stalking Astrid Baker. Ew!
The thought made him flush. Venus would freak. No, she would cry. And that was so much worse.
And Gareth...
Yep. I'm a dead man. Cooper crammed his keys into the ignition and grimaced as his engine unwillingly rumbled to life. And, to top it all off, my car is about to die on me. What a fantastic day.
Cooper had just picked up his phone to text Calla—he might as well give her the bad news now, while he still had a few miles between them—when an incoming call popped up on his screen.
Venus. His heart dropped even further, if possible. How did girls work so quickly?
He swallowed and answered after the third ring. "Hey," he croaked.
"Cooper." Cooper. Not Coop. And her voice lacked its usual warmth. Not that they'd been on the best of terms lately, but still. "What are you doing?"
"Oh." His eyes flickered to the dashboard. If he hurried, he could still make it in time for yearbook. "Just, ah, heading to class."
Not a lie. Not technically.
"From?" she prompted, voice deadly soft.
Here it goes. "I, uh, ditched my other classes. Had to run a few errands."
"And why is visiting Astrid on your list of errands?"
He closed his eyes. "I wasn't visiting her, specifically—"
"Who, then?"
"No one. I mean—"
"Is it the same no one you were with at the Diner during your last shift?" Her questions were rapid-fire, barely giving him enough room to breathe.
Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose. His brain felt like it was melting out of his skull. The Diner? He mingled with plenty of people at work...
But he had a sinking feeling he knew what this was about. Their last conversation had gone about as well as this one currently was—with Venus asking what he'd been up to all day, and Cooper deflecting because he'd been up to no good with Calla Parker. "Yes. No. Look, I'm alone right now. I swear."
Answer the question without answering the right question, Vincent had told him once. That works every time.
"Okay." The softness had left her voice entirely. Now, she sounded...cheery. Warning bells started going off in his head. Cheery was bad. Cheery was very bad. "So. Who were you with? At the Diner?"
A repeat question. Because she knew damn well who he'd been with—and she wanted to hear him say it. He didn't see how that had anything to do with his being here, on campus, but he didn't figure that mattered very much now.
Cooper sighed. "Calla. We were just doing some homework—"
But he didn't have time to finish his half-ass explanation. He heard a sob on the other end of the line, and his heart constricted.
"I didn't believe Stephanie, you know," Venus said, her throat choked with tears. "Astrid told her about Calla. How she cornered her on campus, pissed off about something stupid. And you know what Steph said? She said, well, Coop probably had to drive Calla there, right? Maybe he knows what really went down." Venus sniffled. "And I didn't believe her. I told Steph you would've told me about something like that. How stupid am I, huh?"
She ended the call, leaving Cooper staring at his phone in anguish.
"Fuck!" He threw his phone in the backseat. "Fuck," he groaned again.
I'm just trying to keep you safe, he wanted to scream. I'm just trying to keep everyone safe!
He repeated that to himself over and over again—on the drive back to school and all through fifth period. Even as he slipped into bed that night, he thought it. Again. And again. And again.
I'm just trying to keep you safe. I'm just trying to keep everyone safe. I'm just trying to keep you safe...
He would not let himself admit the alternative. He would not let himself admit that it was a lie. That deep down—deep in the place he did not like to acknowledge, in the place where he kept his shoebox of pictures and dark, dark memories—he was not doing any of this for the sake of the greater good, or even for the sake of those nearest and dearest to him.
No. He was doing this for himself—for the scared little boy who'd found out the hard way that monsters were real.
And maybe a part of him was doing it for the monster, too.