Emily’s voice behind her: “A fucking bloodbath, that’s what.”
She looked at the report and saw a shot of a Walgreens parking lot cordoned off with yellow police tape. Within a few moments she knew the drugstore was the scene of a triple homicide. But she was still confused. Yeah, it was a terrible thing, but shit like this happened all the time. It sucked, but America could be a pretty fucking violent place. Why her friends should find this particular incident so mesmerizing was a mystery to her.
“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?”
Joe glanced at her. “Give it a second. You’ll see.”
Zoe wanted to smack him for not directly answering her question. But her indignation was short-lived as the report soon made the reason clear.
“Oh…shit.”
Joe laughed. “Yeah.”
The crime had occurred in Myrtle Beach, not many miles from where they were now. An uneasy feeling settled over Zoe. The idea that something so horrible had happened so close to where she’d been sleeping at the time disturbed her. She might have crossed paths with the victims or even the perpetrators any number of times over the last few days.
“Does anybody back home know about this?”
Chuck came away from the bar to stand near her. “Zoe, this is CNN. It’s national news. My dad already called, and your folks want you to call them.”
Zoe gave him a puzzled look. “What? Why?”
“They’re worried. Want to be sure you’re all right.” He shrugged and the half-empty drink sloshed in his hand. “Fair warning, though. They’re freaked out and want you to come home early.”
“What’s your dad say?”
“You know my dad. Running home would make me a pussy in his eyes.”
Emily snorted. “Right. Can’t have that happening. God forbid.”
Chuck stayed silent, refusing to take the bait. Zoe felt a surge of admiration and new respect for him. It was a downright mature reaction. It stunned her to think he’d seemed as boorish as ever only days ago.
She reached for his free hand and laced her fingers with his. “I’m a grown-up and can make my own decisions. I’m staying. My parents will just have to deal with it. Besides, this shit?” She shrugged. “Happens all the time. Come on, you’re all thinking the same thing. Sucks for the dead people, but this shit’s just random. We’re in no more danger than we were yesterday.”
“Or maybe you’re totally fucking wrong,” Annalisa piped in. She nodded at the television. “Look.”
Zoe focused on the report again. Three side-by-side photos appeared on the screen, the images of two young women and a man. Names and ages appeared beneath the pictures.
Rob Scott, 23
Julie Cosgrove, 17
Missy Wallace, 20
The three were being sought in connection to the Walgreens triple homicide. All were also suspects in other recent killings. One, the older girl, was suspected in a number of slayings going back at least four years.
She frowned. “That…sort of looks like…”
Chuck grunted. “Yeah. That goth chick.”
Annalisa managed not to sound too smug as she said, “Maybe not so random.”
“Oh, come on.” Emily’s voice dripped contempt. “Maybe that chick really is Chuck’s little goth pal. So what? Ever hear of a thing called coincidence? You can’t really think she followed us all the way from Nashville.”
Annalisa’s tone was just as sharp. “Why not? She’s here.”
“We traveled hundreds of miles. We would’ve noticed her trailing us somewhere along the way. She had no way of knowing exactly where we were going. So, yeah, it’s a fucking coincidence. Pull your head out of your ass.”
“Fuck you.”
“Again, you mean?”
Sean Hewitt’s voice: “Um…what? I think I, uh, misunderstood something.”
Emily laughed.
Zoe moved to intercede before the exchange could take an irreversibly ugly turn. “shut up!”
They all looked at her.
She sighed. “Emily’s right. Think about it. There’s no other explanation. It’s coincidence. That chick winding up here is just God fucking with us. These”-Zoe waved a hand at the television-“crazy fuckers have been too busy with their wild fucking spree to properly follow anybody.”
Annalisa stared at the screen again, but her expression now was less severe, more contemplative. A sliver of doubt had pierced her convictions. She shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. I guess I can see what you’re saying. It makes sense. It’s just…”
Emily laughed. “Fucked-up.”
Chuck headed back to the bar. “Somebody turn that shit off and put on some tunes. And I can’t be the only motherfucker in this house in dire need of a fucking drink. Who’s with me?”
It was an offer none of them could refuse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated March 27
Today is my birthday. I haven’t told Roxie or the guy about it and I don’t think I will. There’s no real point to marking the day any other way than writing about it here. It’s just such a strange thing to think about. No cake or candles to blow out for me this year. And I don’t think I’ll be alive when this day rolls around again. Not trying to be melodramatic. I really feel like I can feel the end coming. What’s really sort of fucked-up is how okay I am with it. I think about it and it doesn’t bother me at all. The not-caring thing disturbs me more than the idea of dying, but even that’s just whatever. I fucked the guy a little while ago. Straight up asked Roxie if I could. Half expected her to kick my ass. But she was okay with it. I guess it makes sense. She’s so fucking cool. I could live a thousand years and never be half as cool as Roxie. I’d say I want to be just like her when I grow up, but I’m never gonna grow up, so that shit ain’t happening. LOL.
So anyway, I guess that little backseat tumble with the guy was Roxie’s b-day present to me. Only she doesn’t know that’s what it was. It was okay, I guess. Shit. People poking around outside. Gotta go. Later. Maybe.
Note: This entry was closed to comments.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
March 27
Chuck had a very pleasant buzz going by early evening. He felt pretty good overall. It was a pleasant change and it made him sad to realize how fleeting the feeling would likely be. He’d spent too much of the trip brooding over things. A man shouldn’t be so filled with anger during what was supposed to be a relaxing time. But there had simply been too much crap happening. This bullshit with Emily, for instance, and the subsequent dissolution of his friendship with Joe. That shit alone would have weighed on any guy’s mind. But the memory of the humiliation he’d endured at the hands of those redneck psychos kept coming back to taunt him. He’d suffered a deep wound to his pride that night, one he’d likely carry with him for years. It compounded all the other shit, like the thing with Emily, turning them into things that made him tremble on the edge of an explosion. At present, he could think of just two ways to cope with the emotional shit storm bearing down on him.
Go back to that bar some night and exact revenge.
Or drown all the bullshit in a sea of alcohol.
The glass in his hand was empty again. He tipped some more scotch into the glass from a nearly empty bottle. This time he had to grip the bottle’s neck a little tighter to pour the booze without spilling any of it. As he brought the glass to his lips again, he realized his pleasant buzz was two, maybe three drinks from crossing the line into genuine drunkenness. Not that he cared. Getting drunk was the plan. He just didn’t want to get too hammered too soon.
One of the balcony doors opened and Joe came wobbling into the house. The aroma of cooking meat wafted in with him. Sean Hewitt had some burgers going on the grill. The smell made Chuck’s stomach grumble. He realized he hadn’t eaten all day. Too distracted by drinking and watching the news, probably.