“What’s the worst?”
I hesitated and shook my head. “How can I even answer that, Jack?”
“Try.”
“I guess . . . I don’t know. The worst? Maybe that I killed Amy. That Aldrich’s cigarettes weren’t just weed, and I didn’t refuse, like I remember. I took it and I went crazy and I murdered Amy.”
He peered at me. “Do you ever even think that?”
“No, because even at my most messed up, I know that’s not possible. But you asked for the worst. If it was something as horrible as that, I’d still want to know. Whatever it is, I must know it, deep down, and it’s going to keep gnawing at me until I figure it out.”
Jack dipped his chin in a nod. “It is there. Not going away. Giving you nightmares.”
I took a deep breath. “It’s about Amy, isn’t it? He describes what he did to her, and there are parts I’ve forgotten. Or maybe something I failed to do. Something I let happen. Worse than running away.”
“Amy’s not in here.”
I looked up sharply. “What?”
“There’s no mention of Amy. Not that I can find.”
“And you think that means something. That Aldrich didn’t—”
“No. Think it means he left shit out. This?” He lifted the book. “It’s about what else he did to girls. Raping them. Seducing them.” He paused. “Seducing’s not right. They were kids. Still rape. I just mean . . .”
“You mean that sometimes the girls were willing partners and sometimes they weren’t. Considering that the allegations against Aldrich were all statutory rape, I’m guessing it was more of the former?”
“Yeah. He was good at that. Not sure how. Or why.”
“Teen girls are vulnerable and sexually curious. Same as teen boys. An adult comes along and knows what to do and say, and it doesn’t matter if he—or she—doesn’t strike us as someone a teen would find attractive. Looks have very little to do with it. And when Aldrich was younger . . .” I shrugged. “Amy thought he was cute. A lot of girls did. Even now, I can’t see it because all I see is the monster who murdered my cousin, but at the time, I wasn’t into boys yet. A late bloomer.”
“Yeah.” He stared out into the forest.
“So the journal is rape and so-called conquests, and presumably he left Amy out because describing her murder crossed a line.”
“Didn’t leave her out.”
“What?” I straightened. “I thought you said—”
“He doesn’t talk about killing her. Doesn’t talk about raping her. Skips that. Doesn’t even give her a name.”
I frowned. “What does he call her?”
Jack went quiet, and I was about to ask again when he said, “The cousin. Her cousin.” His gaze finally lifted to mine. “Your cousin. He wrote about you.”
I stared at him. Then I slowly shook my head. “No, that entry must be about another girl and her cousin, because there’s no reason he’d write about me. It was all about Amy.”
“He calls you by name, Nadia.”
I didn’t even think he knew my name.
“I . . . I don’t understand. Why would he write about . . .” I trailed off. I looked at the book and I heard Jack’s words again. Not murder. Rape. It was about the girls Drew Aldrich raped.
I shook my head. “No. There’s a mistake. You’re misinterpreting or he’s lying or . . . or something. He never—” I swallowed. “He didn’t . . .” I couldn’t get the rest out.
“Do you want to stop, Nadia?” Jack said. “We can stop right here.”
His words were soft, his voice low. Meant to calm me, to offer an escape.
“No, I do not want to stop,” I snapped. “I’m not saying I can’t handle this, Jack. I’m saying it did not happen.”
A pause, then, just as softly. “Okay.”
I looked at him. “It did not happen.”
He picked up the journal and stuffed it under his jacket. “Okay.” He got to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go back. Forget this.”
I sat there, my gaze fixed on his chest, not daring to raise it. After a second, he started moving away. I reached out and caught the edge of his jacket.
“Jack . . .”
“Hmmm?”
“If . . .” I took a deep breath. “I don’t see how . . . I couldn’t forget—” I swallowed. “What else is there? About . . . that day. Can I read it?”
He slowly lowered himself to the log again. Then he found a page near the beginning and turned it to face me.
“Start here,” he said. “I’ll show you passages. There’s no reason to read the whole thing. It’s not ever going to help. But if you decide you have to, I won’t stop you. I’d just . . .” His gaze locked on mine. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”
I nodded and looked down. The entry started at the top.
Nadia came by with her cousin today. As usual, it was the cousin’s idea. I play along because I know it’s the only way to get within twenty feet of Nadia. But I’m not interested in the cousin. She’s a little tease who pretends to be a slut and probably hasn’t even let a boy feel her tits yet. Plenty of those around. Nadia’s different. She’s a good girl. The police chief’s daughter. So sweet and shy she won’t even look me in the eye. Never had a girl like that. But I bet I could.
I heaved breaths and it was a minute before I could speak. “All right. So he thought about it, but that doesn’t mean . . .”
Jack turned the page to another entry.
It went just like we planned it. The cousin told her dad the wrong time to pick them up at the train station, so he was late, and I just happened to be driving by to offer the girls a ride. It almost didn’t work, though. Nadia’s cousin really had to talk her into the truck and for a minute, I thought she wouldn’t do it. But she did. Anything to protect her cousin. If she only knew that her cousin set the whole thing up. Not for Nadia, of course. She thought she was getting me all to herself. Nadia was just along for the ride. Which was kinda true.
The page ended there. I reread it. “I don’t . . . I can’t believe . . .”
I didn’t finish the sentence. I could believe Amy had set that up. Blinded by Aldrich’s attention. Not setting me up—as he said, she hadn’t known that was his plan.
Still it made no sense. I knew what happened. He’d taken Amy to the cabin to get her high and maybe to seduce her, and things went wrong, horribly wrong, and he raped and strangled her while I was tied up in the next room.
“What if it’s fake?” I whispered, my gaze still on the page. “Maybe he wrote it later. Because I escaped and turned him in. Even if I couldn’t get him convicted, I ruined his life. So he fantasized about . . .” Again, I couldn’t finish.
“You can stop reading,” Jack said.
I put my hand on the book, touching the words, as if making sure they were real. My fingers brushed Jack’s. The sudden touch startled me and I flinched. But I didn’t pull my hand back. I could feel the warmth of his hand against my fingertips, feel the weight of his gaze on me. Wishing he didn’t have to show this to me. Wishing I’d say, “Okay, take it away.” Knowing I wouldn’t.
I curled my fingers under, pressing my hand up against his. His fingers wrapped around mine.
“I need . . .” I began. “Whatever part is . . . easiest.”
He lifted our hands off the book, tilted the journal his way, skimming and flipping two pages, and then he stopped. He covered part of the page. I read the rest.
Nadia wouldn’t smoke the dope. Her cousin did. The stupid twit tried to pretend it wasn’t her first time, even as she coughed and gagged. When I tried to push it on Nadia, the cousin got mad at me. She had no problem bringing Nadia to a secluded cabin with a guy she barely knew, but she wasn’t going to make her smoke up. Stupid twit. At first, I kept pushing. If Nadia smoked it, she’d relax and maybe I could talk her into it. But that’s when I realized I didn’t want to talk her into it.