The Wicked We Have Done

2

I have the worst hangover imaginable. I peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth and swallow away the bile in my throat. Water. I need water, now.

I open my eyes to clean, bright light and groan, covering my head with a flat, itchy pillow.

Some party last night.

I stiffen. There was no party last night. There hasn’t been a party for ten months. I’ve been in jail.

Yanking my head from beneath the pillow, I blink until my vision focuses.

Pine panels cover the walls and floor. Shelves scattered with knickknacks sit above a whitewashed vanity. Light trickles in from a French-paned window on the wall farthest from the door.

Someone snores beneath me.

As I sit, I bite back the urge to groan. I’m still wearing a hoodie and cargo pants. My boots are by the door.

The Compass Room.

I try to remember when I was last awake, rubbing my wrists where they should be cuffed. Did I enter the simulation? Did I escape alive?

All I can remember is the train, and the other criminals. The needle that went into my neck.

My gaze locks on a navy backpack at the end of my bed. EVALYN is stamped on the front.

I don’t remember ever owning this pack. I take a moment to contemplate what could possibly be inside, then zip it open.

A T-shirt, cotton underwear, a canteen, a lighter, socks, a toothbrush, and at the very bottom, a blanket. Survival gear.

I don’t know why this belongs to me now. I don’t even know where I am. The one thing engrained into me since entering the prison system is that I should follow orders: when to leave my cell, when to change my clothes, when to see my visitors, when to eat.

Where is the guard who’s supposed to tell me what to do?

I shake out my ponytail and run my fingers through my tangled waves, secure it up, and swing my feet off the bed. Taking my bag with me, I step down the ladder to learn the identity of my bunkmate.

The bag propped up at the bottom of the bed reads JACINDA, and the girl with dimples lies on her back, an arm flung over her face.

She’s the suicide girl—took out a family in the process and lived to reap the punishment. She had been crying before we left prison. I wonder if it was because she still wants to die, or because she might not get out of here alive.

I tear myself away from her and walk to the window. Before me, a hill covered in pine rolls downward. The sun sits at a slant in the sky—it will be dark soon. I’ve been out for either a day or a handful of hours.

Nothing but forest. No buildings, no roads. Just a thick blanket of green all the way to the jagged mountains in the distance.

“Where the hell are we?” I mutter to myself.

“Is this the Compass Room?”

I spin to Jacinda, who has propped herself up on her elbows. Her expression shifts as she registers who I am, unfocused eyes darting around the room, like she’s trying to figure out if we’re alone.

She’s afraid of me. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I don’t know,” I say.

When she spots the backpack at the foot of her bed, she crawls to it, her fingers tracing the letters. “Jacinda,” she murmurs, retracting her hand like the fabric bit her. “No one calls me that.”

“What do they call you?”

“Jace,” she says warily. She studies me up and down, mindlessly clutching the strap of her backpack and wringing it.

An awkward silence fills the air between us before I say, “Okay, Jace. I’m gonna take a look around. See if I can figure out where we are.”

“The door isn’t locked?”

I didn’t even think of that. Simple stained wood, the door is so unlike the bars I’m used to staring at for hours on end. I walk toward it, place my hand on the brass handle, and turn. With a click, the door creaks open.

“Not locked.” I peer into the hall.

The dry air smells of cedar and dust. Light streaks across the floor from the sole window to my left. Six doors line the hall, two of them open. At the right end, a staircase leads downward and toward the trickling of voices.

“I’ll be back.”

“Please”—Jace clutches her bag to her chest—“don’t leave me here alone.”

The way she begs me makes no sense. A moment before, she had seemed frightened of me. Maybe Jace is afraid of everything. And she’s supposed to be a morally tarnished criminal. Are you kidding me?

I’d rather not have anyone tagging along, but she’s too pathetic to say no to.

“Come on, then.”

She hurries to me, holding her pack close. Once in the hall, I fling my own onto my shoulders and adjust the straps until it’s tight against my back. Jace and I walk side by side to the staircase.

Erity stands in the center of the living room, gazing at the stone-lined fireplace, the huge leather sofas, the overhanging chandelier made entirely out of deer antlers. She wears a pack too.

In the kitchen, Stella opens and closes each cabinet. “There’s food! And liquor. Lots and lots of liquor.”

A small squeak escapes Jace’s throat.

“Holy shit.”

Valerie has snuck up on us. She stares over my shoulder.

We’ve woken up in a mountain resort with food and tons of booze. It’s like the government’s secret evil plan is to reward us for our bad behavior.

Salem enters from the deck. That’s six of us. Four still sleep. “Is there anyone here?” I ask. “Anyone besides us?”

“Not that I can tell,” Salem says.

“No guards?”

“Nope.” He harbors a fevered glint. “Looks like they left us all alone.”

A chill runs up my back. Stuck here with this bastard—a boy who raped thirteen girls—isn’t exactly what I’d call a vacation.

“He won’t touch you,” Valerie murmurs, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “You know what I do to fuckers who can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

I do know. Not just from her crime, but from her infamy in our prison wing.

“Did we ever talk?” I ask. “In the H Wing?”

“I didn’t talk. I kicked the shit out of people.” She shrugs. “And you . . . you got the shit kicked out of you enough. Picking on you wouldn’t have been satisfying.”

“Oh, thanks,” I respond dryly.

A wry smile twists her lips. “Maybe we should have talked. You know . . . been prison BFFs or something.”

“You would’ve gotten bored real quick. I’m far too vanilla for your tastes.”

“What’s vanilla?” Jace whispers. She gapes at us with owl eyes.

Valerie’s mouth twitches like she’s itching to laugh. When she reaches out and pats Jace’s shoulder, Jace flinches. Without answering her, Valerie turns back to me. “Too vanilla as a friend or a fuck buddy?”

I narrow my eyes. “Both.”

She sighs dramatically. “Yeah, you’re right. I probably would have gotten bored of you real fast.” She steps forward, leaning against the balcony. “You were a good little prison inmate, letting all those girls beat the snot out of you without a fight. But here . . . we have some freedom now. I better keep an eye on you, Ibarra.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You afraid of me?”

She bursts into laughter and makes her way down the stairs.

“I don’t get it,” Jace says when Valerie’s out of reach. “Was she flirting with you?”

“I don’t think so. I think we made an alliance.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and then asks, “Can I be in on the alliance?”

I grin inwardly and nod. “Sure.”

In prison, alliances are created so inmates can watch each other’s backs for potential attackers. But I don’t know what an alliance here means.

I study Salem and the space between us, vacant of bars or chains or glass. Vacant of any form of protection.

Maybe here, you need people watching your back too.

Other than a huge deck overlooking the forest, there isn’t much else to explore in the stone-crusted lodge. The air outside is clean and cool, dense with the scent of evergreen and soil.

We’ve been dropped in the middle of nowhere.

The rest have woken. Casey wears a grimace like he’s ready to beat the living hell out of someone. I’m starting to wonder if he always looks like a vicious dog.

Stella walks into the kitchen. She unzips her backpack and rummages through cupboards, collecting various cans of food and tossing them into her bag.

“It’s a bad idea,” Casey calls from the living room.

“What is?” I ask.

“I’m leaving,” Stella says. She flips back her blonde hair and zips up her pack, tossing it over her shoulder.

“Leaving? To where?”

“They knocked us out, dumped us here, and gave us survival gear. So I’m going away. To anywhere.”

“So you’re going to wander into the wilderness?” Valerie chuckles sarcastically. She leans back against the marble of the kitchen island. “Great plan, dipshit.”

Stella’s fingers grip the straps of her backpack so tightly that her knuckles are white. “They gave us provisions, and there’s no way in hell I’m sticking around here with you creeps.”

“You have no idea what’s out there,” Casey says.

Stella barks a laugh. “You honestly think I’m safer here? With a bunch of killers and a rapist?”

“I’ll only show you a good time, sweetheart,” says Salem as he rummages through cabinets on the other side of the kitchen. It’s such a half-assed comment, like he’s making his presence known because he can.

“Point taken,” says Casey. “But if they gave us provisions, outside must be where our tests are.”

“Oh, stop pretending you care what happens to me. You’re as bad as Salem. All of you are.”

Casey tenses. “You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me,” says Stella. “I’m not afraid of those tests because I shouldn’t even be here.”

Valerie scoffs. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you were totally justified in burning alive your boyfriend and his whole family.”

Stella winces. “Fuck you,” she hisses before crossing the living room and heaving open the front door.

“Good riddance,” Casey says when she’s gone.

The tension after Stella leaves is awkward and volatile. Her departure brings the realization that not only do we not know where we are, but we can’t trust anyone we’re stuck with. We’ve been given provisions, so it’s obvious that, if this is the Compass Room, we are meant to head out. It’s either that or stay in a house full of psychopaths.

While Valerie and Jace sit out on the deck, Salem and Gordon speak quietly to each other in the kitchen. Casey’s retreated upstairs, and I’m left in the living room with Tanner, Erity, and Blaise.

I haven’t heard Blaise speak once. Dark and tall, he lies on the couch, his limbs dangling over the sides. He clutches a leather-bound book to his chest that he must have picked up from the shelves in the living room. It looks like a Bible.

Tanner sits in the armchair next to mine. His gaze is fixed on Blaise, intent.

Soon, the silence is so thick in the living room, so hot and itchy and unbearable, that I have to say something.

“Do you think Stella is telling the truth?” My voice is so quiet that I’m not even sure Tanner heard until he breaks from Blaise.

“Her trial suggests otherwise.” He pushes his glasses up with his forefinger.

I stare at him blankly.

“Please tell me that you know of her trial.”

I glance around at a lifeless Blaise, at Erity, caught up in a book and not paying us an ounce of attention, and then at Gordon and Salem, both of whom are invested in a certain kitchen cupboard.

“I’ve kind of been in jail.”

“We all have kind of been in jail. I’m pretty sure I’ve kind of been in jail longer than you have.”

I lean back in my chair. “Does that mean you’ve studied up on us?”

“All of you, but not as thoroughly as I’ve studied the Compass Room itself.” He narrows his eyes.

“What?” I say defensively. “No, I didn’t research Compass Rooms after my sentence. Nor did I go out of my way to research any of you.” I hug my torso, as if that will make the next words out of my mouth any more comforting. “It’s pointless research if you’re going to die anyway.”

“I guess if that’s the way you see it.” He shakes the bangs away from his face. “Or your plan all along was to harass another criminal to explain everything to you.”

I scoff. “Looks like you’ve figured me out.”

“To answer your question, Stella is one of the harder reads. Evidence of her crime is pretty inarguable. The fire was started by a cigarette and a photograph. She was outside the house sobbing when the fire department arrived, and she hadn’t called 911. Nicotine residue was found on her fingers.”

“Yet she believes she’s going to survive this.”

“Yeah, but you have to remember, just because you’re guilty doesn’t mean the Compass Room is going to kill you.”

“How could she have possibly believed her intentions were good?”

Tanner shrugs. “Could have been an accident. That’s what her lawyers were trying to prove in court.”

Damn . . . this kid has even done his research on our trials.

I nod toward Gordon. He and Salem have stumbled upon the ample amount of liquor and are currently lining up the bottles on the kitchen counter.

“Guilty as sin itself. I think everyone knows it. The evidence was overbearing. And it’s not like you can accidentally torture people.”

I nod toward Blaise. Tanner furrows his eyebrows.

“You don’t know.”

“He’ll make it out.”

“But you’re speculating,” I say.

“I’m observing. Killed two people when he was blackout drunk, and now he’s clutching a Bible to his chest.”

“And me?”

He hesitates for a moment, like he thinks I’m trying to trick him. But then he answers safely by saying, “You already said you’re going to die here.”

I pull my knees up to my chest. “I guess I did.”

“Even considering your minimal research on your own morality test.”

I can’t help but give a slight smile. Somehow, this kid’s cheekiness is comforting. Maybe it’s because he actually cares what I have to say.

I’m not used to that.

“The one thing I do know about the Compass Room is that this test is supposed to see who you truly are, despite your research. Despite good acting or the lies you tell yourself.”

His swallow is audible. “Are you afraid?” When I shake my head, he repeats my words back to me. “The Compass Room sees who you truly are, despite the lies you tell yourself.”

It’s the first time since I’ve woken that I notice the pounding of my heart. “When do you think the tests will start?”

Tanner glances over at Salem and Gordon as the boys clink together glasses full of clear liquid. “I think they already have.”

Blaise isn’t the only one engrossed by a book from the shelf in the living room. Erity’s been carrying around a hand-bound journal. Her dark hair hangs in a curtain around her face as she flips through the pages, first on a couch, then outside, and then tucked away in a corner.

“Looked over her shoulder when I walked by. It’s a witch book,” Salem whispers to Gordon when I walk into the kitchen. “All sorts of diagrams and Latin writing and shit, like it was on the shelf just for her. Little witch bitch. You should ask her to cast a spell.”

“Could probably learn a few fucked-up tricks from her.”

Valerie glares at them maliciously when she walks inside from the deck. We exchange glances before she starts scrounging around for food.

Gordon slides me a shot. “Don’t think, just drink.”

A mass torturer just slid me a shot, waiting with that stupid, smug grin of his. He doesn’t look like a psychopath, more like a surfer boy finishing up his final semester in San Diego.

Average. A curtain of average features to hide his twisted fetish. His smile makes me wonder if torturing those kids to death got him off.

“Suit yourself.” He picks the shot up off the table and downs it. “Top-shelf. Might as well—I’ll be gone in no time. Most of us will, except two-point-five of us. I wonder if the unlucky one will lose his legs. Maybe his arms. Or her legs and arms.” He waggles his eyebrows and I taste bile.

“They’re testing our morality, right? Any of this could be a lure to make us do something stupid,” I say.

“And then what, an army will come stomping through the door and shoot me dead? Doubt it.”

“He’s right, you know.” Salem sifts through the bottles in the liquor cabinet before choosing a petite tequila container, a label I’ve never seen before in my life. Probably because I don’t barhop at places that offer thirty-dollar shots. “Test ratios for Compass Rooms are against all of us. Your best bet would be to drink and fuck your last night away. Who’s it gonna be?” He winks, pointing his finger between Gordon and himself.

My stomach clenches. “You’re sick.”

“Better make your decision quick. It’s obvious you’ll be the first one dead.” He studies the bottle. “Damn, I’ve only drunk this one other time. That was a night, I’ll tell you.”

Valerie rests her hand on the knife block. Valerie Crane strung up three of her twin sister’s supposed rapists, and yet this asshole who is here because of his out-of-control cock is yammering away. As if he was clueless.

I shake my head at her. Don’t cause a scene, don’t shed blood. She grinds her teeth back and forth, burning holes into the back of Salem’s head as he takes a long pull from the bottle.

Casey has reappeared and studies the scene in the kitchen from the living room couch, expressionless.

“Have fun dying drunk and alone.” I saunter past them.

“Bitch.” Gordon snickers in amusement.

A crash rings through the kitchen. When I turn back, Valerie has Gordon pinned to the wall by his neck. “Apologize, you little fuck.”

A chuckle bubbles from Gordon’s mouth, setting every last one of my nerves on fire. His eyes roll lazily to me. “I’m sorry, Evalyn, for calling you a bitch.”

I don’t feel better.

Salem laughs and drinks.

“Let him go,” I tell Valerie. “You know it’s not worth it.”

She doesn’t listen immediately, shoulders heaving with every breath. Finally, she rips her hands away and stalks to the deck.

Not wanting to linger in the poisonous aftermath, I return to my room and sift through the contents of my bag. What to do in a house full of killers and psychopaths—I eye my canteen, my blanket.

I could leave.

There’s no sense sticking around here and waiting for the inevitable. Bags were given to us, bags with supplies. Perhaps we were meant to run, explore. Go separate ways. Perhaps Stella was right.

I zip the pack up, swing it over my shoulder, and turn.

“Evie.”

He stands in the doorway, head tilted to the side, sucking on his finger like he’s always done. A habit he’s never broken.

My brother.

“Todd?”

He giggles. “Hide-and-seek, Evie. You count. I go!”

And then he runs.

“Todd, stop!” I yell, darting into the hall. He races to the end, giggling like mad, and rushes into the only open door.

I sprint into the room, where Casey is alone. And changing.

He straightens, shirt coiled around his wrists. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Did a little boy run in here?” I spout, simultaneously gaping at him. I’d been right before when I’d ventured to visualize his brawn. What I hadn’t imagined were the zigzagging scars roping his torso.

He slides into his shirt. “Excuse me?”

I swipe the hair from my eyes to scan the room. “I . . . err . . . a little boy. About five.”

He acknowledges what I’ve said by leaning back against the vanity. I’m noticing a trend to the response of his body language—this one is popping up often. It means, Are you a fucking idiot?

“I see now,” he says. “You’re mentally insane. That’s what probably attributed to your crime.”

So Todd didn’t run in here.

Why would Todd even be here?

Maybe I am insane.

“Does that mean no?”

Casey rolls his eyes. Only then does he notice my backpack.

“You leaving?”

“Thinking about it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Is that so?” I tug the hanging strap around to my other shoulder. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Do what you want.” He nods to the window that showcases the valley, the near-impenetrable pine. “But you don’t know what’s waiting out there.”

“I don’t know what’s waiting out there, but I know what’s waiting in here. I’ll take my chances.”

His lip twitches. “You talk like you aren’t the most dangerous one of us.”

I tighten the straps of my pack. “If I’m so dangerous, why the hell are you persuading me to stick around?”

He’s calculating, still as stone.

I cock my head. “Planning on being vindictive, are we? Keeping me around so you can punish me yourself? Heard you’re good at that.”

Before I can shut my mouth, he has me up against the wall, arm to my throat, the air knocked from me out of sheer surprise.

“Don’t think I fucking won’t,” he growls.

I wonder if they’ll let us kill each other in here. People get killed in jail, right? This wouldn’t be different. “All talk and no game,” I spit. “Maybe you should stop being such a pussy and do it already.”

“Do what?”

“Kill me.”

His whole aura practically shakes with rage.

“I know I’m gonna die, Casey. You could make it easier. Save us a feud.”

Something shifts in his expression—playtime is done. A deeper loathing takes over. He backs away from me. “Get out.”

I ball my hands into fists.

“I said get out!”

I wait a few seconds to prove I’m not affected by his smoke and mirrors, and push away from the wall, leaving the room.

The hall is dark. It’s the time of day when no one’s yet thought to turn on the lights because you can see enough to trip your way through the shadows. My hands are shaking. I don’t know why, not quite. I didn’t mean what I said—that I wanted him to kill me. I needed to see his reaction, to see if he took me seriously. It’s hard to gauge the insanity levels of others when you’re so screwed up yourself.

A woman stands at the end of the hall in a short nightie. Her eyes are Bambi orbs.

I pause, waiting for her to move. She doesn’t look real.

Doesn’t look real at all.

And she’s not an inmate.

“Casey,” I hiss, but the door is shut.

Maybe she’s the owner of the house. Maybe she’s been hiding. I open my mouth to say something, but my voice has vanished.

She creeps to me, shoulders erect. Her head hangs at an angle, stringy blonde hair falling limply around her shoulders, eyes sunken in their sockets.

She’s unbelievably thin. Her rib cage protrudes around her nonexistent breasts. With a bony hand, she flips back her hair, revealing the mottled bruises on her neck. “Shh.” She reaches out, like she’s going to place a finger to my lips. I shut my eyes, waiting for her touch.

“Don’t tell him I’m here. I want it to be a surprise.”

I open my eyes to ask who she means. But she’s gone.

I exhale and breathe in slowly through my nose. Exhale. It was the traveling, the train trip, that’s causing these visions. Or the drug they used to knock us out. First Todd, now her. I’m having side effects. Hallucinations.

That has to be it.

I hurry downstairs. Valerie and Jace are in the kitchen, doing their damnedest to stay away from the boys. We’re all trying to stay away from two boys in particular, although interacting with Casey isn’t exactly a walk in the park either. But Salem and Gordon are both vocal in their conversation, inebriated chatter filling the cavernous downstairs. Everyone either has their packs on or near them. We all got the message that they are important.

“There’s food.” Valerie holds a glass of water—or vodka—close to her mouth. “In the fridge. If you want it.”

The last thing I am is hungry. Squatting, I scrounge the liquor cabinet for the perfect bottle—an aged scotch—before uncapping it and taking a long pull.

Smooth. I feel the effects immediately. The horror threading my spine begins to ebb.

“Damn, girl,” Valerie says as I bring the bottle back down. Jace remains distant, rubbing her arms as she observes the boys.

“You two been seeing anything strange?” I ask. “Things—people—that shouldn’t be here?”

Valerie crosses her tattooed arms across her chest. “Having an episode? You’re not gonna go bat-shit crazy on us, are you?”

I might be. Because Todd and that girl—I saw them. Who’s to say how sane I am?

Jace takes the effort to drag her gaze away from the boys. “People?”

I open my mouth to explain, but I’m distracted by Casey, who’s now hovering at the base of the stairs. He glances from us to the boys on the couch. I guess neither conversation is appealing to him.

The lights flicker, the buzz of electricity a prevalent force against my ear drums. They sputter out.

When the power returns, Valerie hisses, “Holy fuck.”

The girl from the hall stands at the top of the stairs. Valerie can see her. I’m not going insane. She’s real.

Blaise, who has been lying on the couch since this afternoon, suddenly sits up. He starts to mutter. A prayer, maybe? He jumps up, swings his backpack over his shoulders, and bolts out the door.

Salem acts like he’s going to follow in Blaise’s footsteps, but stays planted in his chair, watching the girl cautiously.

Casey realizes the attention magnet above his head.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Salem groans.

“Who is she?” Jace asks.

“One of the cunts who testified against me.”

An audible growl escapes Valerie’s throat. She clutches the kitchen island in front of her, the muscles in her forearms dangerously tense.

How can Salem’s victim be here, in the Compass Room? Someone must have paid her to make an appearance, but that means she was willing to be in the same room with him.

She leans forward on the railing, breasts trying their hardest to spill from the triangle restraints of her nightie. “Hey, baby,” she purrs. “Missed you.”

“What the fuck?” whispers Valerie.

Jace’s hands clamp her glass of juice tightly. “How is she here? How is she inside, like us, how . . .”

The skeletal girl struts down the stairs. “Come on, sweetheart, why such the long face?”

Don’t tell him I’m here. I want it to be a surprise.

“Here to apologize, you stupid bitch?” Salem seethes. I wince at his tone.

“Knock it off, asswipe,” Valerie snarls. “Don’t pretend you didn’t rape her.”

Salem locks onto Valerie, cracking a wicked grin. “Never denied anything, did I?”

“I’m going to kill him,” she mutters.

She isn’t above it, Salem should know. But his expression is fearless.

“I do want to apologize, Salem.” The girl steps onto the stone of the living room floor and slinks around the couch, making her way toward him. “I know what you’ve been thinking. That this place is paradise. I’m here to prove that to you.” She bats her eyelashes. “So sit back and let me.”

The lights dim. Valerie’s all jumpy next to me, so I extend my hand in front of her and say, “Let it play out.”

“Let him touch her? After what he did?”

Yes, because she’s letting him. Yes, because this situation is too insane to address. The little blonde crawls onto his lap, and Salem smirks, feasting his eyes on her scrawny, deprived body. Casey waits with clenched fists. Hurried whispers stir from Erity and Stella behind me, and Gordon, well, Gordon starts to cackle, low and gravelly at first, spiraling into mania.

“Think I’d leave you all alone, baby, in a place where the girls don’t service the boys like they should?”

“You’re finally making sense to me.” His hands travel up the back of her thighs, cupping her ass.

She chuckles darkly. “Good.”

Clasping her hands on either side of his head, she twists, elbows swinging as she snaps his neck in half.

I Don’t Remember Most of the Trial.

A funny thing happened with my mind—a trick—during all of those testimonies. I couldn’t even remember my testimony. Just blocked out. A shade drawn over a window.

But I remember one particular witness.

It had never been officially over between Liam and me. I was in federal prison, and he was getting over the fact that the world knew me in a different way from how he did. Those two Evalyns weren’t allowed to exist on the same plane together.

The prosecuting lawyer was relentless. But I should have expected that.

“Mr. Calaway, how close were you to the defendant?”

Liam’s eyes flickered to mine. “We’ve been dating for five years.”

“So you’re still dating, correct?”

“I . . . we haven’t really talked about it.”

My eyes stung. I blinked furiously, sucking in air through my lips.

“Was it a sexual relationship?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

The judge waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. “Overruled.”

“Yes,” Liam said.

“And in the months before the event, did Evalyn start to act any differently than normal?”

Liam thought about this. He thought about this until my fingernails were embedded deep into my palms.

“No.”

“How about her relationship with Meghan Luciani?”

“She started spending more time with her.”

The whole courtroom buzzed with hushed whispers, and I felt the dead cold seep into my stomach.

“Therefore, she started spending more time with Nick.”

I knew what everyone was thinking. That thought was the most humid thing in the room, clinging to the air until I couldn’t breathe.

“I guess,” Liam said.

“So it would be possible that Evalyn was having an affair with Nick?”

My lawyer stood so fast she almost knocked her chair over. “Objection, Your Honor! Total speculation!”

But Liam didn’t need to answer that question; it had already been implanted into the minds of the jury. Evalyn Ibarra spent time with the girl she murdered in order to fuck her boyfriend.

“Sustained.”

So the prosecuting lawyer tried a different route. “How close was the defendant to Meghan Luciani?”

“Very close. Sisters close.”

That’s when Liam lied. We weren’t sisters close. Liam used to always tease that he would have thought we were lovers if he didn’t know better.

“That’s why it came as such a shock to me when Evalyn was charged.”

That wasn’t what the lawyer wanted to hear, so he changed the subject. “Did Evalyn ever talk about chaos theory in front of you, Mr. Calaway?”

Liam shook his head. “No. Well, only once. Meghan had told her that Nick was obsessed with it.”

The purr of the court grew to a rumble.

This was the one bit of evidence given that didn’t damn me. Nick’s obsession led the police to find a hoard of philosophical books about chaos theory in his apartment—the theory that validated his delusional desire to kill. As for me—nothing in my possessions proved that I even knew what chaos theory was.

The lawyer held up a baggie with a tube inside for Liam to see. “Can you make out this shade of lipstick, Mr. Calaway?”

Liam nodded.

“Is this a shade that Miss Ibarra owned?”

I saw the crime-scene photo as if it was in front of me. The mirror, the note in pink.

Whoever finds this—

I’ve crumbled along with the world.

This cookie-cutter girl you want me to be

Makes me sick.

There is no turning back. Not for

Any of us.

We will see you in

The next life.

—Evalyn Rochelle Ibarra

“I—maybe. I don’t know? I mean, I’m a guy.”

The gallery, and even some of the jury, laughed. I don’t think Liam was trying to be funny.

“Do you plan on breaking up with Miss Ibarra, Mr. Calaway?”

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

As the prosecuting lawyer made his way back to his seat, Liam’s head remained bowed, his shoulders shaking.

I prayed that he wouldn’t look up at me. I told God that if he did, I’d break, right here in this courtroom, in this chair.

That was the last prayer God answered for me.