Divine Vices (5 page)

I
started making my way down to Study Hall for the final class in my day, when
Ian came up behind me with a gigantic hug.

“Hey,
beautiful,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m off to work. Gwen giving you
a ride after school?”

“Yeah,
we’ll meet up with you,” I said. “Gwen’s going to the mall anyway. Jeff’s gonna
be there.”

“So
he’s the object of her affection this week?” he joked.

“He
showed his interest first, so it seems rather mutual, actually,” I affirmed.

“Speaking
of objects of affection, you talk to Gwen’s new recommendation for your future
husband?”

“You
mean Jack?” I asked, a guilty smile creeping up on my face. “I wouldn’t call it
a ‘talk’ per se, more like a scolding.”

“Uh-oh,
what happened?”

“Other
than the fact that he referred to me as a snobbish tease, not to mention other
things said in reference to other people I care about, he was still begging for
a sound lashing.”

“And
you
gave it to him?”

“Hey,
I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” I said, giving him a gentle
shove as he released his embrace around me.

“You
go all Chuck Norris on him?”

“No,
I used my oratorical powers and beat him with his own words,” I stated proudly.

“That’s
my girl.”

Gwen
pushed her way through the crowds with determination the moment she saw us
coming down the opposite end of the hallway. “You guys are not going to believe
what I just found out!”

“If
this is about Jack, I really don’t want to hear anything about that jerk,” I
said sharply.

“No...”
said Gwen, “but may I ask, what’s with your prickly demeanor?” 

“He
made some derogatory comments about Cassie,” Ian confirmed.

“Are
you kidding?” scoffed Gwen. “Well, we’ll deal with him later. We’ve got bigger
news. A girl was found in the woods early this morning, or should I say her
body was.”

“What?!”
Ian and I exclaimed in unison.

“Yeah,
fifteen years old. Can you believe it?”

“Around
here?” I asked.

“No,
down near Lancaster. She had been missing for four days and officials
originally thought she was a runaway. And trust me, there’s nothing natural
about her death.”

I
still breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s
not exactly the reaction I was expecting,” said Gwen.

“Don’t
get me wrong. I know it’s tragic, but as indecent as this sounds, I’m still
kind of thankful that there’s a safe distance between this and us. Lancaster’s
gotta be what, twenty miles or so from us? After living in the city and constantly
being on high alert for the latest psychopath to be splashed across the nightly
news, it’s still nice to know I don’t need to keep looking over my shoulder
everywhere I go,” I said.

“Not
so fast. Her death might be what’s making headlines, but it’s the details yet
to be disclosed to the public that should be scaring you.”

“Come
again?”

“Turns
out the circumstances of this girl’s case happens to match another missing
person’s, from right here in town,” said Gwen. “Twenty-one-year-old bartender,
Veronica Hyatt. Missing since last Thursday.”

“I
heard about that case from Officer Benson,” I said.

“Not
like this you haven’t. You know what’s got the police so rattled about
Veronica?” she asked, receiving no response. “This.”

Gwen
pulled out a full sheet of printing paper from her binder. She flipped it over
and handed it to me, the image on its backside searing forever in my mind.

“What
the-”

Ian
quickly snatched the paper and buried it inside his jacket. “Meyer, where the
hell did you get this?”

“A...
confidential source...” she replied sheepishly.

“Gwen,
this is serious,” said Ian. “How did you get this?”

“Let’s
just say my source doesn’t exactly play by the books.”

“You’ve
gotta be kidding,” growled Ian. “You haven’t shared this with anyone else, have
you?!”

“No.”

“Well,
keep it that way. There’s a reason why the cops aren’t mentioning this,” Ian
whispered. “If word gets out about some kind of cultish killer, all the freaks
are gonna come out of the woodwork.”

“You
don’t think I’ve already thought about that?” said Gwen.

“Let’s
not forget your reporter-mindset. There’s not much that you don’t make into a
headline these days.”

“Fine,
I pinky swear to not print a word,” she cracked.

“Seriously,
Nancy Drew, leave it alone,” said Ian. “I’ve gotta get going.”

“Drive
safe,” I said.

“I
will,” he replied. “Keep an eye on Sherlock here.”

“Will
do.”

Ian
walked away hesitantly, and it was left up to me now to ensure that Gwen would
keep mum about this. I hooked my arm around hers and took her to Study Hall. No
more than a half hour into class, our teacher, Mr. Randall, was already sawing
logs with his relentless snoring.

“How
can you not be more curious about this?” said Gwen, who had parked a seat
beside me in the massive, mostly vacant classroom. “Where’s your inner
journalist?”

“Occupied
on writing articles about the football team and how overpaid our district’s
superintendent is,” I said, not so much as breaking concentration from my
workbook.

“You
know how epic it would be if we were to solve this?”

“Solve
what? Are you going to break into crime scenes and do your best CSI
impersonation? Because, Scooby Doo, there are laws against interfering with
official investigations. You get caught in the middle of one of your half-baked
schemes, you’re gonna find your head on a chopping block. Please, for once in
your life, listen to Ian and let this go.”

“Sounds
fine now, but when a Charles Manson groupie comes knocking on your door, don’t
say I didn’t tell you so.”

I
gave her a sharp glare. “Also, would you mind keeping it down? I don’t think
the biology department heard you. We may not be surrounded by the brightest
minds this generation has to offer, but it won’t take much common sense to
connect the dots back to you if news of this finally comes out when all the
long while you were flapping your gums about cults. They’re gonna know the
information was leaked to you.”

A
big part of me prayed that the information would never see the light of day,
because it still felt unreal. I knew though that the moment this became public
knowledge, everyone’s constant yammering about it would only devastate the
falsehood I had built up to be ignorant safety. Unfortunately, I couldn’t erase
the image Gwen had shown me no matter how hard I tried. Despite the cultish
freakiness of the star encrusted pyramid symbol formed by rocks and sticks in
the muck, it was the girl who haunted me most. A fair skinned brunette, younger
than I was, laying in the mud of Maine’s woodlands. Her limbs contorted about
in the most unnatural positions. Scarlet splotched across her dirtied white
halter. Her dark brown eyes vacantly staring up at the sky with what I could
only imagine in her last moments to be filled with dread, terror, and pain.

“Fine,
I’ll put this baby to rest, for the time being,” said Gwen. “In the mean time,
why don’t you tell me about what happened between you and the devilish
dreamboat?”

“Nothing
worth mentioning.”

The
truth was that I didn’t know how much I wanted to share with Gwen. If I told
her everything, including what he had said about her, I could get her off my
back and put a stop to her pestering. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to go
through with hammering full disclosure on her. Despite Gwen’s seemingly
impervious exterior, I still saw firsthand just how much Stacy’s constant
remarks really did upset her. They used to be best friends, and now Stacy was
her primary tormentor. Last thing either one of us needed was for Gwen to wage
another war, no matter how much Jack may have deserved her wrath. I settled for
simply telling her about what he had said in reference to me and left that at
that.

When
I concluded, she looked at me frustratingly.

“He
tried apologizing?”

“If
you could call it that,” I scoffed.

“His
initial intension was to apologize though?”

I
almost laughed as I reconsidered my partial-disclosure policy. “You’re not
seriously taking his side on this, are you?”

“I
didn’t say that.”

“Well,
you’re certainly taking your time in deciding,” I said.

“Sorry,
it’s just hard to believe that he’d say those things.”

“Why?
Because you know him so well?”

“No,
it is, because you could tell that he liked you.”

“No,
he liked the disturbed idea of conquering a prudish conquest.”

After
the Saturn set an all-time record, taking sharp turns and deep swoops down New Haven’s
forested hilly back roads, Gwen pulled into the local mall at 3:16. We had left
the school parking lot at three after three, for what was supposed to be a
twenty-five minute drive for anybody who abided by speed limits. Releasing my
death grip from the passenger door and dash, I climbed out of the car with
immediate relief that I was still intact and at my favorite place in the area.

This
mall was unlike any I was accustomed to growing up. In the city, our malls were
always the same: several stories high, signs of only the top chains and
retailers occupying the store windows, and escalators and glass elevators
following in the pace of the constant commotion of the crowds. Instead, New
Haven was sanctuary to small business owners and customers who appreciated the
small-town atmosphere. The mall was built into the side of a hill, so it looked
to be only one story high from the parking lot, but that was really just the
ground floor for the large shops, food court, and cinema. Several enclosed
staircases sloped down to the open multilevel shop grounds below containing
everything from boutiques, galleries, eateries, and music stores.

Gwen
was in another flirtatious pursuit to find Jeff in the main level at either
McDonald’s or The Gap, so we happily parted ways since I wanted to venture to
the lower stories. As I trotted down the cobblestone streets to Crescent
Square, the third story down, I breathed in the fresh autumn air, along with
the remains of the floral and garden arrangements that had suffered from the
dropping temperatures. In two weeks time, every piece of greenery would be
reduced to charcoaled leaves and burnt stems, so I soaked in the splendor of
its remnants, whose lasting impression would have to get me through the dreaded
wintry months ahead in the long anticipation for spring.

At
the end of the stretch rested my home away from home, Gate House Records.
Pulling the front door open, I was met with the sounds of sinister rock music
roaring through the speaker system as the bell placed above the entryway rang.

Ian
came out of the backroom with the intention to greet a run-of-the-mill
customer, so he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was me.

“I
take it you don’t welcome all your customers with such affability?” I teased.

“I
can put on a good game face, but if I’m asked again about another boy band or
pop singer, I’m gonna go postal,” he replied, dragging out a small step ladder
and propping it up beneath a partially fallen Halloween banner.

“Here,
let me give you a hand,” I said, motioning him out of the way.

I
climbed up and readjusted the tack in the wall so that the banner hung evenly.

“Thanks,”
he said, helping me down. “You know us men are hopeless when it comes to
décor.”

“Hence
why I had to readjust all the posters in your bedroom,” I said. “I think you
suffer from the same cockeyed syndrome as my dad. You guys hang everything with
a slant. You should have seen our house just after we moved in. Not a frame or
mirror was hanging level.”

This
place went hand in hand with Ian. Its Steampunk nature, oval archways, gold
filigree wallpaper, and antique display cases lining the register, not to
mention the spirited decorations for the season, made it unlike anything else
you’d come across in this town.

“I
see you got the fog machine working,” I said, looking down at the gray cloud
that engulfed the floor up to my ankles.

“You
should see it from the outside at full blast,” said Ian merrily. “The fog
actually seeps through the front cracks of the doorframe. Very John Carpenter.
Unfortunately, that means there’s zero visibility inside here, so obviously it
wouldn’t make much for good business.”

“I
can imagine,” I laughed, heading over to the music racks. “I know it probably
sounds a bit satanic to say this, but Halloween’s actually my favorite holiday.”

“Really?
I know you like a good scare every now and again, but I would’ve taken you to
be more of a Christmas girl.”

“You’d
think so, but it’s the whole façade that goes along with seeing my extended
family that kind of kills my merriment. It was always tradition that on
Christmas Eve we’d come visit my grandma here, which I loved. But then on
Christmas Day we’d have to go see my mom’s side of the family.”

“Have
to?” Ian queried amusingly.

“Yes,
at least it was forced on my dad and me. My mom and sister loved going to see
my mom’s side, but that’s only because they were treated as equals.”

“And
you weren’t?”

“That’s
the thing you have to understand about the Cossacks. They come from money,
which means every holiday consists of the same narrow-minded and worthless
chatter about all of my cousins’ accomplishments or the new addition that my
aunt and uncle just put onto their already-enormous house. Having believed that
my mother married beneath her, the Cossacks treat my dad like a primitive
outsider. What irks them more than anything is the fact that my dad has never
been bothered by their mistreatment, and more often than not is throwing quips
out at their expense in regard to their own snobbery. As for my sister and me,
Nikki was always proper, well-dressed, an overachiever and whatnot, so there
was still hope for her to be one of the elite. But as you know, I am most
certainly my father’s daughter, so I’ve always been about one wisecrack away
from them throwing me into a barred cage with a banana for dinner.”

“I’d
say you’d be better off not seeing them, but I’ve never had an extended family
to visit, so...”

“No
one?”

“Just
my mom and me,” he said. “Okay, I know this really isn’t any of my business,
but can I ask you something?”

I
nodded uncomfortably as my mind conjured up far too many possible topics of
discussion he could mention.

“How
many guys have you actually dated?”

My
nerves unclenched, but my eyes still bulged a little. “Didn’t we already have
this conversation?”

“Yeah,
but I know better than Meyer when you’re lying.”

“So,
what are you now, a human lie detector?”

“No,
you just have a terrible poker face,” he replied as I inadvertently ran my
fingers through my hair. “Like that. You play with your hair anytime you’re
nervous.”

I
immediately pinned my arms down to my sides. “I do not.”

“Yeah,
you do. One of your biggest tells though is when you bite the bottom of your
lip, but only on the right side. When you do that, I know you’re lying like a
wool rug.”

“Any
other giveaways I should work on?” I asked, rather crossly.

“Yeah,
but I’m not going to tell you what they are,” he said. “I like knowing more
than what you’re telling me.”

I
directed my interest to the tops of my shoes before I replied, “None.”

“What?”

“That’s
how many guys I’ve dated.”

When
I looked up again, I found myself unable to tell by Ian’s expression if he was
more pleased or baffled by my response.

“What’s
the shame in just admitting that?” he asked.

“Because
you know Gwen. If I told her that, she’d have an online dating profile set up
for me by the end of the school day. And it’s not that I’m anti-dating or
anything. I’ve gone out on dates; I just wasn’t ever impressed enough by any of
those guys to want to keep seeing them.”

“Have
you at least kissed someone?”

I
refocused my attention again to the ground.

“Seriously?”

I
smiled guiltily. “Once, when I was thirteen. Danny Burner. It was during a game
of Spin the Bottle. After I kissed him, I sat back watching everyone else play.
When my turn was about to come up again, I excused myself to go get something
to drink and never came back. I’m not sure if I just had some romantic notion
about how my first kiss was supposed to go, but seeing everyone exchange kisses
with everyone else like it was nothing just made the whole experience...”

“Impersonal.”

“Yeah.
I guess I never really got over that, because anytime I was with a guy that
seemed nice but I still wasn’t over the moon about, I’d think about that game
and I’d immediately recoil at their advances. I guess it’s the tragic romantic
in me.”

“Looking
for a deeper connection isn’t tragic,” affirmed Ian. “Certainly not an easy
thing to come by in this day and age, but not tragic.”

Gate
House Records still had several of those sampler speakers throughout the shop,
ones I hadn’t seen since I was little.

“Don’t
you dare,” said Ian, watching me about to scan a CD.

“What?
This is a fantastic album.”

“You
know your father would be ashamed of you for such an act. Listening to that,
not to mention implementing its sounds on others, is a harmonious offense.”

“What
is your guys’ affliction with Nickelback?” I asked.

“Other
than the fact that their music is massively derivative and their songs are
overplayed to the point of sheer and utter agony? Nothing.”

“I
still love them.”

He
simply chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that’s the first and last time I’ll ever hear
someone admit to that.”

“I
don’t get it. Everyone listens to their music, and their albums sell out in
mass numbers, yet it’s somehow uncool to admit that you like them. Why? If it’s
good, it’s good. If it’s not, it’s not. That’s it. Whether you or Gwen wants to
mock my taste, then by all means, feel free. It’s not going to deter my
likings. I’m not going to shy away from being public about what I love just
because it’s been unfairly deemed as unpopular. And you can play the
hack
card all you want, but you know in all honesty that whether your opinion of
them is unfavorable or not, their music is still better than 95 percent of the
songs on the Top 40 stations.”

“Don’t
get me wrong. I find your uncompromising love truly refreshing.”

“You’re
making fun of me.” I said it almost as if it was a question, eying Ian as he
returned his own gaze with a playfully wide smile.

He
laid his palms flat and swiftly swung his legs over the register counter,
meeting me. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Standing
face-to-face with me, he continued to stare with his fixated grin as he drew in
closer until there were no more than a few inches between us. “Last copy.”

Before
I knew it, the album slid right out of my grasp and ever so effortlessly fell
into Ian’s possession. Despite my quick response, he managed to be just a
millisecond faster and raised it over his head.

“Damn
you and your height,” I said in jest, still trying to wrestle his arm down.

“I
think you’re gonna have to make a new artist selection,” he teased.

“Callaghan!”
called out a voice from the entrance of the backroom.

We
bashfully turned to be met with Ian’s boss, Jerry.

“Do
you always antagonize our customers when I’m not around?” he said wryly.

“Only
the ones deserving of it,” Ian remarked.

I
jabbed him in the stomach, and he finally surrendered the CD.

“Okay,
missy,” Jerry said, pointing at me lightly. “Who was the rock guitarist
responsible for creating the drum beat in Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’?”

Without
hesitation, I replied, “Jeff Beck, sir.”

“Damn,
you’re good. Your dad certainly raised you well. Say ‘hi’ to him for me,” he
replied. “Ian, you’ve got a keeper here. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Ian
and I both exchanged awkward glances.

“Oh,
we’re not together,” I confirmed.

Jerry
looked at the two of us disbelievingly. “Are you kidding? You’re gonna leave
her on the market? If I was twenty years younger and not married to Sheila, I’d
be on one knee right now.”

I
could feel my cheeks blushing with embarrassment as Ian shook his head with an
uncomfortable snicker.

“Seriously,
what’s wrong with you?” Jerry insisted.

“Oh,
where do I even begin?” said Gwen, sauntering through the shop doors. “I mean,
just look at him. There’s a whole variety of possibilities. I’ll take CLOTHES
for 200, Alex.”

“Here
we go.” Ian and I both deflated.

“Let’s
start with why Ian always looks like he raided the costume department on a Tim
Burton set?”

“Hey,
I like it,” I said. “He’s well kempt, doesn’t blend in with everybody, and the
look is iconically his. It’s rare to see someone marching to the beat of their
own drum without looking like they’re trying too hard. It’s plainly evident to
anyone paying attention when a person is doing all they can to stand out,
verses someone like Ian who is perfectly and effortlessly unique.”

“Well
put,” Jerry complimented. He motioned to me as he looked at Ian again, mouthing
the word, “Keeper.”