Light of Day (13 page)

I was hesitant to walk in. It felt like I'd been called to the principal's office, except this principal probably had a gun in her desk.

“Hello,” she said. “Come in and sit down.” She smiled at us, revealing perfect white teeth, and I realized she was a dead ringer for Kim Kardashian's mom, Kris Jenner. “I'm Sergeant Monchetta.” She sat down behind her desk. I noticed the detective's iPad was in front of her. “Detective Clarke has relayed your story to me.”

Story
made it sound like I was making it up. Too bad—I'd thought we were making progress.

“How did you know Bree was going to be at the club last night?” Monchetta asked me.

“My friend spotted her and called me to come talk to her.”

Her perfectly tweezed brows fused together. “Why didn't you call the police?”

The Destinos don't trust the police
. “We thought they'd run off before the cops got near them. No offense, but when the cops enter a place, it's not subtle.”

“So you spoke to her and she refused your help.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you know about the pimp, Milo.”

“Not a lot. He's got a bunch of girls working for him. Apparently they all adore him.”

“And you said in your statement that someone named X was helping you. What's this person's real name?”

The question caught me by surprise. Did she really care who X was? “I don't know his real name, and it doesn't matter. X was just trying to help find Bree.”

A knowing smile. “I'm aware of what X does, Gabby. We've known about him and his group for quite a while now.”

I bit my lip. So she knew about the Destinos, and had tried to trick me into spilling X's name. I guess that was the benefit of X never having opened up to me—I couldn't accidentally give him away.

“I worked in sex crimes for a decade,” she went on, “and I'm fully aware of his group's mandate. If you're still in contact with him, do me a favor. Tell him I'd like to talk
sometime, off the record. I believe that cooperation would be best for all of us.”

That was interesting. I'd have to pass along the message.

The sergeant continued to ask questions, most of which I'd already been asked. Eventually I needed a bathroom break. Mom came with me, maybe because she didn't want to let me out of her sight. She waited by the sink while I peed. I figured it was my best chance to text X.

On the toilet, I looked at my phone and saw a bunch of texts from the zombie club and even Maria, whom Mom had called in a panic this morning. Those would have to wait.

I told the cops I saw Bree. Her parents need to know she's alive. Maybe the cops can bring her home. P.S. Sergeant Monchetta knows about you guys and thinks you should chat sometime, off the record.

I knew what he must be thinking. I was some sheltered kid who couldn't have it her way, and ran off to tell the cops. But he'd be wrong. If the Destinos couldn't help Bree, the cops had to. Someone had to.

I left the stall and washed my hands. Mom gave me a random hug, I guess out of relief that I was okay.

Back in her office, Sergeant Monchetta had a few more
questions, then turned to my mom. “Can I speak to Gabby alone?”

“Of course. I'll be outside.” She picked up her purse and left the room. Sergeant Monchetta got up and closed the door behind her.

“We've gotten hundreds of tips about Brianna O'Connor,” she said, circling her desk and sitting back down. “Some of those sightings have been here in Miami, some as far as Texas.” She steepled her fingers, leaning closer. “But since you knew her personally, your encounter with her is the most credible.”

Monchetta looked over at her phone. “I'm going to call her parents and tell them what you told me. Right now, they don't know if she's alive or dead. But this news will change everything.”

I knew what she was getting at. This was my last chance to recant before involving Bree's parents.

“If your account isn't accurate, please tell me, Gabby. I won't say a word to your parents. I know that you got in trouble for being out all night, and I can see why you might want to stretch the truth. Maybe you went out looking for Bree, but didn't actually see her?”

“I spoke to her last night, Detective. That's a fact.”

“So you want me to tell her parents. You're sure about that.”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. Thank you, Gabby.”

Mom drove me home.

When we pulled into the driveway, the impounded Honda was sitting there. Dad must've gone to get it while we were at the station. I vaguely wondered if the fact that I'd been trying to help Bree would get me out of footing the bill.

The smell of spaghetti greeted us when we walked in, Dad's go-to dinner when Mom wasn't around. Although I'd barely eaten, I didn't think I could stomach the heavy meal. I downed a cup of yogurt, then went upstairs to my room.

Sitting on my bed, I wrote a quick text to Adriana, knowing she'd pass the word on to the others.
I'm fine, huge misunderstanding, sorry for running off like that, will explain tomorrow. xox
I also texted Maria to say that everything was fine and I'd be in touch soon.

Then I saw a new text from X. I braced myself.

You made a good choice. For the record, I'm sorry things turned out this way.

Sadness came over me. I figured he was talking about Bree. But some part of me wondered if he was talking about us.

I remembered being glued to his chest last night, being in
a place of bliss with my head against his heart. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to last.

The truth was, X was never going to let me in. He'd warned me of that, and I'd chosen not to listen. But I had no regrets, not anymore. Everything about X was incredible, exhilarating. Despite the ache in my chest, I couldn't wish I'd never met him.

I gathered all my strength and texted him back.

I'm sorry too. Good luck.

The next afternoon, Sarita and I sat on her patio, shaded by a huge parasol. The day was cloudless and hot, which called for her favorite herbal tea—she'd always believed in the cooling powers of hot tea. I lifted the cup and took a sip, knowing I needed to do some serious damage control. Problem was, I didn't know where to start.

But Sarita did. “I'm glad you told the police you saw Bree.”

“So am I. Once I knew for sure that she was alive, I had to.”

She leaned back in her chair. “So the guy you've been hanging out with wasn't a cop after all.”

She'd managed to say it matter-of-factly, without a hint of accusation. But I knew she must be wondering if I'd deliberately lied to her about it. “I hope you know I wasn't lying to
you. I honestly thought he was a cop. But it turned out he's part of a group that helps girls caught in the sex trade.”

She raised a brow. “What group is that?”

“They're called the Destinos.”

“The Destinos?” Her back straightened up. “Aren't they a street gang?”

“Um, yeah.” I'd been hoping she hadn't heard of them, but unfortunately the Destinos had done a great job of making a name for themselves. “They're not a typical gang. They help people. That's what they do.”

She looked skeptical. “I have to be honest, Gabby. You don't often hear of gangs helping people. That sounds a little strange to me.”

“It's a lot strange. I know that. But it's true. X is a good person. He does whatever he can to help girls caught in bad situations. He's . . .” My voice trailed off. “I love him.”

Empathy took over, and she put a hand over mine. “I just want to make sure your feelings for him aren't clouding your judgment about what he's involved in. It scared me to hear about that fight at the club. I don't want you in the middle of anything like that ever again.” She sighed. “It sounds like this X guy has good intentions. But please, let the police do their job.”

“Don't worry, our investigation is over. It's up to the police to find Bree now.”
I should have faith in them,
I told myself. I'd
seen firsthand that Sergeant Monchetta was on the ball. She was even open to working with the Destinos. That had to be a good sign. “As for me and X, we're over too. Not that it was ever officially on. But I imagined it was. And boy, do I have a vivid imagination.”

“Been there,” she said softly.

“I thought he cared about me. But he won't let me in.” Sadness took hold of me. “Why can't he let me in?”

“I guess his hands are full with that . . . that group.”

“Fine, call it a gang. It's okay; that's what he calls it too. He's an artist, like you. He does these sketches for people, these incredible sketches. You'd think anyone who could do art like that would be more . . .”

“Open?”

“Yeah. But he isn't.” I took another sip of tea, determined not to cry over him today. “What about Ben—things still going strong?”

She smiled. “We're having fun. Taking it day by day.”

I'd thought, at one time, that I could do the same with X—that we could take it day by day. But he'd been right. I wanted more. Because with a guy like X, nothing less than all of him would've been enough.

DAMAGE CONTROL WITH THE PARANORMAL
Twins was nowhere near as tricky as with Sarita. In fact, it was totally unnecessary. The moment I started into my rehearsed explanation about helping a friend in need Friday night, they diverted the topic to ZombieMall. They were dying to dish the deets.

“Be glad you got out of there when you did,” Adriana said. “The zombies got faster as the night went on.”

Caro nodded. “It was insanity. Can you believe Alistair and I survived until the end? Only eight of the two hundred people did.”

“Congrats. How'd Rory do?”

Caro rolled her eyes. “When the guy in charge realized Rory wasn't one of the actors, he told him to get out of the game. All the actors are insured, and Rory was getting a little
too hands-on with his victims. But Rory just ran off and hid, then came out a few minutes later in a different zombie costume. By the end, a few of the zombies were chasing
him
.”

I laughed. “Can't believe I missed that.” I turned to Adriana with a wry smile. “Was being bitten by a zombie everything you hoped it would be?”

She rubbed her chin. “On a scale of one to ten, it sucked hard. One arm bite, and I was out of the game.”

Caro pulled a face. “Oh, come on, you could've kept going. It was so chaotic that most people got bitten two or three times before they stepped out. No one was keeping a tally sheet. You left the game because you were so freaked out.”

Adriana bristled but didn't deny it. “
I
was all alone.
I
didn't have Sheriff Rick defending me.”

“Sheriff Rick?” I asked.

They gave me a “duh” look. “From
The Walking Dead
!” Caro said. “Yeah, Alistair was a total Sheriff Rick. You should've seen him, Gabby. He was so pumped. He'd committed the mall map to memory, and had thought up these great hiding places. I wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for him.”

Behind the leopard-print glasses, her eyes were dreamy. Too bad Alistair was missing this. He was doing an extra-credit experiment for his bio class.

“When it was all over, Caro and Alistair started making out, right there in the mall,” Adriana grumbled.

I turned to Caro. “Really?”

“Yes.” Her face turned pink.

“It was quite disgusting,” Adriana said.

Caro gaped at her. “Was not!”

“I meant because you were both covered in fake blood. You were a sloppy, bloody, kissy-kissy mess. Made me want to take a shower.”

Adriana clearly wasn't thrilled about the hookup. She and Caro had always been a duo, and I doubted she wanted to make space for a guy. But I hoped she would go with it. I had a feeling that Caro and Alistair's kiss could be the start of something beautiful.

I nudged Caro. “So is it official? Or was it just a wild moment of passion since you'd survived the zombie attack together?”

“It's official.” Caro beamed. “Miss Lisa was so right.”

“She predicted this?” I remembered that Caro had asked about her love life, but that the answer hadn't given me much hope for her.

“Miss Lisa's exact words were, ‘In the twilight of the apocalypse, you'll find love,'” Caro said.

At the time I'd had my doubts about the prediction. But apparently Miss Lisa had nailed it.

A benefit of my short disappearance last weekend was that my parents seemed happy to have me around. They were even giving me random hugs, which took some getting used to. The following Sunday, Mom did me the biggest favor of all: she let me sleep in instead of making me go to church. But at lunch, she dropped a bomb.

“JC's been asking for you.”

I paused before my next bite of poached egg on toast. “What?”

“That was my response too,” Mom admitted. “Obviously he's very fragile right now, and no one wants him to get upset. Camila says he's insistent that he see you. He's in the psychiatric ward at the children's hospital.”

Dad's fork clattered to his plate. “You didn't mention this in the car.”

“I'm passing the message along. That's all I'm doing.”

“It's a bad idea,” Dad said. “He's put her through too much already.”

“This is Gabby's decision, not ours.”

“It's fine. I'll go.” I realized that I actually wanted to see him. I wanted to see for myself that he was okay.

“Fine,” Dad said, “but don't stay for long. If you feel he's trying to manipulate you or guilt-trip you like he has in the past, leave. JC's not your responsibility.”

“I know.” Dad was clearly looking out for me, and it meant a lot. But my gut told me that visiting JC was the right thing to do. I turned to Mom. “When should I go?”

“Whenever you want. This afternoon, if you'd like to get it over with. Let me know and I'll call Camila.”

“Go for it.”

Visiting hours started at three, so that's when I went. Although Mom offered to come along, I insisted on going by myself. The only thing that could make this visit more uncomfortable would be if she was hovering. She insisted on paying for my parking, and I didn't argue.

I showed a security guard my driver's license, and he buzzed me in to the psych ward. A nurse led me down an eerie maze of hallways. There was a colorful mural along one side, with big, smiling, cartoony faces. I supposed it was there to cheer people up, but to me it was freakish and disturbing. X or Sarita would've done a much better job.

“Room two twelve,” she said, leaving me at the door.

I stopped and steadied myself for a moment, then knocked. On the other side of the door, I heard JC's mom say, “Come in!”

The room was overrun with flowers and teddy bears, but that didn't make it any less a hospital room. JC and his mom were sitting on the bed, playing cards on an overbed table.

He looked pretty good. Pale, but healthy. He was dressed
in sweatpants and a Ninja Turtles T-shirt, his favorite lazy clothes. When he saw me, he smiled. There was no anger in his eyes. It was like I was looking at the old JC.

His mom slid off the bed. “Lovely to see you. Why don't I go take care of some business? I'll be back in a few.”

She left us alone with silence. JC and I were the ones who needed to take care of business. I guess that's why I was here.

I sat on the edge of the bed. “So you got yourself a private room. Sweet digs.”

He smirked. “If you're gonna go psych ward, you gotta do it right.”

Silence again. I felt his eyes assessing me. I wasn't sure what to say.

“Gin?” he asked.

“Sure.”

JC came from a family of old-school gamers—back when it was card games, board games, and charades. I'd spent far too many Friday nights playing them with his family. Games were never my thing, but I'd always thought it was cool that his family had an interest that brought them together. Mine didn't.

“I wasn't sure you'd agree to come,” he said, dealing the cards. “You're probably wondering why I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah.” I took a card, then discarded one. His turn.

“It took literally two whole weeks for my mind to get straight again. I was fucked up, Gabby. Really fucked up.”

He was right about that. “But you're okay now?”

He nodded. “It's not just the drugs that screwed me up—it was all the dumb stories I'd been telling myself since we broke up. About how it was all your fault.”

My fault. That was no surprise. But it was still hard to hear him say it.

“So I'm seeing this counselor every day here, and she said I'm a self-centered prick.”

My jaw dropped. “She didn't.”

“Oh yeah, she did.” His mouth quirked. “Not in those exact words, but she laid it all out for me. At first I thought she was a total bitch, but then it hit me. She was right. I kept blaming you for my shitty life, for my stupid choices. Like taking Blings, and selling them so I could afford to take more.” Seeing the sadness in my eyes, he said, “Don't worry, I'm never gonna touch Blings again. Or weed. Nothing except a beer now and then. My counselor says it's not that simple. But for me, it is. That's the benefit of being a hardheaded bastard, I guess.”

“You're too stubborn to fail.” I smiled. “I know that for a fact.”

He grunted. “I wish my parents had your faith in me. When they found out I was using this summer, they sent me to a shrink, for all the good it did. They're gonna keep me on lockdown for a while. And they won't let me go to U of F next
year if they think I could mess up again.”

Going to the University of Florida had been his dream ever since I'd known him. I hated to think he might lose his chance. “You won't mess up.”

“I could've already blown it. My GPA's gone down this semester. I might not even get in.” He caught my expression. “I don't deserve sympathy, especially not from you. I talked a lot of trash about you, Gabby. Don't blame the others. Blame me. They thought they were sticking up for me. I'm sorry.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Thank you. I hope you know, I never meant to string you along.”

“You didn't string me along. I just never listened to you. Hence the self-centered prick thing.”

“We both screwed up, then. Let's say we're even?”

“Even.” He sighed. “When I get out of here, I'm not going back to St. Anthony's. It's gonna be an alternative school for the rest of the year.”

“Everybody will miss you.”

He gave a snort. He picked up a card, looked at it, then put it in the discard pile. “I bet they will. But I'll tell you something. I'm done with Liam. The guy's fucked up, and he fucked me up. He's the one who convinced me to try Blings last spring when I was feeling really low.” He shook his head in disgust. “He's a ballsy son of a bitch. Keeps a stash in the boiler room at school. Makes a ton of cash. He admitted to
me that ever since Bree went missing, he's doing a lot more business. More people wanting to party, more people wanting to forget.”

JC's face darkened, and I knew he was one of them. “I was at the party the night Bree went missing. We spent half the night talking. At some point I left the room to take a hit with Liam. I didn't come back.” He took a deep breath. “I knew she'd been drinking. If I hadn't been high, I'd have made sure she got home.”

His eyes were tortured. I realized that JC hadn't just been sad over Bree's disappearance; he'd held himself responsible for it. JC had often appointed himself DD, and even when he wasn't, he was still the guy who made sure everybody got home safely. That was one of the things I'd liked about him—he always looked out for people.

The guilt must've crushed him.

“Bree's alive, JC. Trust me. She'll be coming home.”

His brown eyes searched mine, desperate to believe me. “You actually think there's a chance she'll come home?” His eyes misted up. For the first time in forever, I wanted to reach out and hug him. But I held back. He was still vulnerable, and I didn't want to do anything he could misinterpret.

“Yeah, she's alive. I feel it in my gut.” I just had to trust that the police would, somehow, bring her home.

“It helps to hear that,” he said.

I rearranged a couple of my cards, then took my turn. “You know, I think it's for the best that you're not coming back to St. Anthony's. That scene's old. You'll meet new people at another school.”
Less-fake people
, I didn't add.

He sighed. “I know I've ruined your senior year so far. I'm gonna tell everyone that I was full of shit and that it wasn't your fault. I could probably get Ellie and Karina to hang out with you again.”

“Don't bother. I have other friends now. I don't care what any of those people think of me.”

JC nodded, admiration in his eyes. “That's the thing about you, Gabby. You never let anyone take you down. No matter what, you come out on top. I've always loved that about you.” He put up a hand, a wry smile on his mouth. “Don't take that the wrong way. I'm getting over you, Gabby. I'm almost there.”

It struck me just how much we had in common. We both loved someone who didn't love us back. Maybe it was my relationship karma; after breaking JC's heart, I was due for heartbreak of my own.

But there was one difference. As much as I missed X, losing him didn't make me want to self-destruct. He'd said I was amazing, and I believed he meant it. I'd take that with me.

I laid out my cards.

“You win,” JC said. “Another game?”

“I should probably go. Got my show tonight to prepare for.”

“All right, but I'll want a rematch someday.”

“Count on it.”

As I left the room, I knew there wouldn't be any rematch. My life and JC's would never be entwined again. But I had the feeling that he'd be just fine.

“Men!” Olive declared the minute I walked in the doors of WKTU. She was dressed in a frilly white dress and a jaunty orange cap, with a pair of just-for-show cat glasses perched on her nose. Between Olive and Sapphire, we must have the best-dressed staff in all of Miami radio.

“What about men?” I dared to ask.

She smiled sheepishly and lifted the tabloid she was reading. “They can't be trusted.”

“Amen.”

Enough said. I headed for the pink lounge and made myself some decaf green tea. I didn't feel like chatting with Caballero before the show. Seeing JC had gotten me thinking about X, about heartbreak, and my mood hadn't recovered. Knowing Caballero, he'd see it right away and call me on it. Best save it for the airwaves.

At one minute to nine, I stood in Caballero's doorway. He waved to me and said into the mike, “Get ready, everybody. Gabby Perez is here tonight, and you
know
that girl's got a lot
to say. Some are calling her Miami's sassiest shock jockette. Stay tuned.”