Twisted (24 page)

“You could come join us. Are you still at work?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, uh, that's why I'm calling.” My eyes flit around the room and land on Molly. “Molly's not feeling well, so I'm going to stay and work for her. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry, like if you got home before me.”

He's quiet for a second. “Didn't you just work all day?”

“Yeah.”

“They can't make you work all those hours if you don't want to.”

“It's fine, I need the money.”

I hear him sigh. “Okay then. I probably won't make it home before you. Brandon likes to party.”

As soon as I hang up, I let out a huge breath.
Okay, so at least I know where he is
.

Erin is looking at me strangely. Who could blame her? I still can't believe she doesn't demand to know what the hell's going on. “My brother's not home,” I say. “I'll whip over, get everything I need, then I don't have to worry about it later.” I begin to slide off the stool, but she grabs my arm.

“Now, I'm not one who likes to get involved in other people's business.” My mouth drops open. She doesn't notice, or pretends not to. “But I watched you on the phone when you were talking to him. I heard it in your voice. You sounded scared.”

“No.” I shake my head. “We haven't been getting along lately, that's all.” I can't get into this with her. Not right now.

She raises her eyebrows.

“I really need my stuff,” I explain. “My last cheque, my wallet with my bank card and all my ID. I know for sure Aidan's not home. The place is empty. So, in-out. Piece of cake.”

“I'll call Josh.” She reaches for her phone.

“No. It's fine. I'll leave right now. And like I said, Aidan's not home. Plus Glady will be there, upstairs. She owns the house.”

Erin frowns.

“You're going to be here for at least a few more hours,” I point out. “I'll go do my thing. And actually, that will give me time to track down this girl who's looking for a roommate. Maybe she'll want to meet up. It's all good.” Just hearing myself say my plan out loud makes me feel better.

“Okay,” she sighs. “But if you get there and your brother's come home, turn back. Josh will take you over later.”

“Deal,” I say, slipping on my coat. “Maybe jot down your address, in case I get tied up, like if this girl wants me to come see the apart- ment or something. I don't want you to have to wait for me.”

She writes on her order pad, rips it off, and hands it to me, but there's still worry all over her face. “I put down my home and cell number in case you need me.”

“Thanks.” I tuck it my pocket. “Oh. And I like plum sauce with my strips and fries,” I say lightly.

“Redneck,” she snorts.

As I head up the street, I check my watch again — tons of time. Plus I only need about ten minutes. Everything I own fits in one bag.

Yeah, ten minutes should be
more
than enough time.

CHAPTER 37

I
hover on the sidewalk, a few doors up from the house. The drive- way is empty — no sign of Aidan's car. Still I hang back.

Stop being an idiot. He's not in there.

As I get closer I see Glady coming around the side yard. She waves. I wave back.

“Hi, dear,” she says.

“Hi.” I notice she's holding a small suitcase. My stomach does a little dip. She's obviously on her way out. “Are you going some- where?”

“My sister-in-law just had hip surgery. I'm going to help her out until she's back on her feet.”

“Oh. That sounds … fun.”

“Now, when I told Aidan, I forgot to let him know that Scotia Fuels is coming to clean the furnace on Friday. Someone needs to be here, okay?”

“Sure,” I lie.

A cab pulls up beside us. I open the door for her, hold her suitcase while she gets in. “I hope your sister-in-law gets better soon.”

“You and me both,” she says, rolling her eyes. “See you in a few days.”

Smiling weakly, I shut the door. There's a good chance this is the last time I'll ever see her.

I dig out my key and unlock the front door. The house seems extra quiet. It feels as though I'm breaking and entering. Leaving my jacket on, I head directly to my room.

My hands are sweating. I wipe them on the back of my jeans, grab my wallet and paycheque off the dresser, and stuff them into my bag. Not wasting any time, I haul my duffle bag from under the bed, scoop everything out of the drawers, and shove it all inside. I can hear my heart thumping the whole time. I check the closet. Only my housecoat, a hoodie, and an extra pair of sneakers. I jam them in the bag. My textbooks are in a recyclable tote on the desk. I quickly loop the handles around my wrist, take one last look around, and lug my stuff down the hall, stopping at the bathroom to snatch my toothbrush and makeup bag.

Kitchen, dining room, living room — as I go by, I quickly scan them for anything that's mine. Nothing. It's as if I was never here.

I pause at the hall table. My course calendar. I forgot it. I scribbled down all my student loan information, a bunch of phone numbers, my temporary student ID number. I need it.
Shit
. Dropping everything, I rush back to my room, trying to visualize the last place I saw it.

It's nowhere in sight. Then I remember. I was reading it in bed. Lying on my stomach, I inch my way under the box spring. There it is, wedged down behind the headboard. I stretch my arm out as far as it can go. My head's on its side, and a droplet of sweat finds its way into my eye. It stings like crazy. Finally I'm able to get a hold of a corner of the cover. As I pull it toward me, I feel something on my leg. My whole body freezes, paralyzed.

“Hsssss.”

“Damn it, Bingley!” I slide myself out. “You, I am not going to miss!”

The calendar is coated in the dust bunnies that live under my bed. I sweep them off, my fingers feeling the jagged slashes courtesy of Bingley. I know I should get out of there as fast as possible, but I can't help glancing over at Bingley, at his tiny little paws, and then back to the calendar, the deep, widely spaced gashes. “There's no way …” I whisper.

A squeaking noise from behind makes me flinch and jerk my head around. The door is swinging closed. Then I hear it, the sound of metal scraping on metal. The deadbolt.

I jump from the bed, run to the door, try to open it. It won't. “Aidan!” I pound with my fist. “Is that you?”

Silence.

With both hands, I tug on the knob. “Aidan!” I scream. “Open the door!” I keep twisting and turning until it feels like the knob might pop off. “What the hell are you doing!?”

More silence.

“I know you're out there! Answer me!”

“You're leaving,” he says quietly.

I take a step back. “Uh …”
Shit!
“No. No I'm not.”

“Your bag. It's all packed. In the hall.”

My mind races. “I'm just staying overnight at a friend's, that's all.”

“With your textbooks?”

Shit.
“I, I … ”

“Don't bother!” he shouts.

“Aidan. For God's sake. Let me out. I'll explain everything.”

“There's nothing to explain!”

I start slapping my palm on the door. “Aidan!”

“How's Mary, by the way?”

My hand stops in mid-air. “What?”

“You guys looked pretty buddy-buddy.”

“What are you —?” I drop my arm. “Were you
following
me?”

“I knew you were lying this morning when I asked you about Mary. It was all over your face.”

“So you
spied
on me?”

“Bet she had a ton of juicy stories.”

Think, think, think
… “It was about the will. I'll tell you every- thing she told me. Just unlock the door.”

“You lied to me about working, too. You didn't work today. You were in there less than an hour.”

“Aidan!” I give the knob another yank. “I can explain that too.”

“I knew sooner or later you'd try to leave. You wouldn't shut up about school. About living on campus.”

“Aidan!”

He carries on as if he doesn't hear me. “And then there was that loser,” he says. “Coffee shop boy. You were here for what? A day? Before you started sluttin' around with him? Got over Kyle pretty fast.”

What the hell?
“You piece of —!” I kick the door.

“You never learn, Lyssa. You choose poorly every time. And they screw you over every time.”

“Asshole!” I start kicking the door again. Once, twice, twenty times.

“You might want to calm down. You're only going to wear yourself out.”

His words make me kick even harder. “Open this goddamn door!” Pain shoots up my leg. I have to stop. Now soaked in sweat, I peel my jacket off and toss it on the bed. He's right. Stay calm. It's not like he can keep me in here forever. “Aidan!” I yell. “What about Glady? She must hear me screaming my head off.”

“She's away. Gone.”

Damn it. Of course. He knows.
“You dick!” I limp to the window, try to slide it open. It doesn't budge. I jiggle the wood frame, hoping it's just stuck. It moves a bit, but it's like it's catching on something. I flatten my body against the wall, turn my head sideways, and try to see the outside of the window. Though I'm looking from an almost impossible angle, I see it. There it is, a nail, hammered down between the top and bottom frame. A memory flashes through my brain — Aidan with the hammer.

“I told Glady I'd re-caulk the north-facing windows … So if you hear a lot of banging and stuff around your window, it's just me.”

“Bastard,” I breathe as I run my fingers along the frame. Both panels are made up of eight paperback-sized panes. Even if I could find something to break the glass, I'd never fit through …

I fly back across the room. “You bastard! You planned this!”

No answer.

“You did! You nailed the window shut!” I pummel my fists on the door. “Aidan!”

No answer.

Frustrated, I crumble in a heap against the door. Bingley, unaware of, or not caring about, what's going on around him, pads over and plants himself next to my leg. Once again I look at his paws, and I know I'm right. “Bingley didn't trash my calendar, did he?” I shout.

I wait. And wait. I start thinking Aidan might be gone. Bending sideways to look under the door, I see something dark blocking the space in the middle. He's sitting on the floor as well, leaning against the door. “You just needed a reason to put up the lock.”

Still no answer.

I drive my elbow into the door. “How long? How long have you been planning this?”

Nothing.

“Aidan, why are you doing this?”

I feel the vibrations of movement, and he finally speaks. “Because. Because I love you.” His voice is muffled, like maybe he has turned and his mouth is touching the door.

I shudder, thankful he can't see me. How should I respond to that? “Well, of course you do. You're my —”

“Don't! Don't give me some brother-sister bullshit. You know that's not what I mean!”

“But —”

“I have
always
loved you!” he yells. “
Always
!”

He sounds so angry. I crawl away from the door, huddle closer to the bed.

“And I know that you love me too. I just have to help you realize it.”

“No!” I shake my head.

“It's okay. You don't have to deny it anymore. Let go. Let yourself feel it.”

“There's nothing to feel. I don't love you … like that, Aidan. I'll
never
love you like that.” I say it as gently as I can, but still loudly. He needs to hear me say the words.

He pounds back on the door, so hard it makes me jump. “You will!” he orders. “After everything I've done for you, you will!”

“What do you mean? What have you done for me?”

“You're such a liar,” he whispers. “You said you'd go back home …”

I can barely make out what he's saying. I slide over, press myself right up to the door. “What?”

“You said you'd go back home if Vince was gone.”

“What? I never said that.”

There's a sniffling kind of sound, and I mash my ear against the wood. “Are you crying?”

“Why can't you remember how it was?” he says hoarsely. “We were so good together.”

There's a
scritch-scratch
as something pokes its way under the door. I pick it up. It's a piece of what seems to be cardboard, folded a bunch of times. I open it. It's the photo of Aidan and me at Point Pleasant Park, the one on the bench, the one like at Marla's. The folds have made deep creases, and the edges are worn and ragged. I flip it over. There's a happy face drawn in blue marker.

“I carry it in my wallet,” he says. “One of the best days of my life.”

“But we spent the day shopping for school clothes.”

“I know. And after, your mom bought us fish and chips, took us to the park. You told me you were so happy I'd be there at high school to look out for you.”

Did I say that?
“Um …”

“You wanted me to take care of you. You knew, even back then. I'm
supposed
to take care of you.”

“Aidan, you misunderstood.”

“I tried to recreate the day with Marla, you know. It wasn't the same.”

The hairs on my arms stand up. The picture at Marla's … it was on purpose. I hold my head in my hands. “Aidan, why?” I whisper.

“I got her to cut her hair like yours. Coloured it the same too. You stopped wearing it like that, though,” he says sadly.

Her hair. She told me Aidan was behind it. I knew there was something strange about that.

“I bought her your perfume for Christmas,” he continues. “You know, that Vera Wang stuff you like?”

He wanted her to smell like me?
“I don't use that anymore.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I noticed.”

My head still cradled in my hands, I dig my fingers into my scalp. I think back to when I first met Jodi. She thought I was Marla's sister … “I can't believe you tried to make Marla into me.”

“She's not you.”

No fucking kidding!
I close my eyes and try to process every- thing. My mind keeps going back to something he mentioned earlier. “Aidan, you said you did something for me, but you didn't tell me what.”

“I did it
all
for you,” he whispers.

“What are you talking about?”

Silence, then: “I swallowed my pride.”

“What?”

“I called Vince. Told him you'd come back to me, told him about our plans.”

“What? What plans?”

“That we were coming back. That we were still in love, that we were going to reopen the bakery, have a life. That he needed to leave, get out of our house.”

Still
in love? What?
“Aidan … why? Why would you tell him that?”

“He said I was crazy, that once you found out, it would all be over.”

“Found out what?”