Vigil (22 page)

I gaped at Blake Monroe, who was standing in the office of
The Sun-Times
wearing cuffed capri pants and a tiny jacket. Her peep toe heels were at least three inches high.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her.

She smiled. “I thought I might fight fire with fire.”

“What?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Well, you’re a journalist, right?” she said.

“Right,” I said, feeling impatient.

“So, I thought I’d have a journalist take you down.”

“Take me what?” I sighed, exasperated. “Look, Blake, I don’t have time to play your little games here. Either you tell me what you want, or you leave. Got it?”

“I just wanted to give you this,” she said, handing me a newspaper article. “You know, it’s funny. After Callum left the ball last night, I went to see some of the girls that he used to employ in your current position.”

I wasn’t even looking at the paper. I wanted to rip it into a million pieces. “Callum does not employ me.”

“But he could have,” she said. “Couldn’t he? A few years ago, you and Jewel had the same job.” She tapped the paper she’d handed me.

I looked down at it.

“Callum’s Gal Pal’s Sordid Stripper Past,” it read.

Every part of my body felt as if it turned sticky. I couldn’t move. My feet stuck to the floor. My fingers stuck to the newspaper. My tongue stuck to the roof my mouth.

Blake was smiling. A big, wide smile. So gaping it seemed to swallow her face. She looked pleased as punch. Proud of herself. “I talked to Jewel. She wasn’t happy after Callum basically kicked her to the curb. She liked that gig. It wasn’t hard to convince her to tell me everything. And it was even easier after that to get her to talk to a reporter.”

I made a funny noise in the back of my throat. Something strangled and shocked.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear at her face. She couldn’t have done this. She couldn’t have. Not a
newspaper
article. Not everything about what I’d had to do, about my secret shame, splashed in front of the entire world.

I loved newspapers. And Blake had used them against me.

But I couldn’t move. So I didn’t touch Blake. I only stared at her, struggling to process it all.

“Listen to me very closely, Cecily,” she said. “I’m sorry that it came to this. I really am. If Callum hadn’t seemed so serious about you, I wouldn’t have bothered. After all, I’ve let him dally around however he pleases for years.”

What the fuck was she talking about?

“But you should understand one thing,” Blake continued. “No matter what he says. No matter how many times he claims we’ve broken up. No matter how much he says he hates me. Callum is mine.”

I managed to shake my head. I still couldn’t say anything.

She laughed. “You shaking your head? You don’t agree with that?”

I made another noise. Something in a croak.

“Oh, he’s got his issues,” she said. “I know that. I know that he’s not exactly the most skilled lover. But I’m willing to overlook that. Because Callum and I are meant to be together. We complete a dynasty. The Monroes and the Rutherfords were meant to be joined in us. It was our parents’ deepest wish. And it
will
happen. I’m going to marry him. Nod if you understand.”

I clenched my teeth together. I didn’t nod.

“I’m willing to do whatever I have to do to preserve my dynasty,” she said.

And then she swept out of the office, leaving me stuck to the floor, clutching the newspaper.

I peered down at the article.

Was it all there? Could Jewel have explained to them why I had to do it? Could she have given words to my desperation, to my loneliness?

I shut my eyes.

My throat tightened.

Fuck.

I was crying.

* * *

As soon as I could make my limbs function again, I went to Lauren’s office. I felt like a wooden marionette, like all of my movements were stiff and forced.

“Cecily?” she said. “Is something wrong?”

She obviously hadn’t seen the article yet. Good.

“I, um, am not feeling too well. I’m going to need to go home. I’m sorry,” I said.

She made a concerned face. “Yeah, you don’t look good. Knowing you, if you’re claiming you need to go home, you’re practically on death’s door. I swear, Cecily, if we cut you, you’d bleed newsprint. Get out of here.”

“Thanks,” I said. I turned like a robot and went back to my desk.

I gathered my things.

I walked out of the building.

I took the train home.

While I was on it, I stared blankly at the faces of the other people in Aurora, all of them going about their business, ignoring me. I wondered how their days were going. How would they react if their deepest, darkest secrets had been revealed to the world?

Then I saw a look in some of their eyes. And I realized they recognized me. They
knew
.

When I got home, I threw myself on my bed, and I cried wildly, with abandon. I sobbed and sobbed, pounding the pillow in my rage and frustration.

Then I stopped.

I read the article.

Because I realized I hadn’t even read it yet. I’d only read the headline. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I was imagining.

But the article was bad. It made me look like some kind of heartless opportunist, someone who’d only become a stripper for the money, and who’d never been kind to anyone else along the way.

It wasn’t true.

It was only that Jewel didn’t like me because I hadn’t partied with the other girls. I hadn’t spent my time getting wasted with them. I hadn’t snorted up all the dollar bills they shoved in my g-string.

Jewel had always thought I was a snob.

But Darlene had known the real me. She’d known who I really was. She’d understood.

Of course, I’d kicked Darlene out of my apartment last spring. She’d come to me, begging for a place to stay. And I’d let her stay. Until she started throwing parties and having guys over and drawing attention to me. Until people started making comments about my trashy friend.

Then I told to her to get lost.

And she went back to Hayden Barclay and back to stripping. And then she died. And it was all my fault.

I cried again.

This time, I didn’t throw so much energy into it. This time, instead, they were deep, wrenching sobs that seemed to tear me apart inside, even though my body barely moved. I felt like the tears were going to swallow me whole.

I cried and cried.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

I was too tired. I was spent.

Then I just sat in my room, numb and shocked. I tried not to think.

Eventually, Airenne came home from work. She came and knocked on my door.

I didn’t answer her.

“Cecily?” Another knock. Soft.

I got up and crossed the room. I opened the door. “Did you see it?”

“Everyone saw it,” she said. She dragged her toe against the carpet. “You should have told me.”

That hurt. My face twisted. “Because you wouldn’t have wanted to room with me if you’d known, right? You wish I would have warned you, told you what kind of person you were living with.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Are you afraid that my trashiness will rub off on you, Airenne? You afraid you’ll become a slut by association?”

She hung her head.

“You know I didn’t have sex once while I was doing it? The whole time I stripped I was kept my legs
closed
.”

“I never said you were trashy or slutty, Cecily,” she said. “I only wish I’d known because it shocked me. That’s all. It hit me out of nowhere.”

“It hit
you
out of nowhere?” I laughed in disbelief.

Suddenly, she hugged me. “I’m so sorry.”

I wasn’t expecting the gesture of kindness. It startled me into crying again.

Her arms tightened around me.

I sobbed into her shoulder.

Her voice was quiet. “Does Callum know?”

I shook my head.

“What do you think he’s going to say?” she asked me.

That was what I was afraid of.

* * *

“I’ve got a lead of this Davy Jones’ Locker place,” said Vigil’s voice over the phone.

I was lying on my bed in my pajamas, my face still raw and red from crying. “You do?”

“Yeah, it actually wasn’t hard to find. It really is a storage place. We should check it out, don’t you think?”

“Um… yeah, I guess we should.” I sat up, clutching the phone. “You haven’t seen the article, have you?”

“What article?” he said. “Is it more crazy stuff about me? Did you write it?”

“No, nothing like that,” I said. “Um, it’s not important. Don’t worry about it.”

But I knew I was playing a ridiculous game here. Sooner or later, he was going to figure it out. And when he did, I had no idea what would happen between us.

It would change the way he thought of me. I knew it would. He might try to pretend like it didn’t, but he wouldn’t see me the same way anymore.

He was going to find out. I knew that. But I still couldn’t bear to tell him.

* * *

“Look, I can’t just let anyone go riffling through someone’s locker,” said Rick, the man who owned Davy Jones’ Locker. He wasn’t actually named Davy. He’d picked the name because it was a joke. Davy Jones’ Locker was the bottom of the sea, and he had lockers in his storage place. I guessed the idea was that if you stored stuff here, it would be like storing it at the bottom of the ocean.

No wonder he attracted customers like Hayden Barclay.

“I’m not anyone,” said Vigil.

“Right, but you’re like his arch enemy,” said Rick. He was a balding man, wearing a dirty white tank top. His chest hair peeked over the top of it. His gut hung out over his jeans. “I mean, that’s whose locker you’re after, right? The Phantom’s?”

“The Phantom bought a locker from you?” I said.

“Yeah,” said Rick.

“And you let him?”

“Money’s money, sweetheart,” said Rick. He gestured with his thumb at me. To Vigil, “Who is this broad, anyway?”

“I’m Cecily Kane,
Aurora Sun-Times
,” I said. “You are aware that The Phantom is a serial killer, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“A serial killer who keeps legs for trophies,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“And yet you let him rent a locker here,” I said. “What the hell you think is in there?”

Rick’s eyes widened. “You don’t think that…”

“We do,” said Vigil.

Rick swallowed. “I’ll get you the key.”

* * *

The legs were jammed into the locker, one upside down, toes pointing up, the other flipped.

I was prepared for them to smell, to be rotting and disgusting.

But they weren’t. They were mottled and shriveled, but they were preserved somehow. The skin was darker, and it wasn’t uniform in all places, but definitely wasn’t rotting. It wasn’t putrid or swollen.

Still, it wasn’t pretty to look at. The chipped pink nail polish on one of the toes was obscene.

“What do you think he did to them?” I whispered.

Vigil didn’t take his eyes off of the legs. “He dried them out.”

“Like dehydrated meat?” I said. Immediately, I felt sick for even suggesting it.

“Probably more like mummification,” said Vigil.

My stomach roiled. I stepped away. I couldn’t look anymore.

“Where are the rest of them?” said Vigil.

“What?” I still couldn’t look at the legs.

“The rest of the legs,” said Vigil. “He’s had more victims than one. These aren’t the only legs he’s kept.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Rick said that he only had this locker. This is the only thing he rented here.”

“Damn it,” said Vigil. “Then this is all that Burl gave us.”

For a minute, I was confused. And then I remembered what had sent us looking for Davy Jones in the first place.

“You said we need evidence, Cecily,” he said. “Is this enough evidence?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s something. It’s enough for a preliminary article anyway.” I turned around, forcing myself to look at the legs. “We need to know who these legs belong to. Which one of the victims.”

They weren’t Darlene’s were they? She didn’t paint her toenails that color. If these legs belonged to my best friend—

I turned away again, overcome.

“You okay?” Vigil’s hand on my back.

“Fine,” I choked. This had not been the easiest day of my life.

“There’s no way that we can determine who they belong to,” said Vigil. “We’re going to need to turn these over to the police.”

I looked at him. “The police? Can we even trust them? The whole system is corrupt. What if they lose the legs?”

“You said you’re going to write an article, right?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Well, if you suggest that the police might lose the legs, that should motivate them not to do that, right? They’ll know that they’re being watched?”

I considered. “Okay. That might work.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you better get writing. I’ll call the cops.”

“You think they’ll work with you? They hate you. You called them out publicly.”

“I’ll tell them that I want to give them a chance to prove me wrong,” said Vigil. “Don’t worry about me.”

“They could arrest you,” I said. “I don’t know if being a vigilante is strictly legal.”

Vigil smirked. “They could try.”

Right. I guessed it had been a while since I’d watched him fight with men in the street. I’d forgotten that he was strong and skilled. I took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go. I’ll get writing.”

“Good.” He grabbed me and pulled me close, kissing me hard on the mouth.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“So,” said Henry. “Vigil found some body parts that The Phantom had stashed. Vigil’s playing detective now.”

“Well, he’s trying to find The Phantom,” I said. “So that he can be stopped.”

Henry peered down at the piece of paper I’d given him. “It’s a good article, Ms. Kane. Very good.”

“Thank you.”

He handed it to me. “Just a few things for you to clean up. Should only take you about five minutes or so.”