Page 18 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

THE BLACKMAIL

My stomach fills with dread. I was a fool to agree to his ridiculous terms. Frustrated in my apartment, I can’t focus on my school work. After the worst night ever, I left Lumberton early the next morning and even solved my Keaton Sloan problem while driving back to my apartment.

If I don’t go home… Keaton can’t blackmail me.

But I know this plan can only work so long. And any moment Isabelle could wake up. Of course I want her to, but I feel my anxiety creeping up, so I open my bottom desk drawer where I keep a few bottles of pills. Popping the cap off one, I empty two pills into my palm and down them with a glass of water. Still feeling slightly jittery, I turn to my computer and open my blog.

Hello all you beautiful people!

Today I need a friend. I lost my temper last night and I’m still suffering the consequences. I was home for the fair that comes to town every year. I’m away from home in my sophomore year of college, working toward my degree as a financial analyst at a prestigious university, but I was missing home. So, I went back for the fair. I was excited to finally have a break and see my family and friends. It was a Saturday night, and I felt like getting out, which is a rare occasion. I’d only been there a little over an hour when, unfortunately, an old nemesis found me.

Apparently, she was home from college as well. She’s hated me ever since both our brothers died, even though she keeps forgetting we each lost a brother that day. Somehow, she thinks it was all my family’s fault, even though her parents don’t seem to hold any grudges toward us. Maybe that’s because, after all, their son is the one who was a total dick. My brother deserved more than this life, and he deserved more than me as a sister. He was an amazing person, yet here I sit. His death still bothers me—but we’re getting off topic here. Back to last night.

As soon as our eyes locked, I knew I was in trouble. I should’ve just left immediately, but my friend urged me to ignore her. I could smell her as soon as she got close to me because she’d been drinking, and by the smell of it, a lot.

I squeeze my eyes shut and lift my fingers off the keypad. My hands are fisted so tightly that my nails dig into my skin. I can still hear her voice and the nasty words she spewed.

“Denise fucking Randall.”

“The princess.”

“Roll out the red-carpet, bitches.”

“Grace us with her presence.”

I give myself a little shake to bring myself back to the present. I take a few deep calming breaths. That night haunts me, and it doesn’t look like I’ll ever get over it now that I’m in debt to him. I close my eyes, and despite myself, go back to last night.

Mom called to tell me that when Isabelle woke up, she told the police she’d remembered fighting with me.

“There were witnesses that say Isabelle approached and harassed you. Then you both disappeared. But Keaton Sloan came forward, and, apparently, you two rode some rides together. You didn’t tell me that you rode the Ferris wheel with Keaton.”

I begin scratching my right thumbnail against the side of my left thumb where it meets the palm. “There was nothing to tell.”

“Oh, come on,” Mom coos. “I remember when you had a crush on him.”

“Yeah, well I was fourteen then. Things have changed.”

“Denise, I know things have changed. I wish you’d talk to me more, Sweetie.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” There’s a pause, so I decide to go back to Isabelle. “So what happened to Isabelle? Is she…okay? Or going to be?”

“She was banged up pretty good, very swollen and bruised. Still raving on that it was you, but you have an alibi, thanks to Keaton and other witnesses. It doesn’t help her case any that they found illegal drugs. Can you believe it? So of course nobody is believing her because she was under the influence when it happened. Either she was selling or had bought some. She’s involved somehow and in a whole mess of trouble. It’s a shame. Isabella had such a bright future.”

I roll my eyes at Mom calling her Isabella.

“I’m so proud of you, Honey. I don’t think I tell you enough. You’ve gone through so much.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. I rake my nail harder against my skin. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Just know you can talk to me.”

If I did, would she still be proud of me? If I just confessed everything. That her daughter is using the same drugs as Isabelle. That her daughter is the one that’s lying, not Isabelle. I feel skin caking beneath my nail because I’m digging into my flesh so deep. What would Mom and Daddy think if they discovered just who their little princess really is?

“I know, Mom. You have nothing to worry about. Listen, I need to get going.”

I hear the smile in her voice. “Okay. I love you, Princess. Promise me you’ll call me back tonight before bed.”

“Always.”

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