Page 68 of What Have You Done?

‘I think it would help,’ he agrees.

Suddenly everything seems too much, and she begins to cry. Maybe she is losing it. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.’

He says, ‘You don’t have to apologize. You look worn out. Why don’t you lie down for a bit. You can use my parents’ room if you want.’

She hasn’t got the energy to protest. She feels utterly drained, by her sleepless night, by the funeral, by everything. She hasn’t got the energy right now to go home to her own bed. She lets him show her upstairs to his parents’ bedroom. She’s suddenly grateful at the sight of a bed. He leaves her there and she lies down, thinking she’ll fall asleep immediately. But she doesn’t. The smell of his father’s cologne is overwhelming; she can’t stand it.

She finally gets up and quietly crosses the hall to Evan’s bedroom. It’s impeccably neat, the bed tidily made. She slumps onto his bed and rolls over onto her side, facing the wall. But she can’t get comfortable, and she turns onto her stomach, pushing her face down into the edge of the bed. She catches a glimpse of something bright red and sparkly on the floor in the corner under the bed, something familiar. She looks more closely.

Her eyes snap wide open. She’s staring at the back of a phone case – one she recognizes immediately.

It’s Diana’s.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

I watch Riley with Evan, crying her eyes out. I know she’s struggling with this, we’re both struggling, but we’re on opposite sides of a void and we can’t support each other. It seems so cruel.

I remember that night, with the Ouija board – how could I ever forget it? I remember that dead boy. Maybe I can find him, and then at least I’ll have some company. But I don’t want a dead little boy from a different time. I want Riley. I want my mother. I want my life back.

Evan always was close-minded about things that can’t be proved scientifically. A bit strange, perhaps, for someone who wants to be a novelist. He’s interested in stories, in people, in their motivations. Story is all about emotions, surely? And those aren’t scientific, they can’t be measured. Maybe he’ll figure that out, or he won’t be a very good novelist.

He shut Riley down pretty fast. I wonder if she will try the Ouija board anyway. And if she does, would I be able to reach her? What would I say to her? I could only tell her how much I miss her, how angry I am to be here, with no idea of how to move on. It would only upset her. Would I be less lonely? I don’t know.

She cries for a long time, while I observe the two of them, my two best friends, sharing their pain. I follow them upstairs and stay with Riley when Evan goes back downstairs. I watch her lie down in his parents’ room. But she’s like Goldilocks, something is bothering her, the bed isn’t comfortable, perhaps? She gets up and quietly moves across the hall and I follow her into Evan’s room and watch her lie down on his bed.

She turns over, and I’m about to leave her there, when her body goes completely rigid. She’s staring at something underneath the bed. I move in and take a closer look too.

It’s my phone. In the corner underneath Evan’s bed. What the hell is it doing there? A wave of confusion rolls over me.

And – seeing my phone there, hidden under Evan’s bed – I suddenly remember all of it, every traumatic thing that happened to me, and it’s a fresh wave of horror all over again.

I remember that night in my room, what Mr Turner did to me. How he made me strip naked, how he stared at me as I trembled in fear. How he left me there, warning me not to tell.

And all at once I remember the last day of my life, how it began, and how it ended. How I got out of bed, having hardly slept that night – and went into school early to confront Mr Turner in front of Principal Kelly.

I told Mr Kelly how Turner had broken into my house the night before and what he’d done – and watched him deny it. He was white-faced, angry, and said it was sheer fabrication, outrageous, and how could anyone believe me? He said I was making it up and no one would believe me because I hadn’t even been raped, and there was no evidence. I sat there looking at him, remembering the leather gloves, and thinking he was a monster. I couldn’t understand why Mr Kelly didn’t believe me. Why would I make something like that up?

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked helplessly.

‘I want you to know,’ I said. Then I turned to my tormentor with loathing. ‘If you ever come near me again, I will go to the police, and I will bring charges against you.’

I should have gone directly to the police that morning. But there were a lot of complicated reasons why I didn’t. I was afraid they wouldn’t believe me, just like Mr Turner said, and he was probably counting on that. After all, there was no actual evidence. The door was unlocked – he just walked right in. He never touched me. I didn’t want to go through all that and be called a liar. But mostly, it was Cameron. I was afraid of what he might do if he knew what Mr Turner had done. I thought Cameron might attack him, and be charged with assault, and ruin his own life. I didn’t want that. I loved Cameron, I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with him. And … I was afraid Cameron might blame me a little. I was afraid he might think I’d led Mr Turner on somehow. Cameron was so possessive, so jealous, so insecure where I was concerned. Kelly didn’t believe me, and I wasn’t at all sure Cameron would either.

That morning, I left Kelly’s office, pulled myself together, and went through the school day pretending to be fine, but inside I was a complete mess. The rest of that day was uneventful – up until the terrible argument that night with Cameron. I hardly remember that day, even though it was my last day among the living. I should have appreciated the sun on my face more, the way food tasted. But I had no idea then that I wouldn’t see another day. I just pretended that everything was normal, faking it for everybody, even Riley, while thinking the whole time about what I should do. But I didn’t go to the police that day.

And that night, after Cameron dropped me off, I was so angry. Cameron and I were finished. It was a relief, really. I had no space in my head any more for him and the time he took and his controlling ways. I was tired of making decisions based on him and how he might react. A man had crept in my back door and had terrified and humiliated me and I couldn’t even tell my boyfriend – or anyone else – for fear of how he’d react. That wasn’t love. That wasn’t right.

I locked the doors, afraid that Turner might come back. But that night, after Cameron had behaved so badly, after what I’d endured, I decided that the next day I would go to the police and tell them everything. I couldn’t let myself live a life governed by fear. Cameron had to take responsibility for himself. I was no longer willing to take responsibility for him.

And then, just a few minutes after I’d got home, I heard a knock at the front door. I didn’t answer it because I thought it was Cameron again. But then I got the ping of a text. It was from Evan. Are you home? Can I come in?

I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone, but I let him in.

‘What’s up?’ I asked, as he entered the house. I remember looking out at the empty street – there was no truck out there then. I locked the door behind him.

‘I’m glad you’re home. I need my Moby Dick back, for an assignment I’m working on tonight – pulling an all-nighter.’

‘Shit, right, I’m sorry.’ I’d borrowed it and forgotten to bring it back to him at school that day as promised, because I’d been so absorbed in my problems with Mr Turner. I went up to my room to grab it and came back downstairs and handed it to him.

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