There's Someone Inside Your House Page 12

  He would never be just Rodrigo again.

  “Oh Lord.” Grandma Young covered her mouth with both hands.

  The news showed live footage from the crime scene. Two officers in heavy coats stood outside of a one-story rancher with a frosted lawn, discussing something with crossed arms. Neighbors huddled in the foggy street behind a banner of yellow tape.

  Creston spoke over the feed. “The boy’s parents discovered his body in the early hours of the morning after returning home from a weekend trip to Las Vegas. Police say it appears that he died from knife-related trauma, which has led them to believe the case is connected, though they have yet to disclose if his body faced similar mutilation.”

  Makani lowered herself, stunned, into the easy chair.

  Her grandmother placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hang on,” Dianne Platte said, and the screen cut back to Creston’s coanchor in the studio. “We’ve just received word that all Osborne schools are now closed for the day. Parents of middle and elementary school students are being asked to pick up their children immediately, and the police have issued a warning for them to not be left unsupervised until whoever is responsible has been taken into custody.”

  Grandma Young’s willowy hand clenched into a hard grip.

  Makani stared at the television in despair, but she could no longer see it. Her vision swam. His family. His friends. Alex.

  Oh my God, Alex.

  “I taught his sisters.” Her grandmother’s voice cracked. “I can’t—”

  Makani stood to embrace her, choking back tears as Grandma Young collapsed into her arms. Creston and Dianne repeated their updates. Makani peered over her grandmother’s shoulder and out the large window that looked across their front lawn. She scanned the yards for the boogeyman, the Babadook, Ted Bundy.

  The street was empty.

  A misty chill radiated from the windowpane. Had it been this cold when the killer slipped away from Rodrigo’s house? Had the killer finally left behind some evidence in the frost? Makani’s bare feet were almost numb. Her hope felt even colder.

  The ice crystals melted from the vegetation, but the morning remained bleak. Businesses switched their open signs to closed. Parents stayed at home and locked their doors. Fear clouded the air as panic threatened to storm.

  Everyone had known Matt, and plenty had known Haley, but few had known Rodrigo. He wasn’t popular. Most people remembered him as a smart-ass who actually happened to be smart. He’d never had a girlfriend, and his small group of friends rarely socialized with other groups.

  Overnight, every student had become a potential target.

  The story went national. Three murders had given Osborne a serial killer. And not just any serial killer, but the media’s favorite kind—someone who committed heinous acts on attractive teenagers. The news spread like wildfire. Makani heard Chief Pilger’s official statement during a rundown on CNN: The Osborne PD is pursuing several leads. The killer will be apprehended, and he or she will face the full punishment of the law. If anyone has any information regarding these crimes, please call this number . . .

  Ollie called around noon. Grandma Young was in her bedroom on the phone with a church friend, and Makani was still parked in front of the television. Ollie was at the police station, performing menial tasks for his brother. Chris didn’t want him to be alone, but it was also a punishment for ditching school on Friday. Ollie was stuck there until his afternoon shift at Greeley’s. Assuming the grocery store stayed open.

  Makani pressed him for details. “Is it true that they have some leads?”

  “Sort of,” Ollie said. “The police don’t want to reveal too much to the public, but the killer left behind two imprints in the blood on the Moraleses’ living room rug—a partial of a boot and a partial of the seat of his jeans, which included fibers.”

  He paused. Makani could tell he was holding something back.

  “It’s sick,” he said, lowering his voice, “but after the murder, he stayed to play Battleground Apocalypse on Rodrigo’s PlayStation.”

  Makani’s heart picked up speed. “He?”

  “Sorry. That’s still speculation. It’s just the most likely possibility.”

  Backtracking, her mind finally absorbed his previous statement. “The killer stayed at the crime scene . . . to play a video game?”

  “Yep. They sat in Rodrigo’s blood—right beside his dead body—and played Rodrigo’s game for five hours.”

  “Five hours?”

  “Five hours.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God.” It was impossible to imagine. “That might be the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “At least it means the killer was finally careless and left something behind.”

  “There weren’t any fingerprints on the controller?”

  “No. And most of Rodrigo’s were smudged off. The killer probably wears gloves, but the police had already guessed that.”

  Makani was still thinking about the type of person who could sit beside a hacked and slashed body for five hours. “If the killer stayed there for so long, they must not have been concerned with getting caught. They must’ve known that Rodrigo’s parents were out of town. They must’ve—”

  “Known Rodrigo before the attack.” Yeah. All three murders have been so personal—not to mention that killing someone with a knife is significantly more intimate than using a gun,” he added, sounding like his cop brother, “so it doesn’t seem probable that the killer is some random, crazy drifter. It’s probably someone they all knew.”

  “Someone we know.”

  An unintelligible voice in the background interrupted their conversation. “Okay, okay,” Ollie said with his phone pulled away from his mouth. “Sorry.” He was back on the line. “Chris wants me to get back to organizing his files.”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  Neither of them said goodbye.

  “Hey.” Her stomach tore open like a buzzing wasp nest. “I miss you.”

  His response was silence. The wasps dropped dead. But then he spoke, and she could hear him smiling. “I miss you, too.”

  When they hung up, she clutched her phone against her chest. It vibrated, and the sensation startled her. A long, garbled text had arrived from Darby: The Feed ’N’ Seed was open, he was meeting Alex there for work, and he’d update her again after seeing Alex in person. All morning, they’d been pretending like their fight had never happened. It was more important to make sure that Alex was okay. She still hadn’t texted Makani, but she’d made contact with Darby. Makani tried not to feel hurt by this.

  A crocheted throw materialized over her legs. “You looked cold,” Grandma Young said. She sat down on the sofa, on the side nearest to Makani’s chair.

  Makani pulled up the blanket with a shiver. “Thank you.”

  “Have you spoken with your parents yet?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But I will.”

  Grandma Young had given strict instructions to call them both when they were awake, to let them know that she was safe. Makani dreaded it. She wanted sympathy and crocheted throws. Not her parents. With the five-hour difference, it was 7:30 a.m. on the Kona Coast. People were out of bed and checking their phones. Would her old friends notice Osborne in the news? Even if they did, they wouldn’t make the connection. No one would recognize the name of the town. No one except for Jasmine.

  Makani and Jasmine had once been as close as Darby and Alex, but now Makani knew that even the strongest of friendships cracked under pressure. And her bedrock with Darby and Alex wasn’t nearly so thick. She had to see Alex. She had to make the effort, because, otherwise, Alex might stop making the effort in return.

  “Can I borrow the car this afternoon?” Makani’s question seemed loud and abrupt. “I’d only be gone for an hour.”

  “May you borrow.” Despite her alarm, Grandma Young still had to correct Makani’s grammar. “And what, in heaven’s name, is so important?”

  Her best chance of succeedin
g was to tell the truth. She did.

  The heavy tick of the grandfather clock permeated the house as Grandma Young weighed her decision. “I can’t let you take the car and go alone.” She held up a hand to stop Makani’s protests. “But I will drive you there myself.”

  Ollie went to work at Greeley’s Foods, and Darby and Alex went to the Feed ’N’ Seed. Even in times of crisis, humans and animals needed to eat, and teenagers earning minimum wage needed to be there to ring up the sales.

  The sky was dim and overcast. The Feed ’N’ Seed was located on the outskirts of town, and Makani arrived shortly after her friends had begun their shift. The store smelled grainy with a fetid, tangy undertone of livestock, though it contained no animals.

  Alex’s eyes were smeared and wholly rimmed with charcoal eyeshadow and black mascara. Evidence of crying. Darby sat beside her on a stool behind the long sales counter, as somber as a grave.

  It was less embarrassing to be in public with her grandmother than Makani had expected. Grandma Young made her feel safer. The Osborne Slayer, as the media had dubbed the killer, wasn’t stalking Makani—apart from Ollie, her only local connections were here, surrounded by enormous bags of food pellets—but her nerve endings were frayed, all the same. The musty scent of foreboding clung to the town like mold on a decaying house. It was impossible not to breathe its stench into her lungs.

  Near a display of pasture pumps, two middle-aged men wearing Carhartt overalls and matching frowns spoke in low, tense voices. They were the store’s only customers. Normally, the Feed ’N’ Seed would be bustling, and the ranchers and farmers would be booming jovially as they swapped stories. Makani didn’t need to hear what the two men were whispering to know that they weren’t talking about football or the weather.

  Darby’s posture lifted when he noticed Makani and her grandmother.

  “Hey,” she said awkwardly. She wasn’t sure where else to start.

  “What’re you doing here?” And then, remembering his manners, he added, “Hi, Mrs. Young.”

  Grandma Young nodded hello.

  “We came to see how you’re doing,” Makani said to Alex. She corrected herself. “How you’re both doing.”

  “Pretty. Shitty.” Alex drew out the rhyme.

  Makani glanced at her grandmother, but Grandma Young didn’t blink. It was neither the time nor place to criticize. Sometimes, swearing was acceptable.

  “I’m sorry.” Makani reached across the counter to squeeze Alex’s limp hand, injecting as much compassion into it as she could. They conversed with their eyes. Alex didn’t say anything, but Makani could tell that the gesture was meaningful to her.

  Grandma Young had engaged Darby in a series of questions. “Yeah, my parents are freaking out,” he said. “They didn’t want me to come here today.”

  “Oh!” Grandma Young’s posture changed like she’d remembered something important. She pivoted back toward Makani. “Your parents called while you were in the shower. Both of them.”

  Her tone was accusatory, but Makani’s avoidance had turned into genuine forgetfulness. Momentarily, she was surprised that her parents had seen the news, though she wasn’t surprised that they’d called her grandmother—asking about her, instead of asking her directly. They’d met humanity’s minimum requirement.

  “Sorry, Grandma,” she said.

  Grandma Young cocked an eyebrow. “What about Oliver? I’m sure you didn’t forget to call him. Is he all right?”

  Alex’s hand grew rigid.

  Makani released it and stuffed her fists into her coat pockets. “He’s fine,” she mumbled. I shouldn’t have let go. I should have pretended like this wasn’t a thing.

  But Grandma Young wouldn’t stop talking. “I’m glad he came over this weekend. I don’t know why he’d put that thing in his lip, but he’s a nice boy.”

  It was the worst possible moment for her to defend Ollie’s character. Makani cringed, holding her breath, as Darby and Alex exchanged a dark look. They hadn’t known that she’d seen him again. She neutralized her expression and prayed that they wouldn’t use this opportunity to report their insane suspicions to her grandmother.

  They didn’t. After another silent communication and a warning glance at Makani, Darby changed the subject. “Do you think school will be canceled again tomorrow?”

  Her legs weakened in relief. “They should cancel it for the rest of the week.”

  “Matt was killed on school grounds.” Alex kicked her toe against the counter, pointedly avoiding Makani’s gaze. “They should cancel it until someone is arrested. Assuming the police are looking at every suspect.”

  Before Makani could respond, or even decide how to respond—anger, guilt, and defensiveness warring with her knowledge that Alex was truly suffering—an old man with a cowboy hat and sun-worn wrinkles appeared in the doorway of the manager’s office. He was checking to make sure that his employees weren’t gossiping instead of helping customers.

  Grandma Young gave him a nod. “Good afternoon, Cyril.”

  He nodded back. “Sabrina.”

  “We’ll let you get back to work,” she said, as pointedly to Makani as it was to Makani’s friends. “Please don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything. Anything at all.” This, she directed toward Alex with tenderness.

  Alex wilted. Darby placed an arm around her shoulders. Makani and her grandmother left. And as the door’s decorative cowbell gave its plaintive clang goodbye, the first snowflakes of the year began to fall.

  Evening crept into town. Patches of white snow gathered in the blue shadows, but the flakes were still melting on the roads and sidewalks. Makani imagined the soft powder drifting onto the memorial at school, dusting the flowers and cards and stuffed lions. Because of classes being canceled, no one had been able to place any tokens on the mound for Rodrigo. It was almost unbearable.

  The official texts, emails, and voicemails arrived after dusk. All Osborne schools would be closed the following day. Classes would resume on Wednesday, and deputies outsourced from the Sloane County sheriff’s office would be stationed on each campus.

  The sky blackened. The snow began to stick.

  Grandma Young stared out the front window at the quiet street. “Maybe the killer won’t strike tonight. They’d leave behind tracks in the snow.”

  Makani tasted fear in the wind. “Maybe.”

  They closed the curtains and double-checked the locks.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  School was back in session, but the classrooms were half empty. Even Grandma Young had debated whether or not to send Makani, and, as a former teacher, she never let her stay home. Makani had to have a fever or be vomiting, neither of which had happened since moving here. Her attendance record was perfect. Her grandmother had only decided in favor of school because of a last-minute call from a sleep specialist in Omaha. They’d had a cancellation and could get her in that afternoon. Apparently, she was more concerned about her sleepwalking than she’d been letting on.

  “My appointment wasn’t for three more months,” Grandma Young had said. “It’s impossible to get in. I should go.”

  Makani had agreed. And when her flustered grandmother had rushed her off to school, Makani didn’t mention that she could have gone with her. She’d wanted to go to school. Something about not going felt cowardly, like they were letting the killer win. But as she sat in her deserted first-period class, she wondered if she’d lobbied for the wrong choice. Neither Darby nor Alex was here. Darby’s parents hadn’t let him, and Alex had asked to stay home. A morose spell had been cast over the campus. It felt otherworldly in its emptiness and melancholia.

  After three minutes of silence during the morning announcements, one minute for each loss, Principal Stanton—who never did the morning announcements—broke the news that Sweeney Todd had been canceled. He claimed that the decision had been made out of respect for the victims with special regards to Haley and her family. This was true enough, although everyone understood that a musical a
bout a barber who kills his customers with a straight razor was far too grisly for their grieving community.

  Makani felt bad for the drama kids who’d been working so hard and looked so crestfallen. Two desks ahead of her, Haley’s best friend, Brooke, lamented. “Haley would have wanted the show to go on.”

  Everywhere. They were everywhere.

  Those who had left them and those who had been left behind.

  In second-period physics, Makani stared at Rodrigo’s empty seat as if it contained a phantom. David sat beside the physical vacancy in hollow silence.

  The rest of their group—Rodrigo’s other friends who’d decided to brave school—kept her focus at lunchtime. Through the strange osmosis of tragedy, she suddenly knew their names: Kevin, Emily, and Jesse. They shared David’s anguish, though their body language expressed it in different ways from his numbness.

  Kevin, fear.

  Emily, devastation.

  Jesse, helplessness.

  Everyone’s reaction was unique, including the football players. On game days, they always dressed in button-downs, khakis, and ties, and that’s what they’d chosen to wear today. Still a team. But their pressed clothing couldn’t disguise their emotional upheaval, or how similar their mourning was to the gamers. Hulking Buddy even clapped gangly Kevin on the shoulder as he waited behind him in the pizza line. They’d never been on equal terms before, but now they would forever have this terrible October in common.

  Social boundaries were being crossed everywhere. Students still ate with their own kind, but each group sat a little closer to the other groups, and they weaved in and out of one another’s conversations. They were all talking about the same thing, anyway.

  It was sad that people only got along when everybody was unhappy.

  Makani and Ollie sat beside each other in the back corner of the cafeteria. Last night’s snow had almost completely melted, but no one wanted to be outdoors. It didn’t matter that the murders had all taken place indoors. Walking through the open quad felt like wearing a bull’s-eye. It seemed safer to remain in the thick of the crowd, although thick was still relative. They were the only two people at their table.