on here, something deeper than a couple of kids with a death wish.
“Who the hell is she?” she replied. “The hell if I know, Mathers. But she isn’t a victim, I’ll tell you that much.” She looked at Stevens. “This girl is a goddamn predator.”
< 22 >
Sarah was different after that night with Earl.
Todd didn’t come around anymore. No longer did Sarah hum and dance around her bedroom, checking her makeup in the mirror, batting her eyelashes, fixing her hair. She didn’t smile at her secret thoughts, or giggle as she wrote in her journal. When Earl went out for the night,she stayed home. Sat in her room or watched TV, listless. Made sure she was in bed, lights off, by the time Earl’s tires ground over the gravel again.
“Me and Todd broke up,” she told Gruber as they walked home from school one day. Her lip quivered a little, and she bit it, looked away into the distance. “He said he couldn’t deal with our family’s drama. It creeped him right out, he said.”
Our family.
Meaning Earl.
Gruber knew she was fishing for sympathy. Wasn’t ready to give it. Told her she shouldn’t have been running around with Todd like that, anyway. Told her she was acting like a tramp and that she got what was coming.
Sarah turned on him, her eyes fierce. Drew back like she was fixing to slap him. He stood tall, dared her to do it. He was nearly as tall as she was, and just as strong.
But Sarah blinked first. Looked away, her shoulders slumping. Spent the rest of the walk home in silence.
Gruber watched her, knew he’d broken her. Realized he kind of liked the sensation. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt strong. He felt like he’d regained something, something Earl had taken from him.
He felt like a man, not some runty boy.
• • •
From then on, Gruber made Sarah his project. Every time Earl hit him, every mean word, he found his outlet in Sarah.
“Why are you so mean to me?” Sarah asked him after he’d brokeninto her bedroom, stolen her journal. Left it by the lunch tables in the school cafeteria, watched as someone found it, read it aloud, an audience gathering. “What did I ever do to you?”
She’d come home in tears. Knew it was he who’d done it; who else could it have been? Gruber hadn’t hidden from her. Hadn’t denied it. He’d stood up to her, dared her to do something. Hit him, fight him, tell Earl or his mother. He knew she wouldn’t.
“Don’t you dare tattle on me,” he told her. “I’ll tell Earl about the bottle under the bed. The cigarettes. He’ll whup your ass worse than he whups mine, and you know it.”
She stared at him, tears in her eyes, fists clenched, totally powerless, and he knew the frustration was driving her crazy. Knew the anger was worse when there was no kind of outlet, nothing she could do. Knew it because Earl had made him feel the same way.
“Now the whole school knows about me and Todd,” Sarah said. “Todd won’t even look at me, he’s so embarrassed. He told his friends I’m nothing but a cheap slut.”
“You are,” Gruber told her. “You’re a tramp for doing those things with Todd. You shouldn’t have carried on with him like that.”
Sarah didn’t say anything. Ran off to her room, slammed the door shut, and through the hole, Gruber watched her collapse on the bed, watched the tears come down freely, watched and almost felt decent again.
< 23 >
“So here’s the bad news,” Stevens told SAC Harris. “Not only is there no record of an Ashley Frey anywhere in our systems, but the picture she sends out to her victims—we’re calling them victims, because it seems to make sense—isn’t even of our subject. It belongs to a young lady named Chantal Sarault. She lives in upstate New York, happily married, a couple of kids. She was shocked when we told her about Ashley Frey.”
Drew Harris tented his fingers. Leaned forward and studied Stevens and Windermere across the desk. “Well, damn,” he
“Who the hell is she?” she replied. “The hell if I know, Mathers. But she isn’t a victim, I’ll tell you that much.” She looked at Stevens. “This girl is a goddamn predator.”
< 22 >
Sarah was different after that night with Earl.
Todd didn’t come around anymore. No longer did Sarah hum and dance around her bedroom, checking her makeup in the mirror, batting her eyelashes, fixing her hair. She didn’t smile at her secret thoughts, or giggle as she wrote in her journal. When Earl went out for the night,she stayed home. Sat in her room or watched TV, listless. Made sure she was in bed, lights off, by the time Earl’s tires ground over the gravel again.
“Me and Todd broke up,” she told Gruber as they walked home from school one day. Her lip quivered a little, and she bit it, looked away into the distance. “He said he couldn’t deal with our family’s drama. It creeped him right out, he said.”
Our family.
Meaning Earl.
Gruber knew she was fishing for sympathy. Wasn’t ready to give it. Told her she shouldn’t have been running around with Todd like that, anyway. Told her she was acting like a tramp and that she got what was coming.
Sarah turned on him, her eyes fierce. Drew back like she was fixing to slap him. He stood tall, dared her to do it. He was nearly as tall as she was, and just as strong.
But Sarah blinked first. Looked away, her shoulders slumping. Spent the rest of the walk home in silence.
Gruber watched her, knew he’d broken her. Realized he kind of liked the sensation. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt strong. He felt like he’d regained something, something Earl had taken from him.
He felt like a man, not some runty boy.
• • •
From then on, Gruber made Sarah his project. Every time Earl hit him, every mean word, he found his outlet in Sarah.
“Why are you so mean to me?” Sarah asked him after he’d brokeninto her bedroom, stolen her journal. Left it by the lunch tables in the school cafeteria, watched as someone found it, read it aloud, an audience gathering. “What did I ever do to you?”
She’d come home in tears. Knew it was he who’d done it; who else could it have been? Gruber hadn’t hidden from her. Hadn’t denied it. He’d stood up to her, dared her to do something. Hit him, fight him, tell Earl or his mother. He knew she wouldn’t.
“Don’t you dare tattle on me,” he told her. “I’ll tell Earl about the bottle under the bed. The cigarettes. He’ll whup your ass worse than he whups mine, and you know it.”
She stared at him, tears in her eyes, fists clenched, totally powerless, and he knew the frustration was driving her crazy. Knew the anger was worse when there was no kind of outlet, nothing she could do. Knew it because Earl had made him feel the same way.
“Now the whole school knows about me and Todd,” Sarah said. “Todd won’t even look at me, he’s so embarrassed. He told his friends I’m nothing but a cheap slut.”
“You are,” Gruber told her. “You’re a tramp for doing those things with Todd. You shouldn’t have carried on with him like that.”
Sarah didn’t say anything. Ran off to her room, slammed the door shut, and through the hole, Gruber watched her collapse on the bed, watched the tears come down freely, watched and almost felt decent again.
< 23 >
“So here’s the bad news,” Stevens told SAC Harris. “Not only is there no record of an Ashley Frey anywhere in our systems, but the picture she sends out to her victims—we’re calling them victims, because it seems to make sense—isn’t even of our subject. It belongs to a young lady named Chantal Sarault. She lives in upstate New York, happily married, a couple of kids. She was shocked when we told her about Ashley Frey.”
Drew Harris tented his fingers. Leaned forward and studied Stevens and Windermere across the desk. “Well, damn,” he
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