Helpless

Chapter 52

Mitchell held Jill’s hand. He led her through an open doorway and into an immaculate kitchen with granite counters, a wide tiled floor, and gleaming stainless steel appliances. There wasn’t a speck of dirt to be seen, and Jill wondered if any meals had ever been prepared there.

Mitchell went straight for the refrigerator. He leaned down low and inserted enough of his body inside the appliance that Jill thought he might disappear entirely. He emerged holding two cans of Coke. He tossed one of the cans over to Jill.

“Surprised you’re not offering Jill a beer,” Roland said with a devilish grin.

Mitchell shrugged. “Do you want one?” he asked her.

Jill shook her head but couldn’t relax enough to respond verbally.

Mitchell popped the top of his soda can and took a long drink. “Where’s Mom?” he asked.

“Out with friends. And I have work to do, so I’d appreciate it if you two keep the music below jet engine decibels.”

The three exited the kitchen together and passed into a long hallway so richly decorated that Jill felt nervous she’d soil the plush oriental carpeting or bump into some priceless artifact displayed on the many antique tables. They emerged into a majestic foyer dominated by a corkscrew staircase with pearly white banisters. Roland passed by Jill and stopped at the foot of the staircase, where he called out Mitchell’s name. Mitchell turned to face his father.

“Mitchell, remember you said you were going to help me get the wireless printer working,” Roland said. “I need to print out something for work.”

“Can’t it wait?” said Mitchell.

“Not really,” Roland said.

Mitchell, ignoring his father’s request, called for Jill, who bounded up the stairs after him. Jill’s stomach remained knotted. The evening stress began when she snuck out the back of Lindsey’s house to ditch the private investigators who were staked out front. She knew they worked for Marvin. Lindsey and Jill brought them home-baked cookies.

Mitchell had his mobile phone out and was texting as he walked. Jill followed him down a long corridor. They passed by several closed doors on each side. The hallway felt like a gallery, with paintings on both walls. She noticed the one and only family portrait, a large photograph set in an ornate gilded frame. She found it disturbing that nobody in that portrait was smiling. Next to the portrait, Jill knew, was a photograph of Mitchell’s dead brother, Stephen.

They never talked about Stephen.

The hallway ended at the door to Mitchell’s room. He opened his door with his head down and eyes fixed on his texting. He expected Jill to follow him into his room, which she did.

Mitchell slipped his phone back into his pants pocket and turned on the overhead light. With the shades pulled low and the room’s navy-painted walls and gray carpeting, his was easily the darkest room in the house. The room featured all the trappings Jill expected in a boy’s room. The first time she’d set foot in his room, Jill felt a tinge of envy that his sleeping quarters were easily triple the size of her own. Posters of popular TV shows, rappers, and various pop culture paraphernalia were affixed to the walls in a haphazard manner. Clothes were more out than in his dresser drawers. Piles of pants, shirts, and shoes kept a closet door from shutting closed.

“Hey, did you see that YouTube video of the baby dancing to Gaga?” Jill asked. “It’s hilarious!”

“No. Show me,” Mitchell said while crossing the room.

He opened another door, which led into an oversized alcove. There were six computer monitors and three computers crammed into the tiny space. It looked more like an office than a high school student’s study area. The desk, papers, printers, fax machine, and filing cabinet were all lit by the monitors’ eerie glow.

Jill felt a surge of excitement. She’d made it this far—inside Mitchell’s computer room. But just as quickly, her spirits sank. If there was a connection between Mitchell, Lindsey, and her father, finding it amid so much machinery would be like scoring a goal blindfolded.

She thought hard about what to do next and absentmindedly crushed the aluminum sides of her Coke can. Hearing the metallic crinkling sound, Mitchell glanced over his shoulder—and Jill got an idea.

Jill set the now wobbly, lopsided can on a table, near Mitchell’s laptop computers. He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he flicked his mouse and activated a bunch of computer screens. He began to check different things on different screens. Something was interesting enough that he opened an e-mail message and typed a quick reply. When he returned his attention to Jill, he left his computers unlocked and available for her to use.

“Why do you have so many computers?” Jill asked. She had her hand perched near the wobbly can of soda.

“Work. Stuff,” Mitchell said. “Anyway, that baby rap thing can wait, but this can’t.”

Mitchell grabbed hold of Jill’s waist and pulled her toward him. He kissed her on the lips as he ground into her.

Jill could feel him becoming aroused, and she didn’t want things between them to progress. With a flick of her fingers she sent the Coke can tumbling over. Brown liquid spilled out from the open top and pooled dangerously close to Mitchell’s electronics.

“Shit,” he breathed. He bent down and picked a rumpled shirt off the floor to use as a towel. “Mom will get the stain out,” he said.

“Oh, I kind of wanted that Coke. Could you grab me another one?” Jill kissed him, hoping that would seal the deal.

Mitchell shrugged. “Yeah, back in a minute. Might as well help my dad with the wireless printer while I’m down there. Won’t take long.” He used the shirt as a dam and left the can where it had toppled over.

“Can I check my Facebook while you’re gone?”

“Sure.”

Mitchell fired up a Web browser for Jill to use. Jill followed Mitchell to the entrance to his computer room.

“Back in a bit,” Mitchell said.

As soon as he left the room, Jill was back inside his computer room. She figured she had five, ten minutes at best to make a quick search. Perhaps she’d get a lucky strike, but that was doubtful. Still, she had gone this far and couldn’t back out now. If nothing came of it, Jill would be fine with making out with Mitchell for a while, but nothing more. She’d ask him to drive her home, and she’d never come back here again.

Jill knew how to search a computer for files. Thirty seconds after Mitchell departed, she typed the word “Lindsey” into the file system search field and ran the query. She didn’t know how else to go about looking for evidence; since Lindsey was at the center of this, her name seemed a perfectly good place to start.

No results.

She tried a couple variations of Lindsey’s name.

Still nothing.

On a whim, she typed in the number twenty-seven, which was Lindsey’s jersey number.

Seconds later a group of files returned. Jill was somewhat taken aback, having fully expected to get nothing from that effort as well. She clicked on one of the files in the returned result set. It opened an image program. When the image appeared on the screen, her breathing momentarily stopped.

Jill gazed wide-eyed at a picture of Lindsey lying naked on her bed. Apart from Lindsey being naked, the composition of the image looked similar to other pictures her friends had taken of themselves and posted to Facebook. Jill clicked on another of the images from the batch that her quick search had returned and saw more pictures of Lindsey.

Jill ran another search, this time for the number thirty-four—her jersey number. At least fifty pictures came back. Jill clicked and opened the first image in the set. She thought she might get sick. It was a picture of herself, lying on a bed, with her shirt unbuttoned and her breasts exposed. She knew when the picture had been taken, too. It was at a party she had attended in June to celebrate the end of school. A senior boy had invited her, one she really liked. She’d gotten drunk on vodka punch and passed out. The boy later told her that she had slept through most of the party. Was he the one who had unbuttoned her top? Did he dress her again?

A new thought sent a shiver rippling through her.

Wasn’t Tanner Farnsworth at that party that night?

Jill looked around Mitchell’s computer and noticed a flash drive lodged in the USB slot. She dragged a bunch of the images onto the desktop icon for that storage key.

As it copied, she opened the folder where all the images seemed to be stored. Hundreds of pictures were listed within. She opened one and saw a naked picture of Gretchen Stiller—one of the witches. Like Lindsey, Gretchen looked proud to be taking her own picture. Unlike Jill, Gretchen was wide awake and smiling at the camera. Jill dragged a bunch of those images onto the flash drive as well.

She took the storage key from the key slot and put it in the pocket of her jeans. She took out her cell phone, thinking she’d text Lindsey to ask what she should do next. Her hand brushed up against the rippled metal of the toppled Coke can. The contact summoned her back into the moment. God, how had she lost track of the time!

Jill was in the process of shutting down the image application when Mitchell entered the room.

His mouth fell open when he saw what she was looking at. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Jill’s heart pounded so fast that she felt it might burst. She set her cell down on the table. She wanted to look as innocent as possible. But she felt the flash drive in her pants pocket, with all the images that she copied to it, like a hot coal searing the skin of her leg. “I was just trying to check my e-mail,” she managed to say.

“Don’t lie to me,” Mitchell said, closing in. “I can check the recent activity, you know.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Jill said, though her voice wavered the way it did just before she cried.

Mitchell, undeterred and unconvinced, stepped even closer. Before she could slip past him, he had his hands wrapped around her neck. Jill’s eyes bulged in their sockets as he began to squeeze.

“What did you see?” he growled in her ear. “You were just supposed to be using the Web browser, not snooping around my files.”

With one hand Jill tried without success to push Mitchell away from her. She stretched the fingers of her other hand and hoped beyond hope to find her phone still in reach.

Mitchell tightened his grip around Jill’s neck. He didn’t seem to notice her hand, and she found her phone. She tried to relax as she brought the phone to her side and out of Mitchell’s view. Mitchell wasn’t squeezing her neck anymore. But he kept his hands there, holding her immobilized.

Jill felt the ridges of the phone. By touch and memory she pushed the right button to redial the last number called. Jill almost never used her phone to make phone calls. Texting had become her communication method of choice. But she remembered whom she last dialed. The phone began to ring in her hand, but Mitchell didn’t hear it, because he was yelling at her again.

“Did you see anything? Answer me?”

“No.”

The phone rang and rang.

Mitchell let go of her throat. “I need to think… need to think….” Mitchell let out a heavy breath. He was still blocking her way out of the alcove.

The phone kept ringing. Jill covered the speaker with her hand. Mitchell was still pacing. He didn’t hear the rings.

“Just take me home, okay?” Jill said.

“I can’t do that yet. I gotta think. That was really stupid of you, Jill.”

Mitchell turned around and put his hand to his head. He walked out of the alcove and back into his bedroom.

Jill faked a move to her left and went right, emulating her best soccer technique for getting by an aggressive defender. Mitchell wasn’t fooled and positioned his body in such a way that he effectively blocked the door—her only exit out. Jill knew there was no way she’d get by him.

She heard a click and a voice, which gave her a pulse of hope that she’d escape from this alive.

“Jill? Honey, is that you?”

She didn’t answer her father, though, because Mitchell had turned around. He was coming toward her again.