Dark Before Dawn Page 10

  “I recognize this place,” Macey whispered, shrinking into her seat. “My mom used to come here.”

  “Your mom?” Rorie questioned, snapping her head around.

  “My real mom.”

  “Oh.”

  I watched Macey out of the corner of my eye. The confidence that had started to blossom within her was snuffed out. She looked hunted now. Afraid.

  Which was exactly how I wanted her.

  “Why would you take us to a place like this?” Rorie demanded, her voice dripping with disgust. “I want to go home.”

  I ignored her outburst.

  “Macey, honey. Remember the day we met? At the mall?”

  She nodded, unsure.

  “Remember what I told you about your voice? How I thought you probably sing like an angel?”

  She nodded again.

  “Well, I wasn’t kidding when I told you my friends and I make music. I know it doesn’t look like much, but this neighborhood is where my friends have their recording studio. They have mixers and even equipment for making videos. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To hear yourself singing on the radio? To see yourself on TV?”

  Her eyes grew wide, unsure whether or not to believe me.

  We had pulled up to a stop sign. A crowd of people was swarming on the corner, things passing quickly between hands. A few darted furtive glances at us, checking us out to be sure we weren’t with the police. Others, sitting on stoops or on overturned milk crates, stared at us with dead eyes before returning their attention to the spoons and syringes in their hands.

  “They’re doing drugs,” Rorie gasped from the backseat. “Look, Macey, look at them all. I think those people are selling drugs, too.”

  “I know,” Macey answered with a flat voice.

  “Those people won’t hurt you,” I soothed as I pulled away from the scene. “That’s not why we’re here, anyway. Right, Macey?”

  She nodded silently, staring at her hands, which she now gripped in her lap.

  “I don’t care. We want to go home. Now.” Rorie was leaning forward, hovering over Macey’s seat. “Macey, let’s go home.”

  “That’s up to Macey,” I said sharply, the warning note in my voice clear. “This is Macey’s special day.”

  “Macey, please,” she whined, not used to having her plans spoiled. “I don’t like it here. Let’s go home.”

  “Macey.”

  She looked up into my eyes. This was the part I loved. The part where I put her trust to the test. The part where she became mine, heart and soul.

  “Macey, please stay. Do it for me.” I reached out my hand, waiting for her response.

  She blinked, hard. And after a long moment—exhaling a deep breath—she put her pudgy, sweaty hand in mine and smiled.

  “For you,” she said.

  I beamed at her, giving her hand a squeeze. “Good girl.” Looking over my shoulder, I gave Rorie a choice. “You can stay with us, or I can drop you at the commuter train station. It’s up to you— here or MARTA. But Macey is staying with me.”

  Rorie squirmed in the backseat, struggling with her decision. Should she go home to mommy like a good little girl, leaving her friend in what she considered to be, at best, dubious circumstances? Should she stick around and try to protect her pet? She was a bit unpredictable—after all, she was Mona’s daughter. Mona was no coward and could be prone to impulsive decisions. In fact, I had grown to appreciate Mona over the years. If it weren’t for her steadfastly clinging to the safety of logic and science, who knew what comforts of religion Rorie might have embraced? That would have made my job that much harder. Even so, a daughter of Mona Carmichael would have a mind of her own—could be head-strong, even. What would Aurora do now as she grappled with her conscience?

  Cowed, she dropped her eyes and looked out the window. “MARTA. I’ll take MARTA.”

  The Vine City station was not that far away. I pulled up to the passenger drop and watched Rorie climb out of the backseat. She looked dejected—the queen bee, unsure of herself for once. She turned back, raising an unsure hand to Macey as we drove away. Macey’s eyes remained glued to her friend, watching as she finally began the walk to the train.

  It was the perfect opportunity to drive the wedge between them a little deeper.

  “She’s just jealous, Macey. Jealous that you are getting all the attention. Jealous that you have a boyfriend and she doesn’t.”

  “She won’t tell on me, will she?”

  “Nah. If she told on you, she’d just embarrass herself. She’d have to admit she can’t compete with you.”

  Macey turned. Her eyes glittered with pride, with love, with gratitude.

  I smiled, indulgent. I knew I was lucky. I hadn’t anticipated that her mother had been on heroin, and that Macey had been here before, to this neighborhood they called the Bluff. I hadn’t anticipated the upwelling of caution that memories of this place had created. But Rorie’s unexpected company had created the perfect foil. The meddling girl forced the issue much sooner than I would have preferred, but in the end, it worked to my advantage. Macey chose me over her friend. In doing so, Macey shook away the warnings of her troubled past, pushed underground any doubts she might have held.

  We could go faster than I had planned. Now, each step she took sealed me in her trust. Any doubts would get harder and harder to confront. How could she back out now?

  The searing pain that threatened to rip my body anew only confirmed my confidence. Rorie forgotten, Macey would walk into the lion’s den willingly. No—eagerly.

  eight

  Three months later …

  Macey stumbled into the school office during last period. As soon as she saw her, Rorie sighed. Luckily, she was there to intercept her friend—though, truth be told, she always made her own luck, putting herself in the places where she could trade upon her maturity and work ethic to gain the trust of adults and get access to freedoms that the rest of her classmates didn’t enjoy.

  Rorie pulled Macey into the hallway—the one where the counselors took harried parents who’d been called in for conferences— before any of the front desk ladies noticed her. It was about time she dealt with this.

  “Macey,” Rorie hissed through her teeth. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in class?”

  But as she took a closer look, dismayed, it became obvious why Macey wasn’t in class. It had been happening over and over again, ever since the two of them had gone to that creepy neighborhood with Luke. Rorie knew because she’d been putting the teachers’ complaints, including their requests that Macey receive detention and her parents be called in for a conference, through the shredder as soon as they landed in the discipline bin in the office. If Macey’s foster parents knew about her problems, they might decline to foster her anymore; Macey had worried about that often in the early days of the girls’ friendship. Rorie couldn’t risk that: better if she trusted herself to help her friend.

  Macey was asleep—or dead—on her feet. Her honey-gold skin was mottled, almost gray, and great dark circles sagged under her eyes, which themselves were barely slits.

  “Is that a bruise?” Rorie reached up to gingerly touch Macey’s temple. Macey flinched away.

  “Don’t. Don’t touch me,” she mumbled.

  Rorie sighed and snatched the piece of paper from her friend’s hand. The teacher had scribbled Macey’s offense—sleeping in class. Well, duh. Rorie crumpled up the note.

  “How many times is this, Macey? How many times have you been sent from class for falling asleep this week?”

  She swayed on her feet. “I don’t know. Just leave me alone, Rorie.”

  Rorie did the quick math in her head. This was already the third time, and it was only Wednesday. Last week there had been five notes, including an assigned in-school suspension for wearing her uniform too provocatively and a request that the school counselor speak to her about her hygiene. In the months since Macey had chosen to go with Luke to the Bluff, she’d quit trying to ingratiat
e her way into Rorie’s circle of friends, preferring to spend all of her spare time with him. It was rare for her to spend any time with Rorie at all, now, and Rorie realized with a start that it had been weeks since they’d done anything together.

  And all that time, the notes to the office had kept coming, a trickle at first, now a torrent. The two girls were just lucky, Rorie knew, that the teachers weren’t talking to each other—at least, not yet. That the change of terms had disrupted their hawk-like surveillance of the class, and for now, the escalation of Macey’s problems had escaped their eyes.

  But Rorie wouldn’t be able to shelter Macey much longer. The notes were coming too fast now. She examined her friend critically, wondering what exactly was going on, as Macey absentmindedly began scratching at her arms, pushing at her sleeves.

  Rorie’s eyes narrowed. “Macey, are you doing drugs?”

  Macey snatched her arm away, hiding it behind her back. Before she could answer, the final bell rang. She twitched nervously. “Please, Rorie. Just let me go.”

  “Go where?” Rorie demanded. “To him? To Luke? No way. This is his fault.”

  “Then come with me. Please?” she whined, pulling Rorie into an awkward hug.

  Rorie gagged, fighting back the impulse to push her away. Macey smelled like sweat and something else Rorie didn’t recognize—the mixture of scents was worse than the miasma of teenage sweat and hormones that hung familiarly about the locker room. It was clear Macey hadn’t washed for days. Or brushed her teeth.

  “Luke really likes you. He wants you to come with me today. He told me. Please, Rorie?”

  Rorie stepped away, unwrapping Macey’s arms from around her neck and trying hard to not breathe in her sour breath. “Neither one of us should be going anywhere with him. Is he making you do this, Macey?”

  A tear rolled down her face.

  “I need him, Rorie. He’s the only one who understands. He understands about my mom—my real mom—and everything.”

  Rorie snorted, disgusted. But then she thought of all Macey had been through—Macey’s mom had endangered her, over and over again, with her drug use, Rorie realized—and she felt ashamed for being so judgmental. She sighed, forcing herself to remain patient with her friend.

  “I know that must help, to be able to talk about her, not to have to pretend that everything is okay just because you’re in a new foster home. But Macey, just because he understands doesn’t mean he’s good for you.” Rorie reached out and touched her lank hair. “Your parents—I mean your foster parents—they still don’t know about him. Do they?”

  Macey hesitated, dropping her eyes to her shoes, before shaking her head.

  “Don’t you think you should tell them?”

  Macey seemed to shrink into herself. “I’m afraid,” she admitted, barely a whisper.

  Rorie bit back the words that instantly sprang to her lips: So am I.

  “Please don’t get me in trouble, Rorie.” Macey was begging. “You’re my only other friend. They’ll send me away if they find out I’ve been lying to them.”

  Rorie chewed on the corner of her bottom lip. There had to be a way to help without having to tell on Macey. There had to be.

  “Macey, look at me.”

  Macey lifted her head, looking doubtfully at Rorie where she stood, arms crossed.

  “Is he coming here today?” Rorie asked.

  Macey nodded, sniffing back her tears and dragging her arm across her runny nose.

  “Do you want me to make him go away?”

  Macey shrugged, hesitating. Rorie looked at her hard and decided for her friend.

  “You stay here,” she said. “Don’t move.”

  She pushed Macey out of the office into the hallway, warning her again to stay put, and made her way to the carpool line.

  All the way she reasoned with herself. Luke wouldn’t want to make a scene. He wouldn’t want to risk drawing attention to himself. She could get him to leave Macey this afternoon, and then she could work on convincing Macey to tell her foster parents, herself. She could do this, she thought, squaring her shoulders as she burst from the brick building into the cold sunlight of the late afternoon. She was good at getting her way.

  It was easy to spot his car.

  Luke rolled down the window as she approached. “Hello, Rorie. Climb in.”

  “What are you doing to her?” Rorie demanded, ignoring the invitation and looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to them.

  “Me? I’m just giving Macey the attention she deserves. Surely she’s told you about her singing lessons. The recording sessions. The videos.”

  Rorie shook my head. “I don’t believe you. But whatever it is you are doing, you’re getting her in trouble at school.”

  “You think Macey’s lying to you?” he asked.

  Rorie’s eyes narrowed. Would Macey lie to me? Rorie wouldn’t put it past him to deliberately sow the seeds of discord between them. He was that manipulative, that controlling.

  “Why would Macey do such a thing? I think you’re just jealous of her. Look at her. Look at how she’s blossoming.” He pointed over Rorie’s shoulder.

  Rorie turned to see Macey making her way toward the car, dragging a dirty backpack behind her. No! she thought. You were supposed to stay inside. Now what am I supposed to do? Wordlessly, with a rising sense of panic, she watched Macey climb into the backseat.

  “What are you doing to her?” she repeated.

  Rorie didn’t wait for him to answer, turning to address Macey through the open window. “Can’t you see that he’s hurting you? Please, Macey, I know something is wrong. Just a few minutes ago you wanted me to get him to leave you alone. You don’t have to do this. You don’t. Please let me help you!”

  Macey finally responded, lifting her head heavily to address Rorie.

  “You’re just jealous, Rorie. Luke told me.”

  “Why would you listen to Luke? I’m your friend.”

  “Luke loves me,” Macey insisted. “You’ll see. If you come with us you’ll see.” She patted the empty space beside her, absent-mindedly.

  Frustrated, Rorie darted an angry look at Luke. He smiled smugly. It didn’t matter to him, Rorie realized, that Macey was reciting the words like a zombie. As long as Macey kept telling herself that he loved her, as long as she was willing to tell Rorie the same, Luke had what he needed. He was in control.

  “I’m not coming with you,” Rorie shot back, not hesitating in the least. She leaned into the car, sticking her head in through the passenger side window, ignoring Luke and directing her words at Macey. “But what I am going to do is tell your foster mother. I know she doesn’t realize what’s going on. I don’t think she’d want you to be spending all this time with Luke and his friends, Macey, in that horrible place. Please, just get out of the car and come with me, and we can talk to your mom. She’ll know what to do.”

  Luke shifted in his seat and darted an anxious look at Macey.

  For just an instant, Macey hesitated as she considered Rorie’s proposition. A flicker of hope lit up her eyes.

  But then Luke began to speak.

  “She doesn’t love you, Macey,” he said. “Rorie doesn’t understand. Your foster mother doesn’t either—she doesn’t know what you’ve gone through, so she doesn’t understand what it’s like to need a little something to get through the day. All she’ll do is judge you. She’ll punish you. Maybe even send you away.”

  Macey looked stricken. Just like that, he’d snuffed out her hope, playing to her greatest fear.

  “Don’t listen to him, Macey,” Rorie urged. “The Jacksons both love you. They’ll help you. They’ll forgive you. I just know it.”

  A horrible silence settled around them.

  “I’ll tell the principal. I’ll tell him you’re not really Macey’s cousin,” Rorie blurted, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the window, leaning in even further to break the standoff. “I’ll tell him where you’ve been
taking her. I’ll tell him how you’ve been lying about drama club, Macey. How you faked the note to get him carpool access. I’ll tell him everything, Macey, unless you get out of the car and come with me now.”

  Before anything else could happen, Luke’s hand darted out and grabbed Rorie by her shirt collar. She gasped and struggled, trying to breathe, but he just tightened his grip. Her neck startled turning a mottled red.

  “Listen to me, queen bee,” he whispered. “You’re in over your head. I know where you live. I know everything there is to know about your family. I know your sister’s license plate, and your mother’s. I know where your sister goes to exercise class. I know where your mother throws her clay pots. I know their favorite coffee shops, and I know how they like their coffee.”

  Rorie clamped her hands on the car window, trying to pull away, but Luke yanked her back in.

  “2260 AHJ DeKalb County,” he said. “That’s the license plate on your mother’s Audi. Expiration in October, if I remember correctly. And she goes up to the Spruill Center, doesn’t she? I think she likes their kiln.”

  The blood drained from Rorie’s face as he continued to rattle off the facts of her family’s life.

  “She likes to get a matcha tea latte on the way home from the Center. Expensive tastes, your mother. Hope, though, she’s fine with a plain black coffee, no sweetener. Am I right?”

  He let the certainty of his knowledge, and what it meant for Rorie’s family, settle around her.

  “Don’t think that pretty little Buckhead gate will keep you safe. You say a word about this to anybody, and I mean anybody, Rorie— including your mother or sister—and I will destroy your family. I will kill every last one of them. The next time I invite you to come with us, you keep that in mind.”