[Chapter Four]

"Cassie?" Howie said, "What's wrong?" I looked like a mess – my hair every which way and my clothes mussed. The tears streaming down my face probably didn't help. I shook my head, afraid to tell him what had happened. Howie was my best friend, and I trusted him with my life. But I don't know if I would be able to tell him about Damien. It just wouldn't feel right.

"It doesn't matter." I waved him off and headed to the sink to wash my hands. I wanted to wash my whole body. I wanted to take out my insides and scrub them out until I lost this disgusting feeling. Somehow, I felt it would never go away. Not unless I'd taken a million showers in a row.

"Oh my god, Cassie, you're bleeding!" he exclaimed, touching his hand to my face. I flinched when he touched the part where Damien had slapped me.

"I'm fine," I said, pulling away. Howie shook his head and wet a washcloth, which he used to gently wipe my face. I let him, because I knew that he was just trying to help.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, calmly, as though it was just a regular conversation about the weather or the song on the radio. I didn't say anything for a long moment. I didn't know if I wanted to tell him. Damien was bigger than he was, and Damien was scary. If Howie tried to go after him, he could get hurt. Or killed.

"Damien," I said, "Damien Elmer." And later, I would wish that I hadn't told him.

It occurs to me that this is a very bad idea. That perhaps Jarod is not really a cop, that he doesn't know what he's doing. But every time I look in his eyes, it makes it hard for me to doubt him. I'm glad that Erika's in on it, though, because she reassures me that it's for the best.

I'm wearing a wire. Jarod insisted on it, partially because he wants to record everything, and also because he wants to have it in case I need to call for help.

I'm thinking about calling him right now, telling him that I changed my mind and don't want to do this anymore. But he's right there at the front of the classroom, and he gives me a reassuring smile. I smile back before looking down at the books on my desk. When class is finished, I'm going to have to get up. I'm going to have to walk slowly and wait for Damien to catch up with me. I'm going to have to wait for him to talk to me, and I have to ask him to come home with me. I don't want to do it, but Jarod told me that it would help. That it would be good in the end, and so I have to go through with it.

Jarod dismisses the class and gathers up his books. He doesn't look at me, but I know this is part of the plan. I have to pretend like everything is normal. I have to pretend like I don't have wires underneath my shirt. Like Jarod isn't going outside to his car, where he's got the listening devices. So he can hear what I'm saying and everything.

I pick up my school books and put them into my backpack. I take my time, arranging my pens just so, and making sure everything is tucked in right. Before long, the classroom is entirely empty. Except for me, and Damien. I can feel him. I can smell him. And I can hear him, too. I pretend like I don't. I pretend like I'm lost in my thoughts, like I was last time.

I walk down out of the room and down the road, clutching my bag and staring at the sky, at the birds and the clouds. His footsteps are behind me, soft, like he's trying to walk so I can't hear him. When I reach the house, I can see Jarod's car parked an inconspicuous distance away. This reassures me, at least a little bit. He will be sitting in there, listening. Waiting to enter when I need him. I just hope that he knows when that moment is.

I open the door and walk inside. I walk into the kitchen and I hear the door close. It's Damien. He's inside now, and in a minute he will enter the kitchen. He'll talk to me. He'll say things and he'll touch me and bad things will happen before Jarod finally rescues me. I just hope he says the right things.

"Changed your mind, yet?" Damien asks. I turn around and I see him standing there in the doorway, looking purely evil, hands cocked on his hips. Instinctively I take a step back. The silverware drawer is right next to my hand. There's a sharp knife in there.

"About what?" If I play stupid, maybe he'll bumble and say something incriminating. That's how it works in the movies, anyway.

"About listening to me. Your friend didn't listen. Howie thought he was going to teach me a lesson, but I taught him one, didn't I?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Howie killed himself." Even I don't believe this, but I want Damien to think that I do. If he thinks I don't know anything he'll keep talking, and Jarod will get what he needs and we can stop this. I reach my hand towards the drawer handle. Just in case.

"Yeah, like you believe that," Damien scoffs. I ease the drawer open, while keeping my eye on Damien. But I'm too obvious about it, because suddenly he's across the room, yanking my hand off the handle and pinning it to my side. With his free hand, he pushes the drawer open.

"Trying to pull one on me?" he says, his voice rough. He reaches into the drawer and takes out the knife I was planning to use on him. "You like knives, huh?" he asks, sliding the metal end against my cheek. It's cold and I can't breathe. Because if he turns it around, he could hurt me.

"You're easy. Your friend, he was a fighter. Practically had to shove those pills down his throat." His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking his intention. Still, I played dumb, in case they needed something a little more concrete.

"What?" I say, "Are you..." I trail off, as he presses the knife a little harder into my cheek. I turn away.

"Yeah, I killed him." He shrugs, and takes the knife away, stepping back. "I can do it again, too." I let my breath out, but I'm afraid that he's going to hurt me before Jarod steps in. Shouldn't Jarod be here already? What is he waiting for?

"You look nervous," Damien says, "Worried that your friend isn't here to help you? Don't worry, I'll take care of her, too." He grins coldly. I can't breathe. He puts the sharp end of the knife on my cheek, pressing slightly.

"Please," I beg, "Stop!" Like maybe asking him with make him stop. He pulls the knife away again, laughing. It's not a mirthful laughter, but more of a maniacal one. "I'm just kidding with you," he says, dropping the knife on the counter. Where is Jarod? Why hasn't he come yet? Damien takes a step back and turns away from me, towards the fridge. There's a picture in the center of the fridge, of me and Howie from our high school graduation. We're both in our caps and gowns and he's got his arm over my shoulder.

"Nice picture," he says, pulling it off the fridge, the magnet falling to the floor. He's still not looking at me.

"Howie was my best friend," I tell him, "He's the only person I've ever really cared about." I don't know why I'm saying this, but maybe Damien will feel guilty about what he did.

"It's too bad about your friend." He shrugs, as though he actually feels bad. Why would he feel bad? I glance over at the knife sitting on the counter. Can I grab it before Damien notices and turns around? Or should I even bother?

Then Damien turns around again, and in another minute, he has me pinned back against the counter and he picks up the knife, sliding it against my cheek. I feel the burn on the cut against my cheek and instinctively reach my hand to grab my cheek.

"Step away from her now, please." It's Jarod's voice, and I look up to see him standing there, holding a gun pointing straight at Damien. The knife clatters to the floor and Damien turns around. I'm still holding my cheek, and I can feel the warm blood dripping through my fingers.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Damien rolls his eyes, like the gun pointed at him is something that happens all the time.

"I am not kidding you, Mr. Elmer. You're under arrest for the murder of Howard Williams. You have the right to remain silent..." As he reads Damien his rights, Jarod lowers his gun and grabs the handcuffs off his belt. He does this like an expert, and it is almost scary to me. My cheek has stopped bleeding, and I take my hand away from my face. Jarod cuffs Damien's hands behind his back and leads him out the car. Damien is, smartly enough, not saying anything. While I'm standing in the kitchen, wiping the blood from my face, Erika comes in.

She puts her arm around my shoulder and I just close my eyes. The tears are burning my cheeks, but I just let myself cry. If Damien is going to jail, then everything will be all right. But it won't be. Howie's still gone. He's not coming back. And Jarod... Jarod's going to leave. Now that's he's gotten what he came here for, he's going to leave. And I realize, in a scary way, that I don't want him to leave. Why is it like this? Why do I care so much about Jarod when I've barely known him? When the only thing he knows about me is about Howie. The only thing he cares about is Howie. He doesn't like me.

Erika hugs me closer and rubs my back. I lean into her and cry, over Howie, over Damien, over Jarod. Everything. And I just let go.

[&]

One Month Later

"Come on, Cassie, it's time to get up!" Erika's voice comes through my bedroom door. As if her knocking hadn't already roused me. I slide out of bed and grab the clothes from the dresser that I'd already set out the night before.

I have my Psychology of Death class today, with the real teacher. After Jarod had left, he'd been replaced by an older slow-talking teacher who made falling asleep in class very easily. But without Damien there, the class was a lot easier to focus in.

News had gotten out that Damien was arrested, but luckily my name wasn't mentioned in any of the reports. Still, sometimes it feels like people are staring at me. Like they know. I take a shower and get dressed, and Erika and I walk to the building together. It's a nice, sunny day outside, and I'm glad to be enjoying it. I almost don't want to go to class, and not because of the people, but because I'll be missing this gorgeous sunshine. Erika drops me off and we go our separate ways, with the promise to meet for lunch. I sit down at my desk and take out my notebooks and homework.

Two hours later I am ready for lunch. I'd barely been able to keep my eyes open during class, and I'm hoping some food and the sunshine will perk me up. I'm heading out of the classroom, eager to find Erika and get lunch, when I see him. He's standing right outside the door of the building, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses. He takes the sunglasses off when he sees me.

"Cassie," he says, like he's been waiting for me.

"Jarod?" I'm just so surprised to see him that it doesn't seem real. The last time I saw him, he was putting handcuffs on Damien. It's been a long time. He's got a bag in his hand, and it looks like it's from Subway. His lunch? He holds the bag out.

"I hope you like turkey and cheese," he says, "I was hoping we could have lunch out here and talk."

"I'd like that." We find a free bench and we sit down. He takes a wrapped sandwich out of the bag and hands it to me before taking the other one for his own. We sit for a moment, eating out respective sandwiches and enjoying the sun, before he finally speaks to me.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that," he says, "I'm sorry for everything. I mean, I'm glad that we finally nailed Damien, but I'm sorry for what you had to go through."

"I understand," I reply, "I know it wasn't your fault. I mean..." I don't want to tell him this, because it sounds a little silly, but I say it anyway, "It sort of feels like Howie sent you. To help him, and to help me."

"I wish I would have met Howie," he says, "He sounds like he would have been a great guy." And I'm tearing up as he says this, because Howie was a great guy. There's a long silence, and I wipe my face before eating more of the sandwich.

"Would you like to come over?" I ask, "I mean, to watch a movie or something? As a friend and not as a cop or a teacher or anything?" Jarod looks at me and he smiles, and I know that things are going to turn out all right.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that." I would, too.