Turning, I found him standing behind me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
"Looking for something?" Calvin asked.
It took me too long to find my voice. "A blanket. I was cold.”
”There's one draped over the back of the sofa. Just where it always is”
"You're right. It is."
I stared into the dark pools of his eyes, trying to glean some hint at his thoughts. Did he know I'd overheard everything? His gaze slid from my face to my hands, and back again. He was watching me just as closely.
"Did you kiss him?" Calvin asked.
"Kiss who?" I asked. But I understood him perfectly.
"Did you kiss Mason?" Calvin repeated, eerily quiet. "When you were in the forest alone with him, did you sleep with him?"
I wouldn't let him unnerve me. Trying to act as normal as possible, I gave him a bewildered look. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you a virgin or not?"
I did not like the probing, fixated glow in his eyes. I had to change the subject. "Can I make you a cup of coffee? I'll go start the-"
"Shh." He rested his index finger on my lips. "The truth."
The glow in his eyes was pent-up energy, waiting to be unleashed, and despite my mustering of defenses, I felt my courage crumbling. I chose to stay silent, knowing Calvin hated an argument. He wanted the final say, always.
Calvin wagged his head in disappointment. "oh, Britt. I thought you were a good girl."
It was this self-righteous declaration that drew out my anger. For one brief moment, it eclipsed my fear. How dare he judge me. He'd killed three girls! Everything I'd ever hated about Calvin suddenly seemed heightened: his faults, his superiority, his superficial charm, his insincerity-and most of all, the detached, insensitive way he'd ended our relationship. Disturbing hints of his darker side that I'd always known, yet somehow ignored. He hurt people. I'd just never guessed how good he was at it.
"What I did with Jude isn't your business."
The corners of Calvin's mouth pinched downward. "It is my business. He hurt you and Korbie, and I'm trying to make him pay. How do you think it makes me feel when you side with him? When you go behind my back and help him? It hurts, Britt. And it pisses me off."
His hands curled into tight balls, and I drew back a couple steps. He squeezed them open and closed in a methodical, absent way. I had seen Mr. Versteeg do the same thing, and it had always been Korbie's and my clue to hurry from the room and huddle together in perfect silence at the back of her closet, where he wouldn't find us.
"While I was out there in the forest, cold and hungry, searching nonstop for you and Korbie, you were flirting with some guy you don't even know, letting him shove his tongue down your throat, keeping him warm at night, showing him my map"-he punctuated the word by pounding his fist to his chest-"leading him here to my house"-pound-"putting my sister in harm's way"-pound-"Do you know what my dad would have done to me if Korbie had died in that cabin? Died on my watch? You're so concerned about Mason, Jude, whatever the hell his name is, but what about me? You led him here, you screwed me over, you gave him the map. You screwed me over!" he shouted, his face a dark, throttled red, his lips contorting with rage.
I pulled the pistol out, aiming it at his chest. My hands trembled, but at this range, nerves or not, he'd be hard to miss.
Calvin's face blanked at the sight of the gun.
"Don't come any closer." I hardly recognized my voice. The words came out solidly, but the rest of me teetered on the edge of hysteria. What if Calvin didn't listen? I had never shot a gun before. The cold metal felt foreign and heavy and frightening nestled in my fingers. Sweat slicked my palms, making my grip more clumsy.
A smile inched into Calvin's eyes. "You wouldn't shoot me, Britt."
"On your knees." Blinking hard to correct my reeling vision, I tried to focus on Calvin. He slanted left, then right. Or maybe it was the room spinning.
"No. We're not going through this charade." Calvin spoke with smooth authority. "You don't know how to handle a gun, you said so yourself. Look-your thumb isn't clear of the hammer, which will pop back abruptly when you fire and injure your hand. You're nervous, and you're going to jerk the trigger and it will throw off your aim. The sound of the shot will startle you, and you'll drop the gun. Save us both the trouble and put the gun on the floor now."
"I will shoot you. I swear I will."
"This isn't Hollywood. It's not easy to hit a target, even from this distance. You'd be surprised how many people miss this shot. If you fire at me, it's over. Someone will get hurt. We can stop that from happening. Hand me the gun, and we can work this out. You love me and I love you. Remember that."
"You killed three girls!"
Calvin shook his head adamantly, his cheeks flushing. "Do you really believe that, Britt? Do you think that little of me? We’ve known each other our whole lives. Do you really think I'm a cold-blooded murderer?"
"I don't know what I think! Why don't you explain it to me? What did those girls ever do to you? You had everything going for you. You're smart, good looking, athletic, rich, and you had a free ride to Stanford-"
Calvin wagged his finger at me. I could see his frustration in the lines around his pinched mouth. His whole frame began to shake, and his face darkened again.
"I had nothing! Stanford rejected me. I never got in! You don't know what it's like to feel powerless, Britt. I had nothing. They had everything. Those girls-that was supposed to be me! That should have been me,” he echoed wretchedly.
"That's why you killed them? Because they had what you wanted?" I was horrified. Horrified and sickened.
"They were girls. Girls beat me, Britt. How could I live with that? My dad never would have let me hear the end of it. It was bad enough at home, how he'd turn everything into a competition between me and Korbie, and rig the rules in her favor. She could have sat on her butt and it would have been enough to beat me. My dad didn't expect anything from Korbie, because she's a girl. But he expected everything from me."
There was no remorse in Calvin's voice. I wanted him to sound sorry and scared. I wanted him to admit that he was broken. But he didn't blame himself. He felt threatened by the girls he'd killed. Humiliated by them. I thought of the rope in the garage, dried with blood. Kimani Yowell had been strangled. Had Macie and Lauren been as well? He hadn't only killed them-he'd made it personal. He'd used his hands. It was never about them. It was about him.