Everafter

Crystal’s dark eyes shimmered. “We miss you, Luke.”

  As they drove away, Ivy smiled. “A natural,” she teased. “Who’d have thought it? I was waiting to see you feed and change him.”

  “Yeah, and tape his diaper to his undershirt. Did you see how little his undershirt was? Did you see his miniature fingernails?”

  Ivy laughed at Tristan.

  They had taken Ivy’s laptop from the trunk, and Tristan booted it up as she drove, then slipped in the flash drive. “I’m making a backup.”

  “I’ve been trying to think of a good place for us to plug in and start searching the files. I checked online last night. With Alicia’s death, you’ve resurfaced as a news story in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, complete with photos.”

  “Yes, but according to Chase, they’re not very flattering,” Tristan joked. His heart felt so much lighter now. “How about Connecticut? Hartford. It’s easier to be overlooked in a city.”

  “Good idea! I know exactly where we’d blend in.”

  Two hours and one rest stop later, during which Ivy shed everything of Gemma’s except the darkened eyelashes, she pulled into a parking lot belonging to Trinity University. Tristan placed the laptop in the protective pocket of her knapsack and slung it over his shoulder. Hand in hand, they walked the path to the library. They could have been any two college kids on the half-empty summer campus.

  For the next several hours they looked at photos. At first glance, they had thought their task might be easy. Though the drive held a huge number of photos and there were folders within folders, the files were named in a systematic way that a compulsive artist—or competent blackmailer—might label them.

  But promising names of folders yielded useless files. In a folder labeled RIVER GARDENS there was just one car, which appeared in a photo of Corinne’s stepfather and the car he drove for hire. They found her photo essay, Carscape, among her schoolwork, but those photos were so artistically rendered there was no shot of an easily identifiable car with front-end damage.

  “I don’t know enough about how a photographer would use a computer,” Tristan said, sitting back in his chair. “Is there a way of accessing the photos according to date?”

  “The date they were taken?” Ivy sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “If she sent this to Luke for safekeeping, it’s got to have something incriminating.”

  “I agree.” Ivy rubbed her eyes and sat back in her chair. “Perhaps Corinne used a large drive and put this many photos on it to keep anyone who got ahold of it from being able to easily find the incriminating photos. Tristan, what about letting Will have a crack at this? He does a lot of artwork on his Mac, including photography. He’d know the kinds of tech things Corinne knew. And being visual, he might see a pattern in the photos that we don’t.”

  Tristan nodded. “Let’s take a break, then look a little more. If we don’t find anything, we’ll turn it over to him.”

  They found lunch at a campus café called the Cave and carried their sandwiches out to the main quad for a picnic beneath a tree. A scattering of girls sunbathed on the grass. A guy and his dog played with a Frisbee. Summer students strolled along a flagstone walk that ran past a block of connected brownstone buildings. The buildings’ steep roofs were punctuated by gables, towers, and dormers, so perfect in its college-Gothic detail, it looked like a movie set.

  After finishing his sandwich, Tristan lay back in the grass, gazing up at the canopy of maple leaves and the small petals of blue sky peeking through here and there. Ivy lay close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He twined her hair lightly around his finger and listened to a fragment of conversation as two people passed by, a younger guy talking excitedly about something he’d read, and an older man, whose contribution was simply a chuckle.

  “This is where you’ll be going to college,” Tristan said suddenly. Earlier he had noticed that Ivy had seemed to know her way to the library. In a short month, she would come here to study, live in a dorm, and make friends with people who occupied a world far different from the one he could inhabit as Luke.

  Ivy raised her head and gazed down at him. “What is it? What are you thinking about?”

  As Luke, he didn’t have a high school diploma, a home, or a job; and he didn’t have the money or track record to get those things. “Andrew and Maggie, and your new college friends—they’re not going to be raising a glass of champagne to you and me. Ivy, nobody who loves you will want us to be together.”

  “Philip will. And Beth and Will—they’re glad for us,” she argued.

  “To everyone else, I’ll always be a suspect who fled the police.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I know who you are. I knew it before you did.”

  “If we get lucky,” Tristan continued, “I’ll be seen as the best friend of a murderer, the old boyfriend of a blackmailer, and—”

  She touched his lips with her finger, silencing him. “All that matters is what you are to me.”

  “What I am to you is fallen.”

  She put her arms around him. “You’ll redeem yourself. We’ll figure it out.”

  But all he could see were the worldly things that would keep him and Ivy apart, realities he didn’t know how to change. The one thing he knew he could do was protect her from Gregory. It would be worth his soul!

  “You’re still you, Tristan. And I will love you always.”

  He kissed her. God help him—he knew he’d give her the kiss of life again! “Even after—”

  She cradled his head in her arms. “Everafter.”

  “SO, CAN YOU HELP US, WILL?” IVY ASKED LATE Thursday night.

  Will had sat quietly in his straight-backed chair, toying with pieces of colored chalk that were scattered on the table next to him, listening to Ivy’s story. The picture he’d been working on when she entered his room had been hastily slipped beneath a course catalog for NYU.

  He dropped the chalk and turned to her. “Incredible. I don’t think I could survive all you and Tristan have gone through.”

  “I know your heart, Will. You could. But I hope you never have to.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he was still working through the things she had told him about Bryan and the murder investigations, then he held out his hand for the flash drive. “Let me see what I can find. If Corinne was serious about hiding things, it’s going to take some time. I’ll copy this. You should put Corinne’s in a safe-deposit box.”

  “Good idea.”

  He slipped the USB drive into the computer’s slot, clicked on the icon, and began opening the folders. “Oh, wow!”

  “I know I’m dumping a lot on you.”

  He turned to smile at her. “Hey, a chance to snoop around the work of another artist—an artist and blackmailer—I’m going to enjoy this!” His voice was light, but his dark eyes showed an intensity and concern that betrayed his smile.

  “Thank you, Will.” Ivy handed him a folder stuffed with photos and articles she had printed from the Internet, as well as a list of names and physical descriptions of the people and places she had visited in River Gardens, material that might help Will identify what he was seeing in the photographs.

  Slipping Corinne’s USB drive in her pocket, she said, “Will, by telling you all this, I’m putting you in some danger. What do you think we ought to do about Beth?”

  “She’d want to know,” he said without hesitation. “I can fill her in.”

  Ivy nodded in agreement, then rose to leave. At the door she turned back. “By the way, that’s an awesome picture of Beth beneath your course catalog. You ought to show her.”

  Will’s tan got a little pinker.

  On the way back from Will’s room, Ivy met up with Dhanya. Her roommate was singing to herself and swinging her purse as she walked toward the cottage door. She stopped and smiled at Ivy. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Dhanya. Did you have fun with Max?”

  “Actually, yes,” Dhanya replied. “When he asked me out, I just wante
d to get away from here and stop worrying about how weird Chase has been acting. But the glass at the Sandwich Museum was fabulous. Afterward we walked around the town. Max is good about shopping—doesn’t hurry me at all. You know, sometimes even my mother gets frustrated when I shop, but Max is very patient.”

  “Yeah?” Knowing what it was like to grocery shop with her roommate, Ivy could easily imagine Dhanya picking up piece after piece of merchandise unaware, as she admired it, how happy Max was admiring her.

  “He asked if I’d like to go to Nantucket for my day off. He said it’s really nice there.” She peeked at Ivy, as if wanting an opinion.

  “It’s supposed to be great,” Ivy said, commenting on the island rather than Max. Dhanya needed to decide for herself who she wanted to hang around with. Ivy held open the screen door, but Dhanya stopped on the cottage steps, as if she wanted to say something more.

  “You know, it was Max who saved Chase when he was having the seizure,” Dhanya said. “Despite all the times Chase has made fun of Max, Max doesn’t say anything mean about him, and he doesn’t go around saying he saved him.”

  “I know.”

  Dhanya slipped her phone from her pocket and smiled a little self-consciously. “Think I’ll text Max—just so he doesn’t make other plans.”

  Ivy smiled to herself. What other plans could he possibly want to make!

  Twelve

  “KEL-SEY!” BRYAN HOLLERED FROM THE LIVING ROOM Friday evening.

  Ivy laid her bag of music books on the kitchen chair and glanced toward the front door, where Bryan had let himself in.

  “I’m up here,” Kelsey yelled from the bedroom. “Come on up.”

  “No, stay where you are! I’m not dressed,” Dhanya called down, prompting loud laughter from Kelsey.

  A moment later, Bryan appeared in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. “Hello, Ivy.” His low, seductive tone made Ivy’s skin creep. It felt as if they were back in the kitchen in Stonehill, when Gregory was alive in his own body.

  “Hi.” She made herself busy, rinsing and filling her water bottle.

  He picked up her bag of books, sat in the chair, and started paging through her music. She wanted to snatch it out of his hands, but resisted the impulse, not wanting him to know he unnerved her. Opening the freezer, she grabbed some ice cubes and plunked them in her bottle.

  “Want to come to the movie tonight?” he asked.

  “What are you seeing?”

  “Harvest Moon. It’s about a serial killer.”

  “How refreshing. Where’s Max?”

  “Said he had some kind of errand to do, but I don’t think he likes violent movies.” Bryan crossed the kitchen to Ivy. “Some people are frightened by fiction and their own dark imaginings,” he said, moving his mouth close to her ear, “and others, by the real thing.”

  The footsteps on the stairway alerted them, but Bryan took his time moving away. Kelsey rewarded him with a scathing glance at Ivy. “Thank you for entertaining my boyfriend, but I’m here now.”

  “I was just fixing myself something to drink,” Ivy replied.

  Bryan flashed Kelsey a boyish grin. “Thirsty, babe? I’ve got a case of beer in the car.”

  “Great!” Kelsey replied.

  “Remember the party,” Ivy said, unable to warn Kelsey in a more direct way about Bryan. “Remember how sick you felt.”

  “Which party was that?” Kelsey asked, grinning, then stuck her head in the stairwell. “Hurry up, Dhanya!”

  “Dhanya’s going?” Ivy asked, surprised.

  “Kels, can I borrow your blue sweater?” Dhanya called back.

  “If you get your sweet bum down here before the movie’s half over, yes.”

  Ivy didn’t like the idea of demonic Bryan driving Kelsey and Dhanya around, and all the excuses a case of beer could provide. “Actually, I would like to go.”

  Kelsey frowned. “I thought you were going to practice piano.”

  “I’ll do it Sunday.”

  Kelsey made a face. “Isn’t Father What’s-His-Name going to be disappointed?”

  “Lighten up, Kelsey,” Bryan intervened. “It’s Friday night, and Ivy needs a break. Some murder and mayhem might do her good.”

  “I’m ready,” Ivy said, picking up her purse.

  Twenty minutes later they arrived at the theater, which had been built long before the day of multiplexes. Drafts of musty air-conditioning and the heavy smell of buttered popcorn wafted down the aisle. Its seats were so worn, Ivy could feel the metal frame through the cushions. Kelsey made sure that Bryan entered the row first, followed by herself, then Dhanya. Ivy was glad to be three people away from Bryan.

  “I hope there’s not a lot of blood,” Dhanya said. “I don’t mind serial killers as long as they don’t get gory.”

  “You prefer murderers who strangle?” Bryan asked her, tipping his head far enough forward to look at Ivy.

  “I prefer killers who do anything other than make people bleed.”

  “My feelings exactly,” he said. “Who wants to clean that up?”

  There was only one scene with blood, the rest of the plot being devoted to profiling the serial killer who “harvested” every full moon. Ivy liked psychological thrillers, but she struggled to follow this one. Her mind felt unable to process what she was seeing and hearing. When the movie ended much sooner than expected, she wondered if she had nodded off. As the house lights came up and the credits flew by, Ivy turned to Dhanya and found her roommate asleep.

  “Dhanya? Dhanya,” she said quietly.

  In the dimly lit theater, she could see Dhanya’s eyes darting back and forth beneath her lids. Ivy nudged her. “Hey, you.”

  Bryan leaned across Kelsey. “Dhanya, wake up,” he commanded.

  She opened her eyes and glanced around quickly, as if trying to figure out where she was, then visibly sagged with relief.

  “You were dreaming,” Ivy told her. “Everything’s okay.”

  Dhanya searched Ivy’s face, her dark eyes troubled.

  “What is it?” Ivy asked.

  Bryan leaned across Kelsey. “Something wrong, Dhanya?”

  “No.” But her fingers were curled tightly in her lap.

  “Bad dream?” he persisted. “Tell me about it.”

  His eagerness for her to recount the dream sounded a warning bell in Ivy’s mind. “Let’s go to the lobby, where the lights are brighter,” she said to her roommate. “You’ll feel better.”

  But Dhanya stayed in her seat. “It was so real. The dream felt so real, Ivy. I was on the train bridge. You were there too. And Luke. You were standing with Luke.”

  Dhanya’s brow knit, then she quickly glanced away from Ivy.

  “Go on,” Bryan encouraged softly.

  “The girl who died was also there. Alicia.”

  Ivy’s heart beat faster.

  “And?” Bryan prompted.

  “Luke and—” Dhanya ducked her head and swallowed the words.

  “Spit it out!” Kelsey said.

  “—pushed her off the bridge.”

  “Luke and Ivy pushed Alicia off the bridge?” Bryan asked.

  “It was just a dream, I know that,” Dhanya said quickly.

  But she was haunted by the dream—Ivy could see it in her eyes. The vision had been that powerful. Had Gregory learned how to project ideas and images to someone sitting close to him?

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Kelsey interjected, “but these chairs are making my butt hurt.”

  Ivy stood up and Dhanya followed, but when Ivy reached back to put an arm around her, Dhanya pulled away. She looked both apologetic and confused. Folding her arms and hunching her shoulders as if she was cold, she walked alone up the aisle.

  Bryan smiled and put his arm around Kelsey. The gleam of satisfaction in his eyes chilled Ivy’s soul.

  TRISTAN WAS DEEP INTO A JOHN GRISHAM NOVEL, sitting in the big leather chair in the living room, only his clip-on reading light shining on the
book’s yellow pages, when he heard the sharp knock at the front door. Clicking off the tiny light, he waited. A second knock brought him to his feet. He quietly climbed the stairs and stood at the window above the front door, separating the slats of the blinds with his fingers.

  He expected to see Bryan, Chase—or worse, the police. What he saw was a guy of smaller stature wearing a bright print shirt. Max? The visitor fit Ivy’s description of him.

  As far as Tristan knew, Bryan had kept his River Gardens life separate from his college life, so Tristan guessed that there had been little or no contact between Max and the real Luke. But Max, along with the others, would have seen him at the carnival last month, when Alicia “recognized” him.

  The guy at the door took several steps back from the house, surveying the windows. Tristan quickly let go of the blind. If he answered the door, it would confirm that he was holing up here. Of course, not answering the door would hardly prove otherwise.

  “Luke?” the visitor called softly. “It’s Max Moyer, a friend of Bryan’s. I have to talk to you.”

  A trap?

  “I need to talk about the night you almost drowned.”

  Tristan headed downstairs. If this was bait, he couldn’t turn away from it.

  When he opened the door, Max looked relieved. “Can I come in?”

  Tristan gestured, then quickly closed the door behind him. “I keep the lights off.” There was no reason to admit that he watched videos and used lanterns when Ivy came. He knew the darkened house well and Max didn’t; Tristan wanted to keep that advantage. “This way.”

  Max followed the sound of Tristan’s footsteps to the family room, walking tentatively, bumping into an ottoman.

  “There’s a chair right behind that,” Tristan told him, then sat down on the long sofa at an angle to Max’s chair. “How’d you find me?”

  “Put two and two together,” Max replied. “Kelsey said Ivy’s been sneaking off at night—walking and kayaking—so I figured you were somewhere close. Aunt Cindy was best friends with the people whose son was struck by lightning, and they left the Cape. I looked up the Steadmans’ address, saw it was an easy paddle across the harbor, and thought I’d check it out.”