Valley of the Moon (12 page)

She had only put me in the naughty room when my dad was traveling on one of the trips she sent him on to scout for cars all over the country. She had redecorated since then. Crisp white paint covered the old dark wood paneling. The brass-framed bed was festooned with bright pillows and a snow-white bedspread. A round bedside table held a clock and a lamp that glowed pink. A large mirror with a gilded frame hung on the wall across from the bed, and there were cardboard boxes stacked in a corner.

You never disobey her on purpose. Cressida is the one who takes you into her bathroom, which is strictly forbidden. You stand there, heart pounding, as Cressida opens a drawer. You see a thousand reflections of yourself along the mirrored walls. She takes out an envelope. Inside there are photographs. Black and whites. A naked lady in a feathered mask, stockings, and a garter belt. She has tan skin and small breasts with dark nipples. She poses on a bed on her hands and knees. In another, she is on her back, legs open. You can see everything. “Who’s that?” you whispered to Cressida. She just looked at you, eyes wide. “I don’t know.”

Then a hand at the back of your t-shirt, yanking you by the collar so hard you choke. Your cheek on fire from the smack. Cressida vanishes. Then the wordless trip to the pool house, her hand clamped around your wrist. You would get so hungry. It was so dark at night. She unscrewed the bulbs from the overhead fan and took them. If you ever told your dad, she would ruin him, she said. He’d be left with nothing. So you never told.

I closed my eyes and tried to steady myself. “Where is she?” I said.

Cressida squinted at me. “Where’s who?”

“Eden, Cressida! Where the fuck is Eden!” Caleb shouted at her as his hands formed into fists.

She looked back to me. “Jesus, relax. I got her calmed down and she agreed to go back to bed. You literally just missed her.”

“Can I go check on her?” I asked.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, don’t worry. She’s going to sleep the rest of the night, trust me.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

Her smile hardened a little. “I just know. I am her sister, after all.”

I could feel Caleb seething at my side. “Looks like our work here is done. Let’s go, Lana.” Cressida smiled like she hadn’t heard him.

“You missed the shuttle.”

“We’ll call a cab.”

“That’ll take forever,” she said. “Let me get my keys. You can drive back. Just wait at the bar, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

***

Caleb and I sat on ornate barstools and watched Brett behind the bar pouring shots for a couple that didn’t need one more drop to drink. His face had a thin sheen of sweat on it.

“This is such a disaster,” Caleb said, sighing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “And my phone’s about to die.” He tugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of the barstool.

“She’ll be back soon,” I told him.
Please come back, Cressida.
I wondered if Eden would really be here during this party—would she have lied? Why else would she have sent her friends to get Caleb and me off the bus?

“If she’s not back in five minutes, we’re walking down the hill.”

“Fine, but you’re carrying me. My feet are killing me.” He chuckled. He scanned the bottles behind the bar.

“Man, your stepmother’s booze collection is nuts. Well, since we’re here…hey, yo—Brett—can you pour me that Johnny Walker Blue Label?”

“Coming right up,” Brett said. He stared at me for a beat too long. His eyes were unnaturally alert. He picked up the bottle, pulled a glass out of the low cabinet under the bar, and poured Caleb’s drink.

“Aren’t you driving?” I asked him.

Brett cut me off. “He wore his big boy pants tonight, Lana. Right, dude?” He set a glass down in front of Caleb. Brett leaned over to me.

“You want to try a Cressida?”

“I had enough of those, thanks.”

He snorted. “Oh, I know. I’ll make you a Lana. I invented it just for you.”

“No thanks.” Caleb smacked his glass down on the bar.

“Give me another scotch and give her a Lana.”

I swiveled on my chair. “I don’t want to drink anymore. I’ve had enough.”

He stared at me. His eyes looked glassy. “This was your idea. We’re stuck here, so drink.” I gasped. He checked his watch and cursed under his breath.
What was wrong with him? You know why he’s mad. You promised.

“God, what is this shitty music?” Caleb asked. Slow electronic music was playing now.

“Oh, that’s my new mix,” Brett said, turning back to face us. He put my drink in front of me. “Some trance, some chillout. I produced most of the tracks myself.”

“Awesome, dude,” Caleb said, rolling his eyes behind Brett’s back. I glanced at Brett to see if he saw. He just smiled at me and refilled Caleb’s glass.

I looked at my drink. It was tall and fizzy and peach-colored.

“I call this The Lana. Same color as your hair.”

“Yo Brett, is Cressida your date tonight?” Caleb asked. Brett laughed, a high-pitched, nervous chuckle.

“No way. Too many fish in the sea.” Brett watched me, bouncing on his toes. He grinned and pushed my drink to me. “Try it.”

“Uh, okay.” I took a small sip. It tasted like peach juice and 7-Up. “Wait, is there alcohol in this?”

“Just a tiny splash.”

“It’s pretty good.”

“I told you. Drink up. You don’t experience the full effect until you get a few sips in.” I took a few more sips. It was really good. I relaxed and took a few more sips.

Caleb let out a disgusted sigh. “Fuck this. I’m calling a cab. Hey, dude, where’s a phone that actually has service up here?”

“Land line in the maid’s room.” Caleb pushed off his chair and walked away. Brett watched him leave. He turned to me.

“How does a Lana taste?”

“Uh, really good actually.”

His eyes narrowed. He licked his lips. “I always wanted to taste one. You gave Trevor a taste, remember?”

“What?!” I almost spat my drink in his face. Bile rose in my throat. He reached over and stroked my arm with his fat fingers. I pulled it away.

“Don’t touch me,” I said. My cheeks burned. I took one last sip of my drink before I realized I had finished it. I dropped the glass on the bar and it fell over. I slid off the stool to go find Caleb. I teetered, wobbling in my heels, and walked to the last door in the dark hallway.

***

Caleb was sprawled on the iron bed, the phone pressed to his ear. He motioned to me to sit next to him.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Look what I found.”

“What?”

“Privacy. What’s the address here again?”

“1850 Castillo Lane,” I said.

He repeated it into the phone. “How long? Are you joking?” He paused. “Yes, I still want it.”

He hung up and looked at me. “It’s gonna take an hour.”

“I’m so sorry, Caleb. This is my fault.”

“I know. But you’re going to make it up to me. Right now.” He pulled me onto the bed. I giggled and rolled to the side. He got on top of me and started kissing me. I turned my head as he nibbled on my ear and I saw the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. Someone had scrawled a name upside down on one of them in a childish script. From where I was on the bed, I could read it perfectly. It said “Lana’s stuff.”

I scrambled out of Caleb’s arms.

“Hey, come back here!” he said.

“One second.” I tore off the strip of tape and opened the box. Inside I saw the remains of my Crawford childhood. Books. Worn ballet toe shoes. A few stuffed animals.

Caleb came up behind me. “Aw, cute.” He pulled out a furry brown teddy bear and handed it to me. “Was this yours?”

I looked at the bear. Black glassy eyes stared back at me. One of the few toys my stepmother had ever given me. It had sat on a shelf in my room, unloved.

“Come over here.” Caleb pulled me to the bed. I dropped the teddy bear onto the floor.

***

Far away. Far away in another room. Far away on another moon. Hey, that rhymes. My thoughts were blurring together in strange ways. What’s wrong with you? And what’s that zipping noise? I was lying on my stomach. The noise sounded like a claw ripping through paper. It was hard to stay focused. Trying to think was like running through thick mud in rubber rain boots.

“Caleb, what are you doing?”

“Shh…I’ve been a patient boy.” Caleb was behind me. He kissed up my neck to my ear and then back down and across my shoulders. I could smell his hot breath. Strong fumes of alcohol burned my nostrils. His hands moved across my bare back. Oh, that sound was the zipper. He unzipped the dress.
Now he’s unhooking something. I wonder what he’s doing back there?

“Face me,” he mumbled. But I couldn’t move. He rolled me over onto my back and straddled me. The intense look in his eyes cut through my haze.

“You’re so handsome, Caleb.”
What are you saying? You sound so weird!

“Resistance is futile.” He slid my unzipped dress down to my hips. I closed my eyes and the room tilted like we were on a ship in a storm. I opened my eyes and tried to focus on something. I hung on to the ceiling fan with my eyes. The light sockets under the fan stared back at me like big empty eyes. The bulbs were missing.

Hands slid up my legs. Hands tugged at my Spanx.

“What are these?” He muttered under his breath.

“Caleb, stop. Stop, okay?” But my words sounded garbled.
This can’t happen here. Not in this room.
“Caleb.” My voice slurred and my vision blurred.
Around and around we go.

“Don’t worry, baby. I brought something.” He dug in his pants pocket. I heard crackling. A handful of square orange objects materialized in his hand. “I’m going to be so gentle, baby.”

Ramona was right. Ramona was right. Get up. Get up.
I tried to move, but someone had disconnected the nerves between my leg muscles and my brain.

“You made me wait too long for you. I’m gonna go slow, baby. It won’t hurt.” His voice sounded like it was bubbling up through deep water. Then it got cold. Really, really cold. A strange numbness crept up my arms and legs and spread inward, towards my center. I was melting, floating away.
Soon there will be nothing left.

Just before I blacked out, his weight pressed down on me, crushing me into oblivion.

Pain. Everywhere
.

My body was on fire. My eyelids were sealed shut. I used my fingers to pry them open.

I blinked in the weak light filtering through the room’s one small window.

Someone was looking at me. The teddy bear. His head was stuck through the bars of the iron headboard and his glassy black eyes stared into mine, inches away from my face. I tried to scream but my mouth refused the command.

I looked up at the ceiling fan. I knew that fan.
You’re in the naughty room. She put you in here. You were bad.

No, not Ramona. Someone else. But who?

A distant memory, faint at first, roared toward me like a speeding truck down a highway. Caleb’s face looming over mine.

CALEB.

Ramona was right. She’d been right about him.

“Caleb?” My voice sounded like sandpaper on gravel. “Hello?” I cracked my eyelids and looked down at my body. A scratchy red blanket was draped over me. I reached under it and felt nothing but naked skin. I moved my hand down lower. My thighs were wet and slick. When I pulled my hand out from under the blanket, bright red blood glistened on my fingers.

It had happened. And I didn’t remember it.

I tried to swallow, but it felt like I drank paint and it had dried in my throat. My mouth tasted like burned aluminum foil. I lifted my head off the concrete block of a pillow, and a sharp crack of pain pierced my skull. I moaned and saw pinpoints of light dance in my eyes.

I had to have water. I inched my body to the edge of the bed and slid my heavy legs to the floor. Walking was out. I slid my body down onto the floor, gritting my teeth as my bones jarred together. I was made of glass. I was going to crack and shatter into thousands of pieces any second. I started crawling, naked, to the bathroom. Head. Crotch. Legs. Lungs. It all hurt.

The tiny bathroom was dark and windowless. It just had a toilet and a pedestal sink. I forced myself to stand. I gripped the edge of the sink and turned the water on. The water turned red and then pink as I washed the blood off my hands. I bent my face to the water and sipped again and again, until nausea welled up.

I shuffled to the toilet and leaned over it, but the nausea passed. I sat down to pee and waited. When it finally it came, I screamed. It burned like acid. When I was done, I had to use wad after wad of paper to wipe the blood off my legs.

Is there always this much blood?

My mind fluttered back into darkness. I willed myself not to faint.

I stood and washed my hands in the sink. Something in the small metal wastebasket next to the toilet caught my eye. Two orange foil squares; the same kind Caleb had in his dopp kit before Hawaii. Only these had been ripped open. The nausea welled up again and this time I couldn’t stop the wave. I threw up, again and again, in the toilet.

When the waves finally stopped and there was nothing left in me or of me, I crumpled to a heap on the floor on top of the chenille bath mat and cried.

After puking myself into semi-sobriety, the reality of my sordid situation hit me.
A vague plan came together in my battered head. I would sneak into the house, pull the keys to one of the many Crawford cars out of the key cabinet, drive to the hotel, get my stuff, and get home before anyone woke up.

The plan only worked if I made it out before they found me.

You can barely walk. How are you going to drive? Find Caleb. He’ll drive. If he’s still here.

Caleb. He had left me here, naked and bleeding and unconscious. I realized with a shock that my relationship with Caleb was over. A new pain ripped through me—heartbreak.

How could he have done this to me?

The clock said it was 5:20.

I scrambled around the room looking for my scattered clothing. My head pounded like someone had been banging a hammer on it. I located my Spanx in a ball under the bed and pulled them on. I found my bra and my dress stuffed between the bed and the wall. No sign of my underwear, though. I got a huge handful of toilet paper from the bathroom and stuffed into the crotch of the Spanx to absorb the blood still leaking out of my body.

I stepped into the dress and pulled it up. Then I turned and saw the bed.

The white bedspread had an ugly red stain in the middle of it, and a gruesome-looking bloody smear all the way to the edge, where I had slithered off. It looked like someone had been stabbed to death.

I pulled the bloody bedspread off the bed and threw it onto the floor. I folded it in half, rolled it up like a sleeping bag, and wrapped it up inside the red blanket. I grabbed my shoes and tiptoed barefoot to the door. I turned the knob and pushed. I pushed harder.

Someone had thrown the deadbolt.

Someone locked me in.

I examined the window. It was too small for me to fit through it, and it looked like it was painted shut.

“Please! Somebody let me out of here!” I rattled the doorknob. A sob lodged in my throat. Tears ran down my clammy cheeks. “Caleb! Are you out there?”
What if they don’t find you for a week? No one knows you’re in here.

I couldn’t wait to murder Caleb.

Then, a sound on the other side of the door.

The deadbolt slid back. For a terrible second, I imagined a ghost on the other side of the door. I prayed the ghost would stay invisible. I was barely hanging on to my sanity as it was.

I held my breath as the door swung open. It was the girl in the yellow dress I’d seen asleep in the pool house the night before. Her eye makeup was smudged halfway down her cheeks. Her hair stuck out from her head, and her eyes were swollen.

“Is there a bathroom in here? I don’t feel that good.” I pointed to the powder room.

The sounds of her puking echoed down the hallway as I stumbled away.

***

I could still smell incense and cigarette smoke in the pool house, but there was no one else around. All the candles had burned out and it was dark. But—Caleb’s tux jacket hung on the barstool where he’d left it.
He’s still here.

But where? I tucked my bundle of soiled blankets under my arm, picked up my heels, and crept outside.

Mist covered the grounds. The abandoned tent hulked on the grass, its walls flapping in the cold wind. An empty red cup caught the breeze and clattered along the flagstones until it fell into the pool. I picked my way around the pool through party garbage—cups, cigarettes, bottles, cummerbunds. Someone’s strapless bra. But no sign of anyone alive.

It was like the zombie apocalypse had rolled through, and I was the sole survivor.

Only, I didn’t quite survive.

Various articles of clothing and wet towels hung off the backs of chaise lounges. A pair of silver heels sat in a puddle of pool water. I recognized them as the ones Cressida had been wearing. People apparently had gone skinny-dipping while I was unconscious and bleeding a few feet away.

I padded across the vast patio towards the French doors at the back of the main house. Every step I took sent blood thudding through my head and lower body.

The doors were unlocked, so I eased them open and slipped inside.

I hadn’t been inside my former home in three years.

The mansion was cold and silent. The stone kitchen floors were like blocks of ice under my bare feet. I crept through the vast kitchen. The counters were cluttered with empty cups and a dozen empty bottles of various alcohols. They stood like silent witnesses to my debauched state. The soles of my feet stuck to the floor where drinks had spilled. I smelled rancid cocktails and another wave of nausea rocked me.

The kitchen opened out onto the vast marble foyer. There was the same ostentatious crystal chandelier hanging from the soaring ceiling. There was the oversized curved staircase carpeted in white. The familiar feeling of dread shot through me.

Ramona kept all the car keys in a recessed cabinet in the wall between the front door and the entrance to the kitchen. I padded over to it. I pulled the small silver knob but the door was locked. My breathing got faster. I searched the ornately carved table under the cabinet for any loose keys. There was a wire basket on the table stuffed with mail. Catalogues and magazines at the back, smaller pieces at the front. I had been forbidden from touching the mail when I lived here. Touching mail meant a trip to the naughty room.

I spotted a small blue envelope. I lifted it up. Written in tiny black calligraphy was a familiar name. It took me a second to register the name.

“Mademoiselle Lana Goodwin.”

My stomach did somersaults. The letter-writer knew me? I flipped it over. Someone had slit it open; the envelope was empty, but on the back there was a handwritten return address in New York City.

Tanith Fremont and I were connected, somehow.

I stuffed the envelope inside my bundle of blankets.

Another wave of nausea hit me—a tsunami this time. I crouched on the floor with my head down for a full minute until it passed. I took a few deep, slow breaths. There was a smear of dark blood on the pristine marble floor, and I wiped it with a corner of my dress. If I made it to the main road, I could walk to the bottom of the hill. I could do it. It was just three miles.

Unless you bleed to death first.

I grabbed my bundle and ran through the foyer on my tiptoes. When I got to the front door, I heard a shriek, and then a muffled scream, coming from upstairs.

It sounded like Eden. When she had night terrors, she used to sneak into my room and I would cuddle her until she went back to sleep. Until Ramona found out. Then I got a trip to the naughty room.

After that, I would lie awake listening to her have the terrors alone in her room.

Cressida always slept through it.

I heard it again—a plaintive wail. Something sounded very wrong. How could they have let her sleep here during the party? Righteous anger surged through my body. I wanted to find Eden and kidnap her—this time for good.

I ran up the stairs, carpet muffling my footsteps. Every muscle in my legs protested. I crept down the long curved hallway towards her room.

My former room.

In front of her door, I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the huge gold-framed mirror across the hall. I was a terrifying sight. My hair was like a witch’s. My face was white and dark makeup ringed around my eyes.

I set my shoes and my bundle down outside the door and eased it open. My old room, formerly plain and white, was all pink. Pink backpack on the desk chair. Pink silky bedspread on the white canopy bed. Pink and white wooden letters spelled E D E N above the dresser.

But no Eden. The bed was made perfectly.

I heard another low groan.

It was coming from Cressida’s room. It was just on the other side of the shared bathroom.

I crept into the bathroom. The door to Cressida’s room was shut tight. I pushed aside the monogrammed bathrobes hanging on the inside of the door that led to her bedroom and saw the tiny hole halfway down the doorjamb. Trevor used it to spy on me from Cressida’s room when I took showers.

When I found out, I stuck chewing gum over the hole.

The gum was gone. I peeked through it.

Murky light filtered in through the thick curtains, just enough for me to see movement in her king-sized four-posted bed, under a rumpled mess of sheets. Cressida’s head emerged at the foot of the bed just opposite my peephole and she flipped her head back dramatically. Wet, blonde hair splayed across the sheets. She was on her stomach with her eyes half closed and her mouth open.

There was someone behind her, under the bedding. She let out a loud, plaintive cry. The same one I’d heard downstairs.

A hand reached out from under the sheet, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged it back hard. She moaned and her eyes squeezed shut.

A guy’s head emerged from the twisted sheets.

And then—

The abyss.

I gasped out loud and clapped a hand over my mouth. I stopped breathing and watched, transfixed, as truth destroyed the lies I had been told. The lies I had naively, stupidly believed.

Caleb. Unbelievably, incredible, it was Caleb.

***

In astronomy class we once talked about what would happen if you flew by a black hole and got sucked in. Your body would circle the gravity sinkhole and get longer and longer and longer, stretching to infinity, until it disintegrated into atoms and molecules, trapped forever in the singularity. That’s what happened to me as I stood there watching through the peephole. I was rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

I forced myself to confirm it visually, to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I tracked each of his physical traits one by one: blond hair, muscular chest, handsome face. A face contorted into a terrifying grimace I’d never seen—jaw clenched, eyes closed, as he kept right on doing something positively animalistic to Cressida. I watched in morbid horror as Caleb grunted, a handful of Cressida's hair wound tight around one hand, the other pushing her face down into the bed. The sheet was caught low on his waist. With a final groan, he collapsed on top of her.