Going Dark, page 8
Josh whisked me into the crowd and it swallowed me whole. The heat of hundreds of people, both living and dead, pressed on me from all sides. I lost myself in the music as Josh’s hands wrapped around my waist. All hesitations he’d had about coming here had evaporated. He’d been nervous beforehand, but something in him had shifted too. There was confidence in his grip around my body, the way he pulled me into him. I couldn’t see his eyes through his mask. I couldn’t hear him, even if his lips were right against my ear. All that was left of Josh was the grinning skull, smiling at me through the dark, his arms solid and sturdy beneath my fingers. The faceless bodies around me, masked and anonymous, slithered and slid around us like demons.
Club Nightmare truly lived up to the name. It felt like a fever dream, as if I were walking through a nightmare conjured by an evil spell. And I wanted more. I was drunk off the danger.
Everything about this place should have made me feel uncomfortable. From the mere claustrophobia of being trapped underground, packed into a small room with hundreds of strangers, suffocating behind an overpriced Venetian Carnival mask. And yet, Josh’s hand on the small of my back, his steady assurance that he was still there calmed me. Death itself could not reach me here, for I was touching it first.
When I die, hopefully sometime far in the future, I wouldn’t mind being buried here among the watchers of Club Nightmare. Place my skeletal remains among the masses, let me become the six million and one. Scatter my bones to lead the way for future travelers, roaming the path between life and death, let my hands hold a candelabra, let my spine support the chandelier, let my skull smile at those who smile back.
I can’t wait to get to Rome, but my soul is back in those catacombs.
AmeliaAimlessly YouTube Channel
Day in the Life - Vlog #515
Uploaded on July 29
[HD: Amelia is on a high-speed train. She’s curled up in a row of seats near the window where the French countryside is whizzing past. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and her hair is up in a messy bun, but she doesn’t look sloppy. She’s just casual enough that she looks cute, rather than lazy. I can’t help but wonder how long it really took her to get her hair like that or to put on her makeup. Why do we expect everyone who posts stuff online to show only their best self?]
Amelia: Sleepy day on the train! I’ve never been on an overnight train before. Josh is off getting some snacks for us at the food cart. He doesn’t know a lick of French, so I think it’ll be a fun surprise what he can manage to order. [laughs] We’re making our way from Paris, and we’ll be here on this train for the next half-day or so. The motion of the train is oddly comforting, like being rocked to sleep. Let me know if you’ve ever been on an overnight train before! The rest of the world is spoiled by public transit while those of us in the States have to rely on cars to get us anywhere. I actually love this. I’m so jealous. See, these seats fold down to make one bed, and then, up here is a bunk. There’s a ladder here. I get to sleep on the bottom bunk and Josh gets the top. I know what you guys are wondering, are we that serious together? No, not yet. We’re taking it slow. I think it’s so great how so many of you watching and following along with these videos care so much.
[HD: Amelia intercuts her video with B-roll of the train. The vibration of tea in a paper mug, trees whizzing past the window, Amelia fluffing up the sleeper-car pillow. Amelia writes in a journal and reads from her book, an old and well-used copy of Peter Pan, and it looks like the aesthetic of my dreams. To travel like her would be so much fun. But not everyone can do what she does. I think a lot of her appeal is that people want to live vicariously through her. She’s doing the thing everyone says they want to do more: travel the world.]
It’s so crazy to think that we’ll be in Rome soon. My dream is finally coming true, it’s really happening. To be honest, I was a little afraid at first, coming here with Josh. I wasn’t sure if this was something I wanted to do. I know it sounds backward, but I was scared that if I finally achieved this one thing, what else would there be to look forward to afterward, you know? What else did I have going forward? It’s like when people peak in high school, and they look back at their past and can’t move on. I don’t want to look at this trip and think this is where I peaked but at the same time . . . I can’t help but feel like I’m going to wake up any moment and it’ll be over.
I’m just a little lonely, that’s all. I don’t know what my future has in store. I don’t want to talk to Josh about it, just because I don’t think he’d understand. [Amelia sighs.]
They say all roads lead back to Rome and I wonder if any roads lead away. Maybe there’s an untried path for me. I know I’m nervous, but I want to make sure that I can find new dreams after this one. I have so much to do still. So many adventures. I can’t help but feel like I’m Wendy Darling, soaring with Peter Pan off to Neverland. “Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning!” This is only the beginning.
PART 3
NUMBER-ONE SUSPECT
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JOSH
Josh peered through the blinds, pushing them apart with his fingers ever so slightly to get a look out the window. The car was still there, parked inconspicuously. The driver, only a shadow, moved behind the wheel, where he’d been all morning.
The police were watching him.
“He still there?” Derek asked.
“Yes.”
He turned back to Derek, who stood behind him, his arms folded across his chest, like he was giving himself a hug.
“Listen,” Josh said, “I know what this looks like—”
“What this looks like? Josh! Why was Amelia’s blood in your suitcase?”
Ever since they’d found it, the cops kept his suitcase as evidence in their investigation. But without a body, they didn’t have enough to hold him at the precinct. They let Josh go, both parties understanding that Josh was now Suspect Number One, and they would be watching him. They’d had an undercover cop car and eyes on him ever since, in case he tried to skip town.
“Derek, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with that, I swear. If you don’t believe me, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to get through this.”
“I believe you, I really do, but you have to be honest with me, bro. Why was Amelia’s blood—”
“I don’t know!” he snapped. Derek’s face immediately morphed from concern to shock. Josh had practically bitten his head off. He took a moment, then another, and put his hand on top of his head, grounding himself. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . sorry. I’m under a lot of pressure right now. Kind of freaking out.”
Wide-eyed, Derek said, “I can see that.”
Josh took another second to breathe. He felt like the world was slipping out from under him and he had no control, nothing to grab onto to steady himself, and all he could think about was Amelia. “I feel like I’m going crazy. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch her! You know me!”
“I know you’re a good guy. You and Amelia are perfect. But I’m not sure how much my opinion about you counts with the police.”
“It’s absurd. All of this. I don’t know what blood they’re talking about. I have no idea how that got there . . .” He racked his brain, trying to find an explanation.
Derek was doing his best to be helpful. “What if this is all just one big misunderstanding? Do they know if it really is Amelia’s blood? Why weren’t they able to tell right away, like you see on TV?”
“It’s not like that in real life. They had to send it to a lab to get it tested, and even then it could take weeks, there’s such a huge backlog.”
“So they’re going off it because of the blood type test? Is that it? No other evidence?”
“They’re looking for their suspect, and they’ll use whatever methods they have on hand.”
Derek swore under his breath. “So, what, they’re not going to arrest you—just watch you? Is that really how they’re going to spend their day? Don’t they have other stuff to do?”
It was true, Josh felt like a prisoner in his own home, even when he knew he’d done nothing wrong. How Amelia’s—or someone’s—blood got in his suitcase was completely beyond him, beyond understanding, beyond reason. No matter what he said or did next, it would make him look guilty and it was starting to drive him mad.
At least Derek seemed be on his side for now, but trying to convince the internet, basically the whole world, that he was innocent was getting harder and harder each day. What happened to “innocent until proven guilty”?
Josh looked out the window again, peeling back the blinds. The shadow in the undercover cop car was moving around. It was lunchtime, no doubt they were enjoying a sandwich and whatever else a stereotypical cop on a stakeout would eat.
“This sucks,” Josh said.
“Have you called your folks? Maybe they can help.”
“It’ll break their hearts.” Josh’s own ached. “There’s nothing to tell. I didn’t even tell them I was dating anyone . . . I wanted to wait ’til they came for parents’ weekend in October.”
Hearing the weariness in Josh’s voice, Derek dropped the topic. “What about school?” he asked, pivoting.
“I’m still figuring that out. I don’t exactly know how to tell my profs that I’m involved in a murder investigation.”
“You should tell them something.” Derek took a seat on their couch, his fingers locked together, elbows on his knees. “Otherwise it might be a bigger mess down the line.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I should go to school.”
“Is that really such a good idea? I mean . . .”
“Well, what is it then? I don’t know what to do! What would you do if you were in my shoes?” Josh asked.
Derek shrugged. “I’d try to help find Amelia.”
“I can’t exactly do that, can I? She won’t respond to my texts, or any of my emails. I can’t fly to Europe either—they’ll think I’m fleeing the country. If I sit at home all day, scouring the internet for anything that might help, I look guilty. ‘Why is he hiding? Doesn’t he want to show his face? He’s up to something.’ If I go out and try to live a normal life, I look guilty. ‘Look at him, he’s not even trying to help. Doesn’t he care about her? He’s up to something.’ I can’t win.” Josh pulled himself away from the window and flopped on the couch next to Derek.
Derek cringed once Josh had laid out his entire conundrum. Everyone looked at the boyfriend when a beautiful, talented, smart girl went missing.
“It still doesn’t make sense about Amelia’s blood . . .”
“It’s not Amelia’s blood!” Josh’s own blood pressure was through the roof. “It can’t be! I didn’t do anything! Derek, man, come on! Please!”
“Fine, fine. If it’s not your blood, and if it’s not her blood, whose is it then? Do you think the cops planted it there?”
Josh had heard of worse things before. Several famous cases had made the news about how police planted evidence to convict innocent people of crimes they didn’t commit, provided physical proof of their guilt for a jury, sentenced helpless people to rot in prison for years, all because they wanted to get their prime suspect behind bars. It looked good for a department to close cases, even if they’d seemingly gone cold. Sometimes police—anyone with that kind of power really—felt pressure to get the bad guy, even if it meant jumping the gun.
“It’s possible but . . . I have no idea what happened.” He shook his head, remembering Amelia’s face before she’d attacked him.
Derek asked, “You never blacked out? Or got so angry you forgot . . . ?”
Josh gave him a withering look and Derek held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I only ask because I want to help you. It’s not enough to say you’re innocent. You gotta do something to prove it.”
“Literally impossible,” Josh said. “How do I prove I didn’t do something? How?” He knew he sounded desperate, but the walls were closing in every minute he was stuck in the house. Anxiety ate away at his insides and he felt like he was going to implode.
Derek sighed. “My dad’s got a friend, a lawyer, you might want to—”
“No lawyers!” Josh jumped to his feet.
“Josh, dude. Stop. A lawyer can help.”
Josh had started pacing, rubbing the stubble on his face. “It makes me look guilty.”
“If I were you, I’d rather look guilty with a lawyer’s help than guilty without one. You said it yourself: You look guilty either way.”
Derek was right, but Josh didn’t want to give in. As the days passed and Amelia remained missing, it was looking like something really had happened to her, something that was beyond Josh’s control. If a lawyer could help him with the blood, Josh could at least start proving his innocence and finally get to the truth.
Josh stopped pacing and took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said. “What’s their contact info?”
On campus, Josh felt all eyes on him, burning into the back of his skull like hot irons.
Talk about Amelia’s disappearance cast a shadow on the student body, and the moment Josh walked into the police precinct with blood in his suitcase, he had become persona non grata.
News of her disappearance had hit the mainstream. So little was known about Amelia’s background—or even where she was from, which only added to the mystery surrounding her. So far the media had kept his photo out of the articles, but word had spread quickly on campus about him.
In Abnormal Psychology, no one wanted to sit next to him, as if he were contagious or perhaps he would lash out and anyone unlucky enough to sit next to him would go missing next. Two hundred or so classmates and everyone was watching him. Word spread fast at San Diego State, and Josh couldn’t hide, even if he sat in the back of the atrium.
Strangers Josh had never spoken to, let alone even stood close enough to exchange air molecules, kept glancing at him between taking notes on their laptops. Josh tried to focus on his own notes, tried to get back to a sense of normalcy, but he couldn’t focus on anything. Everything was always about Amelia, Amelia, Amelia.
Time was ticking, and the longer she stayed missing, the more pressure would be put on Josh, crushing him to death.
He’d set up email alerts whenever Amelia’s name was published online. His inbox had been inundated for days. He ignored the lecture and looked through all the articles.
A recent one in particular caught Josh’s eye, making all his muscles stiff. A woman had been interviewed by a gossip magazine, Talk Now. The article was titled: Suspect in Amelia Ashley disappearance exhibited inappropriate behavior on plane after disappearance, witness claims. Appalled by the lie, Josh opened the article and read it. It included a photograph of the woman, the one he recognized from 13F on the flight home.
Josh could barely hold it together long enough to read her quoted statement:
“I got a sense that Josh Reuter—I didn’t know his name at the time—had been acting strangely. It put me off immediately and I only learned about what happened to Amelia later. That poor girl! I saw his photograph on Sarah Speck’s Insta and I just knew he had done something. He kept smiling at me on the flight, creepy, like he was watching me. It gives me chills just thinking about it!”
Josh had to close his laptop before he exploded. The internet was full of speculation and rumor and straight-up lies. Amelia walked off on her own and Josh was left dealing with the blowback.
He’d only smiled at that woman on the plane. He didn’t even talk to her. That stupid smile of his was going to get him killed.
He stormed out of the lecture hall, ignoring his classmates’ stares. Coming to school had been a bad idea.
At home, he couldn’t rest. The unmarked police car was still out there and Josh felt like he was trapped in a cage. He threw himself down on the living room couch and got to work. The woman from 13F had said she’d seen something on Sarah Speck’s Insta, so he went to her account to see for himself.
When he opened the app on his phone, his heart stopped.
Sarah had posted his face in her stories, a picture taken from Amelia’s blog post when they went out on their first date. She’d inserted his name and an arrow pointing at his stupid smile. He stared at his own face, completely dumbstruck, until Sarah’s story switched over to Sarah talking to the camera.
“Everything is happening so fast,” she said, the hashtag #WhereisAmeliaAshley overlaid on the bottom of the screen. “I spoke with the police about Amelia’s disappearance because I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. I heard a fight between Josh and Amelia days before she went missing. Several witnesses at my house can verify this. It’s horrible. I’m starting to worry that something terrible has happened. I told the police everything I know. Josh Reuter isn’t telling the truth. They found blood in his suitcase that might be hers and that can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
Josh dropped his phone and it clattered to the floor. Munch walked over and sniffed it, tail high.
Lies, all lies. Everyone would believe her. And no one would believe him. He was powerless and now Josh was everyone’s new favorite villain.
His face would be everywhere. He couldn’t hide. The dogpile had started.
His fingers were stiff and cold, his chest felt too small for his lungs. It was like a bad dream and he wanted to wake up. All he had was a charming smile that was losing potency every single time someone uttered the question: Where is Amelia Ashley?
Reality seeped into his bones. Panic flitted through his thoughts. She was gone.
Without Amelia, or any sign of her, it wasn’t a matter of he-said, she-said, but he-said, and she’s-missing. It didn’t take a grade-A detective to figure out that something wasn’t adding up.
He picked up his phone from the floor and forced himself to do the one thing he didn’t want to do: call his parents. His father, who answered, said the same thing Derek had said:
