Alyson ël - Saving Zoë

Abby comes back with the water, and after taking a quick sip, Teresa looks at me and hesitates. “Should I continue?”

And since I have no idea where this is going, I really don’t know how to answer. But I also don’t feel like I can just kick Abby out, not after the way I’ve treated her. So I just shrug, letting Teresa decide. Then she takes another sip and goes, “Okay, so anyway, I decided to check out his bedroom, since the fact that he warned me not to snoop just made me want to do it even more. But then the second I open the bedroom door, I know where all of his money goes.” She looks at us and rolls her eyes. “He’s got this huge, four-poster bed, with these serious-looking, black leather restraints attached to all the posts, and there’re these two video cameras on tripods, and they’re both pointing right at the bed. I mean, there’s got to be like thousands of dollars’ worth of video equipment in there, like he’s making home porn or something. Anyway, I got so freaked out, and I knew I had to get out of there while I still could, and just as I was about to leave I noticed this huge stack of videos all lined up on a shelf, each one labeled with different girls’ names.” She looks at Abby, then me, and takes a deep breath. “And when I saw the one labeled ‘Zoë/Carly,’ well, I just grabbed it and ran.”

She shakes her head and looks at me. “I didn’t sleep the entire night cuz I was so scared about everything that happened, and everything that could’ve happened, and what he might try to do to me if he notices the missing video. And I really needed to see you, but then when you didn’t come to school today…” She shrugs, looking back and forth between me and Abby.

I glance at Abby, who’s sitting there completely still, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, then I look at Teresa and say, “What’d you do with the tape?” And I watch as she reaches into her big green tote bag, then hands it to me.

“You should burn it,” she says. “You should get rid of it so no one will ever find it.”

I turn it over in my hands, wondering if I will.

Tm so freaking scared,” she says, starting to cry now. “I mean, what if he notices it’s missing, then tries to come after me and retaliate or something?”

I close my fingers around the tape, pressing it hard into my palm. Then I look at her and say, “You have to call the cops. You have to make sure he pays.”

“I know,” she whispers, nodding her head, her eyes filled with tears.

“But then everyone’s gonna know your business, and everyone’s gonna talk:7 But she just shrugs. “I know that too.”

The second Abby and Teresa leave, I run up to my room and shove the diary and tape between my mattress and box spring, placing them side by side, having no idea what to do with them but wanting them out of my sight. Then I pace back and forth between my bed and the french doors, wondering what I should do.

On the one hand, I know they contain evidence of yet another horrible crime against Zoë. Something she felt not only responsible for, but terribly ashamed of. And it makes me so sad to know that she viewed it that way, because even though he didn’t hold a gun to her head, Jason still drugged her and tricked her into doing something she never would’ve otherwise done. Not to mention that he’s an adult, one who was well aware of the fact that Zoë and Carly weren’t.

But I also think my sister had been through enough. And I’m not sure I can drag her memory — not to mention my parents — through all of this too.

Tm gonna go to the cops and tell them everything,” Teresa had said as she stood on my porch, right before leaving. “But I won’t say a word about Zoë. I swear. I mean, there’s probably plenty of evidence to convict him, so I doubt they’ll even need it. Besides, I feel like I owe you, I mean you did try to warn me and all.”

“What do you think I should do?” I asked, looking from her to Abby, who for practically the first time ever had no advice to give.

“Forget it,” she’d said, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m out. This stuff is way over my head. I had no idea you guys were living these dangerous, top-secret lives.”

I looked at Teresa, but she just shrugged. “Up to you. But I promise not to say anything you don’t want me to.” And as I closed the door behind them, I remembered Marc, and I knew I had to find him.

I flip open my cell and dial his number, listening to it ring so many times, I’m about to give up. But when he finally does answer, I get straight to the point. Tm sorry,” I say. “For so many things. But I really need to see you now, and it’s actually pretty urgent. Do you think you can come by?”

He tells me he will, without once asking why.

I throw my peacoat over my ratty old sweats, shove my feet into some boots, pull a beanie onto my head, wrap a long, wool scarf twice around my neck, then reach under the mattress and grab the video, slipping it deep into my coat pocket. Then I purposely avoid looking in the mirror as I unlock my french doors and reach for the tree.

Obviously, I’m not trying to look cute for Marc. Because whatever weird attraction passed between us is now clearly over. At least it is for me. And I’m pretty willing to bet that it is for him too.

Because I think 1 finally get how my trying to be like Zoë — and Marc and I trying to be together — was just one more failed attempt to save her. And the truth is, Zoë is dead. And even though it’s almost unbearable to finally admit to the “D” word, if I truly want to move on then I can no longer avoid it.

But now I’m wondering if there might be another way to save her. Now I’m wondering if I should just burn this tape and save her from yet another starring role as the poster child for bad choices. Or if maybe I should turn it in, so they can add it to the stack of evidence and make sure Jason pays.

But the weirdest thing is, I feel like it’s Marc who can finally help me. Out of all the people I know, he’s the only one who can help me decide.

I reach for the thickest branch, grabbing hold of it with both hands even though it would be a whole lot easier just to go downstairs and use the front door. But I know this is probably the last time ill ever do this. And because of that, I want to get it just right.

I swing my body toward the trunk, gripping it between my knees and hugging it firmly as I shimmy all the way down to the ground, so quickly and effortlessly it’s as though Zoë’s right there beside me, nodding encouragingly and cheering me on.

Then I run to the corner and wait, blowing on my hands since I forgot to wear my gloves, and jumping from foot to foot in an attempt to stay warm. And when a bright red MG pulls up and brakes right beside me, it’s a moment before I remember it’s Marc’s.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over and opening the door. “You okay?”

I nod my head and climb inside, grateful for the warmth of the car and the strange comfort he provides. Tm sorry about earlier, I just—”

But he just shakes his head and lifts his hand to stop me. “No worries,” he says, pulling away from the curb and turning onto the next street.

But I don’t want to be cut off like that. I mean, I owe him an apology. Lots of people owe him an apology. But I can only speak for me. “I finished her diary,” I tell him, forcing myself to look right at him, even though it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. “I guess I got a little caught up along the way, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry I doubted you, and I’m sorry my sister doubted you, and I’m sorry this whole stupid town doubts you. But right now I need your advice, and you’re the only one I can trust.”

He parks in a spot that faces the lake, and we remain in the car, gazing quietly at the water before us until I take a deep breath and remove the tape from my pocket, presenting it in the palm of my outstretched hand.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, his eyes turning dark, just like the other day.

“From Teresa,” I say, my voice steady and sure, despite the erratic beating of my heart. “She swiped it from Jason’s.”

He grabs it, surrounding it with his fist and lifting his arm as though he’s gonna toss it out the window or something. But just as quickly his body crumbles, his back hunched over in despair and defeat. “I should’ve known,” he finally says, his head against his hands, his knuckles pressed to his forehead. “I should’ve fucking known.”

“Known what?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper.

“That he kept a copy.” He raises his head and stares at the lake. “I have now truly failed her in every single way.”

“Don’t,” I say, reaching toward him, my hands fumbling, unsure, watching as he drops the tape onto his lap, his hands rubbing his eyes so roughly it scares me. “Don’t say things like that. No one could have saved her, and it’s time we all realized that. You read the diary, you know what I’m talking about.”

But he just turns to me, his face red and raw, his eyes filled with pain. “That day at Teresa’s?” he says. “When you were wondering what Jason gave me? What I had in my pocket? It was this. It was another copy of this” He picks up the tape and shakes his head. “I knew something happened that day, but Zoë refused to tell me. Then about six months after her funeral, when the guy’s finally caught and the whole media circus is getting a second wind, he calls me up to tell me that he’s got something I might want, and how he’s willing to sell it for just the right price. Only the price kept changing. And every time we’d meet he kept dicking me around for more and more money. Just naturally assuming that my parents’ wealth had anything to do with me. I had to sell off all the bonds my grandparents gave me, using up all the money I was saving for Zoë’s memorial. But that day at Teresa’s, he finally settled. And I just kept telling myself the whole entire time that even though it may not be the memorial I’d planned, I was still

preserving her memory.” He laughs then, but it’s not a funny laugh. It’s more the cynical kind. The world-just-keeps-getting-worse-and-worse kind.

“Why didn’t you just go to the police? They could’ve handled it for you,” I say.

“Maybe I should’ve.” He sighs. “But at the time, I just couldn’t risk it. I mean, for Zoë, not me. You hear what people say, and I couldn’t stand to put her through that again. Believe me, my life isn’t all that important anymore. I only wanted to protect her.”

“Don’t say that,” I urge, gripping his arm, but he won’t look at me, he’s back to facing the window again. “Zoë would’ve hated to hear you talk like that,” I add. “You know it wasn’t her fault, you know she never consented.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs. “People believe what they want, and I just couldn’t put her through that again.” He turns to me, his eyes clouded with anguish.

“How much did you give him?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You don’t want to know. Let’s just say it was enough to wipe me out until I turn twenty-one and take control of my trust.”

“What kind of memorial were you planning?”

He looks at me and smiles. And it’s so nice to see his face like that I wish it could last. “A little bench. Placed right over there,” he says, pointing toward the lake. “Right in front of the water, where we always used to sit. So that people can come and relax and feed all of her ducks for her.”

I reach toward him then, cupping my hands around his cheeks, bringing his face toward mine. Then I close my eyes and kiss him. But not the same kind of kiss as before, not like I’m trying to claim something that was never meant to be mine. I kiss him lightly and quickly and briefly, because he loved my sister. And because he’s paid such a high price for it.

When he drops me back at my house, he looks at me and says, “So what should we do with the tapes?”

I take a deep breath. “You know, there could be other copies,” I say. Then I tell him about Jason and Teresa.

“Oh, God.” He shakes his head and looks away.

“But I still think I should hand it over.” And when I say that, I realize how I suddenly feel sure of myself for the very first time since I got involved in any of this. “Because what happened to Zoë isn’t her fault. The only thing she’s guilty of is having a dream. And I think we owe it to her to believe that.”

He nods, then hands me the tape, and as I open the door and crawl out of the car, I say, “But last night, when you said that about hurting me too’? What did you mean?”

He looks at me, his eyes wet with tears. “I failed her, plain and simple. And by allowing myself to get involved