The Outsider: Hard Knox Part 25

Knox had late afternoon cla.s.ses on Thursdays, so I knew he wouldn't be back for at least another two hours. That didn't give me an abundance of time, but it would give me enough. If I could find something that allowed me to hold on to his innocence in this crime, I could deal with his guilt of that crime when he got home and we talked. After unlocking the door, I rushed straight into Knox's bedroom. I'd spent plenty of time in it the past couple of months, but that time had been mainly spent on his bed . . . or up against the wall . . . or sprawled across his desk . . .

His desk.

Other than the time we spent together on it, and other than the rare occasion Knox actually decided to study for an exam a few hours beforehand, it wasn't too often used. Every once in a while, though, I'd catch him staring at a certain drawer. His brows pinched together, his eyes a world away, he'd get so lost staring at it that I'd had to snap my fingers in front of his face to bring him back.

The very same drawer that was the only one possessing a lock.

I hurried across the room, fell to my knees in front of it, and whispered a silent plea that it would be unlocked. Of course it wasn't. What was the point of a locking drawer if a person didn't actually lock it? Thumping the top of the desk, I felt something I hadn't noticed when I'd come barreling in: one of Knox's many pocket knives. From the size of some of them, I wasn't sure they all fell into the pocket-knife category though. Just because a six-inch swingblade could fit into a pocket didn't mean it was a "pocket knife." This one, thankfully, was one of the smaller, less threatening ones.

Popping out the blade, I slipped it inside the lock. I may have popped a couple of locks in my time. As it was a skill every savvy journalist needed, I hadn't let myself feel too guilty over it in the past . . . but it was definitely guilt clenching my insides now. Guilt that I was about to break into Knox's private drawer and go through whatever was inside it. Guilt that I didn't have enough blind trust to flip Neve my middle finger and tell her to get bent. Guilt that a part of me, small and meek as it might have been, believed Knox may very well be the guy we'd spent months and months searching for. Guilt that that small, meek piece was whispering how he'd blinded me to what was right in front of me, how it was no wonder no evidence incriminating anyone had come up since the person helping me was the one we were searching for. I tried to quiet it; I tried to suffocate it, but I didn't know what piece of me it was or where it was lurking, so it kept right on whispering things that magnified my guilt.

It didn't take long, only a few jiggles, a gentle twist, and a sharp pop, and the drawer was unlocked. All that was left was opening it and going through the contents. Sucking in the longest breath ever, I threw open the drawer and stuck my hands inside. I wanted to get this over with.

I grasped a cool metal box, and as I pulled it out, I saw it looked like a cas.h.i.+er's box. Of course there was another lock on this box, but when I tried to open it, surprisingly, it popped right open. I was in the middle of sighing with relief, because what could be so incriminating if it wasn't protected under lock and key, when my entire body went numb.

Inside the box were dozens of pieces of paper: newspaper articles, private notes, pamphlets, and at the very top of it all was a stack of familiar photos. They were photocopies, but they were the same pictures Neve had shown me of the girls who'd reported their rapes to the school. Beneath each of their student ID photos was a date and location in Knox's handwriting. Under Beth Lewis's picture was September 15th and Alpha Kappa Kappa. Beneath Danielle Flores's picture, October 12th, Delta Theta. I flipped through the stack of photos. Each one was dated and listed some frat house.

Why did Knox have pictures of all of the date-rape victims who'd come forward? Why did he have what I guessed were the dates the incidents had happened, along with where they'd been the night they'd been drugged? Why would Knox have that information?

That small, meek piece of me ballooned. Instead of whispers, it spoke to me in a raised voice, telling me the things I didn't want to hear.

My hands shook as I dug deeper into the box. What I pulled out next fell from my hands the moment after I saw what it was. It was a booklet only the size of my palm, but it was bound in black leather. The t.i.tle The Get-Laid Handbook: Patented Date Rape Strategies and Scenarios was stamped in gold lettering across the front.

I'd stopped asking myself why any of this stuff would be in a metal box, locked in a desk drawer in Knox's bedroom. I'd stopped asking because I had the answer. My hands shook so badly I could barely rifle through the rest, but there were dozens more pieces of evidence. I found drink coasters I'd seen at parties. They were supposed to reveal if a drink had been drugged, but on them was a little yellow sticky note with the words False Tests written on it.

I should have just stopped, gotten up, and left, but I couldn't seem to stop going through the box. I was almost to the bottom. My fingers curled around a couple of small plastic baggies. Inside each was a little white pill. I didn't need to read the lettering on the bags to know what they were. On each bag, a frat house and a date had been penned in black permanent marker. Knox had roofies. He was in possession of them, just like he had been five years ago. Was I to take it that the frat houses and dates listed were the when and where he'd been distributing them?

If that was true, should I a.s.sume he'd also played a hand in me being dosed? Twice? That was when it all became too much-my breaking point. Grabbing the box in both hands, I hurled it across his room so hard it left a dent in the wall. The same wall we'd made love against last night, where he'd whispered things to me no man who'd had a hand in drugging a girl with roofies had any right to say. The contents of the box spilled all across the room. Some scattered across his bed, some dotted the floor, some propped up against his dresser, and one picture floated to the floor right in front of me, almost as if it had wings. When it landed, it nearly dropped into my lap.

My hands covered my mouth when I saw the photo. A girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen was smiling at the camera. Beside her was the version of Knox I'd seen in his mugshot earlier. His arm was draped around her, and her hands circled his wrist. His smile so closely matched the girl's I found myself doing a double take . . . but that wasn't the only reason for my double take. Or why I couldn't stop gaping at the photo shaking in my hand.

The girl's smile might have mirrored Knox's, but everything else about her mirrored me. Dark, long hair that was tucked behind her ears. Wide-set brown eyes, fuller lips, fair-complexioned, rounded chin, and a bone structure that so closely resembled mine, she looked more like my sister than my actual sister did. This girl could have been my twin back in high school. This girl probably could have been my twin now . . . and that was when I noticed what was dangling from her neck, s.h.i.+ning so brightly the flash must have caught it just right.

The crucifix necklace. The one I hadn't taken off since the night Knox had slipped it over my head. I couldn't even begin to contemplate what this picture meant-why Knox had approached me so randomly that first night or why he'd played a hand in drugging me or why he'd given that necklace to a girl who looked just like the one he had his arm wrapped around in this old photo.

A newspaper article was paper-clipped to the photo. Why I pulled it free and unfolded it, I'd never know, but I did know that I'd probably always regret it. The bold black lettering of the t.i.tle read: Teen Girl Dies from Date-Rape Drug Overdose.

I read the article. I read it twice, but other than her name and a few details, I retained none of it. I felt as if I'd reached critical ma.s.s when it came to Knox's "backstory," and I simply couldn't squeeze any more inside without exploding. Letting the photo and article fall from my hands, I forced myself up. My knees were wobbling and I couldn't feel the rest of my legs, but when I looked at the door, dying to run away, my body obeyed. I didn't look back; I didn't think about how and when I'd get my personal effects and move out; I didn't think about what this meant for the article or what this meant for Knox's future. All I thought about was getting out of there as fast as I could and putting as much distance between me and his house as this town would allow.

Taking Knox's truck would have been the faster, more efficient way to escape, but I couldn't imagine crawling back inside it and smelling his scent or being forced to remember the many intimate times we'd had in it. So I raced past it, digging the keys out of my pocket and dropping them on the gra.s.s. When I hit the sidewalk, I ran. It wasn't a jog or a moderate cardio pace; it was all all-out dash down the sidewalk that left me breathless and damp with sweat before I'd made it a few blocks. The faster I ran, the harder it was to think about Knox and everything I'd just learned, so I didn't stop running until I felt like I was going to pa.s.s out. Thankfully, when that moment came, I was near a park, and a bench under the shade of a tree was only a few steps away. My breaths came in such heavy, erratic spurts that I felt light-headed, but I made it the last few steps before collapsing on the bench.

My s.h.i.+rt was soaked through, my hair was damp, and even my sandals felt drenched. It didn't seem possible that there could be a drop of water left inside my body, but somehow, the tears kept coming. Giant, heavy tears rolled down my face, one right after the other. I cried for so hard and so long that my s.h.i.+rt had almost dried when someone came up beside me and cleared his throat.

"Bad day?" Beck gave me a sympathetic smile.

My throat felt raw, but I managed to reply, "This is something else entirely."

Beck sighed and sat beside me. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I shook my head. There was literally nothing anybody could do that would help. "What are you doing here?" I didn't even really know where "here" was.

He lifted a shoulder. "This park isn't too far from campus. I like to come here when I need to get away from it all and catch my breath, you know?"

"I didn't know this was so close to campus." I rubbed my face with my palms, wiping away a mess of tears and snot.

"You didn't?" Beck glanced at me, his forehead lined. "How did you get here?"

I doubted if I could have retraced my steps if I had a year to do it. All I'd been focused on was running fast and hard and away. "On foot. I left from . . . I left from Knox's house." I flinched when I went to say his name, as I was sure I would from now on. "I wasn't really heading anywhere in particular, but this is where I wound up."

Beck looked around, inspecting the park. "Is Knox around?"

My tongue worked into my cheek. "No, he's not around. You won't find Knox around me anymore."

"So this is because of him?" Beck's voice took on a sharp edge as he waved at me.

My silence answered his question.

"What did the b.a.s.t.a.r.d do?"

"More than I want to talk about right now." I felt more tears forming, and I couldn't do more tears right now. I just couldn't.

Beck's fists formed in his lap. "I told you to stay away from him. I warned you he was bad news and going to hurt you. Why didn't you listen?"

He sounded more was upset with himself than upset with me, but I still gave him an answer. "Because I didn't have ears to listen when it came to Knox until now." My head fell forward as I choked on a sob.

Beck muttered a curse then scooted closer and wrapped his arm around me. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry he hurt you."

I nodded, trying to swallow the sob stuck in my throat. "I am too."

We sat like that for a couple of minutes before Beck cleared his throat and asked, "Does this have anything to do with . . . you . . . you know . . . getting drugged?"

"It's got everything to do with it." I stared at the pond far off in front of us, wondering how swans just kept swimming and birds just kept chirping and kids just kept running when my whole world had come cras.h.i.+ng down. How did life continue when it felt like everything of significance had died?

"It was him, wasn't it?"

Beck's tone was so murderous it gave me chills. I couldn't answer him with words, so I nodded once.

After another muttered curse, he rubbed my back and pulled something out of his pocket. "Want to chomp and gnash your frustrations out on a piece of gum?"

I looked at him with what I was sure were two red, wide eyes. "My frustrations go way beyond taking them out on a piece of gum, but thanks."

Beck held the pack out for me and slid out a stick. "Yeah, but it couldn't hurt, right?"

With a sigh, I yanked the piece free, unwrapped it, and shoved it in my mouth. "No, I suppose it couldn't hurt."

I chomped and gnashed as he'd suggested for a few minutes while we both stared silently at the pond. Instead of feeling better, I felt something else-something worse.

"Beck . . ." My vision blurred in and out as my world tilted in an all-too-familiar way. "I feel strange." There was panic in my voice as I reached for the arm of the bench, but instead of curling around the bench, my hand grasped Beck's arm.

A low chuckle vibrated his chest. When he looked at me, my vision had a temporary relief from the blurring and I watched a slow smile slide into place. "You're supposed to."

MY HEAD POUNDED like it was being hit repeatedly with a baseball bat, but I couldn't feel the rest of my body. I felt like my body had been sawed off from the neck down, and with the way my head was hurting, I wouldn't have minded if they'd taken that with the rest.

When I tried to open my eyes, I squinted when bright white light cut through them. Where was I? How had I gotten here? I scanned my mind for my last memory, but I couldn't recall anything other than tears and feeling like my heart had been ripped from my chest. Gritting my teeth, I reopened my eyes, determined to keep them opened. The light didn't feel any less bright, but it no longer had the element of surprise, so I managed to keep my eyes open longer.

"Want another piece?" A familiar voice with a familiar face held out a familiar pack of gum. The smile on the familiar face wasn't so familiar though.

Why couldn't I remember who he was? What his name was? How I'd gotten here . . . wherever here was. When I tried tipping my head to get my bearings, I found I'd lost all of my mobility. All I could see was what was above me and in my peripheral vision.

"Although I wouldn't recommend it since one of these suckers is laced with so much Rohypnol it could knock out a rhino. The whole point of this thing was to get you on your back, not in your grave." That foreign smile stayed in place as he pocketed the pack of gum.

Think, Charlie. Push through the haze. Who is this? Why are you here with him? What is happening? The answers were on the tip of my mind-I could feel them-but trying to get them was making me almost break out in a sweat. I felt like I was pus.h.i.+ng against a concrete door, straining and bracing myself, trying to get it open even a crack so I could peek inside. Squeezing my eyes closed, I pushed so hard I started to pant . . . but I did it. I'd spied the briefest of peeks inside.

"Beck," I got out, my voice unrecognizable. Maybe it was because everything felt like it was coming through a tunnel, or maybe it was because my throat was so dry it felt close to cracking.

"Of course you would be the one to remember." His voice came from some corner of the room. "At least for now. Once you pa.s.s out again and sleep off the effects, you won't remember any of this. All you'll remember is me being the good guy offering you a hug and a few encouraging words in some park. Jagger will remain the bad guy who deserves to rot in some concrete cell."

Now that I'd managed the first recall, the rest came a bit easier. "The gum. It was what did this to me, wasn't it?"

"The latest and greatest in a guy's get-laid toolbox."

My head throbbed so hard I winced. "It was you? The whole time?"

Beck's voice echoed through the room. "Yes. And yes."

I felt a tear roll down my temple. I'd been looking everywhere else when I should have seen what was right in front of me. I should have known it was him. Somehow, I should have realized it. Knox had never been fooled. "Why?" My voice broke.

"Because I had an occasion to rise to." Beck's voice was still coming from the corner. I heard an occasional noise that sounded like he was putting something together.

My eyes were getting just enough used to the light that I could determine I was in a big, open room. From the lack of windows and natural light, I guessed it was a bas.e.m.e.nt. That Beck had dragged me into some bas.e.m.e.nt after drugging me was not one of the more comforting realizations I'd ever had. When he finally came out of the corner, carrying a video camera on a stand, any last measure of comfort left me.

"What occasion?" I croaked out. My mind raced, trying to think of what I could do to get away or impair Beck or anything that would get me out of this bas.e.m.e.nt, out from in front of that camera, and away from the monster who had once upon a time been my boyfriend.

Moving behind the camera, Beck lowered his eye to it and adjusted it a couple of inches. "You remember me mentioning that whole bit about me vying for president of my house next year?" Looking at me unable to twitch my pinkie finger, let alone nod, he made his own interpretation. "I'll take that as a yes . . . Basically, I'm guaranteed the win if I manage to meet the challenge given to me at the start of the year." He tilted his head. "Also known as s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g you-the girl I spent nearly the entire year with last year, and I barely made it to second base. The girlfriend who c.o.c.k-blocked me at every turn. The girl who broke up with me because 'our relations.h.i.+p just wasn't fulfilling her, while the entire time, literally none of my needs had been fulfilled, yet you had the audacity to break up with me?"

Beck shook his head as he came toward me. I was laid out on a raised, hard surface-what I guessed was a table. The air smelled damp and musky with mildew. The ceiling wasn't finished; wires and insulation were showing through. I focused on all of my surroundings, hoping that . . . later . . . after . . . I'd be able to recall something. I'd be able to remember some part of this so I wouldn't be the girl who woke up knowing she'd been raped but didn't have the first clue who had done it or how it had happened.

"Then you went and published that article on how you were a virgin, announcing to all of Sinclair that all those months we were together, the only action I'd seen was the soft side of my hand." Beck clucked his tongue as he undid the top few b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt. "When the brothers convened to put together a challenge for me when I announced I wanted to run for president, they barely needed two seconds before coming up with this challenge." He sat on the edge of the table beside me and touched my cheek. His touch was searing, so painful my eyes clamped closed.

I hadn't known his name was coming until it was out. "Knox."

Beck laughed. "He was such the obvious culprit I felt sure no one as sharp as you would actually fall for it, but it seems you did."

I tried to flinch away from him when he stroked my hair, but I couldn't. I was totally powerless. "What's the camera for?"

Beck stood back up and finished undoing the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt. "My brothers would hardly believe I'd finally nailed you if I didn't have proof, now would they?" He smiled at the camera as he shrugged out of his s.h.i.+rt. "Plus, it'll make a nice addition to our burgeoning collection. Of course, this would have been ten times better if I'd gotten my way a little earlier in the year when you were still a bit less"-Beck tilted his head and studied me-"jaded. Judging from the way you and Knox have been making out on campus, I'm guessing you're swapping more bodily fluids than just saliva. I won't get the virgin points, but I will get the f.u.c.king points, and that's all that matters anyway." His words echoed through the room, causing a chill to spill down my back.

"You're a monster," I said, my voice quaking.

Beck shook his head, fumbling with his belt. I caught the first glimpse of what looked like nervousness on his face. "I'm not a monster, Charlie. I'm a good guy doing what he has to do."

I was just closing my eyes and praying that Beck would be stupid enough to lower some part of himself close enough to my mouth that I could rip a chunk from him when a low, bellowing roar came from the opposite end of the room.

"And I'm the other guy. The other guy doing what he has to do."

Before Beck could leap off of the table, Knox grabbed him and threw him off. Beck flew into the camera, and pieces of it crashed across the room. Knox's gaze drifted my way for the briefest moment while Beck righted himself, and it was like Knox was seeing me in a morgue. Like all the life had bled out of me and I was nothing but a vacant sh.e.l.l.

"Knox," I whispered, forcing something close to a smile.

His eyes went black, his entire expression following as he put himself between me and Beck, who was charging our way with a piece of the camera stand.

"You sick f.u.c.k!" Knox bellowed, his body bracing as Beck came at him. "I'm going to kill you!"

Beck didn't have a chance, even with the leg of the camera stand. Knox didn't duck, dodge, or try to deflect it. He stood there, braced himself, and let Beck hit him like he'd let his punching bag hit him the night of the storm. The hit vibrated through the room, followed by a crack as the camera stand arm broke against Knox's chest.

After the hit, Knox's fists curled into b.a.l.l.s. "I hope you made that a good one, because that's the last one you'll get."

Then he charged. All I saw was Knox's fist smas.h.i.+ng into the side of Beck's face, followed by Beck cras.h.i.+ng to the ground, followed by Knox falling over Beck.

After that, I just heard a string of grunts timed to Knox's. .h.i.ts and groans as each hit connected to some body part of Beck's. A minute pa.s.sed, and Knox's. .h.i.ts were still coming fast and hard, given his steady string of grunts and curses, but Beck's groans were slowing. When they stopped altogether, I knew he'd gone unconscious.

But I was the only one who must have realized that, because the sounds of Knox's. .h.i.ts kept coming until a different kind of fear entered me. Instead of fearing for my own life, I was worried about Beck's. Knox was bigger, stronger, and had a good fifty pounds of muscle on Beck. That he'd managed to beat him unconscious in such a short amount of time meant Knox could beat him to his death in just as short a time. I hoped the judicial system was just enough that they wouldn't prosecute a man for kicking a rapist's a.s.s, but I also knew enough about the system to know that if Knox killed Beck, he'd likely serve a sentence for manslaughter. With his priors, no jury would go easy on him.

"Knox," I shouted, although it came out as a whisper. My voice had followed the rest of my body into paralysis. "Knox." This time, the words didn't make it past my lips.

A tear crept down the side of my face as I heard crack after crack, grunt after grunt, curse after curse. Closing my eyes, I blew out a slow breath and concentrated on feeling my body. I tried to slip past the haze of the drugs and wiggle my toes or twitch my finger. Another tear slipped down my face, although this one was born from frustration instead of fear. My mind was fully functional, but my body wasn't even partially. My mind was no longer wired to my body . . . And that was when a certain conversation I'd had with Knox leapt to mind-a conversation about the mind-body connection and it being as simple as the brain ordering a body part to do something unrealistic. I'd never bought too much into Knox's theory, and half the time it seemed like he thought it was a bunch of bull too, but it was the last sc.r.a.p of hope I had left.

I couldn't stop him by calling out, and it didn't sound like he was going to stop until he'd reduced Beck to a pulpy mess. With my eyes still closed, I envisioned exactly what I wanted to do, just how I needed to move, what muscles I'd need to utilize, and which body parts would have to move. I envisioned it until I felt parts of my body breaking through the haze, and before they could slip back behind it, I moved. It wasn't much and I didn't move far, but it was enough.

Managing to roll onto my side, my body balanced on the ledge of the table until it toppled over the edge onto the hard, damp floor. I landed with a few cracks of my own as a sharp rush of air escaped my mouth . . . and now my head was ducking in and out of the haze too. But as soon as I crashed to the floor, the cracks and thuds from the corner of the room halted.

"Charlie!" He didn't stop repeating my name until he crashed to the ground beside me, rolling me carefully onto my back and cradling my head in his lap. "s.h.i.+t, Charlie, no."

I was fighting a battle with my eyelids, but I managed to focus on his face for a few seconds before they closed. He looked as broken as my body felt, and then I felt something cover me. From its scent and feel, I guessed it was one of Knox's s.h.i.+rts. I hadn't realized I'd been naked.

"Charlie?" Knox shook my shoulders gently, panic taking his voice a few notes higher. "Don't close your eyes. Keep them open. Stay with me."

I heard his words. I wanted to do what he was asking, but I couldn't. I wasn't sure if the drugs were taking me under again or if the fall was responsible, but I couldn't open my eyes even if it would have saved my life. I couldn't even open them for him.

"Not again. I can't lose you like this, Charlie." Holding my head in his arms, Knox rocked me back and forth. "f.u.c.k! You can't die this way. I won't let you." His screams filled the room as he held me so close. It was like he was fighting some invisible power that was trying to take me away. "Open your eyes, Charlie. Just open your eyes, and everything will be okay. Please, G.o.d, just open your eyes." His screams ended in a whisper so ragged, I didn't recognize his voice anymore.

He wanted me to open my eyes. He wanted me to open my eyes while he held me.

My eyes never opened again in that room.

MY EYES DIDN'T open again in that ill-fated room. They opened what felt like days later, in a different place. I woke to a pounding head, an aching body, and little-to-no memory. I noticed the metal bed rails, the pastel curtain, the tray table with a pitcher of water . . . I was in the hospital. My heart sped up as panic crept into my veins. How did I get here? What had happened to put me here? Which hospital was I at? I scanned my mind for my last memory, but all that came were a few flashes of a park bench, a photo of a girl who looked like me, and a stick of gum. None of that made sense. Not a single bit of it.

The pounding in my head increased until I felt like my brain was close to liquefying. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I fumbled around my bed. There had to be a buzzer somewhere close by that would send a nurse running. I was pretty sure what my hand had just curled around was what I was looking for, but then I noticed something else in my room-a someone draped across a chair, half of his body hanging over it, while he slept. Judging from the pinched expression on his face, it wasn't a peaceful sleep.