Dangerous Boys

I don’t answer, I just wait.

‘After that, I thought, it was my fault.’ Annette continues, glancing down. She twists her rings around her fingers, the gemstones catching in the light. ‘He could tell I didn’t want him, so he was doing it to punish me. I deserved it. But then, Ethan came . . . ’ Her face relaxes. She looks across to his body, tender. ‘He was a dream. So sweet, he would lie there, cooing for hours. He was my boy, my good boy. And I thought, maybe Oliver wasn’t my fault, after all.’

Her lips press together determinedly and that’s when I realize, she’s absolved herself. If this sounds like a rehearsed speech, it’s because it is. All these years, she’s been waiting for the call: waiting for the day when she’ll have to explain herself. Justify her choices. Lift herself neatly off the hook of responsibility for anything that Oliver became.

‘I couldn’t leave them alone together,’ Annette continues, her face clouding at the memory. ‘Oliver was still just two, three years old, but already . . . I had to answer the door to the mailman once, I left them together in the crib. When I came back, Oliver was twisting his arm, just, pulling it further and further while Ethan howled in pain. I asked him why he would do that, why he would hurt his brother. He just stared at me. “My toy,” he said. “Mine.”’

Annette shudders.

‘All these little things. Signs. Finding the hamster dead in its cage, its head smashed in with a rock. Ethan would have strange bruises on him and, Oliver, he always knew what to say, how to be cruel, to twist the knife. I kept them apart, I didn’t take my eyes off them, not for a second, and as soon as he was old enough, I got Oliver away.’ Annette’s expression brightens. ‘We were moving so much for Derek’s work, I told him it wasn’t fair, to keep pulling Oliver out of schools when he had so much potential. I planned everything. Those boarding schools damn near bankrupted us, back then, but it was worth it to keep my boy safe. Of course, there were always reports from the schools,’ she adds dismissively. ‘Incidents with his friends, feuding . . . There was a suicide, his junior year. A boy jumped from the roof, and I always wondered . . . ’ Her face twists, a look of perverse pride. ‘But Oliver was smart, smarter than anyone. They never got anything on him. He stayed gone, living the high life with all his rich friends, and Ethan was just fine. Safe at home, with me.’

She pauses, looking up with an accusing stare. ‘Until you.’

The New Year dawned, crisp and bright. Ethan and Oliver’s family went out of town for the holidays, visiting family in Colorado. Mom and I ate Christmas dinner at the diner, then watched the New Year’s Eve celebrations on TV, sitting together under a blanket on the couch, like we had done every year since I could remember.

But this time, it was different. Everything had changed.

All week, Ashton’s death had been the only thing on my mind, haunting me. I read that newspaper article over again, turning up the volume on the TV whenever the news reports came on. Part of me couldn’t believe that Oliver had killed him; the other half saw it made perfect sense. But still, all I had were suspicions, waiting, half expecting someone to challenge the official verdict and demand answers.

But of course, nobody did, and soon the reports were replaced with holiday gift guides and celebrity breakdowns, and stories about polar bears mating at the national zoo.

At first, I’d felt guilty. I should be guilty: horrified that I could have done that to him, even worse, to have been complicit in his death. This was a man with family and a future, and now he was nothing but flesh and bone rotting in a grave somewhere.

Because of me.

I even visited the cemetery. I snuck in, one dark rainy evening, and stood over his grave, waiting for the guilt and misery to wash over me, even a small dose of the regret I’d felt for Crystal, but instead I felt something else, a clear, sharp burst of satisfaction.

Ashton had deserved to die. I was glad he was gone.

The knowledge settled around me, a thick cloak knitted from the terrible secret I could never tell. I knew I must be an awful person to be this way, but once the realization came, I didn’t fight it any more. I sank into it, reveling in the thought, wondering just what Oliver might have done to end him.

Did he beg, the way I’d begged him? Did he fight for his life?

No, I decided. Oliver wouldn’t have got his hands dirty. It would have been swift, an unfair fight. Caught by surprise, just as he thought he’d escaped from me.

I hoped he regretted ever assuming I would just lie back and give him what he wanted.

I hoped he died thinking of me.

Ethan arrived home and called me right away. We made plans for that night, but Oliver found me first, like I knew he would. I was running my route around the lake, my breath fogging the early-morning air, when he fell into step beside me, matching pace for pace.

I didn’t speak for another mile until I felt the burn in my lungs and slowed, bending double in a clearing.

‘Did you have a very merry Christmas?’ Oliver asked, arch as ever.

I straightened up. ‘No,’ I replied, studying him. That night had shifted something between us too. I wasn’t intoxicated any more, breathless and off-balance. I still felt the curious pull, that desire snaking through me just to look in his eyes, but there was clarity too; hard-edged, cautious.

I knew his secret, and he knew mine, too.

‘Anyone ask any questions?’ Oliver began walking, and I followed through the woods. The path was frozen, but we hadn’t had snow for weeks. ‘About your dear professor.’

‘What kind of questions?’ I replied quickly, looking around. ‘It was an accident.’

Oliver turned, his lips tugged upwards. ‘Nobody’s here, Chloe. You don’t need to act the fool with me.’

His eyes met mine, dark and victorious. The truth was there, clear as day.

He’d done it.

He’d killed Ashton.

A wicked thrill spiralled through me ‘It was a tragic crime, miles away.’ I said carefully. ‘Nothing to do with us.’

He gave me an amused smile. ‘Someone’s learning fast.’

I held his gaze, bold. ‘I had an expert teacher.’

He laughed, walking for a moment before he spoke again. ‘You know, there was a chance you’d go running to your sheriff the minute my back was turned.’ Oliver said it conversationally, but I detected the faint thread of tension in his tone.

‘What would you do?’ I asked, on edge. ‘If someone did come asking about it.’