Jessica

“I’m going to work,” I shout to my parents. It’s Sunday afternoon, and they’re sitting on the back porch, eating shrimp cocktails. They want me to lie low until we hear back from the detective about what’s going to happen to me, but I have a shift at Layers. Besides, Marcus took the bait. Tonight is the night.

“Come straight home after,” says Mom. She attended her monthly book club luncheon today, and she’s rosy-cheeked from the wine.

“Don’t forget to reset the alarms after you get inside,” Dad adds. “Love you.”

Before Tegan went missing, we were like everyone else, we never locked our doors. “I will! Love you too.”

I drive straight to Layers with a queasy stomach. If Marcus doesn’t chicken out, I’ll see him tonight, alone. God, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I owe it to Jake to try to get that missing camera.

When I reach the sandwich shop fifteen minutes late, I rush through the door. Amara is off today, so I’m working with Simon. “Sorry I’m late. Has it been busy?”

“Does it look busy?” He’s painting his fingernails black.

“You’re not supposed to do that in here.”

“It’s low-odor polish.” He blows on his nails to dry them. “Besides, it’s been dead since I got here. No one wants a sandwich today.” The western horizon is dark, and another dreaded lightning storm from Mexico is supposed to make landfall next week. Thick fog crossed the bluffs this afternoon, and when it’s gloomy outside, either we get a mad rush or everyone stays home. Looks like they stayed home today. After a beat, Simon adds, “We’re low on Swiss cheese.”

“I’ll cut some.” In the back room, I start slicing and then restock the Swiss and American cheeses, cut more turkey, and put away the avocados for tomorrow. Simon serves a customer who takes their food to go, and I do homework in between cleaning the countertops and sweeping the floor.

“Another light just burned out in the parking lot,” Simon says, peering through the large front window that overlooks our little Crystal Cove strip mall. “Maintenance needs to fix that shit. It’s not safe when it’s dark.”

A half hour later, he glances at the clock. “Time to go.” In October, Layers switches to winter hours, but until then, two people are on shift until seven, and then I’m alone until nine.

“Don’t forget to sign out,” I remind him.

“Have fun doing your homework,” he sings as he shoves open the door, letting in a blast of cold air, and then he vanishes into the fog.

I hate the last two hours of my shift. Even on a good day, customers rarely want sandwiches between seven and nine, so it’s lonely and boring, and I’m the one stuck with the cleanup. The best part about the last two hours is getting paid to do homework.

But tonight I can’t concentrate. I pace, sweep the tiles, and keep one eye on the door. My text to Marcus went like this: I found your number in Shawna’s diary. She wrote about the party. I know what you did. I included the photo of Shawna’s journal that I took at her house.

Marcus: whos this

Me: Jake’s girlfriend Jessica. I want to make a trade

I explained what I wanted, and he agreed to meet me. Marcus made me swear not to involve the police, and I made him swear not to hurt me. I believe we both lied.

After staring at the glass front door for an hour, I turn to put the mop away, and that’s when the bell jingles. Marcus hunches through the doorway wearing a gray baseball cap, a stained plaid flannel over a gray T-shirt, and faded jeans with dirty cuffs. His head is down and the cap shields most of his face, exposing only his lips and cleft chin. His fingers twitch against his jeans, and without looking at me, he asks, “Are the security cameras off?”

“They don’t record,” I answer, my heart thudding.

“Show me.”

I expected this, so I lead him to the back office and show him the camera screen. The record light is off. Through lowered lashes, I inspect his clothing for gun- or knife-shaped bulges. He appears unarmed.

Marcus grunts and we return to the sandwich counter. Lifting the bill of his cap, he meets my stare head-on. His eyes are the same light gray as his T-shirt, and he flicks them nervously across my body. “I remember you from the party. Big ass, pretty face, no sense of humor.” He waits for a reaction, gets none, and goes on. “So why do you want a camera that shows your man banging another chick?”

My stomach gurgles, but I keep my expression flat. It hits me that he doesn’t look tired; he looks haunted. In that second, I believe he murdered Shawna. I reel backward as he talks.

“You say my girl confessed everything?”

“Yes.” My bladder shudders as it does when I lie.

He peers at me harder, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Fuck me! You’re the chick from the cave; you turned me in.” He reaches for me.

I fly backward and flatten myself against the wall. “No. Yes,” I sputter. Oh god, he looks like he wants to murder me. “I’m sorry. I got scared, but then I thought we could help each other.” Lies, lies, lies!

He beckons with his hands, eyes bouncing all over the shop. “Fuck you. Just give me the diary. I need to see it.”

“Show me the camera first.” His jaw muscles flutter, and then he pulls a miniature camera out of his front flannel pocket and holds it up, out of my reach.

“You didn’t answer me before,” he says, his sour breath blowing across my face. “Why do you want this?”

I sidle against the wall toward the back office because I’m going to need a head start when the time comes to act. “The FBI erased the online footage, but Jake and I know it still exists in that camera. I want it for him, so he can destroy it. He’s not proud of it.”

“He fucking should be.”

Anger flushes out my nerves. I want to ask him if he put Tegan in the poolside bench, if he pushed Shawna off Falcon’s Peak, and if he set up the live broadcast at the party, but I can’t because then he’d know that I don’t have the diary and that Shawna didn’t confess anything. Not in enough detail to get him arrested, anyway. Stay focused, Jessica! Don’t react.

“I like that you’re loyal to your boyfriend,” he says, snatching a piece of my hair and smelling it. “I wish Shawna’d been more like you. She was going to spill everything. I’m not going down for what that bitch Tegan did to your boyfriend. I was just the middleman.”

I tug my hair out of his hands. “Middleman for what?”

Marcus lowers his voice to a growl. “Just get the fucking diary. Now.”

My heart bangs in my chest, I’m breathless. “It’s in the back office. I’ll get it, and you can read it while I check the footage on the camera.”

He snatches my arm with his free hand and squeezes hard. “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m going with you.”

Panic crawls through my belly, and I rip my arm out of his grasp. “I’m not supposed to let anyone back there and I already broke the rule once. Just wait. I’ll be quick.”

Our eyes clash and I’m trembling, but I can’t chicken out. I need to help Jake, to redeem myself. I lower my fingers toward a button hidden below the cash register.

Marcus grows skittish. “What are you up to?”

Before he can stop me, I smash the emergency button. There’s a loud click as the front door locks shut.

“What the fuck?” He rushes to the door and rattles the handle. Security bolts have slid into the metal framing, locking him inside the store.

“Jessica?” he snarls.

The owners installed the system six years ago after a gunman attacked a nearby strip mall. It allows employees to lock themselves inside the shop without having to approach the floor-to-ceiling glass storefront and risk getting shot or seen. It’s meant to keep the bad element out, but in this case, I want to keep him in.

Marcus charges me.

I sprint toward the back office.

“You fucking bitch!”

As I pass the sandwich counter, I slide across the damp tiles that I mopped twenty minutes ago and slam into one of our refrigerators. It wrenches my shoulder, and I slip onto my rear with a yelp.

“Come here!” Marcus skids around the counter that separates us, eyes locked on mine, lips drawn back.

Oh no! I try to stand, slip again, and scurry toward the office on all fours.

When his sneakers hit the wet tile, he falls harder than I did. The camera slides across the floor toward me and I snatch it. “Fuck!” he cries.

The tile is layered in grease, and when it’s damp, it’s like walking on ice. Marcus crawls toward me and reaches for my leg.

I kick at his hand and he misses. As I yank my body through the doorway into the office, he reaches again and his fingers curl around my ankle. He jerks hard, dragging me toward him.

“No!” I toss the camera into the office and clutch the door trim with my fingers. As he tugs my body, my grip begins to slip. I kick at his head and neck with my free leg, making him curse, then heave the rest of my body into the room and slam the door on his arm, crushing his wrist.

Marcus shrieks with pain.

I slam the door two more times—Bam! Bam!—whacking his wrist bone until he lets go of my ankle.

“I’m going to kill you!” he screams.

The door bangs shut, and I lock it. My breathing fills the small office. My heart hammers; my stomach loosens and floats. There’s a small metal desk in here and a tiny industrial window that doesn’t open. I grab the landline and dial 911.

Outside, Marcus pounds on the door, cursing and threatening me.

“The police are coming!” I shout, just as they answer the phone.

He retreats while I explain what happened to the operator. Next I hear Marcus attacking the front windows. It sounds like he’s battering them with our plastic chairs. Over and over, I hear the shock of his swings, but the tempered glass doesn’t break.

I pick the camera up and sit with my back against the wall, trembling hard. I did it. I not only got the camera, I caught Marcus too. My ankle and shoulder throb, and I can still feel his fingers gripping my skin. A few tears slide down my cheeks from the shock of it all.

Then I hear police sirens outside and exhale in relief.

It’s over.