The Girl and the Black Christmas Read online

  Now I travel from crime scene to crime scene, prison to prison, immersed in different murders, and crafting statements to society with the cases I fight and solve.

  Scanning through the classes, I catch sight of the English class where I met Julia. She was older than me by a couple of years, but only one level ahead. We quickly bonded over our shared hatred of arbitrarily interpreting literature, and in those still-early days of the rise of social media, amused ourselves by pretending to run platforms for the authors or characters we were dissecting.

  A memory of her slipping a note to me in the middle of class that offered Herman Melville’s Yelp review of a local whale watching cruise brings a smile to my lips.

  At the time, it made me laugh so hard I had to fake a coughing fit and Julia told our professor she would escort me to the Student Health Center. We burst out of the classroom and made it about ten steps before we were both doubled over with laughter. It was the kind of laughter that perpetuates itself. Even if the initial funny thing stops being funny, just the fact that you’re laughing so hard keeps you laughing.

  We got to know each other well during that class, but the next semester we didn’t share any classes, and by summer our conflicting schedules made us lose touch. Then, my sophomore year came and there she was again. We didn’t share a class, but our schedules meshed so that we crossed paths a couple of times during the week and sometimes ended up studying in the library at the same time. We set up regular lunches, and our friendship was starting to get really close. And then one day, she didn’t show up at the library to cram for the last of our final exams.

  And like that, she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thirteen years ago …

  Julia rushed out of the house, winding the scarf around her neck as she went. She’d managed to forget hers when she left her student apartment that morning, so Marissa had offered her one from the laundry to ward off the intense, biting chill taking over the afternoon as evening swept in.

  It was that time of year when the darkness came so much earlier it was practically chasing the day away. When just months before, the same hour could have been spent sitting on the front porch talking to neighbors, now it was dark enough to trigger streetlights and usher people home with a faster step.

  She was regretting lending her car to her roommate that day as she scurried down the sidewalk, then made a diagonal slice across the street to cut time off getting to the next block. Pulling the scarf closer, she burrowed her ears down into the folds and popped the collar of the coat up to create another layer to block the wind.

  The ride she’d depended on hadn’t materialized. Not that she should have been all that surprised. It felt as if it was a toss-up whether he would actually get there when he said he would, or if she would stumble on another post that would read as mundane and all but meaningless to anyone else, but she knew contained a veiled message to her.

  It wasn’t as if he could just come right out and post what he wanted to say to her. He couldn’t leave her a comment or tell the world he was planning on picking her up. He had to weave it into complaints about last-minute work or getting stuck in traffic.

  He could pick up the phone and call her, but apparently that was beyond him.

  She tried to be understanding. He had a lot going on and it wasn’t easy to juggle it all. Especially at this time of year. She just had to be patient. But it was getting harder.

  Beside her, a low brick wall crisscrossed with barren vines sectioned off a small pocket park. Come spring, those vines would explode with pink and white roses, and warm weather would draw young families from the houses out into the grass and onto the playground.

  For now, the equipment stood abandoned. Every now and then, the wind caught one of the swings at just the right angle to make it sway. In October that would have been delightfully creepy. She would have giggled over the ghost playing on the playground and enjoyed that little bit of tingly chill that came even as an adult.

  But now, with the hint of Christmas lights on nearby houses just barely grazing the chains and reflecting against the curved plastic of the slide, it just felt sad.

  Instead of thinking about that, she imagined the roses. Her fingers jumped just a little when she shoved them deep in her pockets, as her fingertips remembered reaching out and running along the velvety petals. The days had been so much easier back then.

  Julia was so lost in her thoughts about those spring days, she didn’t notice the footsteps behind her until they were so close they sent a spike of fear up her spine. Whipping around, she turned to press back against the brick wall.

  It didn’t offer her much protection. It was only up to her waist. But it gave her something to grasp.

  “Jeremy, what are you doing?” she demanded, the words forcing breath that had lodged in her lungs out of her throat to billow in the cold air.

  “I just want to talk to you,” he said.

  She shook her head and started down the sidewalk again. “Go away, Jeremy. I told you to leave me alone.”

  “Julia,” he said, chasing after her and taking hold of her wrist to stop her.

  Julia spun around and wrenched her wrist from his hand in the same movement. Her eyes narrowed to glare at him. “Don’t you dare touch me. Never again are you to even consider touching me.”

  “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  She scoffed. “Are you seriously asking that question?”

  “I just wanted a minute. Just give me one minute to talk to you. I need to explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I told you that. Go away,” she said.

  She picked up her pace as she continued down the sidewalk. She didn’t want him to see her running. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he could still get under her skin. But she didn’t want to linger on the same block with him any longer than she had to. If she could just get to the bus stop, there would be other people there. She wouldn’t have to be alone in the dark with him.

  The minute it took to get around the corner and down the block felt as if it was repeating itself over and over, but finally she made it to the slick green bench and was able to sit, sagging under the weight of how much he startled her.

  There were two other people at the bus stop, but that didn’t stop Jeremy from following her. He came around the corner at a casual stroll, his hands down in his pockets and his eyes focused ahead of him as if there was nothing in the world for him to hide from. Nothing to be ashamed of.

  When he got behind the bench, he leaned down so his mouth was close to Julia’s ear.

  “Don’t forget, Julia. I know. Don’t you think people are going to figure it out?” he whispered.

  The bus pulled up and he walked away.

  “Are you okay, honey?” an older man who had been standing beside the bench asked. “Was he bothering you?”

  Julia looked at him and shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I know him.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks. I’m really okay.”

  By the time she got back to her student apartment, the shaking had stopped, but she was still angry. It had been months of this, and she couldn’t shake him. She couldn’t shake any of it. All the questions, the lies, the suspicions, and games.

  Her roommate was standing in the kitchen when she got inside. Lynn was not her choice of living companions. In fact, Julia would have chosen just about anyone else she possibly could have. But it wasn’t her choice. The University made those choices. Unless you came to school with a ready-made roommate listed on your application and the roommate had a matching one naming you as her co-renter of choice, you ended up with whoever the hat of chance gave you.

  It was probably actually a computer program that matched based on various factors, but Julia preferred to think the housing department just stood in an office somewhere with all the names of the various people available in hats, pul
ling out the names at random to fill the dorm rooms and apartments as they came up.

  That would at least rid her of the uncomfortable feeling that she was anything like Lynn, or that even an emotionless computer could think they were compatible.

  She tried to be friendly with her. She tried to get along and make the months ahead of them as easy as possible. That was why she agreed to lend Lynn her car even against her better judgment. But even that wasn’t good enough.

  “You owe me thirty-six dollars,” Lynn announced before the door to the apartment was even locked.

  “Excuse me?” Julia said.

  “You owe me thirty-six dollars,” her roommate said again, stirring something brown and sludgy in a pot on the stove.

  “Care to tell me why?” Julia took off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall by the door.

  As she unwound the scarf from around her neck, Lynn looked over and her eyes locked on the garment.

  “Is that your scarf?” she demanded.

  “I borrowed it because it was cold and I had to walk to the bus stop because I lent you my car,” Julia said, emphasizing the words to make a point.

  Lynn stared at the scarf for another few seconds, indecipherable emotion flickering across her eyes before they went angry again.

  “Yeah, you did. And I ended up having to take a taxi,” she spat.

  Julia looked over at the kitchen counter where she had left her car keys earlier that day. They were sitting there again, but not in the same spot where she’d left them.

  “My car works perfectly fine,” she said.

  “If you have gas in it,” Lynn said. “And it didn’t. So, I had to call for a ride.”

  “Are you kidding me? I said you could use my car, not that I would fund the trip for you. Putting gas in it is your responsibility if you want to drive it.”

  “If you lend someone your car, they expect that they’re going to be able to go where they need in a timely fashion. I didn’t know you were so negligent about putting gas in your car and I wouldn’t have had the time to stop by a gas station anyway. It would have made me late.”

  “But you had the time to wait around for a taxi to get here?” Julia asked.

  “The driver was very prompt and drove me where I needed to go. I was still almost late. Which wouldn’t have happened if your car lived up to expectations and had gas in it when you lent it to me. Therefore, you owe me forty dollars.”

  “It was thirty-six a few seconds ago,” Julia pointed out.

  “I gave him a tip,” Lynn said.

  “I don’t care if you gave him syphilis and a backrub. I’m not paying for your damn taxi. And you’re a terrible tipper, which I hope he spreads around to the other drivers.”

  Lynn turned off the burner, moved the pot of unidentifiable goo and stormed out of the apartment with an exasperated, angry growl. Julia went into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. She closed her eyes and took a long breath to try to relax.

  Maybe she wasn’t going to be able to get through her last year after all. It was always the plan, but this was getting to be way too much. She needed a change. If nothing else, she needed to figure out where life was really supposed to take her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Now

  Steering clear of social media isn’t new for me. I briefly tried to jump on the bandwagon when it first came out, but I quickly learned I wasn’t particularly good at it and fell off the back of that wagon, never to climb on again. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t collect my fair share of pictures.

  I’ve always liked holding onto memories. I don’t like to say I’m sentimental. For some reason that word strikes me as disingenuous. It feels like the type of word people use to put a nice spin on something. Like when a woman is described as a devoted collector, or high-strung, when what they really mean is she’s a hoarder or bat-shit crazy.

  Of course, someone can truly be a collector. There are certain personalities that really are on the shrill side. But those words never come out right, and that’s how I feel about “sentimental”. It makes me think of someone who is overly emotional and attached to things for no particular reason.

  If I cling, I cling for a reason. Which is why I might not have joined the social media trend but welcomed easy access to the cloud with open arms. Somewhere floating above me in whatever the cloud actually is are hundreds of pictures, stashed away over the years to make sure I can hang onto those memories no matter where I am or what I may have lost.

  I bring my computer out of my office and into the living room where I sit down in my favorite corner of the couch and access the galleries of pictures. I’ll admit I don’t spend a lot of time browsing through the pictures. They’re there and I know they’re there. That’s usually enough.

  But right now, I need to see them.

  I open a folder I haven’t touched in years. Inside is another world. Another lifetime. Spanning across four years, these are the still, crystallized moments of my time at the University.

  I scan through them slowly, watching myself travel from the months after graduation through moving into the house my father chose so I could be close to campus. It’s strange to see the images of that house now. I lived there for more than a decade, but it looks almost unrecognizable in the earliest pictures. Empty and painted in a variety of awful colors I’m glad we changed immediately, it’s a far cry from the home we created.

  A few pages of pictures later, I find the first one of Julia. She’s laughing, her head tilted back so the sunlight streams through her hair. A bright blue sky filled with soft clouds reflects on dark sunglasses. She’s wearing the vibrant shade of lipstick she always put on the mornings of test days. She always said the color gave her more confidence and helped her do better on her tests.

  That must have been during the second week of class, when our English teacher gave us what she referred to as “just a little assessment to get our feet wet,” and which turned out to be an exhaustive test on material she stuffed into three classes that almost everyone failed.

  That’s probably why she’s laughing. It was just so epically bad.

  I smile and keep scanning through. Some of the pictures have captions, but most don’t. They’re just there. Captured in that exact moment so I can look back on it. I don’t need to know exactly what was going on or have the insight of who I was right then telling me what to think of the picture.

  What matters is it happened. She was there.

  After a while, I set the computer aside and start working through my list of what needs to get done today to get ready for the holiday. There’s still cleaning and decorating to do, and I need to get that jumpstart on the food.

  A few hours later, the house is filling with the smell of sweet potatoes steeped in brown sugar and I’ve managed to find all the dishes and flatware for the meal. We’re just going to have to not eat at the dining room table at all until Thursday. It’s officially in Thanksgiving mode and won’t be touched until the big day.

  Needing a break, I grab a plastic container of chopped vegetables I keep stashed in the refrigerator and go back into the living room. My intention is to watch a few of the Thanksgiving cooking shows Bellamy and I always loved to watch and that play on repeat throughout the season. But I’m drawn back to my computer.

  I’m still scrolling through the pictures when Sam gets home. As usual, he goes straight for the refrigerator. This time he chooses cider and warms it up before coming to sit beside me.

  “What are you looking at?” he asks.

  “Pictures from when I was in college,” I tell him. “I haven’t looked at them in forever.”

  He leans closer so he can look at the screen. “I haven’t seen any of these. You look so young.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s funny, I don’t really think of myself as that much different. Not that I still think I look that young or anything. Just that when I look in the mirror, I don’t notice the changes. I guess that’s the same for ever
ybody. I just don’t remember looking like that, or when things started to change. But when I look at these pictures, I think about every single year that’s passed since then.”

  He points at the screen. “Is that Julia?”

  I nod. “Yeah. We went to a little pocket park in one of the neighborhoods to have a picnic. She invited one of her friends and he said he was going to bring his dog along, so Julia stopped on the way to the park and got a package of these really expensive dog cookies that were made with human grade ingredients and look like they came from a bakery.”

  “Did she have something for that guy?” Sam asks.

  “I don’t think so. At least, she didn’t say anything about it. She was more wrapped up in the dog. She gave him one of the cookies and then was talking about them and we all decided since they were human grade, we should taste them. I can still remember sitting there on that picnic blanket with this elaborate spread of food around us, nibbling on dog cookies,” I say.

  He laughs. “Were they good?”

  “I mean, they tasted like cookies,” I chuckle. “Maybe not as sweet, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think it might have offended Julia a little that her friend ate the whole thing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she made all the food,” I tell him, laughing. “This is right around when she was toying with changing up her studies and doing culinary. She never really talked about any other potential career with the same enthusiasm and excitement that she did about cooking. But it was funny, she talked about it as if it was some sort of secret. As if she should be ashamed that she wanted to do it.”

  “Maybe her family was pressuring her to do something else,” Sam says.

  I nod. “Maybe.”

  “What is it?” he asks a few seconds later. “You look as if something’s really bothering you. Is it still just that she left school without telling you?”

  “I don’t think that’s what happened, Sam,” I say.