Alamort

23. Saint

Bad Things - Cults

T hese days, I spend more time in my room in front of the constant hum of my computers, searching for anything that will point me in the right direction. Bennett brought up the need to push Priya a little further. All of us can agree that we’re not happy with the results this far. It’s been almost a month at this point and there’s nothing to show how we’ve promised to honor Tyson, our best friend. My eyes wander from the glowing computer screen to the photograph of the four of us, like a bright patch of color against the dark surface hanging on the wall, flanked by heavy curtains. The summer when we were 16 and carefree. Now, everything feels like it’s falling apart without him. He was our glue. He saved us, and in the end, we couldn’t save him. Sadness tugs at my heart, but I push it away. Actions speak louder than words.

“All right?” Malice questions to see if I’m okay and when I don’t answer, he continues. “ Are you daft, mate?” I make a face at Malice, thinking calling me dumb will get me to answer. Just because he’s taken the role of protector, doesn’t mean he’s always pleasant. He hates being ignored.

My hands rub up and down my tired eyes as I make my way to my perfectly made bed, thanks to Malice and his need for cleanliness. Malice’s insistence on cleanliness has resulted in a spotless room, with everything meticulously dusted and clothes neatly put away. He left my blue thinking ball on the nightstand. The only thing that is messy is the computer desk that I refuse to let him touch.

Lying back on the king size bed, the navy blue down comforter welcomes my body into its embrace. “No. I’m stuck. I feel like I’m failing Tyson and the boys. No matter how hard I look, I can’t find any new information. Everything is about her father’s successful career, her sister’s achievements, the charity events that they’ve thrown. I’ve even hacked into her old school database. Not one mistake in the past four years. She’s like a fucking ghost.” Agitation shows through my usual calm when I throw a pillow at the wall. It lands with a soft, unimpressive thud onto the hardwood floor.

“Did you mop the floors?” The lemon scent in my room is more noticeable now that I’m not staring at an electronic device.

“ Yeah, throwing a wobbler will help you figure it out.” He ignores me. The disapproval of my behavior is evident with his bored tone.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do, Mal?” Gritting my teeth to ask because it’s what this fucker wants. He knows something.

“ I’m glad you asked, mate. You’re stuck behind a computer when she’s just a walk away. Instead of getting all cheesed off, go observe her .” He brings up my irritation and says the simplest thing. Observe. Meaning…

“What have you found out, Malice?” I implore.

“ Bloody hell, all this revenge plot. But you blokes have no idea what you’re doing. ” Smug satisfaction rings in his voice. Nothing better to him than being one step ahead. It’s annoying. He’s supposed to be on our team. My team. Instead, he’s playing games with me. “ All right, I’ll tell you something . But after that, take a look in the mirror. You’re knackered. All work, no play, makes Malice a dull boy. That’s how that saying goes, right?” Rolling my eyes at his clearly botched proverb.

“Have you seen her eat?” Trying to picture the few times I have seen her in the cafeteria, it’s always something light. A salad, eggs, seafood, maybe some chicken now and then, but she always has a glass of water. I nod. He’s waiting for me to connect the dots myself. She hates good food? No, Mal wouldn’t waste his breath for that. She’s obsessed with her figure? My fingers tap against each other, callouses rough against the next, starting at my pinky. Thumb to pinky, thumb to my ring finger, and so on. Eating disorder? It’s possible. It’s small, but it’s something.

An idea strikes me. I jump across the bed to grab her cloned phone off the charger to go through old messages. We assumed since she was away from her family, there would be an influx of text and calls, but that hasn’t been the case.

I pull up her text messages. Her most recent text is to her sister. Clicking on the thread, I start from the most recent message and scroll up. If circumstances were different, I’d probably feel a bit sorry for Priya. Hundreds of text messages from Priya to her sister go unanswered. The ones of her pleading with Addison to just talk to her or give her a sign that she’s listening make my stomach sink. Others act like she’s giving a daily update about her life. Some messages are angry and filled with hurt. Most of them are simple ‘I love you’s, that go ignored. Damn, she must’ve done a number on her sister to be iced out completely. Months and months. Not a single reply. Not a “fuck you” or “Don’t talk to me”, just radio silence.

Her next thread is her father, Robert Carter. He himself is a shitty human being and politician, currently in the run for senator. He’s always been a greasy shitbag. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was an even shittier father. He never sends a text longer than one word. There isn’t a single word of affection for Priya. Daddy issues?

The phone dings in my hand, alerting me to a new text message. I watch in awe at the accuracy of my software and programming work with ease. A little pride thrums through me. Priya adds a new number to her contacts. River. I’ve seen the two girls smitten with each other since Priya’s arrival here. It’s no surprise that River’s hacking and computer skills almost rival my own. It would suck to see a fellow techie become a casualty in a war she has no part in.

Priya goes to River’s message. She sent her a video. There’s a man in all black with a hat covering his face from the view of the camera, so I can’t tell who he is. At first, I think it could be one of the guys, but this is something they’d tell me. Whatever he tapes to the door has Malice bugging to come out. Blinking twice, I can feel the switch flipping. The world switches to silence and my eyes fall closed.