The Video
Nathan sent the address at 8:14 Friday morning. No good morning. No hey, sorry I hung up on you last night after admitting I buried evidence in the disappearance of our friend. Just an address.
I looked it up. Coffee shop downtown. Public. Neutral. Plenty of witnesses in case one of us decided to commit a felony before breakfast. Honestly, it was exactly where I would’ve picked too.
I got there fifteen minutes early, mostly because I’d slept like shit and had been ready for almost an hour. Nathan was already inside.
Of course he was.
He sat near the back with a black coffee in front of him and his phone facedown on the table. No laptop. No briefcase. No expensive-lawyer uniform either. Jeans. Button-down shirt. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked more like the Nathan I remembered that way, which somehow made this worse.
I stopped beside the table. “You look terrible.”
He looked up at me. “So do you.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Mara.” His voice was low and tired.
I sat across from him. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything, and I hated that silence even existed between us. There’d been a time when Nathan and I knew each other well enough that I could walk into the bathroom while he was peeing and continue whatever argument we’d been having without either of us caring. Now we were sitting across from each other like two people meeting with divorce attorneys.
Nathan studied my face for a second. “You should stop writing the story.”
I laughed. “Did Claire send you?”
His jaw tightened. “I told you, I haven’t talked to Claire.”
“Then why does everyone suddenly want me to stop writing?”
“Because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, that’s becoming a theme.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
A server came over, saving Nathan from whatever irritated response he had loaded and ready. I ordered coffee I didn’t really want because sitting in a coffee shop with nothing in front of me felt weird. Nathan waited until she walked away, then leaned forward.
“Who is @LenaLived?”
I almost laughed again. “You tell me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
His eyes moved away from mine. Barely. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.
I did. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You looked away.”
“Mara.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“No.”
“Do you know why they know about 12:17?”
Nothing. I watched his face.
“The bracelet? The porch light? Blackwater?”
His jaw flexed. There it was.
I sat back. “You know what all of those things mean.”
“I know what happened.”
“Great. Then this should be a really short conversation. Tell me.”
Nathan looked out the window instead. People walked past carrying coffee and talking on phones. A woman stood outside with a golden retriever while she dug around in her purse. Normal Friday morning. Meanwhile, I was sitting across from a man I’d known since I was nineteen waiting for him to tell me what he’d buried the night one of our best friends disappeared.
Totally normal.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you,” he said.
“But you did.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
He finally looked back at me. “Because I’m tired.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d expected. “Tired of what?”
He didn’t answer. I folded my arms. “Fine. Let’s start with the easy one.”
“There is no easy one.”
“What did you bury?”
Nathan closed his eyes. Not for long. Just a second. When he opened them, he looked different. Defeated, maybe.
“The phone.”
I stared at him. “What phone?”
“Lena’s.”
For a second, the whole coffee shop seemed to fade out around us.
“You buried Lena’s phone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked down at the table. “Because Claire told me to.”
There it was. Claire. Of course it was Claire. I felt something settle low in my stomach.
“When?”
“That night.”
“Before the police came?”
“Yes.”
I leaned forward. “Where?”
Nathan looked at me like maybe he could still talk me out of asking questions. “Do you really need to know that?”
“At this point? Apparently I need to know everything.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Behind the shed.”
And just like that, something flashed through my head. Dark yard. Wet ground. Nathan kneeling. Mud on his jeans. A shovel.
My breath caught. Nathan saw it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mara.”
“I said nothing.”
“You remembered something.”
“No.”
He stared at me. I sighed. “Maybe.”
Nathan went completely still. “What did you remember?”
“Not enough.”
“Tell me.”
I actually laughed. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Sit here giving me one sentence at a time like you’re charging me by the word and then expect me to tell you everything happening in my head.”
His expression hardened. Then softened just slightly. “Fair.”
“Thank you.”
My coffee arrived. Perfect timing. I wrapped both hands around the mug even though it was too hot and looked at Nathan.
“Why did Claire want Lena’s phone buried?”
He didn’t answer. And suddenly I knew.
“There was something on it.”
The smallest change crossed his face. Barely anything. But enough.
“Oh, shit.”
Nathan looked around the coffee shop. I lowered my voice. “What was on the phone?”
“Not here.”
“You picked here.”
“I know.”
“Then talk.”
He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his coffee cup. I recognized the habit immediately — Nathan used to do the same thing with beer bottles, peeling the label off in little strips whenever he was nervous. I hadn’t thought about that in years.
“There was a video,” he finally said.
I stopped moving. “A video of what?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Bullshit.”
“It isn’t.”
“You buried her phone because of a video you didn’t even watch?”
“I saw part of it.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
I gave him a look. “You’re going to have to retire that word today because I’m already sick of it.”
Nathan almost smiled. Almost. Then his face closed again.
“The video started earlier that night.”
“How much earlier?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who recorded it?”
“Lena.”
That made sense. Back then, Lena recorded everything. All of us did, really, but Lena was worse about it. Dancing. People passed out. Drunk arguments. Owen doing bad impressions. Nathan attempting things that usually ended with someone needing ice. We were nineteen. Everything felt temporary. Disposable. It never occurred to any of us that someday those stupid little videos might be the only record left of something important.
“What was she recording?” I asked.
“I think she’d had it going for a while.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You know how Lena was.”
I did. My skin prickled anyway.
“Did she record the argument?”
Nathan looked at me. I already knew.
“Yes.”
“With Claire?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
My mouth went dry. Chapter Four came back to me — the line I’d written without knowing where it came from.
You don’t get to decide what happens to me.
I stared at Nathan. “Did Lena say that?”
His expression changed. “What?”
“That night. Did Lena say, ‘You don’t get to decide what happens to me’?”
Nathan just looked at me. Too long. My heart started beating faster.
“She did.”
I looked away. Coffee cup. Table. Window. Anything but Nathan.
“How the hell do I know that?”
He didn’t answer. I laughed quietly and rubbed my forehead. “Right. Sorry. Stupid question.”
“Mara.”
“No.” I pressed my fingers into my temple. “That line came out of nowhere. I wrote it. I thought I made it up.”
“You didn’t.”
I looked at him. “I don’t remember hearing her say it.”
Nathan’s expression softened. I didn’t like that. Actually, I hated it.
“We were drinking,” he said.
“Stop saying that.”
“It matters.”
“It explains forgetting where I left my shoes. It explains why I once woke up wearing one earring and somebody else’s sweatshirt. It does not explain an entire night disappearing from my head.”
“Mara, none of us remembers that night cleanly.”
“You remember more than I do.”
“So does Claire.”
Interesting. I leaned forward. “What else was on the video?”
“I told you. I only saw part of it.”
“How much?”
Nathan sighed. “Enough that Claire panicked.”
There was Claire again. Always Claire.
“Did she watch the whole thing?”
“I think so.”
“And then she told you to bury the phone.”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
Nathan gave a quiet laugh that didn’t have anything funny in it. “Because I listened.”
That sat between us for a second. Claire told him what to do. Nathan did it. And suddenly @LenaLived’s message came rushing back.
She always did tell you what to do.
My stomach tightened. Nathan noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making that face like you remembered something and then saying nothing.”
I stared at him. “That’s rich coming from you.”
He looked down. “Fair.”
“Did Owen know about the phone?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did I?”
Nathan didn’t answer. And there went my pulse again.
“Nathan.”
He closed his eyes. “Not at first.”
I set my coffee down. “What does that mean?”
“It means you found out.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“That night?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed. “How?”
Nathan rubbed both hands over his face. He looked exhausted.
“Claire told you.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t stop asking questions.”
A pressure started behind my eyes. Not pain exactly. More like something trying to push its way forward.
“What questions?”
“Where Lena was.”
I stopped. Neither of us moved. Behind us, the espresso machine hissed. Someone near the door laughed. All of it sounded very far away.
“Where was Lena?”
Nathan’s face shut down. “No.”
I blinked. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not doing this part yet.”
“Yet?”
“You’re not ready.”
I laughed. Actually laughed. “You don’t get to decide that.”
The second the words came out, we both froze.
Lena. Not the exact sentence. Close enough.
Nathan looked at me like I’d hit him. I probably looked the same way.
“That wasn’t funny,” he said.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
Nathan pushed his coffee away. “We’re done.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes.”
“You asked me to meet you so you could tell me you buried Lena’s phone, and now suddenly we’re done?”
“You called me.”
“You sent the address.”
“Because you wouldn’t stop calling.”
“Because somebody told me to ask what you buried.”
Nathan froze. Not subtly either. His whole face changed. I watched it happen.
Fear.
“Who told you that?”
I stared at him. “You know who.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Say it.”
“@LenaLived.”
The color drained from his face. Not movie-style pale. He didn’t turn white or start sweating dramatically. Just enough. Enough that I saw it. Enough that it scared the shit out of me.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“You look terrified.”
“I’m not.”
I almost rolled my eyes. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Mara.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“No.”
“Then why did you react like that?”
Nathan stood. I stood too. He lowered his voice.
“Stop talking to that account.”
I almost smiled. “You and Claire really are made for each other.”
“I’m serious.”
“So is she.”
“Whoever is behind it knows too much.”
“So do you.”
“Yes.” The word came out hard enough to shut me up.
Nathan looked at me, and for the first time since I’d walked into the coffee shop, he didn’t look irritated or evasive. He looked scared.
“There are things about that night that only a few people could know.”
“Four of us.”
His eyes stayed on mine. “No.”
A chill moved slowly over my skin. “What does that mean?”
Nathan picked up his phone. “I have to go.”
“Oh my God, if you say that one more time—”
“Mara.”
“Who else knows?”
He didn’t answer. I grabbed his arm. Not hard. Just enough to stop him.
And for half a second, I wasn’t in the coffee shop anymore. Someone grabbing someone. Too tight. Dark nail polish. Mud. Lena crying.
Then it vanished.
Nathan looked down at my hand. I let go.
“Sorry.”
He didn’t move. I took a breath.
“What else was on the video?”
His face changed again. There was something there that I hadn’t seen before. Something worse than fear.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Nathan.”
He glanced toward the door. I stepped in front of him.
“What was on the video?”
“I can’t.”
“You told me you agreed to meet me because you’re tired.”
“I know.”
“Then stop making me drag every single word out of you.”
His jaw tightened. I lowered my voice.
“You buried Lena’s phone because there was a video on it.”
“Yes.”
“Claire watched it.”
“Yes.”
“You saw part of it.”
“Yes.”
“It recorded their argument.”
“Yes.”
“And there was something else on that video bad enough that Claire wanted the entire phone gone.”
Nathan said nothing. My heart thudded against my ribs.
“What was it?”
He looked at me. Really looked at me. And for a second I could see nineteen-year-old Nathan again. Mud on his jeans. Fear in his eyes. But there was something else too.
Pity.
That was what scared me. Not guilt.
Pity.
My voice came out quieter than I meant it to. “What was on the video?”
Nathan swallowed. Then he said one word.
“You.”
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