Page 76 of The Debutantes
For a moment, I wonder if this was a terrible idea—if we’re all about to look into the eyes of the man who killed Margot, or at least a man who helped cover it up, only to end up just like her. Gone. Silenced. Three more misbehaved debutantes, girls who just couldn’t be saved.
But then I remember that, for once, we have the upper hand here. There are three of us and one of him. And he’s pissed, probably afraid of what would happen if my picture gets out, but us?
We’re angry.Enraged.And we’re done with this bullshit.
I step forward, camera raised. “This is what you want, right?”
The Jester comes closer. Piper flinches, but Vivian comes to my side, standing even taller. Then, after a moment, Piper follows suit, lifting her chin.
“Come on,” I say. “Come and get it, then.”
The Jester is close enough that we can see his real eyes behind the plastic. Blue. He takes two more steps. Another.
And then he lunges.
I rear back, almost tripping over my own feet. Vivian steps in front of me, putting herself between me and the Jester. He reaches again, but Vivian catches his arm. She grasps for his mask, almost getting it, but he shoves her, hard, to the ground. And now that she’s down, he’s coming at me with the force of a man who’s nearly been beaten by a girl.
I want to fight back—need to fight back—but terror has seized my body, my voice, silencing every thought except that he’s coming closer. Closer. I brace myself, eyes closed.
And then, a scream. Not mine.
His.
I open my eyes, and the Jester is doubled over, hands pressed to his face. Piper stands in front of him like some kind of war goddess, sparkly pink pepper spray outstretched.
But he recovers too quickly, standing up straight and glaring at us with squinting, teary eyes.
Eyes that are locked again on my camera. On the evidence inside it.
I realize what’s happening at the exact moment he pounces, gloved hand outstretched, and suddenly, I’m back in my own body, and I do the only thing I can think of: I swing my camera back and crack it against the side of his face.
He falls back, legs buckling under him as he hits the ground. A shocked gasp hisses out of me, echoed by two more.
“Holy shit,” Vivian breathes.
“Holyshit,” Piper echoes.
“Holy shit.” I stare, gaping, feeling almost powerful. I clutch my camera, giving it a quick check for any injuries, but she’s sturdy, the old girl. I allow myself a small burst of pride.
Then the panic kicks in. He’s crumpled on his side, not moving.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “Oh my god, I killed him.”
But then he moves, pushing himself up onto his side with a groan.
“JesusChrist,” he hisses, locking eyes with me. “What the—”
Piper raises her sparkly pepper spray again, ready to strike, and he holds up a hand in defeat.
“Oh my god, Piper,stop,” he barks, and it’s so familiar, it stops all three of us in our tracks.
He reaches with a gloved hand to pull off his own mask, and Wyatt stares back at us, a red welt already burning on the side of his face.
29PIPER
JANUARY 2, 10:30P.M.
The sequence of emotions goes something like this.
