14 Ways to Die Read online

  The bottom falls out of my world every time I think that.

  Sometimes I imagine my life if Mom was the one left behind, and I feel guilty because I know things would be different.

  She wouldn’t have broken down like Dad did. She would have fought through her pain and lived on.

  Chapter 8

  When they arrive, I lead Adrian and his colleague into the living room and pray that Dad hasn’t changed his mind.

  “Mr. Simmons,” Adrian says, holding out his hand.

  Dad takes it like a robot, does the same with the girl, and then looks at me.

  “So,” I say, “where do we sign?”

  Adrian laughs. “Someone’s eager!” Then he says, “You’re very brave for doing this.”

  I’m not sure who he’s talking to, so I smile, and Dad does his best impression of happy.

  Adrian says, “This is a wonderful setting.” He’s walking around the living room, going over to touch things, then stopping at the last minute, nodding to himself, and pointing at random places.

  The girl must know why, because whenever he points, she writes something on her iPad.

  “This is my assistant, Lauren,” Adrian says.

  She looks about my age, and when she rolls her eyes, I smile and imagine her being Adrian’s boss one day.

  He has a slap-worthy grin on his face, and he’s treating our living room like a movie set, but that’s a small sacrifice if it means finding the Magpie Man.

  When we sit down, I grip my hands together in my lap, hoping no one sees them shaking.

  “We’re here to explain the process,” Adrian says, “and to ensure you’re fully aware of the…all-encompassing nature of the show.

  “This is about five young adults who have experienced something extraordinary. People with stories to tell. It’s the first reality show of its kind truly for the online generation. The camera crew will start filming before Jessica wakes up. At least that’s what the audience will think. We’ll stage that part. Unless you’re a heavy sleeper. There will also be a highlights package, available the following day. We’ll edit Jessica’s best moments and post sixty-minute videos on her channel every Tuesday morning.”

  Dad looks at me and says, “You agreed to this?”

  I nod and think back to our conversation last night. He listened to what I had to say. He sat in silence as I explained why this could help us find answers.

  “If I reach enough people, I might actually find a witness or a clue or something,” I’d said. “We can do this. All we need is a platform.”

  He didn’t reply for a long time, and when he did, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  “I’ll talk to them,” he’d said. “But no promises.”

  Seeing Dad’s concern, Adrian stands up and holds his arms out. “This is powerful…an inside look at the life of a grieving family that refuses to be broken. A girl fighting back, seeking justice for her mother.”

  I catch him sneak a glance at my parents’ wedding photo above the fireplace and imagine how many times that will be shown on screen.

  Adrian can’t contain his excitement, and I realize I was always going to be chosen. My patched-up family and its missing piece are gold dust, and I suddenly feel better, because if that’s how he feels, maybe the audience will too.

  I’m sure Adrian thinks this is just about me telling my story, that wanting to catch my mother’s killer is a great hook. But he doesn’t know how serious I am…or what I’m prepared to do.

  Dad is slowly reading the contract, taking in every word. He stops every few pages and asks a question, rarely looking happy with the answer but continuing on anyway.

  “Which school principal in their right mind would agree to this?” he asks.

  Adrian smiles and says, “Every school involved is being paid well for their participation.”

  “Would you let your daughter do this?” he asks.

  Adrian doesn’t reply for a while, like he’s drafting the answer in his head, then he says, “If I had one, I’d be wary too.”

  “Then why should I say yes?”

  “Because this is a chance to tell her story. Something good might come out of it. Mr. Simmons, this show might even help people.”

  Dad glances at me, and I wonder if he sees through Adrian the way I can. Finally, he lays the contract on the table and says, “We’re going to need some time.”

  Adrian smiles, but it wobbles at the edges. “We don’t have much of that.”

  Ignoring him, looking straight at me, Dad says, “There are some things we need to discuss.”

  Adrian and Lauren exchange a look, then stand. “There’s a get-together on Saturday,” Adrian says. “It’s a chance to meet the other stars.” He calls them that, not me.

  Adrian looks at my dad and says, “I understand this is difficult. But we wouldn’t have picked Jessica if we didn’t think she’d be a hit.”

  Dad stares at him, and I see a flicker of his fight. “I said we need some time.”

  Chapter 9

  When they’re gone, I stand in the doorway, watching Dad holding the photograph of Mom he keeps within reach.

  It was taken before I was born, my mother looking at something off-camera, her lips slightly parted. She looks stunning, blissful, safe.

  I remember her in a million different ways, depending on how I feel or who’s telling the story or who took the picture. This is Dad’s memory, but like all the others, I’ve adapted it and made it my own.

  I wonder what he thinks as he stares at it: if he feels sad that she’s not around to make these decisions for him, if he blames her absence for my actions. Maybe it soothes him, because he hates having strangers in the house. Or maybe it’s just habit, the face he turns to whenever he’s alone.

  I clear my throat, and he slides the photo into the side of his chair and looks up.

  “They’ll watch you sleep?” he asks.

  “It’s faked. We let them in, and I pretend to wake up. It’s not as bad as it sounds. And the cameras stop filming at midnight. I’ll be in control.”

  Dad shakes his head, but I keep going.

  “I have a chance to do something. We have a shot at justice.”

  Dad’s shoulders sag, and he breathes deeply. “There’s no such thing as justice.”

  He reaches for the remote, but before he can end this conversation, I say, “No! I’m not letting you ruin this.”

  He looks at me with genuine shock, because this isn’t how we speak to each other anymore. We don’t shout. We don’t disagree. We used to, when he soaked up my anger like a sponge. But over the last few years, we’ve learned to live in a quiet kind of turmoil.

  Dad doesn’t deserve my drama, but today is different. If he doesn’t sign the contract, another parent for another applicant will, and I’ll lose my chance.

  “There is such a thing as justice,” I say. “We’ve never seen it, but it exists. And this show might be our only chance. It’s been ten years, and he’s still out there. He’s still killing, and he won’t stop unless something changes.

  “Remember what Mom used to say, about making yourself the hero of your story? This is our story, and we need to try.”

  I see the tears forming in Dad’s eyes, and I could stop, but I’m done stopping.

  “We could have three months to remind everyone what happened to us. We can put our story everywhere, talk about it every single week, and ensure it stays newsworthy. And we could do what the police couldn’t. There are clues out there, Dad. Someone knows something.”

  I go to him and pull the photograph from the chair cushion and hold it up.

  “She wants justice,” I say. “She needs it. We all do. Please.”

  I let the last word hang there, begging to be rescued, until finally, Dad takes the photo from me, stares at his favorite memory, and say
s, “Okay.”

  Chapter 10

  You have to murder at least three people to be called a serial killer. The Magpie Man got there when I was nine.

  The police hired profilers to paint a picture, to make clues when there were none, and I read every word. I became an expert in the one thing I truly hated.

  They say he’s between twenty-five and fifty, with a job that allows him to travel. This was long after he added Sophie Cresswell and Georgina Carson to his list. The list that started with my mom.

  They think he could be married, with a partner who is easily manipulated or away a lot. They say he’s likely to be ambivalent when the murders are reported and that he may make strange comments in a bid to secretly claim them as his own.

  He’s a “charmer” who may coerce his victims into situations they cannot escape. Although that wasn’t the case with Mom.

  That alley was her shortcut. She didn’t follow someone in. They followed her.

  Most serial killers have below-average IQs, but not the Magpie Man. The profilers think he is smart, methodical, desperate not to be caught.

  His first three murders were in Doveton, Chester, and Glasgow. He didn’t leave a single clue. Just a body and a number carved into their skin. That’s all he ever leaves, no matter how closely the police look, no matter how many security cameras they check and witness appeals they make. His crimes are usually nine months apart, and the most recent, the thirteenth, was in September. She was named Lucy Halpern, and they found her in a park. That was five months ago.

  Some people online think he’s done now, because of the number. They think monsters finish when they reach a point made famous by horror stories. But I don’t believe that, because when you’ve killed that many people, you don’t stop.

  It is only a matter of time before he kills again.

  Chapter 11

  “Are you excited?” Adrian asks, and I fake the biggest smile I can manage.

  “More than you know.”

  It’s Saturday. We’re in an elegant restaurant in London, and I’m the first to arrive.

  I hand Adrian the paperwork, and he smiles, checks that every dotted line has been signed, then passes it to Lauren.

  When you’re a kid, London is the place where all the best surprises are, like Hamleys and musicals and museums. But now, alone, it reminds me I’m not that kid anymore.

  I didn’t sleep last night, worrying about who the other “stars” are and if their hooks are better than mine.

  Lauren taps on her iPad while Adrian does a terrible job trying to keep me calm.

  “You’re probably really stoked to meet the others,” he says, and I wonder where he gets his words from.

  “I guess,” I say, even though I’m shitting myself, because this is not exactly my comfort zone. But then neither is having my life streamed online, so I suppose I should get used to feeling permanently anxious on top of everything else.

  “I think it’s great what you’re doing,” he says. “Trying to find him when no one else could.”

  “Do you think I will?” I ask, and he smiles.

  “Well, let’s hope so.”

  Adrian stays quiet after that, and I know he isn’t taking me seriously. He’s making a mistake underestimating me. But this isn’t a fight worth picking.

  Eventually, the others arrive: two girls and two boys.

  “Welcome,” Adrian says, ushering everyone into their seats.

  I sneak quick glances at each of them, catching one girl’s eye and blushing.

  The silence is already awkward when Adrian says, “Let’s introduce ourselves.”

  “Okay,” says a boy with hair that covers his ears and what looks like a scar creeping out from between the curls. “My name’s Lucas Newman. I’m sixteen, and I used to be on TV.”

  “You’re the little kid, from that comedy,” one of the girls says, and Lucas nods.

  Everyone recognizes him except me, because ten years ago, Dad and I didn’t do what normal people did.

  When no one goes next, Adrian says, “Ella, how about you?”

  The girl who caught my eye says, “Well, I’m Ella and I’m seventeen. I’m pregnant…except…I’ve never had sex. My dad thinks it’s an immaculate conception. It was his idea for me to do this.”

  I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. But she looks deadly serious, and I wonder if she has an angle like I do or if she actually believes what she’s saying.

  Ella sees me staring and smiles, but she doesn’t look happy. She looks like my nan when no one’s watching.

  When Adrian asks the other boy to speak, he sighs and says, “My name’s Ryan. I’m nineteen, and my brother did something terrible.”

  We all look at each other, now connected by our curiosity, until Ryan says, “He was one of the men who went into the museum. He shot everyone, then blew himself up.”

  I remember that day, the breaking news, the hashtags, but it surprises me when Ryan says it was three years ago.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and Ella reaches out to touch his hand, but he pulls it away.

  “I’m Jess,” I say. “My mother was killed by the Magpie Man.”

  Ryan looks up at me and nods, and I feel it: a moment of shared tragedy.

  He reminds me of my dad: the way sorrow clings to his face, pulling on his lips and hanging heaviest in his eyes.

  “And finally,” Adrian says, smiling at the other girl.

  “I’m Sonia,” she says.

  That’s it. Just a name and a shrug of the shoulders. I look at Adrian, expecting him to push her for more, but he grins and explains that I’m Monday, Ryan is Tuesday, Ella is Wednesday, Lucas is Thursday, and Sonia is Friday.

  “What if no one watches?” Ella asks.

  We all look at Adrian, because secretly we’ve all thought it, and he smiles and says, “They’ll watch.”

  “How can you be sure?” I ask.

  He says, “Wouldn’t you?”

  I guess he’s right. I suppose to start with, everyone will try it, and it’s up to us to keep things interesting.

  I’ve watched enough vloggers and reality shows to know that interesting means different things to different people. We watch hours of strangers doing nothing, talking shit, breaking up and making up, conversations we all have that are somehow so much better when someone else is having them.

  “People will have their favorites,” Adrian says. “Just be yourselves. That’s why we picked you.”

  And then, calm as you like, he pulls out the twist.

  “We haven’t been completely honest with you,” he says, and I’m terrified this is all a joke, that there is no show and, more importantly, no chance for justice. Or maybe it’s already started. Maybe we’re being filmed, and this is some sort of challenge.

  “There will be five shows…initially. But only one of you will be continuing on.”

  We look at one another, realizing for the first time that we’re in competition.

  Lucas probably thinks he has an advantage because he used to be famous, but who remembers what was on TV years ago? And there’s something about Sonia I don’t trust, because the rest of us have stories, so why would they pick her if she doesn’t?

  “How long do we have?” Ryan asks.

  “A month, as promised,” Adrian replies. “But the three-month run is not guaranteed just because your viewing figures are high. They have to be the highest.”

  I thought I would get the extension no problem, but if it’s only reserved for one of us, I don’t have any time to waste.

  Chapter 12

  Whenever I get home after I’m supposed to, I wish for something that will never happen. I want Mom to be standing there with a scowl on her face and a lecture coming to the boil. I want her to yell at me, asking where the hell I’ve been.

  I want dinner t
o be silent and horrible, because she’s annoyed at me and I’m annoyed at her for being so angry. And I want Dad to make everything okay with a silly comment that makes us laugh, our apologies coming through the giggles we can’t contain.

  But that doesn’t happen. It never has. Mom was murdered before I was old enough to truly piss her off. She left my life with holes I fill with made-up memories, and I hate it.

  I wish we’d had the raging fights you see on TV, the stupid arguments about nothing. I wish I didn’t have quite so many missing pieces—the conversations we never had, the feelings we never shared.

  What hurts most is her absence, the complete lack of her touch and her voice and her smell. That’s what they don’t tell you when you lose someone, that they’re gone in more ways than you can count.

  -

  I get home from the meeting with the others and go straight upstairs to my room, where I’ve been writing the script for my first episode.

  I know it’s supposed to be spontaneous, but I can’t risk that.

  There’s a plan, and I need to stick to it, which means saying certain things early on to set it in motion.

  The quicker I go viral, the sooner people are talking about me, the better chance we have of finding him.

  How will the others prepare? Will they change their plans now that Adrian has pitted us against one another? Ryan and Ella might, Lucas probably thinks he doesn’t have to, and I have no idea about Sonia.

  When Dad knocks on the door, I jump. He mumbles an apology and says, “How was your day?” He’s trying to care even though he hates that I’m doing this.

  “Okay,” I say.

  I could give him more. I could tell him about the others, about the competition, about the food we ate at the restaurant and how we didn’t pay a penny.

  But I stick with “okay” because I need to focus. Then, as he turns to leave, I say, “Dad…”