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"A paper copy, sure. You could even go as far as to say she never filed an application to replace it cause she didn't know what state she was born in, or that she hasn't really had to worry about it because she is still in school. But what happened to the state record of her?"
"Maybe her name was spelled different?" I try. The truth is that it doesn't make sense, no matter which way you look at it. And if there is no record of Claire Monroe, then who is in my house right now? Who does my sister live with?
"Like I said, half a ghost. I've got a few things to try and still a bunch of boring stuff in the paper trail, but I figured I'd let you know what I'm working with."
"Well, I know you won't fail me."
"If there's something to find, I'll find it." Jack confirms. "Same goes with Tristan Ryan. His phone hasn't turned up anything suspicious yet, but it's only a matter of time. I'll be in touch soon."
I end the call and stare at my phone, trying to process what I've learned. Claire is either an exceptional actress, or completely oblivious. When I first saw her in my room, I erred on the side of caution, assuming she could be a threat. After a short time with her, I decided she wasn't any danger to Rhea. But now that I have a new reason to question her, I find myself wondering whether she may have created her entire persona to try and get something from us.
I can't believe I’m doing it, but Jack planted a seed and I have to follow through. I navigate to Instagram and type her name in the search bar. The first profile that pops up is the exact Claire Monroe I want to get to know, and when I click on her page, I do get to know her. Or at least, who she pretends to be.
Claire is a pretty open book, judging by the photo grid I scroll through. Artfully framed photos of the sky and water, close-ups of flowers, pictures of her and Rhea, selfies, and random snapshots of books. I don't have to scroll far to find the swimsuit photos that Jack had mentioned. Of course, I’ve seen her in something more intimate than a swimsuit and as much as I had enjoyed the view of her under the hot tub waterfall, her bra and panties are certainly sexier. A sense of primal pride surges through me at having seen a side of her that she doesn't share with the public.
I scroll all the way to the bottom of her page, back to when she only seemed to take occasional photos of the sky. And by the time I look up, the sun is gone from the actual sky in front of me. I slip my phone back in my pocket, deciding that I’m not going to learn who she is or what she wants by stalking her online.
After all, she’s in the room right next to me.
I pull up the camera feed on the tablet to see that she hasn’t touched it at all. Of course, she hasn’t. She’s low maintenance, afraid to be a bother. I don’t know who made her feel that she was one, but it’s clearly ingrained in her. I can see it in the way she holds herself, so unsure that she belongs where she is. Even with my sister, the person she says is the closest to her, she doesn’t let her guard down. I’m curious to know if she lets it down when she is alone or if she keeps that guard up all the time, a sort of armor protecting her from whatever she doesn’t want the world to see… whatever she doesn’t want me to see.
Claire hasn’t learned yet that I see everything, but she will.
Her hair curtains her face as she leans forward, lost in some thought. I can’t get a good look at her to tell if she’s feeling any type of way, but she looks stressed, which is a bit odd given that she is supposed to be on vacation. I mean, I whisked her away to a literal paradise and Elaine plied her with delicious food and drinks, and yet she looks like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders.
I don’t know what I expected to find her doing—opening the window for a partner in crime to sneak through? Calling someone to report her status? I’m so jaded that I can’t even trust my sister’s best friend. And yet, it’s not just my suspicion that keeps me watching her as she moves around the room. It’s more of a magnetism, an inability to look away.
I listen half-heartedly when my sister brings her a dress and tries to convince her of why she must wear that exact one, scrolling through my sister’s social media profiles to try and pick out any instances with Claire in them. Rhea posts a lot—most of the time with her roommate in the frame as well. But for all the posts she has of baking brownies and selfies and ‘date nights’, nothing in them stands out as suspicious.
After scrolling for what feels like hours, I reach her first post of the year and a photo of them ringing in the New Year with takeout. That’s when I decide I’ve scrolled enough today. My eyes burn with exhaustion and fatigue from the screen, but I set one aside just to pick up another, focusing back on the tablet as Claire strips down to get ready for tonight.
I should shut the screen off and set the tablet aside. I shouldn’t be watching her in the first place. But it’s not like I’m just trying to get a glimpse of her in her lingerie. I’ve already had her wearing that right in front of me. Watching through a screen doesn't do the real thing justice. I’m simply watching her to determine whether she is as innocent as she claims—and with a body like that, I don’t know how she could be.
This woman was built for sin, and I’m not sure she knows it.
I guess it’s up to me to show her.
Chapter sixteen
Claire
"This is... interesting." I laugh, watching the people move around us. Overwhelming is the word I want to use, but I don't want Rhea to worry about me any more than she usually does, so I’m doing my best not to look like I feel, which is to say I wanna crawl out of my skin.
We rarely go out like this. Other than summers at the shore, we spend our weekends in more chill ways—playing games at bars and drinking in lounges or staying up all night in the living room. And in the summer, when we go to the Piazza to drink and dance, we know nearly everyone in the place, which means that most people don't really bother us.
Noctambulo is massive and busy, and it’s more like a rave than a nightclub. I've never actually been to a rave, but I can imagine it’s much like this.
There are three floors of bodies packed in like sardines—surely in violation of some maximum occupancy fire code— with the lights swinging and changing colors so rapidly that the ground seems to be moving along with everyone else. There’s a bar in every corner of each floor. Shirtless men and women in tight dresses carry around platters of brightly colored drinks, the likes of which I’ve never seen. The DJ sits at the back of the building, right on the dancefloor, surrounded by eager fans, and the music varies between Latin songs and some of the hits I recognize from back home. The music pulses through the air and into my bloodstream, echoing in my skull where a dull ache is already building.
"I want to dance!" Rhea announces, slamming her empty shot glass on the counter that’s already covered with the four empty shot glasses from our first two rounds. I turned down the third round when my stomach started twisting with the contents… or maybe that was just from the look Remy shot me from across the room. "You coming?"
I look around, trying to find an empty space where we'd even be able to stand, let alone dance. "We just got here." I reason, despite the fact that we’ve been inside for close to twenty minutes and have just gotten our drinks. "Not yet."
"Boo!" Rhea jeers. "Fine. I’m going out there, but I have my phone. I can't hear it, but if you need me, just text me. When you're ready to go, if I haven't found you by then, just tell the DJ to page me. He'll know what it means." She winks and I can't help the laugh that bubbles up in my chest. Of course, she knows the DJ. Even halfway across the world, Rhea knows everyone. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"I'll be fine." I promise, swirling the straw in my drink idly and hoping I don’t look as utterly out of place as I feel. Rhea didn’t approve of anything that I brought to wear, which doesn’t offend me considering I packed for a funeral, not a night of dancing. I’m wearing one of her dresses, which is now adhered to my body like a second skin, but it doesn’t feel like one. I feel like an impostor, like I’m trying too hard to fit into the lifestyle my best friend thrives in. “I'm just going to take it slow."
Rhea watches me suspiciously as she backs away into the crowd on the dance floor. No sooner has she stepped away than she’s swallowed in a sea of gyrating bodies. I turn my eyes back to the bar, watching the lights flash off the bottles in front of me. A long mirror reflects the kaleidoscope of colors, and I have to look away, dizzy.
