CHAPTER 18
ANYONE WHO'S ANYONE

WHEN SLOANE ARRIVED back at the penthouse that afternoon, she braced herself for impact. She expected to be met at the door by her mother, a fiery hot rage ignited in her eyes as she screamed at Sloane to pack her bags. She expected to see Frank's satisfied grin in the corner, as if she didn't already know that he ratted to Sabrina about their argument earlier. Sloane already had Airbnb pulled up on her phone as she entered the swanky apartment.

But her mother wasn't waiting for her.

Sloane walked further into the foyer, and then looked around at the center of the penthouse. Frank was in the kitchen, talking on the phone with a colleague. Everett wasn't home yet, but an old Spongebob episode was playing in his room, making it seem as if he was there. (Not like his guardians noticed.) And her mother sat on the couch, reading a book in front of the fireplace and swirling a glass of merlot in her left hand. Neither of them paid Sloane any mind.

So Frank hadn't told Sabrina.

That made zero sense. Her step-father clearly didn't like her – and she didn't like him either, for that matter – so why not take the ample opportunity to kick her out? He was a smart man; he knew something like that would've sent her mother over the edge. She was still pissed about what Sloane had said to her after Thanksgiving, and telling her about their quarrel would've had Sabrina kicking her daughter out before she could even step into the penthouse. But Sloane was back in the guest room now, sitting on her bed and closing the Airbnb app. He really hadn't told her.

Sloane didn't understand the game Frank was playing here, but she decided it wasn't time to push her luck. She couldn't go her entire stay dealing with this insistent tension with her mother. Stubborn as she may be, it was incredibly uncomfortable. And Sloane didn't have the money to live anywhere else, no matter how much she wanted to believe she did. It was time to give in to the apology Sabrina so desperately wanted.

"Hey, Mom."

Sabrina viewed up at her daughter from the ginormous vanity mirror. Sloane leaned against the frame of the master bedroom, surprised that her mother even gave her the time of day. But her hope vanished as soon as it came. Sabrina went back to brushing mascara on her lashes and closed the tube. With a sigh, Sloane ventured further into the room and sat on the king-sized bed.

"I know you clearly don't want to hear from me," she said, uncrossing her arms, "but I wanted to apologize for what I said to you a few days ago."

Sabrina slowly turned her head, revealing the most satisfied smirk on her face. It was tough giving in, knowing that her mother had won, but Sloane needed to be the adult in this situation, which was saying a lot when the other person was her middle-aged mother. This will be better in the long run, she kept telling herself, hoping it would stick. It never did.

"I accept your apology." Her mother's shoulders sagged, as if a weight had been lifted off them. It seemed ridiculous to Sloane, who had been carrying the tension on her very back for so many days. The tension Sabrina had caused. "I'm glad you came to your senses, dear. You know I don't like icing you out, but it's the only way to work with you. Same thing with your father. So stubborn, both of you."

It was truly baffling that she couldn't see that her daughter had gotten that stubbornness from her. Who else could ice out their adult child for six days? Sloane fought the urge to laugh.

"Well," she said, getting to her feet, "thank you for accepting my apology."

Sabrina's arms flung out. "Bring it in, honey."

That was the last thing Sloane wanted to do, but again, she gave in. She bent down to her mother still seated on the stool and enveloped herself in the tight embrace. Sabrina's arms were thin but still strong, and they held her as if Sloane were about to wither away into nothing, as if she was close to death.

Distracting herself from Sabrina's tight grip, she noticed a few cards pinned to the edges of her mother's golden mirror. She furrowed her brow and asked, "What are those?"

Sabrina finally released her daughter, looking over her shoulder. "Oh," she muttered, and then plucked the two cards from off the frame. "I put these here as a reminder to ask you. Will you still be around for Christmas?"

"Um ..." Sloane blinked.

Christmas. Was it that close? It had to be; it was just Thanksgiving. Jesus. Being Jewish, Sloane did celebrate Hanukkah — until her dad passed. She much preferred it over Christmas, but celebrating it after her dad's death was painful for everyone. So her mom suggested when she was sixteen to change it to Christmas.

"Probably, yeah," she finally answered. She hoped not, but the way her writer's block was these days, she'd be in Queens until next summer. It was hard to imagine the police capturing the Jawbreaker before then.

"Great!" Sabrina grinned broadly. "On Christmas Eve, Frank hosts an annual holiday party for Harper Watch. It's a big thing around here. Frank and I want you to attend."

"Frank wants me to come?"

"Yes," she replied with a questionable tone. "Why wouldn't he?"

Sloane quipped, "No reason. Just asking."

Sabrina sighed, gazing down at the two cards placed on her white vanity. "I'm still deciding on the design for the invite. I have to send a shitload of these out in the next few days so they get to the guests in time."

"Shitload?" Sloane repeated, sliding one of the invites towards her eyesight. She scanned over the embossed golden letters spelling out the party details. They were holding it at the Plaza Hotel. "How many people are you inviting?"

Her mother scoffed, like she asked a dumb question. "Just about anyone who's anyone will be there, Sloane, including Frank's employees and media. It's a huge charity event. We do raffles and all the money goes to homeless shelters. Almost all of New York comes to participate."

Anyone who's anyone? Sloane thought to herself. I wonder if that includes serial killers.

"You sure you'll still be here for it?" Sabrina continued with squinted eyes. "I have to know a definitive answer. You know, for the catering."

And not because she actually cared. Sloane flashed her a quick smile. "I'll be here for as long as my story takes."

━━━━━━

Much to her own surprise, Sloane had somehow mended her rocky relationship with her step-brother as well. Ever since their conversation at the skate park, he's been less hostile towards her, and she even enjoyed his presence now. It felt like he was finally beginning to let her in, to trust her, unlike before when he lied about knowing Hayden and Isabella.

During times when she wasn't working on her article (which she was finally working through again), she started playing video games with him or showing him reruns of Seinfeld. Poor kid had grown up without seeing a single episode and she was dedicated to changing that. She'd even stayed up with him well past midnight the past few nights, and he never left his side of the couch, laughing along to something George Costanza said.

Sloane was beginning to wonder if he stopped hanging around with the group of vandals, or if he was truly even a part of it in the first place. She was questioning everything she assumed the past month, which brought her even further back to finishing this story. She was enjoying the time spent with her step-brother – really, she was – but knowing that she might've been wrong about him all along left a bad taste in her mouth, and she couldn't stand being wrong. Had everything she searched through really been for nothing?

At least she didn't have to worry about him being a criminal.

Well, she hoped.

It was Friday night. Over a week ago, she had her embarrassing drunk dial with Spider-Man and refused to speak to him since then. Peter, she texted here and there, but he had been too busy with work to see her. She hoped that he wouldn't stop talking to her just because she was ignoring her partnership with Spider-Man. She liked Peter – more than she thought she would. Sometimes when she thought about him, her stomach did a little flip flop. And then she remembered the way he leaned into her on Thanksgiving, and the way his glasses always slid down his nose –

It wasn't time to worry about those feelings right now, because she was distracting herself by beating her step-brother at Mario Kart.

WINNER! flashed across her side of the TV, and Sloane got to her feet. She raised her arms in victory and shouted, "Woot, woot!" Everett threw his controller onto the sofa and lowered his head into his hands. Sloane then began to circle her arms and dance, and although she stopped proclaiming her victory, she heard her mother shut their bedroom door down the hall.

"I can't believe you won," Everett said, finally lifting his head. He could only stare at the TV screen. "I mean, this is my game."

"Believe it," she replied, handing her controller to him. "Try not to beat yourself up about it. I have great hand-eye coordination." She tried to replicate a move she saw in the Karate Kid, but failed miserably. "Well, with video games, that is."

Everett held the controller back in her direction. "Round two?"

Looking from the controller to him, she shook her head. "Tempting, but I should head in early. I gotta get to some much-needed writing time." She rounded the couch and strode towards the right hallway.

Everett hung his arm over the back of the couch. "Seriously?"

Sloane glanced at him from over her shoulder. "How 'bout you take this time to practice so you can beat me?"

"You wish," he chuckled, getting up to turn off the gaming system. "I should probably go to bed too. But tomorrow night, you're on."

Sloane gave him a thumbs up and entered the guest room, pressing the door closed with her back. After throwing on a pair of pajama pants and a worn-out crew neck, she took her laptop to the bed and began to write over her first opening paragraphs. Unfortunately, Sloane was a perfectionist, and she knew a good piece needed a few drafts. She grabbed her Smirnoff bottle from its new hiding place – underneath the bed – and took a swig. The burning invigorated her, rattling her body and getting her into the zone. Finally, she could focus, and her fingers wouldn't leave the keyboard except to take more swigs.

She had gotten into a rhythm. The introduction was finally starting to make sense. Bobby was going to be so excited when she read this out to him on their next phone call. Speaking of Bobby, maybe she should just call him now. Surely, he had to be up this late at night. He was a night owl, just like herself. Sloane stopped typing, flexed her fingers, and gulped down a mouthful of vodka. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked up and went to grab her phone –

A dark figure dashed down the fire escape by her window.

Sloane paused.

For a split, incredibly horny second, she wondered if this was her dream finally coming to fruition. She almost wanted to turn all the lights off and see if she could reenact it, play by play. She wouldn't even mention the drunk phone call; just get straight to the action. Maybe, just maybe, she put this immensely inappropriate scenario into the universe, and now it was going to happen, and she'd never have to think about it again. If Spider-Man showed up at her window, and they could bang out their sexual frustrations like it was mating season, she could get it all out of her system. Because right now, her desire for this masked stranger was practically killing her.

But then she remembered there was a serial killer on the loose.

Slowly, Sloane drifted off her bed and held up the vodka bottle, ready to smash it into someone's head at a moment's notice. She loved her alcohol, but working on this case was causing her to value her life even more. She approached the large window and checked that the locks were in place. Peering out the glass, all she saw was her reflection. Darkness shrouded the outside and no one was on the fire escape. She saw someone though. She knew she did.

She squinted, making out a group hurdling just beside a faulty streetlight below. There were also a few rats battling for dominance by the sewer, but Sloane was more interested in the strange group of people. The penthouse was so high up that they looked like ants. When one of them tore out a flashlight and shined it on a figure approaching them, she saw that everyone was dressed in black sweats.

That doesn't look suspicious at all, she thought sarcastically. Pressing her face further into the window, she tried desperately to make out their faces. They only became clear if a flashlight was shined on them. The person holding the light gestured to someone and the shine exposed a young girl's face with pale white skin. No one Sloane recognized.

And then, the light flashed on the person who just joined the group, and she saw the company lifting their hands up as to ask, Where have you been? Sloane's face was practically smothered by the glass. If she could just see who it was exactly, then her curiosity would fizzle –

The figure turned face turned up towards the blinking streetlight. Even from far away, even with a hood covering half of his face, she could just about make him out.

Fucking Everett.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: that little shit everett 🙄🙄 omg guys I'm getting soooooo excited for the chapters to come. like the christmas party chapter ??? GONNA BE SOOOOOO GOOD 😋