Crimson Snow Read online

  I wished he had kept that promise….

  Chapter 4

  There are 967 men named Kevin Mason in the US and 45 abroad. Out of all the Kevin’s I found, 34 are between the age of 20-24. Only eight have green eyes. Two live in Texas.

  I know because I’ve been cyberstalking those men for the last six years. When I was fourteen, my parents allowed me to have social media accounts and my own personal computer to use for school, I started digging into the deep underbelly of the internet, desperately trying to find Kevin. All these people on Facebook who bore even a slight resemblance to him, I “investigated,” but from the pictures and info they posted, they all had families, siblings, and a life that was not his. There wasn’t even a trace or news of his father Jack Mason. I have a “Google alert” on both of them in case by some strange occurrence they pop up somewhere on the net. I’ve considered all the possibilities why someone in this technological age could be so impossible to find. Maybe Kevin still lived in the small rural town of Fort Heaven, Texas, worked on the same farm his dad did, and didn’t bother with Facebook or Instagram.

  It was unlikely, considering even the kids in third world countries had an internet connection and access to social media. I wondered if Kevin moved away, if he was traveling the world, or if he was completely off the grid somewhere. In the darkest times of my depression, I’d considered the likelihood that he might have died years ago. That thought always made me shudder, but I pushed it away, refusing to search for old obituaries or crime reports from Texas in the years after I was taken. I had a plan that when I was 21 and my jail time was over, I was going back to Fort Heaven. I’d work whatever job I could get, save the money, and hire a private investigator if I had to, to find my brother. My friend.

  I stared at the blurred photo on my phone of the boy on the billboard, my heart beating a thousand miles an hour and my hands still shaking. Kevin Tanner. I couldn’t be sure he was my Kevin, but deep in my soul, there was some recognition that went beyond the physical resemblance. On the picture, he was wearing the USC baseball uniform, but also the same crooked grin I knew so well. He looked different than the young boy from my childhood. This guy was handsome - hard jawline, intense eyes, and full bottom lip. I shook my head at my own thought, starting to wonder if I was completely losing it. Maybe I was finding connections where there were none. I saw a good-looking guy with the same first name and automatically assumed he was my Kevin. I was officially certifiable.

  I freaked out at the stadium, scared Marina to death, and it all might be because I was delusional. Still, the voice in my head kept whispering, “What if it’s him? What if he changed his name the way you did?” This went on repeat in my head on my way back home.

  Marina didn’t ask questions of what was wrong and what I meant with my cryptic comments about seeing ghosts. She asked me if I wanted to go home and I nodded. Then she took my hand; I didn’t even remember leaving the baseball field or how we got into her car. I was zoned in on my phone. I wanted to sink into the screen and merge with the picture, make it come to life, talk to Kevin Tanner, see if he recognized me too.

  Marina parked her old beat-up Toyota in front of my house and asked if I wanted her to come inside. My father’s Mercedes was not in the driveway where he normally left it, and I remembered he and my mother had some event to attend this evening. I had the house to myself for a few hours, and I wanted my friend with me, but I was not sure I was ready to tell her everything.

  I wanted to get on the computer immediately and start digging into this Kevin Tanner. This was insane and stalkerish behavior, and I knew I’d have to tell Marina my whole life story for her to understand. This was a long conversation better left for another time, so I told my friend I was not feeling well and just needed to lay down. Mari, as usual, didn’t pry for more information, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and told me she’d call me tomorrow if I needed to talk to someone. I loved this girl. She was one of the rare people who was always there for me in the most supportive, unobtrusive way possible. A real friend.

  I spent two hours staring at a computer screen and stalking Kevin Tanner. He was apparently a star player for the Trojans, so surely there was a fan page dedicated to him, but besides the baseball articles and pictures from games where he set some records, there was very little personal info. His Facebook was with high privacy restrictions, and since we didn’t have any mutual connections, I couldn’t even see a single personal picture. On Twitter, he only posted about his games or some links to funny YouTube videos. It was the regular non-descriptive internet presence.

  It seemed this guy was not out for attention or to flounce every thought and opinion that crossed his mind on social media. He was a lot like me, valuing his privacy and not sharing much. All the pictures I found of Kevin Tanner were of him in his baseball uniform, so he was wearing a hat, but I could see a strand of dark hair peeking out from under it.

  And his eyes. Dear Lord, I couldn’t stop staring at the one clear photo of the guy from the official USC baseball roster. I had never in my life seen another person with this same saturation of green in his irises, like the boy I once knew. If nothing else could convince me it was him, those intense piercing emerald eyes did the deed.

  Baseball- it kind of made sense. Kevin knew how to swing a bat. Not a baseball one, more like the stick he carried around, mainly to protect me, but even when he had been ten, he knew how to hit with it. I pushed away the memory of the last time I watched him hit someone for my sake. The last time I saw my brother. The tears were as hard to contain as the memory. I had to shove both of them back, deep into my “untouchable box” - the one which I never opened.

  Every day for the last twelve years, I had thought of Kevin, but only of the good or at least tolerable ruminations of our childhood. I was still not ready to face the one memory that took him away from me.

  I closed the laptop a little forcefully, making the face disappear from the screen. What the hell was I doing? Instead of stalking this guy on the internet, trying to find proof he was my lost brother, I’d better come up with a plan of how to meet him in person. A regular meeting, which was not going to get me a restraining order, if he happened to be some look-alike.

  I took a shower and changed into my pajamas when I heard the door open and my parent’s voices from downstairs.

  “Lauren!” my father’s angry voice echoed from the living room. I guessed the FBI already knew I had left Bianca and the game early. What kind of sick satisfaction they got from keeping me on a short leash like a rabid dog, I didn’t understand. All the close monitoring, the spying on me, and following every step I made must be tiring and tedious. For some reason, my parents had made it into a game of torture they immensely enjoyed.

  After I had time to reflect on everything that happened this evening and calm down, I had a plan of my own now. Time to get into character and go for the Oscar performance I needed to put on so I could make it happen.

  I walked down the stairs meeting my parents in the living room. Mom gave me one cold look, but dad was apparently frustrated with me. Before he voiced his disappointment, I spoke up.

  “I am sorry, Dad, I had to leave the game early and didn’t stay with Bianca and her friends to the end. I wasn’t feeling well.” I looked at my mother, who was fidgeting with the hem of her shirt nervously, and continued, “Bianca was so concerned when I felt lightheaded. She wanted to leave and drive me back, but… I know Bart’s game is important to her, and she was there to support him, so I told her to stay. She got me an Uber and kept calling to check if I made it home safely and if I was feeling better.”

  I gave my sister all the fake credit for being a caring human being. My mother actually smiled, which was a rare occurrence. I didn’t know if it was directed at me, or she was just glad her favorite daughter was getting praises, but there was a twitch on her plastic face that looked like pleasure. None of them asked me if I was okay, or why I was sick in the first place. Dad seemed a little placated, probably glad
I was actually home, not sneaking out with some low life, trashy friends. I was in my pajamas, talking to him meekly and complacently, which I was sure was a win in his book.

  I knew my story was backed up by Bianca already. I got an angry text from her when she didn’t find me waiting for her after the game. She was not concerned, of course, if something had happened to me, just in her self-centered way worried dad would call to check on us, and see if she stuck with me. Which he did. I texted her back and told her I was home and to stick with the story I just told our parents.

  “You and Bianca had fun?” the DA asked in his interrogation tone. He knew enough about our rocky relationship to believe my lie. He was not stupid, so I had to mix some of the truth in with my lies.

  “Her friends are not so bad…” I answered ambiguously. “I didn’t talk to them much, considering they were focused on the game, but I observed them….”

  “…and,” my father urged me. That was my moment in the spotlight. I took a deep breath, looked at both my parents, and took the stage.

  “I need to say a few things to you and Mom … I know they are long overdue.” I sat on the couch, facing them. My hands twisted in my lap, and I was a bit choked.

  “I am glad I went with Bianca today. Watching how happy and social she is, made me realize I’ve been living like a hermit. You have done so much for me. You have given me the same opportunities you’ve given Bianca, and I have never thanked you for anything…. Maybe it’s time for me to grow up and start making better choices.”

  I could see the shock on both of their faces. My mother was blinking like she had one of her fake eyelashes stuck in her eyeball; my dad’s face was stony. I was not sure he bought all the bullshit I was trying to sell, so I went on to the main part.

  “Dad, when we talked this morning, you told me I should consider my future and come up with a life plan. You told me to look at how successful you and mom are… Today, when I went to USC, I really imagined mom when she was my age and studying there.” That was not exactly a lie. My mother looked at me surprised. I knew she was not expecting a compliment, but I was about to give her one. “Mom, I understand why you went to that school. People there looked happy. They exuded the same joy and zest for life you have. Maybe this is what I need - to rebuild my confidence, follow on your footsteps, and learn how to be more like you.”

  I managed to say the words. I watched the satisfied tremble of her lips like she saw for the first time I might not be a completely lost cause. I needed her on my side for once.

  “Rob, maybe Lauren has a point. Going to Stanford is not a great fit for her. She is not Bianca, and I doubt she can fit in there…” It was not exactly a compliment, but I’d take it. It was the best I could get from my mother.

  “Mom is right. We all know I am not as good socially as Bianca. I doubt I will fit in with her crowd, but USC is not a bad school for me. A lot of my classmates from Carlton are going there and, considering who their parents are, I don’t think I’ll be in bad company. My friend Marisa is going. She said Spielberg is an alumnus and a patron of the Film School… beyond all that I have my personal reasons to want to stay here in Los Angeles…”

  “Oh, why is that?” My father corked an eyebrow. He was still suspicious of my motives. Maybe I needed to give him a little incentive.

  “Because Dad, I don’t want to regress back into my depression. I like Dr. Rogers. He is really the best therapist I’ve had over the years, and we are making progress. He’s been encouraging me to start acting more mature and be more appreciative of the life I have. I am starting to understand that I am lucky, in fact. I might not trust another therapist in San Francisco the way I trust him. I am sure you agree that being under considerate care and supervision is only for my benefit.”

  I was not talking about the shrink, of course. I was telling my father he should consider that the leash he kept me on was not long enough to stretch to Stanford. I knew the man lived for retaining his control over me and monitoring every aspect of my life. By the expression on his face, it seemed he came to the same conclusion.

  “I hadn’t considered this, Lauren. Maybe you are right, and Stanford is too far from home. You are not as independent as Bianca. You need more familiar structure and strong support system to stay on track. USC is not as prestigious an institution as Stanford, but it’s your mother’s Alma Mater. I am sure she still has a lot of contacts there. Dana, isn’t your friend Bonnie… Betsy’s daughter attending there?” The wheels were turning in his head. He was looking for watchdogs, someone to keep an eye on me. I was willing to take anything at this point. I was desperate to go to USC, even if it was with ball and chains tied to my ankle. A step closer to Kevin.

  Mom was also suddenly enthusiastic. I was sure for her that this was a better solution than, god-forbid, I embarrass Bianca at Stanford.

  “Bethany was a president for my chapter the Delta Phi’s. She married a producer for Sony Music and lives up in the Hills. Her daughter Cattie is now the sorority leader, so I am sure I can get her to vouch for Lauren. That’s if she acts accordingly. The Delta’s are very selective of who they accept…”

  I didn’t know much about Greek life, but it was not hard to guess what went on in those sorority houses. Frat parties, alcohol, cheap sex. I hoped that wasn’t part of the requirements, to pledge into the sisterhood, or I was out. I was not losing my dignity for this. I’d heard my Mom’s glorious stories about her sorority days, and I was worried. Her former sisterhood sounded like the breeding ground for Stepford wives –overwhelmingly white, wealthy, and shallow, not to mention her friends from her college days all had questionable morals.

  My dad was actually agreeing with her, nodding his head and thinking. I tried to wiggle out of it.

  “Mom, my social anxiety and the fact I am not really outgoing might be a reason I don’t get accepted in your sorority…”

  “Enough.” my father cut me off. “Lauren, we both know you don’t have social anxiety, you just plainly refuse to fit in. I am considering sending you to USC but how about this be your first test. You get into the sorority, and you can attend. Those girls all come from good families, and I would not let you live with people who might be a bad influence on you. I don’t care what major you choose as long as it can be applied to a respectable job. You want to prove you have grown up and are acting mature - this is your chance. Last one, Lauren. If you fail us again, there will be repercussions.”

  I wanted to scream and ask him how exactly he was planning to punish me this time. What would he do to keep me under his thumb after “our deal” came to an end? Because in a year, I would be free and he knew it. I was twenty years old, and he still treated me like a misbehaving child who was entirely dependent on him and at his mercy.

  The only thing he was holding over my head was the fate of Max and Tyron. He threatened me when I didn’t comply with his rules that my friends could be easily transferred to a high-security prison to complete what’s left of their sentences. He mockingly picked the flesh wound saying there was always overcrowding in the “hotel suite penitentiary,” and one’s “good behavior” was subject to interpretation by the prison’s director, who was his personal friend.

  The man was not just a manipulative tyrant, but I was sure that those actions he openly threatened me with were not only immoral, but illegal. He was a state official in a powerful position, and his abuse of power and the “deals” he made with law enforcement and government agencies to suit his agenda were criminal acts in my opinion. Not that I could do anything to expose him. He was a real sociopath who knew all the tricks in the book to cover his tracks and find loopholes in the system. My only choice was to convince him that he had finally broken me. That I had given up. The only thing driving me was finding Kevin.

  “Yes, Dad. I’ll do my best to get into the sorority.” I lowered my head.

  Chapter 5

  The prisons we build in our heads are the hardest to escape. Even during confinement in the hospital or wh
en my family locked me in a golden cage, I knew those were just walls. The worst internment was when I lost hope because I felt I didn’t have purpose. When I saw that picture of the guy who might be my Kevin, the invisible chains in my brain cracked like they had been frozen and crushed. They fell apart like the brittle remains of my lost childhood.

  Over the months that followed, I was tempted to take an Uber, go to USC, find that guy, and ask him point blank if he used to be Kevin Mason. But I was a coward, and I didn’t have the guts to face him and find out the truth. What if I was wrong, and he turned out to be a random guy who slightly resembled my childhood friend? Then what? I couldn’t lose the hope. It was the one thing that kept me moving ahead, that made me go through the motions, and conform to my family’s torture. Having a final destination was my driving force, and I was stalling to reach it.

  It was April when I got home from school, and the letter marked with the University of Southern California logo waited for me on the kitchen table. The whole senior year I had wished for it and at the same time dreaded the day which would decide where my future took me. I worked hard to get a good GPA and an almost perfect score on my SAT tests with the one goal to get into this particular school. I closed my eyes and remembered another time when I was this nervous to look at the judgment of my abilities scrawled on a piece of paper.

  (thirteen years ago)

  Miss Morris, my second-grade teacher, handed me my essay with a smile. “Good job, Julie.” She smiled. I didn’t look at the page, still worried the red markings might make me want to rip it to pieces. I folded the paper carefully and stashed it in my backpack. Kevin was waiting outside my classroom when the bell rang. I didn’t know how he ran so fast from the other side of the building, but every day before lunch he was already in the hallway when I came out of class.