The Follower Kate Doughty (general ebook reader .txt) 📖

watches. The last time this had happened, he’d been in second grade. The bullying had been merciless. He can only imagine how much of a field day their followers would have with this. Because, sure, he loves talking to his fans—but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t read all the comments sometimes. And there are always mean ones, even if they’re the minority.

In the background, he can hear his father apologizing endlessly to anyone who will listen, going on and on about how exhausted he already is from the renovation and swearing, promising that he will make things better.

Rudy opens his mouth to say something, but he can already feel himself slowing down, his eyes drooping.

Maybe his mom is right; maybe the swelling will magically vanish before the Ask Us Anything livestream . . .

He can feel the Benadryl kicking in already.

But when Rudy wakes up from his medication-induced slumber, the welts are still very visible. Better, for sure, but unmistakable. He shows off his not-quite-healed face to the family downstairs.

Mrs. Cole looks at him and massages her temples, sighing deeply. Rudy can tell she’s trying to work out what to do. Rudy can’t be on camera; not like this. Amber and Cecily make sympathetic faces.

Amber lets out a low whistle. “Not your best look.”

Rudy shakes his head and chuckles. “Hey Ambs, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“At least it should be cleared up by tomorrow, right?” Cecily asks, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“Did you guys ever figure out if that was the usual bagel brand?” Rudy asks. “I thought it was, but I’ve never had a reaction with them before . . .”

“It was the same kind we always get,” Amber confirms.

“They didn’t used to have that ‘made in a facility that also processes nuts’ warning,” Mrs. Cole says, clearly distraught. She gives Rudy a tight smile. “I’m sorry, we should have checked again—”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Rudy says. “Just some hives. Nothing crazy.”

Mrs. Cole nods. “Still, don’t worry—we checked the labels of everything in the cabinets and did a total purge. I’ll go out and buy new bagels tomorrow. I know cross contamination isn’t uncommon, but I think that we should switch up brands, just to be safe.”

“Thanks, Mom. That must have been so much work . . .” Rudy wants to protest that it really isn’t that big of a deal, but his mom looks utterly exhausted, so he switches topics instead. “Ready for the livestream?”

Mrs. Cole stops rubbing her temples and begins to drum her fingers on the tabletop. “Amber, go get ready to be on camera,” she orders. “Rudy, are you up to switch with Amber and record?”

Rudy nods. “Yeah, sure.”

The triplets spend the next few hours in the turret room, pushing furniture around and watching the light fade through the large window. Rudy finds himself wondering about Alex, falling through that window. What time of day it was. If she could see the beautiful view of the mountains when she fell.

“On the bright side, at least you slept through some of the reflooring noise,” Cecily says. “I couldn’t hear myself think all day.” Her eyes are red. Rudy wouldn’t be surprised if she had spent the afternoon crying over Speckles.

“It was awful,” Amber echoes as she positions key lights. “And you also got to miss Mom freaking out over her Bluetooth headset all afternoon. Apparently she’s lost it. Again. If she has to buy another one, Dad’s going to flip.”

Rudy shakes his head. “Maybe someone threw them out the turret window, like your laptop,” he jokes, but it falls flat. It’s like no one in the family is willing to even joke about the weird things that have been happening since they moved into this house. Uncomfortable, Rudy starts to fidget as he searches for another, better joke to clear the dead air. He finds a stray flap of wallpaper and picks at it as he thinks. And then he spots something strange: a color that doesn’t belong.

“Rudy!” Amber scolds, but he’s not paying attention. He’s caught the edge of the wallpaper, and there’s . . . something beneath it. Something colorful. He peels further back, and to his surprise, a large chunk of paper comes away.

“What are you—” But Amber cuts herself off as he finds another loose edge of wallpaper and steps back, bringing an additional segment of paper with him. Almost the entire wall falls bare to reveal a mural.

Underneath the wallpaper, the walls had once been white. Someone had painted over them, rolling hills and sticklike trees and the familiar outline of distant mountains.

Someone had painted the view out the window. The view that Alex Grable had seen as she died. Rudy tries to shake the thought from his head, but he can’t—all he can do is stare at the painting, taking it in.

“What the . . . ,” Amber whispers.

“Do you think . . . Alex could have painted this?” Cecily asks.

Rudy is about to agree when he spots something at the bottom of the painting. “Maybe not,” he says, pointing out a tiny set of initials by a fern: BG. “BG. Who could that be?”

Cecily shrugs. “It’s still creepy.”

“Hey!” Amber snaps her fingers to get their attention. “We can look over that later—we’re starting soon. Get in position.”

Rudy watches Amber fuss with the flowing top that she picked out to wear for the livestream.

“Don’t worry,” Rudy says. “You’re camera-ready.” Amber had picked out clothes for Cecily, too. Even Rudy had gotten the Amber fashion treatment, but his pristinely ironed shirt is lying on his bed, unworn. What is the point of getting dressed up when he can’t be on camera?

The glow from Cecily’s ring light glints off the sheers and clippers sitting next to the mirror on her makeup desk. She checks out her reflection. Her makeup is perfect—taupe eyeshadow, a popping red lipstick, cat eyeliner. Not too little, not too much. Just enough. Rudy can barely tell that she’d spent the day crying about her bunny.

“Now, you get in position,” Rudy says, shooing Amber out from