I had my chance on Sunday when they all went out to some advance screening of a film Kim’s friend had made. They were dressed up and I stood in the driveway talking to them for a few minutes. Graham came out to the car last and he looked high as a kite. I don’t know why his parents were so naive and unable to tell he was on drugs but they were. Maybe they just figured that’s how people look when they’re on Adderall. In any case we talked for some time and then they drove off. I waited for fifteen minutes and then let myself into the house from an open basement window near the back garden. Then quickly made my way back to Graham’s room.

I turned on the computer and went back to the main menu of all his movie files. There were so many marked “Allyson” it freaked me out to even think of what he had there. I called up his website, Copeland Productions, and began applying the things Becky told me about so I could break in and see what was behind the shiny arty veneer, what secret movies he might have.

Suddenly, a pop-up appeared asking for an authorization code. I did what Becky showed me and sure enough a whole new page appeared with a much different list and prices written next to each film description. The films were titled “The Girl Next Door” and they all had a number following them; there were “The Girl Next Door” videos volumes 1–70.

The first one I clicked on was of Ally lying in Graham’s backyard naked. I gasped. I felt sick. It was terrible to see. It was hard to make out her face in the dark but it was clearly her. We have the same freckles on our chest and a birthmark in the same spot. It was clear she had no idea she was being filmed. I knew I had to get rid of these videos, but I was getting angrier and angrier and felt like I should just get rid of Graham instead.

I logged out of the secret site and made a note of the things I saw there so I could go to the police.

I was about to go but then I thought I should look for the video he told Ally about. The one of Eric that he said he had hidden. He had a wall of old albums—vinyl—they must have been from his dad’s collection like back in the eighties—and a turntable. I don’t know why it suddenly hit me but if he was going to hide something he’d hide it in plain sight—a thin little disk slipped into an album would be the perfect hiding spot. It was like I could feel something there calling out to me or maybe I just suspected.

I started pulling albums out and looking at them. And after about fifteen minutes I found it. A DVD slipped out with the vinyl. It was marked with a simple X. Had to be it.

I took it and slid it into his DVD drive and waited.

If there is one thing in the world I regret having done in my life, it is this. If there is one thing I could go back and erase or if I could have made myself blind in the moments before the images came on, I would have. I gladly would have.

The footage was taken from the passenger side of a car going very, very fast. The sun is shining and you can hear laughter. The top is down. It’s obviously the Austin. The clouds look like they are flying by overhead and the trees are racing by at the side of the road.

“You make sure you’re getting this?” Graham’s voice asks.

And then another boy says, “Aw, hell yeah.”

“This is going to be our best movie,” Graham’s voice says again. “This is going to make you a star.”

The camera pans over and Graham grins into the lens. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and his cheeks are flushed. He has his seat belt on and he’s wearing a helmet.

“This is the life,” the other kid says. The road is narrow and hilly and there are no traffic signs; they’re out in the country somewhere. In the distance you can see a bridge.

As the bridge seems to speed toward the camera you can hear the other kid yelling, first a whoop of triumph, and the perspective of the camera changes as if he is actually standing up in the convertible. Then he sits back down quickly. Laughing. Then, “Whoa whoa, Graham, slow down! Jesus, slow down! Sl—”

The screen went black. My heart was racing. He’d kept footage of the crash where he’d lost his best friend. The last moments his friend had shot. I felt sick and did feel a wave of compassion for him. It was sad and strange and so quick. I was about to turn it off but then the screen lit again and it was additional footage, a slow pan of the whole wrecked car and the sound of whoever was holding the camera breathing heavily. Making impressed and incredulous terrified noises. Laughing. Crying. Then the camera rounds to the passenger side and you can see someone is lying on the hood of the car. His head is bleeding his face is bleeding the windshield has shattered and broken in half at his middle and cut into his stomach and there is glass and blood everywhere. I felt like I was going to throw up. I had never seen anything so terrible. A blood-spattered hand reaches down to touch the boy’s head. And then he speaks and I was relieved! He was alive.

“Can you move?” Graham’s voice asks.

The boy, Eric, smashed and mangled beyond recognition, looking barely human, moans.

Graham touches him again.

“Call nine-one-one,” Eric gasps.

But the camera still focuses on his face. On his mouth which is full of blood. “Call nine-one-one,” he says, and blood pours from his mouth and his ear.

The camera’s perspective changes and you can see the boy’s face full-on—his eyes open but unseeing, and then there is a moment where he suddenly sees Graham.

“Call nine-one-one,” he says, his voice starting to rise in panic, his breath ragged as he begins to cry a little and then spits more blood onto the hood of the car. The camera stays focused on his face and the blood runs down the car and his face turns a white-gray and tears and blood run down his face. His eyes look into the camera pleading, then become vacant. After a few minutes his breathing becomes loud and labored, then his eyes go blank. It was the most horrible thing I had ever seen. The most terrible thing I can imagine anyone having to look at. That moment where his eyes became flat and empty.

But still the camera was running. There was nothing but the sound of the wind and some birds chirping. The boy’s, Eric’s, hair was partly matted with blood but the wind blew and tousled the part that wasn’t. Then the camera changed perspective, panned back—Graham must have walked away a little and sat down—and you could see the whole front of the car and the dead boy on top of it. His broken body sliced by metal and glass and blood running everywhere.

You hear the scrape and click of a lighter being lit and you can hear Graham inhale, then exhale, then a cloud of gray smoke floats over the body of the boy. Graham was smoking. He was sitting beside the wreck with the camera trained on the last moments of his friend’s life, casually smoking.

I don’t know how long I sat there in his room. When I finally was aware of myself again, the front of my shirt was wet and I realized I had been crying. My hands were shaking. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was outside my body, watching myself from the other side of the room.

Then finally I took the DVD out of the computer, put it into my pocket, and put the album cover back where I found it.

I had no idea when it was shot, but I was going to take it to the police right away.

Syd came home so broken up and freaked-out I had no idea what could have happened to her. I thought at first she had been raped, it was that bad. She was shaking and crying. She told me she was going to report Graham to the police.

“What did he do to you?” I asked, angry and worried, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking into her face.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing, it’s what he did to you, and this movie he made of Eric.”