"Wait! Wait a second," I said.
"It's going to be okay." Elliott kissed my forehead. "Call my aunt." He fished in his pocket and handed me his car keys.
"I . . . don't know her number."
"I do," Mrs. Mason said. "Request a lawyer, Elliott. Don't say anything else until one arrives."
Elliott nodded and then left with Detective Thompson. I followed a respectful distance behind, escorted by Mrs. Mason. I watched out the wall of windows at the front of the school while Thompson opened the back of his navy-blue Crown Victoria. I touched the icy window, watching helplessly until Elliott and Thompson were out of sight.
I turned to Mrs. Mason. "He has nothing to do with this!"
"Come back to my office. We'll find Leigh's number. We should call her. Now."
I nodded, following the counselor back to her office. I sat down in the seat I had just occupied minutes before. My knee bounced, and I dug my thumbnail into my forearm while Mrs. Mason tapped on her computer, then picked up her phone.
"Mrs. Youngblood? Hi, it's Rebecca Mason. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Presley Brubaker has gone missing, and Detective Thompson from the Oak Creek Police Department has come to collect Elliott for questioning. He just took him to the station less than five minutes ago. Elliott asked that I call you."
I could hear Leigh panicking through the phone, firing off questions.
"Mrs. Youngblood . . . Leigh . . . I know. I know he's a good boy. But I think . . . I think you should call an attorney to meet Elliott at the station as soon as possible. Yes. Yes, I'm so sorry. Yes. Goodbye."
Mrs. Mason hung up the phone and then covered her eyes with one hand.
"Becca," Mr. Mason said, walking through the door.
Mrs. Mason looked up, trying her best to keep it together, but when she saw her husband, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.
Mr. Mason rounded the desk and helped his wife to her feet, holding her tight as she tried not to cry. I fell into Mrs. Mason's line of sight, and she released her husband, straightening her blazer and skirt.
"Catherine?" She cleared her throat. "Leigh is on the way to the police station. John should be there soon. They're calling Elliott an attorney. I want you to go to class"--sympathy touched her eyes--"and I want you to try very hard not to worry. If anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you about this, you come straight to me. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Good. I have an appointment with Tatum, Anna Sue, and Brie in ten minutes. Check in with me after lunch, please."
I nodded, watching her stride out of her office, determined to hold the school together if needed.
The walk to my locker from the office seemed to take twice as long as usual. I twisted the dial, but when I yanked, the door wouldn't open. The bell rang, and I tried again, desperate to avoid suspicious eyes and whispers. When I failed again, my bottom lip trembled.
"Let me," Sam said, yanking straight up on the latch. The lock released, and he pulled my locker open.
I quickly switched out my books and slammed the door, twisting the dial again.
"Maddy went home," Sam said. "Can I walk you?" He looked around. "I should walk you."
I glanced over my shoulder, cowering under the accusatory glares of other students passing by. Word had already spread. "Thank you."
Sam kept me close, walking me across the commons to B Hall. The students glared at me and Sam, and I worried he would become a target, too.
When we reached my world lit class, Sam waved to me and went on to his class. I slipped behind my desk, unable to miss Mrs. McKinstry pausing to look at me before taking roll.
I closed my eyes, holding Elliott's keys tight in my hand. Just a few more hours, and I could go to him. Just a few more hours, and--
"Catherine!" Mrs. McKinstry said.
I looked down, feeling warm liquid pool in my palm and drip down my wrist. Elliott's keys had punctured my hand.
Mrs. McKinstry grabbed a paper towel and rushed over, forcing me to open my hand. She dabbed my palm, the white paper soaking up the crimson.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded. "Sorry."
"Sorry?" she asked, surprised. "What on earth do you have to be sorry about? Just . . . go to the nurse. She'll get you cleaned up."
I gathered my things and rushed out, relieved that I didn't have to suffer through an entire class with twenty-five pairs of eyes on the back of my head.
The nurse's office was across from administration, just around the corner and ten feet down from my locker. I stopped at 347, unable to take another step. Feeling Elliott's keys wadded with the paper towel, I turned on my heel, running toward the double doors that led to the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Catherine
My worn, black Converses looked painfully juvenile next to Leigh's snakeskin stilettos. She sat with perfect posture, waiting in one of the ten or so unpadded metal chairs that lined the main hall of the Oak Creek Police Department.
The walls were a dirty tan, the matching baseboards scuffed with black and splattered with coffee and unknown stains. I counted seven doors breaking up the monotony of the walls that bordered the hallway, most of their top halves taken up by Plexiglas windows that were covered by cheap miniblinds.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above our heads, a reminder that the sunlight from the front windows only reached to the end of the hall.
Occasionally an officer or two would pass us, each one watching with wary eyes, as if we were part of some intricate plan to help Elliott escape.
"I don't have to tell you that it's not a good idea to drive Elliott's vehicle without a license," Leigh said, keeping her voice low.
I cowered. "Yes. It won't happen again."
"Well," she said, wiping her palms on her slacks, "I'm sure Elliott doesn't mind, but next time, call me. I'll come."
I didn't bother arguing that Leigh should have come straight to the police station instead of detouring to give me a ride. Leigh was in no mood for backtalk.
"John!" Leigh said, standing.
"I got here as quick as I could. Is he still in there?"
Leigh nodded, her bottom lip trembling.
"Has Kent made it?"
"Yes, he's been in there for about half an hour. Elliott's been in there twice as long. I'm not sure what's happening. They won't let me see him."
"Did you call Kay?"
Leigh rubbed her forehead. "She's on her way."
John hugged her and then reached for me. I stood, letting him pull me in for a hug.
"It's going to be okay, girls. We know Elliott had nothing to do with this."
"Has she been found?" I asked.
John sighed and shook his head. He sat in the chair to my right, Leigh to my left, turning me into a Youngblood sandwich and offering some of the safety I felt when Elliott was close. John turned to his phone, typing arrest process into the search engine bar.
"John," Leigh said, reaching over me to tap her husband's knee.
She gestured to the right, and we turned to see Presley's parents leaving one of the offices, the miniblinds swaying back and forth.
Mrs. Brubaker was dabbing the skin beneath her eyes with a wadded tissue, Presley's dad guiding his wife with his arm around her shoulders. They stopped, seeing us sitting in the hallway. Mrs. Brubaker sniffed, staring at us in disbelief.
"Uh," the officer said, holding up her arm to motion for the Brubakers to continue, "this way."
After several seconds, the officer finally convinced the couple to proceed.
"It's going to be okay, honey," John said.
He was talking to his wife, but she hadn't said anything, so I was surprised when she responded as if she had.
"Don't tell me it's going to be okay. Of all the kids in that school, it's Elliott who was brought back to the police station?"
"Leigh . . . ," John warned.
"We both know if he was my
sister's son instead of yours, he wouldn't be here."
John stared at the door across from him, his eyebrows pulling in a fraction of an inch. "Elliott's a good boy."
"Yes, he is, which is why he shouldn't be here."
"Catherine?" John asked, turning to me. "What happened at school?"
I took in a breath. I couldn't tell them Elliott was taken into custody because of his behavior at the school. John and Leigh would want to know why he was being so protective of me. But a part of me wondered why Elliott wasn't more surprised to hear about Presley. I knew he didn't care for her, but as laid-back as Elliott was, even he should have been shocked to hear about Presley's disappearance.
"Well . . . ," I began. I didn't want to lie. "The detective questioned him. They don't know where he walked after he left my house. I think that's why they're suspicious." I wanted to tell Leigh he'd spent the night, but I didn't want to have to get into why. I considered letting her just assume he'd stayed there to do what most teenagers did, but I couldn't say it.
Leigh fidgeted. "Last night? We were out. When we got home, I assumed he was in bed."
"Leigh, don't say that again," John said. "The answer is, Elliott came straight home."
"Dear God," Leigh whispered. "This looks bad, doesn't it? We haven't been on a date in three years, and the first time we go, we needed to be our nephew's alibi."
Alibi? The word was familiar but foreign.
The double doors at the end of the hall opened, and Elliott walked out with a man in a gray suit. Elliott looked flushed, his eyes reflecting the stress and anger that had built up over the past three hours.
Leigh stood and threw her arms around Elliott. He stood there without emotion until his gaze fell on me.
"Are you all right?" Leigh asked, pulling away to look him over. "Did they hurt you? Kent? Is he okay?" she asked.
Kent straightened his tie. "He's not officially a suspect yet, but he will be if they find a body. They certainly think he has something to do with her disappearance." He looked to me. "Are you Catherine?"
"Leave her alone, Kent," Elliott warned. He was shaking with anger.
"Let's go outside," Kent said.
Elliott helped me with my coat and then curved his arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the station parking lot. We walked until we reached Leigh's sedan.
Kent zipped up his coat, looking around at the various cars in the lot. His breath was visible, puffing out and then disappearing into the night air.
"Tell us," John said. "Are they charging him with something?"
"I didn't do anything!" Elliott said, his cheeks beet-red.
"I know!" John growled. "Let me talk, damn it!"
"They haven't found Presley," Kent said. "It seems she disappeared without a trace. With no witnesses or a body, there are no charges to make."
I leaned against the car, thinking about the way Kent said body. I imagined Presley lying lifeless in a ditch somewhere, her alabaster skin covered in dead grass and smudged with dirt.
"You okay?" Elliott asked.
"I'm just . . . dizzy."
"I should get her home," Elliott said.
"We're all going home," John said.
"That's a good idea," Kent said, aggravated. He jingled the keys in his suit pocket before pulling them out. "Detective Thompson is out for blood. He thinks something isn't right with Elliott and Catherine. He said he has a hunch," he scoffed. "It is my professional advice that you take Elliott straight home. He shouldn't be walking around in the dark anymore. You know, just in case anyone else goes missing."
"This is serious, Kent," Leigh snapped.
"Oh, I know. And it's not over until that girl is found. And even then, it still might not be over. His anger isn't helping, Leigh. Make sure he gets a handle on that."
"Elliott," Leigh said, as disappointed as she was surprised, "what happened in there?"
Elliott looked ashamed. "I tried. I tried everything. But they wouldn't let up. One officer kept putting his finger in my face. After an hour, I backhanded it away."
"Oh, for the love of . . ." She saw Elliott's expression and touched his shoulder. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."
"Why are you letting a cop put his finger in Elliott's face?" John asked Kent.
Kent sighed. "I told him to stop."
"You riding with me or Aunt Leigh?" John asked.
"I drove his car here," I said.
"You did?" Elliott asked, surprised.
"He shouldn't be driving. Not after the night he's had," John said.
Elliott gestured to the sedan. "We'll fit better in Aunt Leigh's car."
John nodded, seeming shocked Elliott didn't put up a fight. "See you at home."
Elliott opened my door, and I slid into Leigh's back seat. The leather was cold against my jeans, but it subsided when Elliott sat beside me and pulled me close.
Leigh slammed the door and twisted the ignition. A small dream catcher hung from her key ring, the light glinting off the metal as it dangled just above her knee.
"I'll drop Catherine off."
"No," Elliott blurted out. "I need to talk to her first."
"So the house, then?" Leigh asked, exasperated.
"Yes, please," he said.
I knew how he felt. There was so much to say, but I didn't feel comfortable discussing any of it in the back seat of Leigh's car.
Elliott held me close, tense and still shaking from his time at the police station. I couldn't imagine what he'd been through, the things they'd asked and accused him of.
Leigh slowed as she turned into the drive, waiting for the automatic garage door to roll up enough for her to pull in.
"Don't leave the house," Leigh warned as we walked inside.
"I have to walk her home," Elliott said, stopping just inside the threshold.
Leigh closed the door and locked it, pointing at her nephew's chest. She was half his size but intimidating. "You listen to me, Elliott Youngblood. I'm either taking her home or she's staying here, but you are not to leave this house. Do you understand me?"
"I didn't do anything wrong, Aunt Leigh."
She sighed. "I know. I'm just trying to keep you safe. Your mom should be here in a couple of hours."
Elliott nodded, watching Leigh disappear down the hall, and then took my hand, leading me to his bedroom in the basement.
The old springs in Elliott's bed squeaked when I sat on the edge, wrapping my arms around my middle. Elliott draped a blanket around my shoulders, and it was then I realized I was the one shaking.
He knelt in front of me, gazing up at me with his warm, russet eyes. "It wasn't me."
"I know," I said simply.
"They . . . they had me answering the same questions over and over, in ways that had me so confused that at one point I was afraid I'd gone crazy and wasn't remembering right. But I know I didn't see Presley. I wasn't anywhere near her house. It wasn't me."
He was saying the words more to himself than to me.
"Where did you go?" I asked. "After you left practice?"
He stood and shrugged. "I walked around, trying to think of what to do about leaving. I can't not be with you, Catherine. I can't leave you at that house alone. You refuse to leave, so I was trying to think of a solution. You keep saying you're not good for me, that you're trying to protect me. You even tried to break up with me once. I was trying to clear my head and think of some way to talk you out of it."
"You're a person of interest in a disappearance, Elliott. This is the last thing--"
"It's the only thing!" he said, working to rein in his temper. He took a deep breath, walked away a few steps, and then returned. "I was sitting in that white room with white floors and white furniture, feeling like I was suffocating. I was thirsty, hungry, and afraid. I just kept thinking of all the little lights on our street and what it felt like to walk down it holding your hand, in and out of the darkness. Nothing they could say could change that. Nothing anyone can do can take that away from us. Except
you. And you love me, I know you do. I just can't figure out why you won't let me in."
"I've told you."
"Not enough!" He dropped to his knees, grabbing mine. "Trust me, Catherine. I swear I won't make you regret it."
I stared at him, watching the worry and desperation swarm in his eyes. I turned toward the stairs.
"Does what's going on in there have to do with Presley?" he asked.
My mouth fell open, and I pushed his hands off my knees. "You think I have something to do with this?"
"No," he said, holding his hands up. "I would never think that, Catherine, c'mon."
I stood. "But you still asked." I let the blanket fall to the ground and headed for the stairs.
"Catherine, don't leave. Catherine!" he called.
When my foot touched the first step, a loud crash sounded behind me, and I whipped around. Elliott had punched his new bathroom door. His fist went straight through the flimsy, hollow wood, and then he reared back again.
As his fist landed another blow, I ran up the stairs, yanking the door open to see Leigh standing on the other side, eyes wide. She passed me, rushing down to stop Elliott from trashing his room.
I pushed out the front door. Winter blasted me in the face, and my lungs felt on fire with every icy breath. One of the last lit streetlights highlighted a snowflake as it danced in front of me on its way to the ground. I stopped, glancing up to see large flakes falling around me, clinging to my hair and settling on my shoulders. I closed my eyes, feeling the frozen pieces kiss my face. Snow had a way of silencing the world, enticing me to stay submerged in it. The thin layer of snow sticking to the ground crunched under my feet as I took my first step toward the Juniper, away from the person who was my island away from the dangerous things that lived outside my bedroom door. Nothing was safe anymore. Maybe nothing ever was.
Chapter Twenty-Eight Catherine
Mrs. Mason twisted her number two pencil between her fingers, waiting for me to speak. She'd remarked on the dark circles under my eyes.
I sat in the scratchy chair in front of her desk, swallowed by my puffy coat and scarf. Mrs. Mason had the same concerned expression she wore the day she'd called DHS on Mama.
"Things aren't great," I said simply.
She leaned forward. "You went to the police station last night. How did that go?"