Deviation, Breaking the Pattern #1

CHAPTER EIGHT

  HENRY AWOKE ALL AT once, to a cacophony of sound and light. The light hurt his eyes, sliced into his head. His eyes teared, and the noise was horrendous. He tried to cover his face to block it all out, but someone grabbed him firmly by the arm, barking in his ear.

  “Get up, kid. Come on. On your feet.”

  Getting to his feet was a worse mistake than waking up. Nausea washed over him, and his stomach lurched. He forced his eyes open. The man holding his arm was a uniformed cop. Other cops were escorting other leftover partiers to the door. There was shouting and banging and all kinds of confusion.

  Henry stopped at the door, and the cop impatiently pushed him over the doorstep. Henry looked down the steps and nausea overtook him. He doubled over, stomach heaving.

  “Come on,” the cop growled, pushing him.

  Henry grabbed the handrail, retching over the bushes. Others pushed past him. Everybody walked like zombies, still half asleep, drunk or hung over.

  Eventually, Henry’s stomach settled down, and once again, the cop took his arm firmly and escorted him into a squad car.

  At the police station, Henry sat alone in a small, gray interrogation room and tried to sort things out. It was some kind of bust, obviously. Drugs? He was clean other than alcohol, which should be out of his system by now. Or maybe the frat house was doing illegal froshing or something, although Henry hadn’t seen anything the previous night.

  Henry’s head was still whirling. He just wanted to put down his head and go to sleep. He’d obviously had too many of those little jello shooters the night before. He hadn’t realized that they were so potent.

  The door opened and an officer came in. He was short and slim, his face mapped with fine lines of experience.

  “Hi kid,” he greeted casually. “Jim Barnes. How’s it going?”

  “Umm, okay, I guess.”

  “Good. You’re looking a little green there. The officer who brought you in said you were sick.”

  “Yeah. Too much to drink, I guess,” Henry admitted.

  “That’ll do it. You want a coffee or anything?”

  Henry wrinkled his nose. He’d never developed a taste for coffee.

  “No.”

  “Juice? Water?”

  “Maybe… like, some soda would settle my stomach,” Henry suggested.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Barnes left the room for a moment and then returned. “Someone will bring it in a minute,” he advised.

  “Thanks.”

  “So. Your name?”

  “Henry Thomas.”

  Barnes wrote it down in a small notepad.

  “How old are you, Henry? A little young to be at a frat party, aren’t you?”

  “A guy I know, his brother invited him, and I went along.” Henry glanced around. “What’s going on? Why’re we here?”

  “What can you tell me about what happened at the party last night?” Barnes questioned, not answering Henry’s questions.

  “I don’t know,” Henry’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Music, dancing, talking. Nothing much.”

  “Drinking?”

  “Not exactly. Jello shooters.”

  “Drugs?” Barnes suggested.

  “I didn’t see any. No one offered me anything.”

  “Sex?”

  Henry felt his face heat up. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “I suppose. Plenty of kids making out,” he noted.

  “You?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Henry considered. He didn’t remember a lot of what had happened last night. There were a lot of blanks. A few fleeting images, though, made him unsure whether he could answer honestly.

  “I don’t remember a lot of last night,” he said tentatively. “I think maybe I got together with a girl.”

  “A college girl?” Barnes questioned skeptically.

  Henry tried to put a face on the images. It was all so foggy. He remembered—what? Going upstairs with someone… but it was all so vague and unclear.

  “I’m not sure. I think it was my friend’s sister… maybe.”

  Barnes was watching him like a hawk to determine if he was telling the truth. Henry still didn’t know what it was about.

  “How old would she be?” Barnes questioned.

  “I dunno, she’s younger… maybe thirteen.”

  “And what exactly did you do with her?”

  Henry tried to summon up details, sweating. He swallowed strenuously and wondered what had happened to the soda.

  “I don’t know what this is about,” he protested. “Why does it matter if I made out with Liz? Lots of people were fooling around.”

  Barnes studied him for several long moments. Then he threw a glossy photo down on the table in front of Henry.

  It was Liz. Grey, eyes shut, obviously dead. Henry’s stomach twisted and he was really scared for the first time. Liz was dead. He’d been with her. Maybe he’d been the last one with her. They knew that. Henry’s head whirled and he covered his face with both hands, dangerously dizzy and nauseated.

  Henry wasn’t sure if he blacked out, or if no time had passed. Barnes was at his side, taking his pulse with strong, dry fingers, talking to him in a quiet, urgent tone.

  “You’re okay. Just take it easy. Head between your knees.”

  Barnes pulled Henry’s chair out from the table and firmly pushed Henry’s head down. Henry complied.

  “You okay?” Barnes questioned. “You have any medical conditions we should know about?”

  “No… no it’s just the hangover… the shock…” his voice broke and a tear escaped his eyes. “I can’t remember what happened!”

  “Just sit and take it easy for a minute,” Barnes soothed

  Henry took deep breaths, trying to settle down. Trying to remember those few moments with Lizzy.

  “Let’s take it from the top,” Barnes suggested, when Henry was breathing easier and sat up, trying to steady himself again. “You remember being at the party, drinking jello shooters. Do you remember when Liz got there?”

  “Yeah. With Andrew, her brother.”

  “Did you see her after that? Did she stick with your group?” Barnes suggested.

  “No. Andrew didn’t want her there. Told her to get lost.”

  He realized that didn’t make Andrew sound good, and shrugged uncomfortably.

  “Then when did you make out?” Barnes reminded him.

  Henry searched his memory, but could not remember what had happened.

  “I’ll go see what happened to that soda,” Barnes said abruptly, and walked out.

  Henry sat uncertainly. He moved his chair closer to the table again, resting his elbows. It was a long time before Barnes returned. He didn’t have the promised soda. Henry was getting very dry. He could really use a drink to help him to settle down.

  “So,” Barnes said, with no mention of the missing beverage. “You remember anything else?”

  “No,” Henry shook his head.

  “You took Liz upstairs.”

  “Um, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  Henry felt himself flushing. He shrugged self-consciously.

  “To make out, I guess.” Then suddenly it came back to him in a flash. “No—it wasn’t. It was to clean her up. She had too many shooters, threw up this green jello, all over herself. Made a disgusting mess. She was bawling like a baby. Everyone was just laughing at her. Wouldn’t get near her. I took her upstairs to help her wash up.”

  Barnes nodded. Henry could see this was no surprise to him. Someone else must have already told him that part.

  “So you took her up to the main bathroom?”

  “No, it was too busy. Ned said I could use the one off the master bedroom.”

  “Half bath? Shower?” Barnes questioned.

  “No, it was huge. Full bath. Like, this great big jacuzzi thing.”

  Barnes sat back and looked at him.

  “So tell me what happened.”

  He
nry frowned.

  “I don’t remember everything… had to get her clothes off, they were covered with green slime… thought I’d wash them in the sink, and throw them in the frat’s dryer. Maybe one of the fraternity members could lend her something until they were dry.”

  “And where was she while you were washing her stuff in the sink?”

  “In the tub I guess,” Henry closed his eyes and tried to picture it, tried to remember. He could remember her singing in the tub, in a high, wobbly voice, as she splashed around. “Yeah, she was in the tub, washing off. I was afraid she was too drunk to be in the water. She could have an accident, drown or something.”

  “So you got in with her?” Barnes said.

  Henry shook his head.

  “No I took off my socks and shirt, rolled up my pant legs. I just stepped in at the edge, and tried to get her to come out.”

  “And?”

  Henry licked his lips, parched. He didn’t want to talk about it. He was inexperienced with girls, and the encounter with Liz had been unexpected. Henry could only remember bits and pieces. He had yet to assimilate what had happened.

  “Liz didn’t want to come out. She kept trying to pull me in.” Henry couldn’t go on. Sweat gathered at his temples and trailed down his face. Barnes was silent for a long time, just waiting. Waiting for him to fill in the silence and say what had happened. “She was kissing, touching, teasing. I took off my pants and got in with her,” Henry admitted. “Made out.”

  Barnes nodded slowly.

  “So you two had relations. Then what?”

  Henry could remember the warmth of the jacuzzi. The feeling of fuzzy well-being. Her silly singing and teasing. Feeling really good. He couldn’t remember what had happened next.

  “I don’t know,” he said. It was a blank.

  “How did she die, Henry?”

  “I don’t think I could have been there. I don’t remember anything.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember draining the tub… getting dressed again… going to sleep… any of it.”

  “You were there,” Barnes told him.

  “I don’t think I was,” Henry protested. If he had been there, why didn’t he remember?

  “You hit her over the head,” Barnes snapped. “Why? Did she fight you? Change her mind? Or that’s just what pushes your buttons?”

  Henry was shocked. He licked his lips again. They were like sandpaper.

  “No, no, I never hit her. I’d never do that,” he protested.

  “How much do you drink normally?”

  “Not that much,” Henry said hesitantly.

  “This is the first time you’ve been out drinking like this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then how do you know how you would treat her with some firewater in you?”

  “I’m just not like that,” Henry said lamely.

  “How can you know what you’re like?” Barnes’ voice was harsh, accusing. “People do things when they’ve been drinking that they would never think of doing sober. Are you the kind of guy who would normally climb into bed with a girl you’d never met before? One who’d just been throwing up all over herself?”

  Henry swallowed, a lump in his throat.

  “No,” it came out a whisper, and he tried again. “No, but… I’m not great with girls… they’re not usually interested in me.”

  “Which brings us to a whole other facet of this thing. Who slipped her Rohipnol? You or one of your buddies?”

  “Rohipnol?” Henry said.

  “Date rape drug of choice.”

  “I didn’t give her anything. You gotta believe me. I was just trying to take care of her, help her out.”

  “You killed her.”

  “No. I just fooled around with her,” Henry said firmly, feigning confidence that he did not have. “I never hit her.”

  “You had a fight, or maybe you were angry because of the amount you drank. It’s better if you tell us now. Get it off your chest. I can’t help you if you lie to me,” Barnes urged.

  Henry rubbed his eyes, fighting tears.

  “I’m telling the truth,” he whined.

  “How much did you have to drink?” Barnes questioned, taking another tack.

  “I don’t know. It didn’t seem like a lot.”

  “How many shooters?”

  “Half a dozen, maybe.”

  “Do you usually have blackouts when you drink?”

  “I… I don’t know…”

  “This is the first time you’ve had alcohol,” Barnes divined.

  “Yeah,” Henry admitted.

  “First time you’ve been with a girl, too?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I see. It’s a confusing time for you. Unexpected emotions. You don’t know what it might bring out. You didn’t know this was going to happen. It’s okay. Just tell me. We can work it out.”

  Henry rested his face in his hands, elbows on the table.

  “Why don’t you think it over a while,” Barnes suggested. He got up and walked out.

  Henry sat there, unmoving. The tears he had held back with Barnes there started to flow. He didn’t try to stop them. He just couldn’t control it. Henry felt like he was falling apart. He knew he couldn’t have killed Liz. He couldn’t hurt anybody. Yes, he’d been drinking, but he knew he couldn’t have killed her. Barnes was so sure. What evidence did he have? What were the others telling him?

  Henry tried to dry his tears and sort it out. He had to approach it objectively. He had to protect himself, defend himself. Henry couldn’t let Barnes force him into a corner he couldn’t get out of.

  When Barnes finally got back, Henry had control of himself. He wiped his eyes and nose on his shirt. He bit his lip to keep his emotions in check.

  “I want you to tell me the rest,” Barnes said. “Are you ready?”

  “I think I need a lawyer,” Henry said evenly.

  Barnes raised his brows, but didn’t look surprised.

  “That’s your right,” he acknowledged. “But you haven’t been charged with anything.”

  “You think I did it,” Henry pointed out.

  “I know you did it,” Barnes maintained. “I’m just waiting for the rest of the forensic evidence and the autopsy results to come in.”

  “Autopsy? Doesn’t that take a long time?”

  “We should have the preliminary results today.”

  “I don’t want to stay here. Do I have to stay?”

  Barnes considered this.

  “I think it would be a good idea for you to stick around until all of this is cleared up,” he said obliquely.

  “But do I have to?” Henry pressed.

  “No. You don’t. I’ll get all of your contact information and have your parents pick you up.”

  “I don’t want you to call my mom. I’ll go home by myself. I know how to get around on the bus.”

  “You’re a juvenile. I need to call her,” Barnes said reasonably.

  Henry shook his head.

  “My mom can’t take it. She’s not real stable.”

  “She’s going to find out before too long,” the officer pointed out.

  “You’re not charging me. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Oh, you’ll be charged, all right. By the end of the day. Then you’ll be back here, your mom will know, and you’ll be behind bars.”

  “I want to go now,” Henry insisted, standing up.

  Barnes shrugged and nodded.

  “All right.”

  Henry glanced behind himself again, self-conscious. Barnes had put a tail on him. Very obvious. They didn’t want him running off before they could get the evidence to arrest him. Henry stopped at the shelter and picked up Bobby, not explaining why he was so late getting there. They looked him over and didn’t pursue it. He probably looked pretty rough.

  He went home. There was nowhere else to go. No one was home. Henry put Bobby down to play and turned on the TV. He was too w
orried to study. He knew he should be doing his homework, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. They thought he had killed Liz. They were intent on putting him in jail. What had happened? If he hadn’t killed her, who had? Would they be able to figure out the truth? If Henry went to jail, who would look after Bobby? His mom couldn’t. Clint couldn’t, he was working. Bobby would end up getting neglected during the day when his mom was supposed to be there, and hurt at night if he woke up Clint. Henry would have to convince Social Services to take Bobby away, put him in a foster home until he was old enough to look after his own needs.

  Henry was going to go to jail just like Frank. Suddenly, he wasn’t so angry with Frank. He felt sorry for him. Maybe Frank didn’t deserve to be in jail. Maybe it had just been a misunderstanding, like the baffling situation with Liz.

  Henry went to his mom’s room where she had told him the court papers on Frank were. He sat on her bed for a few minutes looking at the file box they were in before deciding to open it and find out what had really happened.

  > > >

  Henry packed Bobby’s diaper bag and put him in the stroller and went out for a walk. He didn’t start out with a plan; that came later. Initially, he just wanted to get out of the stifling stillness of the house and clear his head.

  Henry hadn’t been to Andrew’s house since they were little kids. But as he was walking, he remembered where it was. Andrew could help. He could tell Henry what he didn’t remember. Andrew would tell the cops that Henry would never kill anyone.

  There were a lot of cars in front of the house. Henry rang the doorbell. A woman answered the door, looking solemn.

  “Is Andrew here?” Henry questioned lowly, suddenly realizing that the house was in mourning. All of the cars, all of the people in the house talking in hushed tones.

  “Just a moment.”

  She ducked back into the house, and Andrew came to the door a minute later. He looked terrible. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Henry had seen Andrew, but the boy looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

  Andrew stared at him through the screen door, then slammed it open and stepped out.

  “You got some nerve coming here!” he accused.

  “I just wanted to talk about what happened,” Henry protested.

  “What happened? You take Liz upstairs, and the next thing I know, she’s dead! I thought you didn’t come down because she was passed out, or you were making out, or something.”

  Henry opened his mouth, and couldn’t find the words to protest.

  “But—I didn’t—”

  “I told you I wished someone would teach her a lesson—but you went too far! You killed her! How could you kill Lizzy?” his voice rose to a scream. “You killed my baby sister!”

  “I didn’t—”

  The door opened and a man stepped out. There were others behind him. They could obviously hear Andrew’s shouting in the house.

  “I think you’d better leave, son,” the man told Henry.

  “I didn’t do it,” Henry protested. “Andrew, you know I’m not that kind of guy!”

  “You heard me, kid. Move on.”

  Henry stood there, his feet rooted to the ground. He knew he should move, but he was frozen.

  “Get out of here!” Andrew screamed.

  Henry ran.

 
  The doorbell rang. Henry laid on his bed and ignored it. He couldn’t deal with any more visitors, especially if they were cops. He just needed to rest, to be by himself. They’d just have to come back.

  “Henry,” Barnes said from the bedroom doorway.

  Henry jumped. He sat up and stared at Barnes.

  “What are you doing here? You can’t break into my house!” he yelled.

  “I didn’t break in. The door was open. I guess you didn’t hear me ring the bell.”

  “What do you want?” Henry questioned tiredly, leaning on his hand. “You came to arrest me now?”

  “Well, the autopsy results came in.”

  Henry waited. If they were going to take him in, no protest was going to stop them now.

  “I hear you went by your friend’s house this afternoon,” Barnes said, changing the subject.

  “Yeah. And he thinks I did it,” Henry spat bitterly.

  “You were the last one to be with her. He knows that better than anyone.”

  “I didn’t hurt her,” Henry insisted.

  “The forensics guys found traces of blood in the bath,” Barnes said.

  Henry tried to remember. He knew he’d been in the tub with Liz. Had he gotten out and left her there? He couldn’t remember anything after lounging in the tub with her, a tingly sense of well-being enveloping him.

  “I just made out with her. There was no blood. Maybe it was someone else’s blood, from some other time,” Henry suggested.

  “It was hers. We tested. She got the blow to her head when she fell and struck it on the faucet.”

  It took a minute to sink in.

  “When she fell?” Henry repeated.

  “Fell or was pushed. But the evidence does support a fall.”

  “Then you know I didn’t kill her,” Henry said.

  “Somebody cleaned her and the bathroom up afterward. The blood was cleaned up. She was moved from the tub to the bed. Why was she moved?” Barnes challenged.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Maybe I—if it was me—maybe I didn’t know she was hurt—or dead.”

  “She had a great gash in her head, bled like the dickens. How drunk were you?”

  “I guess I must have been pretty bad,” Henry admitted. “I can’t remember.”

  “How many drinks did you have? How many shooters?”

  “Half a dozen. I’m not really sure. I didn’t think they had that much alcohol in them.”

  “There was the Rohipnol too.”

  “I didn’t give it to her.”

  “No. One of the older boys admitted to spiking some of the drinks. What I mean is, you might have had Rohipnol too, and it can make you forget.”

  “So that’s what happened? She just fell down and hurt herself, and I can’t remember because of the drinks?”

  “It could be.”

  Henry let his breath out in a long sigh.

  “I was starting to believe it.”

  Barnes studied him.

  “I’m sorry to have had to put you through all this. It’s my job. If you’re not guilty, I’m glad of it.”

  “You’re still not sure?”

  “It’s early yet. There hasn’t been a ruling of homicide or accidental death. If the ruling is accidental death, I’ll be leaving you alone. But there’s still more investigating to be done before that.”

  Henry nodded.

  “I’m glad you believe me,” he sighed.

  “You seem like a decent kid, Henry. I don’t like it when good kids get mixed up in things like this. I hope you’ll stay away from situations like this in the future.”

  “I don’t usually go out partying. I’m pretty much a loner.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having friends. Just be careful what you spend your time doing.”

  Henry nodded.

  “Yeah. I will.”

  > > >

  Henry walked into the kitchen, still in the ragged sweats that he wore for pajamas. Dorry, sipping her coffee, looked him over slowly.

  “You still not feeling well, sweetie?” she questioned.

  Henry shook his head.

  “No, not really,” he said.

  She felt his forehead. Henry pulled back from her touch.

  “You’ve already missed three days of school,” Dorry observed, “and I know how much you hate to miss school. I suppose I should take you to the doctor.”

  “No,” Henry said. “It’s getting better. I’ll probably be okay for school tomorrow.”

  A movement in the kitchen doorway caught Henry’s eye, and he turned with a jerk and saw Clint stand
ing there. Clint leaned against the frame, his eyes glinting. His knowing look told Henry that he was savvy to what was going on. He knew that Henry wasn’t really sick. He was just trying to avoid having to go back to school as long as possible.

  “I’ll go back tomorrow,” Henry repeated. “I’m starting to feel better.”

  “Okay,” Dorry agreed. “Clint and I are going to go out. You can look after Bobby.”

  Henry nodded agreement. Clint smirked at him, and helped himself to coffee without comment.

  Henry went to his classes the next day, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes or talking to anyone. He couldn’t stand to see the accusation in their eyes, the knowledge of what had happened. He knew that the rumors of Liz’s death and his possible involvement were already all over the school. Whispers followed him everywhere he went. His reputation—if he had one, still—would be gone. He was surprised that the school hadn’t called him to say he could pursue his education elsewhere.

  Some of his teachers wanted to talk to him about making up his assignments from the days that he had missed. Others just looked at him with fear in their eyes. Even the teachers thought he had done it.

  But at lunch, he ran into Andrew. Henry and Andrew both just stood there, looking at each other. Henry didn’t know what to say. He was half-expecting Andrew to haul off and punch him straight in the nose. After a long, awkward moment, Henry turned to go the other way.

  “No, wait,” Andrew stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  Henry looked at Andrew, waiting.

  “It’s okay,” Andrew said awkwardly. “The cops said it wasn’t you. That officer, Barnes, he said it looked like it was just a freak accident.”

  Henry shrugged, staring down at his sneakers and the dirty tiles beneath his feet.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said lowly.

  “I can’t believe that she’s really gone,” Andrew said, his voice sounding strained. “I keep expecting her to come up behind me and start buggin’ me, like she always did. It’s so quiet. I feel like I’m the only one living in the house. I don’t know if my folks just don’t want to be around anymore, but… It echoes. I just bounce around like a pinball.” He paused, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “Because I’m your friend,” Henry said softly.

  Andrew nodded.

  “Yeah. And you were there… Other people, they don’t want to talk about it. They say sorry and all, but they don’t want to hear… About Liz. And about how it is.”

  “I wish it hadn’t’a happened,” Henry said. “I was just trying to help her out, I didn’t know anything would happen.”

  “When you didn’t come down right away, I thought you two hit the sheets, you know? I never thought anything was wrong until morning, when no one had seen you.”

  Henry’s face burned, right up to the tips of his ears. He shrugged hopelessly.

  “I was just trying to take care of her,” he repeated.

  Henry walked into the quiet house, tired. He checked in on Bobby, and found him sleeping peacefully. Henry flopped down on his bed, too wiped out to even think about homework. The day had been emotionally exhausting. He drifted off to sleep quickly.

  Henry awoke with a start when Clint got home. Henry got up blearily, rubbing his eyes.

  “You making my dinner?” Clint demanded, looking around impatiently.

  “Uh—I fell asleep.”

  “The kid stinks, too.”

  Henry looked at Bobby playing happily in his crib. He obviously had a dirty diaper.

  “Yeah. I’ll change him and rustle something up to eat.”

  Clint nodded.

  “I’m hungry. Make it something quick.”

  “Okay.”

  Henry changed Bobby and left him to play in the crib. He looked through the fridge and cupboards, trying to figure out what to make. He should have gone grocery shopping. The kitchen was pretty bare. Henry pulled out some macaroni and cheese and a can of tomato sauce and went to work.