“I smell weed on the kid.” Yates pulls his arm even tighter.
“I don’t have any weed!” But damn it. What’s going on? Why is this guy …
A black Chevy truck pulls up. “That’s him!” Matt yells, looking back at the other officers. “That’s Mr. Barker. I put an ad in Craigslist. Ask him.”
Yates slams Matt against the car. Voices sound behind him.
“He’s telling the truth, Yates,” one of the other officers says. Matt exhales, praying this is over.
“What’s happening?” Another voice pipes up behind him, a voice Matt recognizes.
He tries to turn around to see Detective Henderson. Yates slams him against the car again. “I was meeting someone from Craigslist and he accuses me of following him.”
“Let the kid go!” Henderson yells. “He’s telling the truth.”
Yates releases him. Matt swings around and fights the temptation to take a swing.
Officer Yates scowls at the detective. “The kid’s been stalking my girlfriend’s daughter. You heard her say that he practically assaulted her friend at the park.”
“No.” Henderson moves in and gets between Matt and Yates. “I clearly remember her saying that Jayden was the one who struck first.”
“Because this piece of shit was in her face.”
“She also said he wasn’t hurting her. That Jayden had overreacted.”
“He followed me into the station!” Yates said. “He’s stalking me now.”
“That’s a lie. I was here first!” Matt says.
Officer Yates takes an offensive step toward Henderson. “Why are you siding with the kid?”
“I’m not … I’m saying you don’t have a reason to come at him.”
“I won’t forget this.” Officer Yates takes off. So does Mr. Barker and Matt’s chance of selling Eric’s car.
Matt turns to Henderson. “I wasn’t following him.”
“I know that.” Henderson stands there watching the police car pull off.
“That guy’s an asshole!” Matt’s fury builds remembering how the guy had slammed him into his car.
“I know that too. Now.”
Matt stares at Henderson. “I can’t believe he’s a cop!”
Detective Henderson exhales. “We get all kinds.” He sounds baffled.
“I was sitting in the car, and he came here and pulled his gun out.” Matt sees the sign behind Eric’s truck that says the area is under surveillance. “Check the video. You’ll see!”
Detective Henderson exhales. “Give me a second.” He walks over to the other cops.
“Can I leave?” Matt calls out, wanting to get the hell away from here.
“Just a minute!” Henderson sends him a wave with a frown.
Matt crosses his arms. Anger crawls on his skin like fire ants. He kicks Eric’s tire just to feel better while the three cops talk.
Finally, Henderson returns. “Come on, let’s go to my office and cool off.”
“I just wanna go.”
“No. You want to come with me. Let Yates get away from here before you start out.”
* * *
I pull over in front of the roadside park. I’m still hearing Cassie say, “Matt’s right. Eric wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have left Matt or his mom. Or me.” The second my foot crunches on the graveled path, I’m greeted by the eerie sensations that seems to say, Hello, you’ve been here; you’ve died here.
My heart thumps against my breastbone. Is Eric doing it, or am I just afraid? I stare into the woods. The gray cold seeps through my jacket. Most of the trees are bare of leaves, everything is brown, everything looks … dead. I realize it’s not Eric I’m afraid of here. It’s death. It lives and lingers here.
That monster got so close to me that I smelled its hideous breath.
While I won that battle, it took almost two years of my life away. I sometimes think it stole part of my soul, and I know it took some of my parents’.
But I’ll be damned if I let it take anymore. And if I can stop it from taking more of Matt’s, I’ll do it. I grab the metal detector from the backseat. I don’t have a clue where the oak or twin pine trees are, but I’m on a mission, and I’m not leaving until I find them.
I hesitate as I walk past the picnic table. It was easier to be here when I had Matt by my side. I stop, consider texting him, then decide against it.
When I find that bullet, I’ll text him. I lift my chin, take a deep breath, and walk to the woods where Eric died. No, where Eric was murdered.
It’s just like Matt said. I know it now more than ever. Eric didn’t commit suicide.
* * *
Matt’s sulking in Detective Henderson’s office while the detective is asking him about Eric’s car, acting as if he’s actually interested in buying it. It’s bullshit.
But Matt plays nice. Nice because Detective Henderson just rescued him from God only knows what. He seriously thinks that jackass might have planted weed on him.
“So it’s still under warranty?” Detective Henderson asks.
“Yeah.”
The detective gets quiet for a long pause. “Did Eric know Cassie when Officer Yates dated her mom?”
“Don’t know. Why?”
“Nothing.” He rakes a hand over his face. “What motor does that car have?”
Matt’s heads swims with the change of subject. Then his phone dings with a text. He pulls it closer. It’s from Leah.
Meet me at the roadside park. Now.
What’s she doing there? He knows how much she hates that place.
Looking up, he interrupts Henderson talking about … Hell, Matt doesn’t know what the man’s saying because he’s not listening. “Can I go now?”
Before Henderson can answer, there’s noise in the hall.
“I said he was with someone!” The voice echoes.
Matt recognizes the receptionist’s voice. Both his and Detective Henderson’s gazes zero in on the door. Matt’s not sure who’s surprised more, him or Henderson, when Cassie Chambers walks through the door.
Her blond hair is tossed. Her eyes are wet and red. She looks at Matt. “You were right.”
37
“Eric didn’t kill himself!” Cassie wipes tears from her cheeks and stares at Matt. “I’m sorry.”
Matt inhales. He thinks he’s imagining it.
More tears fill her eyes. “My mother’s boyfriend. Joe Yates. He…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure he drugged and raped me. I’d been drinking. Mom was out of town. I came in, and I think he was drunk too. He offered me a beer. I should have said no, but I didn’t. When I woke up, I was naked and had vague memories of him … on top of me. I confronted him. He said I was drunk and it never happened.”
Detective Henderson mutters, “Oh, hell!”
“It messed me up. I broke up with Eric. When we got back together, I told him. He wanted to confront Yates. I told him no, that we didn’t have proof. I told him to forget it. But it messed up Eric more than me. I…” Her voice shakes. “I broke up with him the second time because he wouldn’t let it go.”
“Did you tell anyone? Anyone besides Eric?” Detective Henderson asked.
She shakes her head.
“Not even your mom?” he asks.
“I tried. I went to her, and I didn’t even get to the part where I thought he raped me, and she blew up. She said I was trying to break her up like I did with her last boyfriend. And I had tried to break them up, because he was using my mom. She said she finally met someone she loved and wasn’t going to let me ruin her life. I knew she wouldn’t believe me.”
She brushes her tears off her cheeks. “I made a video. I told her everything. I was going to send it to her, but I never got the nerve.”
Detective Henderson’s chair squeaks as he leans forward. “Do you still have it on your computer?”
“Yeah, why?”
Henderson inhales. “It’s proof you didn’t make this up. Computers have time stamps.”
r />
Matt’s head is swimming. “Why didn’t you say any of this earlier?”
“I believed what the police said. Eric was so upset, I thought…” She looks at Matt. “But you kept saying that he wouldn’t do it. And then I saw him all those times. Why would he go there?”
“Slow down.” Henderson leans forward. “Saw who, where?”
“Yates, he goes to the roadside park where Eric was shot. When Jayden drives me home, Yates’s car is there. Like almost every day. I don’t know why he goes there.”
“I do,” Matt says. “He’s looking for a bullet.” He remembers. “Shit!” Matt bolts up. “Leah’s there now!”
* * *
I hold the metal detector high, up against the tree, for the tenth time. Just to hear the beep, just to confirm it’s really there.
The beep sounds, then is soaked up by the trees. I still smile. It’s just like the dream. The oak, the twin pine trees. And I found it. Or did Eric find it? I don’t care. I want to help Matt. And Eric.
I owe them. Matt lost his brother. Eric lost his life. And I got to live. There’s still something that feels wrong about it. Maybe this will make it right.
I push that thought away, but another concern arrives. How will we get Detective Henderson here? Will he believe us? I remember the frustration in his voice today. Not targeted at me, more aimed at his inability to help.
I know how that feels. Before the transplant when I knew I was dying and could see what it was doing to my parents, I felt helpless. If I pretended I was brave, it seemed to break their heart. If I showed my fear, it seemed to break their heart. Ultimately, I accepted it. I was going to break their hearts anyway.
I raise the metal detector again, but my arms are tired. Where’s Matt? I drop the detector and pull my hoodie tighter.
Then I pull out my phone to make sure my text went through. Reception along this street is iffy. Right now, I’m not showing any bars, but it appears my text went through.
It’s getting colder. Darker. The car would be warm. But I can’t take the chance of leaving here and forgetting how to get back. It’s not on the path.
I notice a big pine tree with a large bulge, like a bumpy scar on its trunk, visible from the path. It’s a landmark. Turn at the scarred tree. I can remember that.
I take one step and stop. I try to imagine where Eric might have run. Did he head back to the path from here, or did he go farther away? I suddenly feel what Eric might have felt. Being followed. Chased. My mind is playing tricks on me because I swear I hear the sound of feet pounding on the path. Running. Trying to escape death.
I know how that feels. And not just from the dreams.
More chills scatter across my skin. I wonder if, in the end, Eric got tired and gave up, like I did when I accepted death. Or is Matt right? Was Eric a better fighter than me?
I’m not quite to the path when I see someone walking toward me.
The low-hanging branches block most of my view, but I see enough to know it’s not Matt.
Having just thought about Eric running, I get the craziest thought to do the same. I take a step back and a twig snaps. The person stops. That’s when I see the uniform.
“You Leah McKenzie?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He looks me over and nods. Then he pulls his phone out. “I got her. She’s fine.”
I’m fine? “What’s wrong?”
“Someone was worried about you.”
“Who?”
“Detective Henderson, for starters. He’s on his way. Let’s walk back to the road.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Am I in trouble?”
“All I know is the detective wanted me to come here and see if you were here. He’s on his way.”
And how did he know where I was? I’m tempted to ask, but the officer looks clueless. As we move down the path, I realize how dark it is. When we step out of the woods, car lights slash across us.
The car isn’t stopped when Matt bolts out of the passenger seat. He grabs me. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I didn’t … get a call.”
He pulls back, pushes a hand through his hair, and releases air that seems to have been held for a long time. “Shit. The reception sucks here. I should’ve remembered.”
Detective Henderson gets out of the same car Matt jumped out of. I look back at Matt. “What’s this about? Cassie? She left her purse. I took it to give her.”
“What?” he asks. He looks confused. “You saw Cassie?”
I nod.
“That’s why she did it,” he said.
“Did what?”
His smile takes the edge off my curiosity, because I haven’t seen it in what feels like forever. “Cassie came to see Henderson. She thinks … Yates, her mom’s boyfriend, shot Eric.”
I gasp. “But he’s a cop.”
“A bad cop.”
He runs a hand up and down my forearm. “I got the text from you and I was worried he—”
“I’m fine.” Then I remember. I lean close and whisper, “I found it.”
“Found what?”
“Proof.”
* * *
Saturday morning, a week and one day since everything went down, my alarm rings. I wake up in my pink room, stare at my pink polka-dot fan swirling above me. Brandy and I went to the paint store and found two soft shades of gray that I want to paint my room in. We even went shopping for a new bedspread and curtains. Right now, I let myself absorb the pink. As much as I want it changed, I see it for what it is. Mom’s love. She did this to make me happy.
I reach for my thermometer, stick it in my mouth, and close my eyes. It has been a hard week. I blame it on the lying. The big question was about how we found the bullets. Did we run the metal detector up and down each tree?
Thankfully, Matt and I got our heads together and came up with a believable lie before we were interrogated, since telling them about the dreams wouldn’t go over well. And I’ve repeated it all four times I’ve been asked: “We just assumed the only reason Eric would have brought a gun was if someone else had one. So we’d been on a hunt for a bullet. And yes, we almost searched every tree.”
Yup, it’s been a hard week. Maybe it’s not just the lying but because I’m grounded—from Matt. My parents are … Let’s just say a little upset.
My thermometer beeps. I pull it out. It’s normal. I grab my blood pressure cuff. I really don’t have to do this every day anymore. It was required for the first seven months. Now they just suggest I do it a couple times a week. But every morning I check. I don’t know why.
Or maybe I do.
Sometimes, I still feel it, that monster that took Eric—death. It’s not breathing down my neck like before, but it’s there. Good numbers help convince me it’s not that close.
I roll over. I miss Matt. Since I’m underage, Detective Henderson had to call my parents as well as Matt’s mom. Yup, Mom and Dad heard everything. About how I went to Cassie’s house, called Cassie, went looking for Jayden—whom we thought was a killer—and was questioned by a cop, who turned out is now suspected of being the real killer.
My defense: I didn’t do anything wrong, so why should I be grounded?
Their argument: What was right about their seventeen-year-old daughter, who just had a heart transplant, trying to hunt down a murderer?
Maybe they have a point, though I don’t feel like I had any other choice.
The worst part is that they blamed Matt. I explained I did all this behind his back. It didn’t matter. They pointed out that I’d never behaved like this before and it must be his influence.
That part really pissed me off.
My blood pressure machine beeps. I lift my head and look at the number. It’s a little high. Ten points. Not really bad. Not good. Being without Matt isn’t healthy for me. Though I have spoken with him every day at school and on the phone. It’s just not enough.
/> He came over and apologized to them last Saturday, but instead of accepting his apology, Dad gave him a ration of shit. I’m proud of Matt; he held it together. He kept calling Daddy “sir” and apologizing.
Me, I didn’t do that well. Thankfully, I didn’t lose it until Matt left.
“Why did you do that?” I asked Dad.
“Me?” my dad answered. “Let me turn it back on you, young lady. Why, after we fought like hell to keep you alive, why would you put yourself in that kind of danger?”
Because the guy I was finding justice for is the guy who gave me life. It’s his heart that’s keeping me alive. How could I not do it for him?
I came so close to spitting it out. But then I’d end up telling them about the dreams. That would probably lead me to a psychiatrist.
So I pulled myself together and went to my room. I’ve spent a lot of time in my room this week. Good news is, I completed one of my bucket-list items. I finished a hundred books. Bad news is, the time alone started me worrying again. About if Matt’s attraction to me isn’t more about finding justice for Eric than it is about me. It doesn’t help that we haven’t been able to go out.
And now it’s Saturday morning, and I’m about to ask if I can go out with Matt tonight. I look at my pink clock. It’s three minutes after nine. I’m late. I pull myself out of bed, slip my feet into my Dumbos, and rub my temple, where the slightest headache lies.
When I get into the kitchen, Dad’s holding up the newspaper and Mom’s reading over his shoulder, a cup of coffee clasped in her hands.
I get the feeling it’s about the case. Things I probably know about because the detective has been giving Matt and his mom updates.
I’m about to start my pill routine when Mom sees me. “Leah.” Her eyes round.
My dad shuts the paper. He doesn’t fold it nice and neat like usual. He sort of crunches it together as if trying to hide something.
I stand there looking at them. It seems like this is more than just about the case.
“What?” I ask.
38
“Nothing,” Mom says too quickly. She can’t lie worth a damn.