“What did you see, Elizabeth?” Mrs. Cutler asks. “Is Kayla alive?”
“If someone hadn’t interrupted me, I would be able to tell you what I saw. But the link is broken now. I can’t see anything.”
Everyone’s glaring at Gabie. I grab her elbow and pull her toward the door. I guess it’s my day for pulling people out of harm’s way. “I think we need to go.”
She resists for a second, then follows. “I’m sorry,” she says to the room.
Four faces look back at her. And none of them looks very forgiving.
“What were you doing in there?” I ask once we get outside.
“I wasn’t doing anything. I was just doing what she asked us to do. I was trying to picture Kayla, and all of a sudden, it was like I could. I could see her. And I knew she was alive.” She takes a shaky breath. “Kayla didn’t look that good, though. She looked sick. But she was alive.”
“That’s what you said down by the river.”
“And you agreed with me.” She takes out her keys.
I shrug. “Maybe. But it was more like I just couldn’t believe Kayla could be dead. You know. It takes a while for that kind of thing to sink in.”
“That’s not what happened in there. I really saw her, Drew.”
“Hey, who was supposed to be the psychic in that room? That lady is the one they’re paying to tell them what really happened.”
“She was just hedging her bets.”
Gabie may think she knows Kayla’s alive, but it’s more like she wishes it were true. Everyone wishes it were true. But I think of what Pete said about the bloody rock. I think of the churned up riverbank. Lots of things get lost in the river, and the river never gives them back.
Gabie’s eyes have dark shadows underneath. “Are you getting enough sleep?” I ask as we get in her car.
I think I’m changing the subject, but Gabie obviously doesn’t think so. “What? Do you think I was hallucinating in there? That I’m so tired that when she asked me to close my eyes, I fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing? Because I didn’t.”
Maybe Gabie’s right. Maybe that was what I was thinking.
“Maybe that Elizabeth Lamb does know how to tap into something,” she says. “And just being around her allowed me to see, too.”
I point out the obvious. “Then why didn’t you see the same thing?”
“I don’t know. I could just see Kayla standing behind her. And there wasn’t any of this laying down and putting in. It was just her standing there and looking sad. And it felt like I really saw her. Like it was real.”
Yeah, just like little kids know that Santa is real. It’s all about what you want to believe. But I don’t say that.
The thing is, I think I might want Kayla to be dead. Because what’s the alternative? That someone took her. Either that Cody guy or someone else, someone worse. Someone took her and has her and can do whatever he wants to her.
I used to like movies with plots like that. Maybe not like them, but I watched the DVDs with my mom when she brought them home from the video store next to Thriftway. Slasher movies with hidden underground torture chambers. Handcuffs and gags and chains. Blood splattering on the walls, sometimes in slo-mo. The creative use of a nail gun or a rusty saw or a shiny scalpel.
But when it’s not a movie? When it’s not fake? When you can’t push the power button and watch the light disappear? When it’s really Kayla’s pale skin, Kayla’s blood?
Then maybe it would be better if she were dead and in the river.
Transcript of 911 Call
911 Operator: 911. Police, fire, or medical?
Cody Renfrew: Uh, suicide.
911 Operator: Sir?
Cody Renfrew: I want to report a, a suicide.
911 Operator: Whose suicide are you reporting, sir?
Cody Renfrew: Um, mine.
911 Operator: Hang on…hang on…hang on, sir, stay on the phone with me. We’re dispatching someone to help you. Sir? Sir?
911 Operator: Man threatening to kill himself—5702 SE Eagle Drive.
Radio: (unintelligible)…Clear.
911 Operator: Sir, I’m trying to get someone there to help you. Please don’t do anything, sir. Someone will be there in a few seconds to help you.
Radio: (sounds of siren)
Cody Renfrew: (sound of gunshot)
911 Operator: Need units going toward 5702 SE Eagle Drive.
* * *
Suspected Killer Kills Self While on Phone with 911
PORTLAND—A loner. That’s what they called Cody Renfrew.
Speaking off the record, a mental health professional described Renfrew’s metamorphosis from a delusional substance abuser to a man committed to his own recovery. But it was a metamorphosis that seems to have ended in murder.
After two years of drug and alcohol abuse, Renfrew, 21, started to put his life back on track, says one staffer who worked with him after he sought help last year at a county clinic. Renfrew even took the first step toward earning a certificate to become a substance abuse counselor.
But the staffer also said Renfrew showed signs of a delusional disorder and occasionally thought others could read his mind.
As Renfrew’s sobriety continued, he began to recognize and deal with his inner demons, the staffer said. Gradually, his disheveled appearance gave way to a more respectable demeanor in line with his ongoing recovery. According to the staffer, Renfrew reached the point where he could keep his delusional thoughts in check and could distinguish between reality and the fantasy world where his illness sometimes took him.
But his recovery hit a setback when the downturn in the economy cost Renfrew the hotel front desk job he had held for only a few months. Depressed, Renfrew turned again to meth, according to his family, and his inner demons returned. Paranoid and angry, he talked about easy ways to make money, including robbing a bank.
Police theorize that Renfrew decided to start small, by robbing and possibly kidnapping a pizza delivery person. Ten days ago, 17-year-old Kayla Cutler left Pete’s Pizza to make a delivery to what turned out to be a false address. She never returned. Her car was later found with the driver’s side door open. There were signs of a physical confrontation on the bank of the nearby Willamette River, including a rock with Kayla’s blood on it. Police theorize that Kayla ended up in the river, which is high, due to spring snowmelt and recent heavy rains, and that it may have carried her body out to the ocean.
A neighbor reported seeing Renfrew’s truck in the vicinity, and he admitted to police that he had been in the area that night. The family hired a psychic, who met with Renfrew and urged him to tell what he knew. Instead, Renfrew shot himself in the head while on the phone with 911 dispatchers. In his pocket was a note begging for forgiveness.
While many of Kayla’s friends and family are relieved that the man believed to be her killer is dead, others are angry that Renfrew did not reveal whether he dumped her body in the river or disposed of it in another way.
* * *
The Tenth Day
Gabie
WHEN THE ALARM goes off, I’m dreaming again of Kayla. In my dream, she called for me and I couldn’t find her. When I finally saw her, she was so far away. I tried to run to her, but it was like someone was yanking her back. I begged her to stand still.
Last night I heard on the news about that guy killing himself. Now after I go downstairs, I read a longer story in the newspaper. My stomach hurts so much that when my mom isn’t looking, I tip my cereal bowl out into the garbage disposal.
At school, it’s all anyone talks about. Kayla’s dead, and so is the guy who killed her. There are new flowers heaped on top of the dying ones in front of her locker. Someone has made the initials RIP out of red construction paper and taped them next to the lock.
It’s over, I keep telling myself as I go through my classes without hearing a word the teachers are saying. Kayla is dead. That sad, crazy guy with the bad teeth is dead, too. He killed her, and then he killed himself. End of story.
> It should feel like a relief, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels like there’s a ball of lead sitting in the center of my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I was stupid to think that Kayla was alive, I think as I sit slouched in calculus. What were the chances? Zero. Maybe some people would say “less than zero,” but as my parents would be quick to point out, in the given example, that’s not possible.
This morning, right before I left for school, my mom hugged me. For once I let her wrap her arms around me and didn’t pull away. She rested her lips against the side of my head, and I heard her soft, slow breathing.
Finally she pulled back, but she kept her hands on my shoulders. “Were you very close friends with Kayla?”
I’m surprised she hasn’t asked me this before. Why not? Maybe now that we know all the answers, it feels safer to talk about her.
“Just work friends.” I force myself to be honest. “Everyone at work was work friends with Kayla.”
I think but don’t say that our work friendship was nothing special. It was stupid to think I had been granted the ability to feel Kayla’s presence. To know she was alive.
* * *
Medical Examiner—Coroner’s Report
County of Multnomah
Postmortem Examination of the Body of
Cody Renfrew
Case# AC-142-09
Cause of Death:
Gunshot wound to head
Manner of Death:
Suicide
Attendance:
Under the auspices of the Multnomah County Medical Examiner’s Office, an autopsy is performed on May 17, commencing at 2:30 p.m. The examination is conducted by Dr. Thomas Burgess. In the performance of their usual and customary duties, Autopsy Assistant Mike Smith and Photographer Jane Scott are present during the autopsy. Also present during the autopsy is Sergeant R. E. Thayer of the Portland Police Department.
Clothing on Body:
A red plaid shirt from Target covers the arms, chest, and back.
Blue jeans from Levi’s cover the hips and genitalia. In the pockets are one quarter, one dime, a brown guitar pick, and a handwritten note reading, “Please forgive me.”
Underneath the blue jeans are men’s black briefs from Jockey.
On the feet are white socks and blue and white Nike sneakers.
General External Examination:
Received is the well-hydrated, slightly malnourished body of a Caucasian male aged 18 to 25 years, appearing consistent with the listed age of 21. When first viewed, the body is cool to the touch after having been refrigerated, lividity is posterior, spread in areas of pressure and fixed. Rigor is fixed in the major joints. The body is 72 inches in length and weighs 163 pounds.
The scalp is covered by brown hair, approximately 3 inches in length at its longest point. The irides are brown with the pupils fixed and dilated. The head is normocephalic, and there is external evidence of antemortem injury to be described below.
There are no tattoos, deformities, or amputations.
The body appears to the examiner as stated above. Identification is by toe tag and the autopsy is not material to identification. The body is not embalmed.
Anatomical Summary:
Gunshot wound to head, through-and-through.
A. Entry—right temple, contact wound.
B. Course—skin, right retro-orbital, floor of right middle fossa, sphenoid bone, left (retro) orbit.
C. Exit—left temple.
D. Trajectory—right to left.
* * *
The Thirteenth Day
Drew
WHEN GABIE and I walk into the church lobby, a big photo of Kayla sits on an easel right inside the door. It’s her senior photo, the same one they’ve used every place. Now when I look at it, it’s hard to see Kayla. It’s just dots of ink on a white piece of paper.
The lobby is jammed, even though the service isn’t scheduled to begin for twenty minutes. The only time I’ve seen this many people crowded together is for a concert or a football game. Not a funeral. Then again, I’ve never been to a funeral before.
Pete closed the restaurant today, and all the staff is here. There are lots of teachers and kids from school. And a bunch of people I don’t recognize. At first, I figure they must be Kayla’s relatives and neighbors. But then I realize some of them aren’t talking to anyone else. Just looking around at everything, standing by themselves, not looking stressed at all, just taking it all in. And I wonder how many of them are strangers, people who feel like they own a little piece of Kayla now because they’ve seen her picture on TV or read about her a dozen times. They’re probably disappointed they can’t buy popcorn.
Gabie is wearing a gray blouse and a black suit with a skirt. She looks like a college girl already. Maybe even older. Most of the guys, like me, aren’t wearing suits, just dress shirts and ties. Some of the ties are clip-on. I don’t even have a tie, just black Levi’s cords and a white shirt. It took me forever to find the iron since Mom has stored so much junk in our cabinets. She says she’s not bringing home more stuff, that she’s going to stop using, that she’s going to stop seeing Gary. That being arrested has scared her straight.
Right.
“I look like a waiter in these clothes,” I whisper to Gabie. “Do you want me to tell you about the specials tonight?” I would do anything to get her to smile, or even to see her lips twitch a little bit. Ever since we heard that Cody killed himself, that he asked for forgiveness, it’s like Gabie’s left her body.
She doesn’t seem to hear me. But it’s noisy. Everyone is milling around, talking and gesturing. And a lot of them are crying. Jade and Courtney are practically falling down, they’re weeping and wailing so hard. Even Miguel looks like he’s been crying.
An older lady in front of us says to her husband, “As soon as this is over, I want to get home and watch TV. Opal’s having that psychic on. The one who said what happened to Kayla.” Gabie stiffens. I touch her arm, and we move away from them so she won’t have to hear any more about Elizabeth Lamb.
A piece of brown butcher’s paper has been taped to the top of a long folding table. In the middle, in thick black letters, it reads good-bye Kayla. People are writing notes with Sharpies that have been scattered over the table.
Gabie and I squeeze in to read some of the messages. A few are to Kayla’s family, but most are written directly to Kayla. “I’ll miss your smile.” “You always made me laugh.” “The world is a smaller place without you.”
I pick up a pen, take off the cap, and then just stand there, my pen hovering over the paper. What can I say? “I’m sorry” isn’t nearly good enough. “It should have been me,” I write, and then I don’t sign it.
Gabie hasn’t said one word since she parked her car at the back of the church parking lot. Now she raises her eyes to me and says, “Kayla’s not dead, Drew.” A few heads turn in our direction.
“Gabie—” I start and then don’t say any more.
“She’s not dead.” Her face contorts. “I know it.”
Suddenly someone grabs both our arms. I jerk my head around. It’s Thayer. He’s wearing a suit, not a uniform, but he still looks every inch a cop.
“Come with me,” he says in a low voice. “Now.” He walks us away from the table, pushes open a door, and takes us down a long, empty hall with doors leading off on one side. He lets go of us.
“Gabriella, I am going to give you one piece of advice. Stop it.” He bites off the words. “Stop saying that you think Kayla is alive. The Cutlers have already told me about how you made a big scene when they had the psychic there. Do you know how upset that made them? Do you?”
He stares at her until she nods.
“You can’t live in la-la land. Not when it hurts people who already can’t put one foot in front of the other. Look at the evidence. It’s not common knowledge, but when he was fifteen, Cody Renfrew was picked up for peeping in a neighbor’s window. That kind of crime frequently escalates to rape and worse. He was
a drug addict who supported his habit by stealing. He drove a white truck, just like one that was spotted in the area where Kayla disappeared, and later he painted it to try to disguise it. He killed himself and left a note saying he was sorry. You’re supposed to be so smart, Gabriella—you do the math. Kayla Cutler is dead.”
“But—” Gabie says, though that’s as far as she gets.
Thayer barrels on. “She’s dead, and Cody Renfrew killed her. And while we may never know where he put her body, these people have to find closure. It’s the only way they’re going to heal. They need to grieve their daughter’s death and move on. They can’t hold on to a fantasy. I’ve seen it happen before. People who believe there’s a tiny possibility their child will walk through the door. They live in the past, and they don’t ever leave it. Until it’s like they’re dead too. But you know what makes them stay there? It’s thinking there is a teeny tiny chance their kid is still alive. It’s some stupid girl saying that she can ‘see’”—he makes quote marks in the air—“Kayla and knows she’s not dead. Just stop. I don’t want to hear one more word about Kayla still being alive.”
He stares at Gabie, but she doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t agree, doesn’t disagree.
“Do you hear me? If you won’t do it for me, if you won’t do it for the Cutlers, then do it for your friend here.” Thayer points a finger at my chest. “Because I could make his life hell if I wanted. His mom could end up with her bail revoked, right back in jail. And Drew could end up in foster care. He’s still seventeen.”