My smile disappears and I taste blood.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Bella, I didn't mean to—“ He rests the gun on the table, his hands grabbing my face, holding my cheek. “Please forgive me, I—”
I dive for the gun. My hands inches away. I can almost feel the cold metal on my fingertips.
“No!” He pushes me onto the floor, overpowering me with his strength. When I pull myself back up, the gun is firmly in his grip. “Get back in the chair. You have a letter to write.”
“There's still time to back out of this. You don't want to kill me.”
“I'm not killing you. You're killing yourself.”
“And if I don't take the pills?”
His jaw locks. “I'm responsible for the Brotherhood. Nobody is going to get in my way. Bella, you can either do this the easy way or the painful way. If you don't write the letter and swallow the pills, I will put this gun to your head and pull the trigger.”
“And you'll go to prison for the rest of your life.”
“No, I won't. I know exactly what I'm doing.”
Yet he doesn't look certain at all. He looks scared—mixed with a little psycho. And a dash of nuts.
I must stall him. Surely Luke got my hint that we were at the cabin. And surely he went for help. Like Jake. Or the police. Or the National Guard.
“You realize Luke knows, don't you?”
“I suspected.” He waves away the idea, like it's not worth discussion. “I'll deal with him later tonight.”
“With what? Vitamin E and cough drops?”
Jared points the gun inches from my nose. “Enough talking! Pick up the pen.”
It's not so much that I'm scared he'll actually pull the trigger. It's more about being scared of his shaking hands accidentally pulling the trigger. I don't want to die with an ugly eye. Even mortician's makeup can't hide this bruising. Nobody will walk past my casket and say, “Oh, doesn't she look natural?” They'll say, “It looks like markers pooped on her face.”
“You need to start downing the pills. It will take awhile for them to kick in. Start with the white ones first.”
For a full twenty seconds I don't move. I study the room. The distance to the door. The location of the nearest heavy object. The number of steps to the kitchen for a knife.
“Eat them!”Jared pounces on the table, grabs a handful of pills, and forces them into my mouth. I bite his hand, and he yelps. Then smacks my other cheek. “Get them out from under your tongue. Swallow them!”
He cocks the gun.
I force them down and my earlier confidence begins to fade. God, please help me.
Jared passes me his water bottle. “The letter should be simple. Make it to your mother. Tell her that you've missed New York so much that you can't go on. You're miserable.”
What a coincidence—so are you.
“You miss your dad. Your friends. Your boyfriend.” He stops. “You're cheating on your boyfriend with Luke?”
“Yes.” My head bobs spastically. “I... um, just love the menfolk. Can't get enough of them.” I can't stop nodding. “Love me some boys.” And if I don't walk out of here alive tonight, they'll know something's up by my mention of Hunter in the letter. Like I'd miss that two-timing sleaze.
He gestures to the paper with his weapon, and I pick up the pen.
Dear Mother,
This freak of nature is holding a loaded—
Jared rips the paper from the table and shreds it to pieces. He slams down a new piece. “I'm warning you, Bella.” He thrusts another handful of pills into my palm. I somehow choke them down.
“How are you getting home?” I ask. “It's not like you can take my car.”
His smile is something from a Stephen King novel. “Brittany Taylor.”
“Oh.” I scrape a film off my tongue with my teeth. “Isn't she sweet.”
In between forced servings of meds, I scribble out my first paragraph, telling my mom how much I miss New York and that Truman brought me nothing but pain. Next I include instructions for taking care of my cat and other hints that this letter was forced.
I look up from my work and the room tilts to the left. That's not good. “Have you ever considered medication?”
I close my note, my writing growing sloppier by the letter.
I love you.
And then I add a line in case these really are my last words to my mother.
You were the best mom ever. Be happy with Jake. And tell Dad I love him—and he needs a new decorator.
I lift my pen. “What if these things don't kill me?”
Jared taps the barrel of the shiny gun.
I grab a few more white capsules. “I'm sure these will do me in nicely.”
“Sign the note.”
“I don't feel so well.”
He pops some red tablets past my teeth, leaving my mouth so full I have to breathe through my nose.
God, I'm sorry for everything I've ever done. Forgive me for the way I treated Budge. For not giving Jake a chance. For hating every one of the bimbos my dad brings home.
I'm vaguely aware of tears slipping down my cheeks.
Forgive me for not getting involved in church here. For not being a good friend to Lindy. And for watching Sex and the City reruns.
“I...” Why won't my tongue work? “Can't... finish.”
Jared places the pen in my fingers and picks up my hand. Together we make the first letter of my name.
The room swirls and twirls. Nap. I need to lay my head down. Oh, what pretty lights I see! I want to go to the pretty lights! Here I come! Who's that giggling? Is that me? Oh, I love to giggle!
“Hold the pen still!” Jared roars in my ear. But I don't care! “Finish the letter or I'll—”
A loud crash explodes to my right. The door.
And Luke's there. He's calling out something.
“Bella!”
How nice of him to come and visit. Helleww, Luke!
Look how fast he runs. Like a linebacker. Or is it a quarterback? A quarterliner?
Wait. The gun. Jared's raising the pistol.
Oh. That's not right.
Must. Stop him.
But so tired.
My legs—they're in cement. So heavy.
Focus, Bella. Focus. Move. Eye on the target. God, give me strength.
With all that I have left, I throw my body toward Jared. “Noooo!”
My limp form flops.
Flails.
Falls—right into Jared.
The gun goes off. So loud. Hurts my ears.
Luke dives onto Jared, his fist plowing through my captor's face.
Jared rolls over. He's out.
“Bella!” Luke scoops me in his arms. I hear more giggling. I think it's me. The sound—so far away.
His hands are all over me. So not appropriate, young man.
He lifts them to his face. Blood. Ick, whose blood?
“Luke . . . “ The pretty lights are fading. It's getting dark. “No party tonight.”
He pushes the hair from my face. “You saved my life. I came here to rescue you, and you saved my life. We got onto Jared's MySpace page from Zach's computer. Jared filmed every initiation. It was all there. I'm sorry I couldn't get to you in time.”
I reach out a hand and pass my fingers over his lips. “You know, you're really not so bad. Hey . . . wanna make out?”
Luke's mouth smiles. His eyes don't. He holds me closer. Tighter. “Maybe later.”
A siren. Why do I hear sirens? Maybe there's a parade. I do so love a good parade.
“Hang on, Bella. Please. Stay with me.”
“Luke.” Can't get my voice above a whisper. “The story—I want b a c o n the story.”
“Bella Kirkwood . . . I think you just became the story.”
The blackness pools all around me. Snuffs out the twinkling lights.
It pulls me down.
And I let it take me away.
chapter forty
The casket is covered in a spray of
wildflowers.
The soloist sings “I'll Fly Away.” No instruments, just a voice.
There is sadness. Yet also a reluctant peace.
Sun filters through the trees, the light coming through the branches like a band of halos.
Death would have its day.
So life can begin again.
“Hand me a tissue,” Budge says, his tie a stiff knot at his throat.
“I have something in my eye.”
With my good arm, I reach into my purse and pull out a Kleenex. He takes it and gifts me with a rare, small smile.
“Friends and family”—the pastor takes his place in front under the canopy—“we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of a son, a friend, and a football hero. Zachary Epps was this—and so much more.”
My left shoulder throbs where Jared Campbell's gun left a bullet. It was just a week ago, but when I close my eyes, I still see it there, fresh and new in my mind. Though parts of it are foggy, like the ambulance ride. Getting my stomach pumped. The surgery to extract the bullet. But I remember the fear. And the chaos.
The preacher finishes and asks if anyone would like to say a few words.
Some of his teammates stand to their feet. Noticeably absent are Dante, Reggie Lee, that Adam guy, and, of course, my favorite kidnapper, Jared, who's looking at the world through some metal bars right now.
Next to speak is Kelsey. She still looks no wider than a pencil, but her voice is mighty and carries to the few hundred gathered. She speaks of love and loss and all that Zach was to her.
“Anyone else?” The preacher scans the crowd as Kelsey sits down. “Let us pray, then.”
“I'd like to speak.” Beside me Budge stands. I hear him swallow, and I say a quick prayer for him.
“Last year I lost my best friend. He loved his girlfriend, and he loved his family. And he loved that car.” The crowd laughs, sharing a memory. “It could have been any of us. He made a mistake and got caught up. But the real Zach Epps would've wanted us to forgive. And live. Because if Zach knew how to do anything, it was live life to the fullest. And to be who we are—not who others want us to be.” Budge blinks at moisture in his eyes. “I'll always carry that part of my friend with me. Always.”
I can't help but smile as a small group from the Truman band breaks into “Free Bird.” Only in Truman. But it fits.
I merge into the line and shake hands with Zach's family. When I get to Kelsey, she pulls me into a hug. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you.” Tears flow unchecked, and she waves a hand in front of her face, unable to speak.
I hug her again. I don't need her words. Just the hope that she's going to rejoin the living. And I think she will.
Exiting the canopy, I spot Lindy with some friends, and I walk to them.
“How's the shoulder?” Lindy asks.
It hurts like someone's holding a blowtorch to it. “Not bad.”
“Are you taking your pain pills?”
“Nah, something about forcibly puking them up last week makes me not want to down any more.” Just the thought makes me want to barf. “I see you're wearing one of the dresses we bought in New York.”
Lindy twists a piece of her flatironed hair. As soon as I get home, it's Nikes and sweats.”
“So how's Matt doing?”
“He's grounded for life for one thing.”
“Still not ready to declare your undying love and adoration?”
She smiles, her lips a nice shade of Chanel pink. “He needs a good friend. And that's what I'll be.” She winks. “For now.”
“Bella Kirkwood?”
I turn around at the tap on my shoulder.
“I'm Pam Penturf. Carson's mom.” She wrings a tissue in her hands. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did—exposing the truth about the football players.” Her voice breaks, and I awkwardly pat her arm. “I couldn't believe my son would kill himself. It's haunted me, you know. I've carried that burden around, thinking what could I have done? How could I not have seen it?” She daubs at her eyes. “I feel like he can rest in peace now—like we all can. Anyway, I just wanted to express my gratitude.” I'm wrapped in another hug. “You have no idea what you've done for me.” She holds the tissue to her face and hurries away.
I spot Luke standing with another group. His eyes catch mine. He nods toward Mrs. Penturf and smiles.
I ride home with Budge. Even he didn't think driving a hearse to a funeral would be appropriate, so I have the pleasure of seeing him behind the wheel of my cute little Bug.
“Hey, where are you going?” Budge turns into a subdivision instead of heading toward our old dirt road.
“Gotta make a quick detour.” He stops the car at a two-story house. “Won't take long.” And he bails out of the Bug.
I lightly rub my shoulder, lean my seat back, and close my eyes. Minutes pass.
I jolt awake when my door flings open. Budge stands there. A cat in his arms.
My cat.
“Moxie!” I grab her and hold her close.
“Yeah, she's decided to come live with you again. I... um, seem to have been healed of my allergies.”
I run my fingers through the cat's silky fur, a suspicious eye on my stepbrother. “Sounds miraculous.”
He cracks a smile. “Amen, sister.”
chapter forty-one
It's hard to digest a hot dog when you're looking at thirty- and forty-year-old men in spandex. Seriously.
“There's Dad!” Robbie claps his hands then whistles through his teeth at a volume that could shatter eardrums.
“Are you ready for a smackdown? Are you ready for a fight?” The crowd goes wild at the announcer's dramatic spiel. “Tonight in the Tulsa Athletic Arena, we present our regional championCaptain Iron Jack!”
Our family stands and yells. I lift up a sign with one arm.
“Hold on to your popcorn as he takes on the force from Biloxi—Mississippi Mud!” A man in a hideous poop brown Onesie circles Jake on the stage.
“Did I miss anything?” Luke Sullivan fills the empty seat beside me, and I have to look twice.
“What are you doing here?”
My mom reaches over me, waves at her new hero, then returns to yelling for Captain Iron Jack.
“Your mother invited me. Wants me to do another feature in our paper.”
“Fabulous,” I droll. Images of him crashing through the cabin door and yelling my name flutter through my mind. A faint memory of him holding my hand in the ambulance. Waking up in the hospital and seeing his worried face.
“You know”—he leans in closer—“we haven't really had a chance to talk since everything happened.”
Mmm, he smells good tonight. Or maybe I'm high on wrestler sweat fumes. Yes, that's definitely it.
“I just wanted to thank you for, um, you know, saving my life.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “It was the drugs. Had I been thinking clearly...”
He opens his ever-present messenger bag and pulls out a paper. “I just submitted this to a national contest—sponsored by Princeton University.”
I look at the words. My article on the football scandal. “Are you serious?”
Luke nods his dark head. “It was a great piece, Bella. And when I read it, I learned something about you.”
This ought to be good. I cross my arms and wait for the zippy insult. “And that is?”
“You . . . are a writer.”
“I'm a—“ I blink hard as the words circulate in my brain. Below us Jake twirls Mississippi Mud over his head.
“Writer.” Luke's eyes shine brilliant blue in the dimmed lights. “I'm sorry I doubted you. I honestly didn't know you had it in you.”
That makes two of us.
“This was your moment, Bella. You went through the fire and came out on the other side. I'm proud to have you on my newspaper staff.”
His hand touches mine as I hand the paper back. “Do you say that to all the girls who save your life?”
Luke's laugh is
rich and sends happy chill bumps along my skin. “Just you, Kirkwood. Only you.”
“And thanks for rescuing me from Jared.” My face flushes with heat. “It's not every day a guy breaks down a door for me.”
My editor in chief winks. “Don't get used to it.”
We watch the rest of the match, cheering and booing at all the right moments.
And life is all about right moments, isn't it?
Okay, so Truman isn't Manhattan. And I'll never get used to stepping around cow pies in the yard. Or being ten minutes late to school because the neighbor had to take his tractor for a ride.
And back in August I had no idea why God would punish me with this place, with this life. But like Luke said, I guess it was my moment. I was meant to be here all along. And who knows where this path will lead? Maybe by this time next month I'll have forgotten all about Macy's and Times Square and love nothing more than a trip to Target and peaceful walks through our pasture with Betsy the licking cow.
Yeah.
That is so not happening.
acknowledgments
Every bookis a group effort. I couldn't do it without the help of so many in my life. I would like to thank:
My heavenly Father. I stay tired. I stay stressed. I stay hunched over a keyboard. But I also remain amazed and humbled and awed. Thank You for giving me the opportunity to share the coolness of Christ.
My family for putting up with my end-of-deadline moodiness and outrageous demands for food delivery and for reminding me to brush my hair and shower during the final weeks.
My friends for listening to me gripe about my family harassing me about showering and brushing my teeth.
My students who consistently come up to me and say, “Please put me in your book.” It's so sweet. My next series will focus on a girl named KelseyRaynaKarlyKensleeJohnJamieCourtneyAllieSydney SueJayson. Should be a big hit.
All those who follow my blog at jennybjones.com. I appreciate you stopping by to read all about my snow addiction, my cat woes, my inability to turn away from fajitas, and other fascinating items from my thrilling life.
My lifelong hero, Carol Burnett. Though you will never read this, you are funny personified and made a huge impact on my life. Though I will always think the role of Annie should've gone to a young unknown named Jennifer Jones, I will forever hold you in the highest regard.