by Ellery Fenn
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stick around for a bit, just in case we need you.”
“Of course.”
“The bathrooms are down the hall and the front desk can get you drinks or snacks or whatever you need to keep comfortable, okay?”
“Oh,” Mr. Crocker said. “You forgot your tape recorder.”
The detective pursed his lips and took it from the lawyer. “Ah yes, thank you.”
“Of course.”
Detective Miller was gone for several minutes before Mr. Crocker stood and stretched. He took a slow stroll around the room, scanning the wall and sparse furniture. He took his seat and leaned in close to Doug.
“Was any of that true?”
“You calling me a liar?”
“Don’t be snarky. Is that from your journal or not?”
Doug gazed at the wall. “Yes.”
“Oh boy.” Mr. Crocker stood again and loosened his tie.
I floated out to the lobby and took a seat. They’d bring Clarisse in soon.
It was around a half hour before the doors opened and Clarisse walked in with two police officers and her parents trailing behind.
“This is all a misunderstanding,” Isaac said. “Clarisse wouldn’t harm a fly.”
“That’s none of my business,” one officer said.
“People think she’s scary because of her hair and the way she dresses, but she’s harmless,” Judy said. “We’d know if she did something like this.”
“Just let me handle this.” Clarisse was cool, relaxed, not a strand of her mohawk out of place. Impressive.
The receptionist spoke into her phone. “Ms. Wilcox and her parents are here.” She put a hand over the phone and addressed Clarisse. “Do you have a lawyer?”
“Nope.”
The receptionist made several more phone calls, finding a lawyer to be with Clarisse. I was grateful. The detective might not have cared about following procedure, but she did.
“I don’t want a lawyer,” Clarisse said.
The receptionist’s eyes widened. “Um, I’m not sure-”
Isaac put his arm around Clarisse’s waist. “Just let her be in the room with you, honey. It’s important that you exercise all of your rights. Don’t let them push you around. You know what we’ve taught you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You can have a seat if you’d like.” The receptionist gestured to the few chairs lining the walls.
Mr. Allan glared over the top of his newspaper. Clarisse picked at her cuticles.
I scooted next to her and put my mouth as close to her ear as I could. “Clarisse, it’s Lisa.”
She jumped.
“You alright?” Judy asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Just a twitch.”
She squeezed her daughter’s knee. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re incredibly intelligent and I know you can get this straightened out. I was in the same situation plenty of times at your age, and everything always turned out fine.”
“I know.” She turned back to me and whispered so lightly I had to strain to hear it. “It’s about time.”
“Doug’s back there. He said that you must’ve written it and then stolen his diary to keep him from proving he didn’t write it. They think you helped me plan running away.”
“That bastard.”
“Did you say something?” her mom asked.
“No, no. Just a cough.” She cleared her throat and continued in a low voice, barely mouthing the words. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”
“What are best friends for?”
She rolled her eyes.
It was another thirty minutes before the door opened and a woman in her fifties wearing a power suit walked in. She smiled at the family.
“Which one of you is Clarisse?”
Judy blushed as Clarisse stood.
“I’m Mrs. Cambridge.” She held out her hand for a firm shake. “I love your hair.”
“Thanks. I love your suit.”
“Shall we go back? Which room is it Diane?”
“Fifteen,” the receptionist answered.
“Thanks, doll.”
I followed them back to yet another room.
“It’s good to see you Bill.” Mrs. Cambridge shook the detective’s hand.
“You too, Marlene. Have a seat.”
Clarisse propped her feet up on a spare chair.
Mrs. Cambridge pulled open her suitcase. “So, what’s all this about? Diane didn’t have a chance to go over any details.”
“Read this.”
She put on a pair of reading glasses and accepted the paper. She read in silence for several moments. “Okay.”
“Doug Allan, the young man in that paper there, is currently involved in another case.”
“The Bittermann girl.”
“That’s right. About a hundred copies of these showed up at the high school today, in every locker and every desk.”
She whistled. “That’s a lot of work.”
“Doug claims that Ms. Wilcox here is the one that did it. She’s one of Lisa Bittermann’s closest friends.”
“I’m her only friend,” Clarisse said. I gave her an invisible glare.
“Interesting.” Mrs. Cambridge leaned back in her seat. “I’m not familiar with the details of that case. Does this have anything to do with it?”
“Possibly. If you’re ready, I’ll ask Clarisse a few questions?”
“By all means.”
He cleared his throat. “Ms. Wilcox, did you write this paper?”
“I have the right to remain silent.”
I planted my face in my palm. Why, oh why did I have to do everything myself?
“Just answer the questions,” I whispered in her ear. “This isn’t helping.”
She sighed deeply. “I copied it.”
“So, you’re not the author?” the detective asked.
“Every word on that paper came from Doug’s journal.”
“Including this line at the top that says, ‘The following are direct quotes from Doug Allan’s journal’?”
She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, no.”
“Just checking. So, you say this came from his journal. How did you get ahold of it?”
She shuffled in her seat. “A friend gave it to me.”
“What’s the name of this friend?” the detective asked.
“Like I would tell you.”
“It would be very helpful if you’d just cooperate,” the detective said.
“I am cooperating.”
“Fine. Let me try a different question. How did your friend get ahold of the journal?”
“Took it from his room.”
“Right. Was Doug present at the time?”
“Of course not. Nobody’s going to rob someone when they’re home.”
“Please be good,” I whispered in her ear.
“I see,” the detective said. “So, your friend gave you the journal and you copied it down?”
“Not the whole thing. Just the relevant parts.”
“Explain what you mean by relevant.”
“The parts that show him for the complete douchebag he is.”
“Please,” I muttered.
“I see. So, your intention was to ruin his reputation.”
“He did that himself by raping every girl he ever saw.”
The detective’s eyes widened. “That’s a pretty strong word. I don’t see anything on this page that justifies such an accusation.”
Clarisse yanked the paper from his hand. “Look here. ‘August 27, 1984. I took Lindsay Wells behind the school today for a blowjob. She wasn’t happy about, but after a while she began to enjoy it.’ That’s literally the definition of rape.”
“I disagree.”
“You ever been raped?”
The detective blushed. “Of course not.”
“If someone says no, or doesn’t want it, that’s sexual assault.”
“It says she enjoyed it.”
/> “Oh, pull your head out of your ass.”
“Easy,” I whispered.
“I don’t think anyone enjoys giving a blowjob.” Clarisse folded her arms. “Especially not if it started with force. See, it says he ‘took her behind the school’. Not ‘we went behind the school together’. And ‘she wasn’t happy about it’. That means she didn’t consent.”
“I think you’re reading too much into it.”
“You know,” Mrs. Cambridge said. “I think we’re getting off topic here.”
Clarisse sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that these aren’t the only journal entries like this. I couldn’t fit everything on one page.”
“But that brings us back to the question of why,” the detective said. “Why did you want to ruin his reputation?”
“Everyone thinks Doug is this really great guy. He’s super popular, but the truth is he’s an asshole. He doesn’t care about other people and thinks he can get away with everything. He’s been on a power trip since the day he was born, and it’s finally gone too far.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Clarisse gently smoothed her skirt. Her breath was shaky. “I know what happened to Lisa.”
The detective and the lawyer exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“Alright,” the detective said.
She took a deep breath. “Lisa had a big crush on Doug ‘cause he’s the most popular guy in school, and she’s kind of a nobody.” Thanks. “So, when he showed her some attention, she lapped it up. She really seeks approval in guys.” The ringing in my chest threatened to return. “She’s never even kissed a guy before, or done any drugs, no matter how much anyone pressured her. She’s a really great person.”
I dropped to the ground and took her hand in mine under the table. She squeezed it.
“I told her not to go out with him, that he wasn’t right for her, but she didn’t listen. Homecoming was their first date. We were all going to go to Oliver’s party after the dance, but I, uh, I got sick, so my boyfriend took me home. Lisa got in Doug’s car and they drove to the party.” She swallowed stiffly. “But they never got there. He pulled off on the side of the road and…” Her voice shook. “And he, he tried to. He tried to do what I was talking about earlier. They got out of the car and they fought, and he just really beat her up.”
The detective furiously scribbled notes.
“He um, well, she, uh. She tried to run away, but he. He hit her. With a rock.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re okay, hon.” Mrs. Cambridge rubbed her shoulder.
She nodded. “Lisa uh, she didn’t make it.” She buried her head in the hand I wasn’t holding.
“What are you saying?” the detective asked. “Are you saying she was killed?”
Clarisse nodded.
“I see.” He sighed. “I’m not trying to discredit your story, but it does make me wonder. If she died, as you say, then it would make sense that her body would’ve been by the road. Unless Doug, who you claim killed her, tried to hide the body. And if he did, why would he leave the dress?”
“I don’t know,” she moaned.
“I see.” He waited for her to raise her head before continuing. The front of her mohawk was dented. “Was it just the two of them?”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you know what happened?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because her damn ghost told me, alright?”
I dropped her hand and backed away from the table. The ringing filled me again.
Mr. Miller and Mrs. Cambridge exchanged a long glance.
The detective exhaled deeply. “Okay. We’ll look into this. For now, you’re free to go.”
Clarisse stumbled to her feet and walked out without waiting for anyone.
Chapter Twenty-six
Corrie
A few bones were all that marked the spot where the doe once laid. The smell still lingered, and though my stomach wasn’t empty, my mind cried with hunger. I gnawed on a bone as I walked slowly back. I tried not to think and failed.
Lisa was in the clearing when I returned. She rushed to me like the preceding night hadn’t happened.
“You’re not going to believe it! I can’t even, oh my god.”
I braced my hands on her shoulders. She didn’t flinch from my touch. “Breathe.”
“I don’t have lungs!” She took a deep breath anyway and almost relaxed. “Doug went into the station again. He said he didn’t write it and Clarisse wrote it and stole his journal so he couldn’t prove he didn’t do it.”
“What?” I wasn’t flexible enough for the mental gymnastics required. How did he come up with these convoluted stories?
“I know. But it gets worse. Clarisse told the truth, like, the whole truth. She told him what happened after Homecoming and-” She exhaled slowly. “She told them that she has all this information because, and I quote, ‘her damn ghost told me.’”
I blinked. “Wow.”
“Yeah! I- I can’t even think straight. How will this affect the case?”
It was easy to get caught up in the tide of our purpose, to forget that there was anything else between us. If they discounted Clarisse’s journal because of the ghost claim, that left us back at the beginning, with only one difference.
“Journal.”
“What about it?”
I ran my finger over the raised seam in my face. This was the moment we’d been waiting for, when possession of the journal gave us the upper hand.
“Give cops journal.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Oh duh.”
I smiled as she calmed. “Secret weapon.”
She laughed. “You’re right! And even if it’s not enough to send him to jail, it’ll show them that he’s a dirty rotten liar.” Her countenance visibly brightened. “And even better! We can dangle it over his head first and threaten to give it to the cops. I mean, if we’re going to turn it in anyways, we might as well torture him a little.”
She was happy, engaged, with no thought to the tension between us. I laughed. “Dee-vious.”
She stuck her tongue at me. “This is great! I’ll put a note in his room for him to find in the morning. I’ll tell him to meet me in the woods. I’ll obviously be invisible, and it’ll be awful for him. And you could be there! You could hide so he’d just be able to smell you, and if he gets too close, I’ll just scare him away!”
Sunlight cast a soft glow on the scene. Lisa sparkled brightly in joy, and as the light touched her, it transformed her silver countenance to shimmering gold. Her laughter echoed among the trees.
“Oh Corrie!” She twirled me. Shadows danced from my body, interrupting the sunlight in spasms.
My heart soared. She didn’t hate me.
Without thinking, I pulled her close and buried my head in the crook of her neck. And for a moment, absolutely everything was right in the world.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Lisa
“I’m not mad at you anymore.” I held Corrie at arms-length as I blew in the warm breeze that was the last memory of summer. “I don’t know why it upset me so much. Maybe because I know it’s true. Because I don’t want… ugh. I just want to be this. Corrie and Lisa. Not Corrie the undead body that Lisa the ghost used to live in. I want to be who we are now, not who we were.”
A smile lit across her face as the sun set. Her voice was rich and warm like the crackling coals of a fire. “I want that too.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear and turned away. A blush prickled at my cheeks. “I don’t get it though.” The water of the creek flowed by, reflecting the pink sky. “How can a soul split? Or did a soul split? Did two come together to form one? What are we?”
She walked up to stand beside me. “I don’t know.”
I threw a rock into the creek. “How is death more confusing than life was?”
She chuckled and threw a rock beside mine.
The sun slipped behind the horizon. The night’s new gray light softly
touched Corrie’s face, throwing her stitching into sharp contrast. A horrible realization sunk into my stomach.
“Oh, god.”
She glanced up, worry in her eyes. “What?”
“No, I… I didn’t realize. If you’re my body then- then Doug killed you too. And your face.” I reached out but didn’t touch her. “Your wounds. He gave you those.” I regretted the words instantly as pain showed on her face. “I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She shook her head. “S’okay. You’ve right to. Part of each other.”
Guilt rotted in my chest. Stupid. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She ran her finger through a patch of mud. “S’important.”
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I said in a rush. “It’s my fault for bringing it up. You don’t even have to acknowledge it at all. Just ignore me, okay?”
She gave me a crooked smile. “Don’t ‘polgize.”
“I have to.”
She stared out at the darkening forest, tense, nervous. I could feel her emotions echoing inside me.
“He hurt me.” Her voice was rough as always, without inflection. “Hands on leg. On breast.”
I bristled with anger. Doug was the biggest bastard this world had ever seen. How could he hurt her? The rage turned to throw itself at me. I should’ve realized she was hurting. He touched her, not me. I bit my lip so hard my teeth went through.
She sighed deeply. “Feel sick to ‘member.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“It’s not your fault either.” That at least I knew.
She wrapped her arms around her legs, the exact position I took in distress. Her eyes closed, and she curled into herself, shut off from the world. She shuddered and twitched. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t in response to the cold, or anything happening now.
Her face was split in a grimace as she jerked, dodging invisible fists. I crept to her side. “Corrie?”
Her breathing was heavy. “M’okay.”
She flinched away from the hand I placed on her shoulder.
“Sorry,” I said. Her eyes fluttered open. “Oh Corrie. You’re safe now. You’re alright.” She buried her face in her knees. “Can- can I touch you?”
The moon rose. Its light touched the back of Corrie’s head, illuminating her uneven stubble. She nodded once.