by T. A. Kunz
“If we’re done here, we should probably keep looking for Lori,” Donovan says, interrupting the silence.
He moves to the stairs. I hang back for a moment. This is the worst staring contest I’ve ever participated in. When I avert my eyes, I hear Harrison release a sigh.
“Wait, Drea,” he begins, and I delay my exit. “You still haven’t found Lori?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, no.” I turn and join Donovan by the stairs, leaving Harrison behind.
We proceed downstairs to the garage to fact check Trent’s story. Hopefully there’s some clue as to what happened or where Lori went. I’m getting antsy. Every minute that passes when we don’t call the cops costs us precious time, possibly allowing for something else to go wrong.
“Trent said they were in the Bentley, right?” Donovan asks, approaching the car in question.
“Yeah. Maybe we should check inside.”
I open the door to the back seat. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The leather interior smells newish, but is mixed with a lingering scent of that strong cologne Trent wears. It reminds me of some kind of Axe body spray knock off. I feel around the seats and look down at the floor mats for any clues. Then I remember the sound I heard at the end of the call.
A car horn.
“Is there anything up there?” I ask Donovan, who is checking the front seats.
“Not really,” he replies, poking his head up over the passenger’s headrest to look at me.
“I could have sworn I heard a car horn at the end of my call with her.”
“Huh, the driver’s side door isn’t closed all the way. Maybe she went out through there and hit the steering wheel by accident, which was the noise you heard,” says Donovan.
“Maybe.”
I continue my search. I pull down the center console between the two back seats and hear a rattle as it settles into positon. There’s a pill of some sort in one of the cup holders, a small pink opaque capsule filled with a powdered substance.
“Hey, I think I just found some kind of drug.”
“Like this one?” Donovan asks, meeting me at the center of the car holding up a similar-looking pill in his fingers. “Found this wedged into a crease in the driver’s seat.”
“I wonder if these belong to Trent,” I say, staring at the pill. “Probably some date rape drug or something.”
“They actually kind of look like the prescription Lori picked up before we came to the party,” Donovan mentions while also examining the pink capsule.
“Wait, what prescription?” I ask, my confused gaze meeting his inquisitive one.
“For her depression,” he replies. I can tell by his reaction to the look on my face he realizes something isn’t right about what he just said.
“Lori is the furthest thing away from being depressed,” I say. “Where did you say she got these?”
“We stopped by RJ’s drugstore to pick it up before we came to the party tonight,” he replies.
Drug dealer Max usually hangs out there.
I climb out of the car and notice Donovan’s attention is fixed on the side door of the garage. It’s propped open the slightest bit.
“Maybe she left through there,” he suggests. “I think we would’ve seen Lori in the house earlier while you were on the phone with her if she went that way.”
“Good point.”
He opens the door the rest of the way and steps outside. He’s illuminated by the sensor light above the door as he ventures further out. “The fence’s gate is open. I’m going to check it out.”
“Wait up, I’m coming with you,” I reply, hurrying over to him.
The gate leading into the backyard is wide open, revealing a view of the side front yard lined by a tall, well-manicured hedgerow. “Why would she go back to her car when you were still here?” I ask. “She wouldn’t have abandoned you like that.”
“Yeah, it does seem odd. But then again, you found her phone near the street, right? And that’s where her car’s parked.”
“I’m still confused by that. None of this makes any sense,” I say in exasperation.
“We need to go check.”
We pick up the pace through the front yard and onto the street. Donovan reaches Lori’s car first, largely due to my poor choice of footwear. Heels and grass are not a good combo. From a distance, I watch him search the ground around the car for any clues with the assistance of the flashlight on his phone.
“Found another one of those pills. What the hell is going on?” he asks as I close in on the vehicle.
“I have no—”
The words get caught in my throat when a faint outline of something in the front seat of Lori’s car is illuminated by a passing car’s headlights.
“Donovan? Is someone in the front seat?” I ask. My voice quivers near the end of the question.
“In the driver’s seat?” he echoes, pressing his face up against the window to get a better look inside. He shoots me a relieved look before opening the door. “Lori, we’ve been looking all over for…”
He pauses. Shock mars his expression.
“What? What is it? Is she in there?” I ask, rushing closer to the vehicle.
Donovan staggers away and turns to stop me before I reach the driver’s side door. “Stop, Drea. You don’t want to see this.” His eyes are serious, his face growing paler by the second.
“Wait … no. It can’t be,” I say, my heart breaking a little more with each passing syllable. I push past him, disregarding his warning.
I have to see for myself.
“Lori! No!”
My hand shoots up in front of my mouth, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle the screams. Tears pool and then cascade down my face. My mind tries to comprehend what I’m seeing, but I refuse to believe my own eyes. I reach out to touch her, my hand trembling uncontrollably.
I’m desperate. I need her to wake up from this horrible nightmare. Her skin is cool and damp to the touch. My hand snaps back.
Her face has taken on a slight bluish hue and is cocked off to the side, facing me. In her hand is an empty Ziploc bag. A few more of the pink pills are on her lap, a stark contrast to the black jeans she’s wearing.
I can hardly contain anything at this moment and fall to my knees in a fit of tears. My body succumbs to heavy sobs. The sting of the asphalt on my bare skin doesn’t even register. I feel Donovan’s arms wrap around me, but then I go numb.
I don’t feel anything at all.
Donovan
I’ve never seen a dead body before. Sure, I’ve seen my fair share of horror movies, but nothing prepares you for seeing death in real time. There’s this crippling finality that sets in and paralyzes you, making you feel like a shell of your former self for an indeterminate amount of time as you look on in disbelief. Like an out-of-body experience. You feel like you’ll never be the same afterward, like you’ve been tainted or marked. The sensation is worse if it’s someone you know.
I can’t even begin to imagine how Drea’s feeling right now.
The only other person I’ve lost in my life was my dad when I was nine. I never did see his body though. It was a closed casket funeral. Drunk driver. But I didn’t need to see his body to realize my life from that point on would never be the same. I was changed forever.
It only took about fifteen minutes for everyone to clear out of Sophia’s house after the deputies showed up. It felt a hell of a lot longer than that. And since we’re the ones who called them, we were asked to stick around and give our full statements about what transpired. Trent had to stay behind too due to the part he played in all of this. The officers naturally had questions for him.
I do my best to listen to the conversations happening around me. For the most part, the adults act like Drea and I aren’t even there, making it easier to eavesdrop. From what I manage to overhear, the initial examination of Lori’s body by the coroner suggests she died from a drug overdose. A possible suicide, they say, but it isn’t conclusive.
When I share this wit
h Drea during a lull in our interviews with the deputies, she isn’t convinced. She thinks there’s no way Lori took her own life. After finding out that Lori didn’t, in fact, have depression like she told me, I’m inclined to believe Drea’s gut feeling.
I can’t believe she’s gone. Just like that.
I’m still in a state of shock as I wait for Drea to finish talking with the deputies. My heart breaks while I watch her try to speak to them. She’s a wreck, and I can’t blame her one bit.
The bag of ice the paramedics gave me for my hand has all but melted and is now just a pouch of cold water. I find myself momentarily hypnotized by the condensation as it drips onto my red and white Converse sneakers.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
To say my aunts were worried when they learned the reason I wasn’t home yet is an understatement. They offered to come pick me up, but I told them I wanted to wait for Drea to make sure she was okay. They were pacified when I told them one of the deputies offered to give me a ride home.
I’m definitely making an impression on everyone tonight, but not really in the good kind of way.
“Hey, new guy,” I hear a familiar deep voice call out to me.
Harrison?
“It’s Donovan, thanks,” I reply.
“Sorry. Donovan, right,” he says with a strained laugh.
I’m not sure why he’s come to talk to me. It’s strange he’s hanging around while everyone has gone home. Even Trent has at this point. The only ones left other than the deputies are me, Drea, a couple of neighbor lookie-loos, and Sophia and her brother Will since they live here.
“This is crazy, huh?” he asks.
I’m not really feeling the small talk, but I respond anyway. “Yeah, definitely not how I thought my senior year would be starting out, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, I don’t think any of us did,” he replies. I begin to say something, but then he pipes up again. “I think I’m gonna head out. I just wanted to make sure Drea was okay. Could you let her know that I’m really sorry for what happened?”
I nod. I can’t tell if he’s being nice or weird. Or both. Maybe he feels responsible in a way.
“You know,” I say, “you can always tell her yourself.”
He sends me a questioning look. “You and I both know that’s probably not a good idea. I don’t think she’s too terribly happy with me at the moment.”
He surprises a small smile out of me. “You’ve definitely got a point there. She doesn’t seem to be on Team Harrison right now.”
“So you’ll tell her for me?” There’s a hint of worry in his eyes.
“Sure.”
“Thanks,” he says, taking one last look over at Drea before proceeding toward his car.
I guess jocks can be complex.
I’ve already had my turn with the deputies and regurgitated every detail my exhausted mind could remember. I’m sure I forgot something, but I’m also confident that between Drea’s and my statements, they should get a pretty clear picture.
The young deputy who offered to give me a ride home places his hand on Drea’s shoulder and says something before walking away. She looks shattered as she makes her way over to me. I’m feeling it too, and Lori wasn’t even my best friend.
“My dad’s here to pick me up. I’m getting my car tomorrow. I can’t drive with my nerves like this.” She pauses for a moment and sniffs, and I can tell she’s on the verge of tears again. “Are you going to be okay getting home? Do you need a ride?”
“I’m good. I’m hitching a ride with one of the deputies. He offered when I explained I came with … well, when I said how I got here.” I sense her becoming worse when I start to say Lori’s name, so I refrain.
She draws me into an embrace, not saying a word. She weeps close to my ear and I hug her tighter. I want to say so much, but I feel like this isn’t the time. Everything’s too fresh, too raw.
As I release the hug, I say, “Please take care of yourself, okay?”
She just nods before moving away to join her dad by his car.
“Ready to head out?” the young deputy asks from beside his cruiser.
He’d told me his name earlier, but clearly it didn’t take since I have to remind myself by not-so-subtly looking at the tag on chest.
Owens … right.
“Yeah.”
I settle into the front seat of Deputy Owens’s vehicle and instantly feel strange. I told him I’d be fine sitting in the back and that I didn’t mind, but he insisted that was only for criminals, not innocent civilians.
I’m slightly ashamed I know what it feels like to be in the back of a cop car with cuffs on. The charge? Breaking and entering. The victim? My stepfather, but I just call him Carl. He calls me chief. Well, at least he did until my little incident involving the church where he’s a pastor. Long story short, he’s the main catalyst for me being here in Haddon Falls.
When we reach my new home, all of the lights are on and I see Aunt Helen pacing back and forth in front of the large living room window. Aunt Lucy, on the other hand, is sitting in her rocking chair on the front porch, partially illuminated by the porch light. Her rocking a little manic. As we slow down in front of the driveway, Aunt Lucy opens the front door and Aunt Helen rushes out, both speeding toward the deputy’s car.
I’m out of the vehicle mere seconds before I’m encircled in both of their arms, sandwiched between them. They ask me if I’m okay at the same time, and I assure them that I will be.
“That must have been horrible to find Lori like that,” Aunt Helen says, pulling back a little to see my face.
“Absolutely terrible,” Aunt Lucy follows quickly after.
“I love that you’re both concerned about me, but I think I need some time to process all of this. I just spent what seemed like forever explaining to complete strangers what happened tonight, and I think I’m all talked out.”
They both let me go. “Of course. Completely understandable,” Aunt Helen says as Aunt Lucy nods in agreement. They usher me into the house. “Can we get you anything?”
“No, that’s okay. You both should get some sleep too. I’m just going to head up to my room and crash, if that’s all right.”
“Okay, well, let us know if you need anything at all,” Aunt Lucy reiterates as I ascend the stairs.
“And again, we’re so sorry about this. Please let us know if you want to talk about it,” Aunt Helen implores. Her eagerness to talk about things makes her a great guidance counselor at the high school.
“Will do, thanks,” I reply, and move through the door into my room.
The space feels just as empty as I do right now. I haven’t made much of an effort to decorate since moving in. There are no posters on the bare, cream-colored walls, nor any character to speak of like I had in my last room. I left most of my stuff back in Mississippi. It was all a part of my old life. This is a new beginning for me, so I only brought along the essentials. Clean slate.
There’s still a black trash bag full of clothes that I haven’t unpacked propped up in the far corner of the room. Not knowing how long I’d be here, I’d lived out of three trash bags for weeks until I finally succumbed to putting some of my stuff away in order to feel a little more settled in. I’m fortunate my aunts took me in so quickly.
I flop back onto my bed and stare blankly up at the ceiling. The first thought to enter my mind is I wonder how Drea’s doing. I realize I don’t have her number to check up on her. It also occurs to me that I never told her what Harrison said. There didn’t really seem to be a good time to bring it up.
I don’t know how I’m going to fall asleep with the image of Lori’s lifeless body burned into my brain. It makes me think about how fragile life is, but then again, I first learned that lesson back when I nine.
It never gets any easier.
Drea
Something tells me Lori would love the fact her locker now resembles a shrine. That little nugget of humor is the only positi
ve thing to cross my mind as of late.
Today’s the first of October. My favorite month. But now the thought of having a favorite time of the year seems pointless if I can’t spend it with the one person I want to.
It’s also Monday, which means the world has been without Lori in it for a total of two nights. People always complain about how much they hate Mondays, and how it’s so hard to get going in the morning. Well, I can officially attest to that opinion. I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse Monday in my whole life.
How does anyone return to a normal routine after seeing something like that? But that’s what everyone wants me and the rest of the student body to try to do … return to normal. Or at least as normal as high school can be.
I knew Lori was popular, but standing in front of her locker now covered in pictures grabbed from her socials, printed out, and stuck to it with flowers and little tokens gathered below, I can’t help but get choked up. It’s at times like these I’m reminded that people might not suck as much as I’d like to think they do. Even if there are those who only pay their respects because they want to feel good about themselves by contributing to a current group grief session, it’s still nice to see the overall end result.
I loosen the knot on the woven black and pink rope bracelet Lori made for me and slip it from around my wrist. It represented our two favorite colors, mine black and hers pink, intertwined in an endless loop. Like we were.
I rub it between my thumb and index finger and feel every frayed fiber. This is the first time I’ve removed it since she gave it to me a year ago. I’ll never forget that night for as long as I live.
After some serious debating with myself, I loop the bracelet through the opening in the locker door’s handle and re-secure the knot before stepping back. It’s hard letting go of it like this, but it’s only temporary. I want it to be a part of this tribute to her. I plan to collect the bracelet later to wear at the funeral. It just feels right to leave it here for now.
People pass around me like they’re moving in slow motion as I continue to stare at the memorial display. Lori and I spent many mornings over the years standing at our lockers gossiping over everything and nothing at all, and I’m finding it hard to break that routine, though now all of the dialogue is in my head.