by C. C. Hunter
We drive by, and I park like I did at the last one, but it’s so dark that I can’t make out crap. And even so, most of it has fencing around it.
I do notice that the property up and down the street is a mix of both commercial and residential. “We’re going to have to come back in daylight,” Kelsey says.
“Yeah.” I pull out, and right when I do, I see an old car drive past me. It passes so fast, I can’t tell what it was. But it could have been a Malibu or a BMW. I keep driving, but my gaze shoots to the rearview mirror. I’m half a block down the street when I see those taillights pull into a parking lot somewhere across from the donut shop. I slam on my brakes and make a quick U-turn.
“What is it?” Kelsey asks.
“Just an old car.”
“With a large trunk?” Kelsey reaches for her bat again.
Driving past the donut shop, I keep my gaze on the left, looking for a car behind the fence. I don’t see it.
“I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” I rub my eyes. I’m so tired, maybe I’m imagining things.
The ringing of my phone stirs me awake from a dead sleep. A really, really dead sleep. Probably the Tylenol PM I took before bed. I lift up on my shaky elbow. It’s so cold, goose bumps spread across my skin like ants on the run. I glance around and don’t see any unearthly visitors. But they are here. Or were here recently.
The phone rings again. I snatch it off the bedside table and hear Kelsey muttering something about the cold and ghosts. I see the time is eleven. Not as late as I assumed, but we were both exhausted and went to bed right at nine.
I blink and focus on the number, half expecting it to be Dad but praying it isn’t. I don’t want to have this conversation now. Too tired. Too hurt. Too…everything. But when I focus on the screen, I realize I’m wrong. It’s not Dad.
It’s Hayden. What’s he doing calling this late? My heart says he might have remembered something else. Maybe even remembers everything about us this time.
“Hello?” My voice sounds scratchy and sleepy.
“Riley.” His voice is pure panic. “This is going to sound so nuts, but I just…had another dream or whatever you want to call it, and in it Kelsey’s grandmother insisted I call you to wake you up because you’re in danger. She said she tried to wake you but couldn’t. I didn’t want to call, but it felt so real. And I thought… Shit, I shouldn’t have called. This is stupid.”
“What danger?” Cobwebs of sleep start clearing.
“It sounds crazy,” Hayden said.
Bessie appears, fear and fret in her eyes. “He’s here. Get out of the house.”
“Is that her I hear talking?” Hayden asks.
“Gotta go!” I disconnect the call with Hayden and stare at Bessie. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s trying to break in right now! Go out the back door!”
My heart jumps, and my mind goes straight to the man who murdered the bride. “The killer’s here? How—”
“What?” Kelsey fights to get the covers off and sits up. “Killer? Here?”
“No,” Bessie says. “Charles is here. But he’s drunk or high, and he’s got a gun.”
“Crap!” My pulse flutters at the base of my neck.
“Crap what?” Kelsey’s eyes are wide and awake now.
I shoot off the bed, still feeling half out of it, and look down at my best friend. “Charles is here!”
Kelsey bounces out of bed, then shakes her head. “No, he’s in jail.”
The cracking sound of glass breaking echoes from the living room and punctuates her words. Footsteps echo in the house. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. A door farther in the house opens, then slams.
“Window,” Bessie yells.
“Bat?” Kelsey screams.
“You left it in my car,” I say and tell myself to think, to think fast.
“Window,” Bessie yells.
“Window,” Kelsey says, almost as if she hears her grandmother. Kelsey runs for her window and tries to pull it up. I run to help. More footsteps ring out.
“Hurry,” Bessie says.
Kelsey’s bedroom door swings open. We turn around. Charles stumbles into the room, a gun in his outstretched hand.
All I can do is stare at the weapon and know it only takes a twitch of a finger to send a bullet inside either me or my best friend. One quick pull and our lives could end. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me. Never thought of them as terrifying. Until now.
“Where’s your mom?” His squinty eyes shift to me. To me in a pair of short shorts and a tank top. To me not liking how he’s looking at me.
“So we have company.” Charles’s smile is pure evil. Fear runs cold in my blood. His gaze shifts back to Kelsey. “Where is your mother?”
“She’s not here!” Kelsey seethes. “And you better get the hell out of here, because there’s a restraining order against you and we’ve already called the police.”
I wish she wasn’t lying about the police. My mind spins. Is playing it tough the right way to talk him down?
My gaze keeps flying to Bessie, who’s pacing in the room, and she keeps looking at the bedroom door as if she’s waiting. For what?
“Where’s my box of books that was under the bed?”
“I don’t know,” Kelsey says. “Leave!”
“Not without that box. Where is it!”
Bessie stops pacing and turns to me. “It’s in the hall closet. She put all his things in there last week when she cleaned out her room.”
In the distance, police sirens sound. I don’t have a clue who called them, but I’m glad. Before I can repeat Bessie’s message, Charles surges forward.
“Tell me, bitch!” He pulls his left fist back. I lunge forward, pushing Kelsey out of the way.
For one second it feels as if someone pushed the slow-motion button. His tight fist keeps coming. Coming right at me. It lands on my right eye. Pain hits. Flashes of light explode in my vision and bring with them déjà vu of another punch to the eye. I fall and land on my butt.
“Bastard!” Kelsey surges forward. He grabs her by her hair and points the gun in her face.
“No!” I bounce up, and I’m one step away when I see someone rushing through Kelsey’s bedroom door. Someone who looks a lot like…
“Let her go!” Dex grabs Charles’s arm and points the gun away from Kelsey. Kelsey is thrown to the floor. Charles swings around, and he and Dex start fighting for the gun.
I surge forward, trying to figure out how I can help, but before I do, the gun explodes.
“Police!” Shouts burst in from the front of the house, followed by rushing footsteps.
Someone hits the slow-motion button again. Charles’s gun falls to the floor like a feather. Dex’s lifeless body goes down with it. Blood oozes from the front of his shirt.
“No!” Kelsey and I scream at the same time.
“Is the boy who got shot going to be okay?” I ask the nurse walking into my ER room.
After the police arrived, everything happened so fast. Charles was cuffed. Bessie told me to tell the police that Charles had been here to find his box of books. A box which, when pulled out, held books on top and bags of white powder on the bottom.
“They’ve taken him into surgery,” she says.
Dex had been rushed away by the first ambulance. The second one was for me. It didn’t matter that I insisted I was okay. Apparently, my eye looks serious.
“How bad is it?” I pull my knees up to my chest and hug my calves. My insides are still shaking, the right side of my face is throbbing.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But he’s got a great doctor.”
I keep seeing Charles’s gun pointed at Kelsey and me. Seeing him press it on Kelsey’s cheek. I thought she was going to die. My insides shake a little faster.
“Do you need a blanket?” the nurse asks.
“No.” Thankfully, the paramedics let me slip on a pair of sweats and a regular T-shirt before bringing me in.
“Where’s my daughter!” A booming voice races down the hall, and recognition and a shitload of unwanted emotion hit at the same time. Dad. Yeah, I kind of suspected Kelsey would have to hand over the information. I just was hoping I was wrong.
He rushes through my door. The moment I lay eyes on him, I gain fifty pounds of baggage. While all the bad emotions are vying inside me, there are a few old ones, good ones. Love, followed by the need to lean against his shoulder and feel protected. I used to count on him to be my safe place. Now he’s my pain place.
“Oh, God. Are you okay?” He looks at the nurse as if I’m not capable of answering. “Is she okay?”
“She’s going to be fine. The doctor is going to look at the X-rays and will be back in here in a few minutes.”
Dad’s eyes aren’t bloodshot, and while he looks middle-of-the-night disheveled—his chambray shirt is buttoned down wrong, and he could’ve taken a few swipes at his hair—I don’t think he’s been drinking.
He gazes back at me, and his concerned expression fades. “You, young lady, are grounded for three months! And I hope you love walking to school, because you aren’t going to be driving.”
His quick turn to anger twists something inside me, too. The few good emotions I experienced are gone, and only the resentment and annoyance remain.
“No, I’m not,” I say in a low voice, but the seriousness in my tone is alarming to even me. Have I ever talked to Dad like this?
Dad lets out a huff of ire. “Do you know how I felt when the police called and I told them they had the wrong kid because you were upstairs asleep? Then I discovered you weren’t? Do you have any idea how scared I was?”
“Yeah, kind of how I feel when you don’t come home and I know you’re out drinking.”
His eyes tighten. “This isn’t about me, Riley!”
“Yes. It is.” I pull my legs closer.
Dad’s shoulders widen. “I am your father! And you will—”
“But you’re not a very good one! If you were, you might’ve noticed I’ve been gone two nights.” Yeah, that’s a low blow, but I’m right.
He looks stunned, hurt, but so am I, and I’m not finished.
“And why haven’t you noticed?” My voice cracks a little. “Because you’ve been avoiding me! Because you know you were wrong to get drunk off your ass at that bar. So you don’t get to ground me, Dad. And what’s sad is that’s not even why I ran away.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Enough! You know you aren’t supposed to leave the house without telling me. That’s always been our rule.”
Tears flow down my cheeks. I keep going. “What about the rule of honesty, Dad? How could you do this? How could you have lied to me all my life? She was my mother. I had the right to know her!”
Dad’s color, a fuming red, turns a guilty white. “I did it for you.”
“How can you even say that? How can you even think it was right!”
The door to our room swings open, and the doctor I saw earlier steps in. “Okay.” She’s not picking up on the tension. Her focus is on me. “You’re right. Nothing is broken. Your vision appears to be fine. You’ll have a pretty shiner, but other than that, you look good.” Her gaze goes to Dad. “You must be Mr. Smith?” She offers Dad her hand. Dad takes it.
The doctor’s gaze falls back to me. “I’ll sign you out, but you”—she glances at Dad again—“will need to talk to the front desk. They need insurance information.”
Dad nods. “I will.”
The doctor leaves, and it feels as if she takes all the breathable oxygen with her. Dad stares at the wall for a long, silent moment. I stare at his back and breathe in air that feels empty.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. Is he sorry? Is he ashamed? Is this going to change things? Will I ever be able to forgive him?
He faces me, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m going to take care of the insurance registration. I’ll be back, and we can go home, and you can explain how you ended up at a house with drugs.”
He obviously isn’t sorry. Isn’t ashamed. And… Drugs? That’s what he’s taken away from all this? That I’m somehow involved with drugs? He doesn’t ask? He just assumes?
He takes one step to leave. “No.” My tone is clear. Direct. Defiant. “I’m not leaving this hospital until I find out how Dex is. He got shot trying to save me and Kelsey. Then I’ll be staying with Kelsey tonight. Her mom’s in the hospital, and she shouldn’t be alone.”
He becomes a few inches taller. “You can call and check on them.”
“No!” My word is sharp, and I don’t care who it cuts. “You’ll have to drag me out of here. And for the record, you may have noticed that I’m not being arrested. Which means I didn’t have shit to do with the drugs. This is another circumstance that an adult screwed up. Why am I not surprised?”
He stands there speechless for one, two, three seconds, then he turns and leaves. Before I can even try to tamp down my anger, the nurse returns. She gives me another ice pack. “You can go be with your dad if you want. They took the sign-out papers there.”
I start to push off the bed, but my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket. It’s Kelsey.
“I’m sorry.” There’s a tremor in her voice I’m not used to hearing, and it kind of matches the one going on inside me. “They made me give them your home number.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not. None of this is okay. Have you heard anything about Dex?”
“Just that they took him into surgery.”
She lets out a soft moan that sounds like caged-up pain.
“Where are you?” I ask. She doesn’t need to be alone, and neither do I.
“Here at the hospital. I was coming to see you when the doctor walked out and I saw your dad. I’m heading to see Mom now. The cops called her. She’s freaking out.”
“Okay. I’m going to the surgical waiting room. Meet me there if you want.”
“Your dad’s not making you go home?”
“He said he was, but I told him he couldn’t. I’m not leaving here until I know Dex’s okay. And I’m not leaving you.”
I hear her breath catch. “Thanks,” she whispers, then… “Shit. Did you tell him about your mom?”
“It just sort of came out.” I push off the mattress, find my shoes in a hospital bag under my bed, and put them on.
“And?”
“He gave me some shit that he did it for me.” I slip my cold feet into my shoes, drop the ice pack into the hospital bag, and leave the ER. “Call me when you leave your mom’s room.”
I step into the same surgical waiting room where I waited with Kelsey two days ago. Only three other people are in the room. A mid-sixties Hispanic woman with a man who looks like her son. They sit together, quietly speaking Spanish. Then there’s a pretty African American woman in her early twenties, sitting and suffering alone.
I’m shocked no one is here for Dex. It hits me then that I don’t know if he lives with his mom, dad, or both. Does he have siblings? Standing a few feet in the room, feeling lost and exhausted, I attempt to collect all my filed-away Dex data. He reads fantasy novels, plays video games, loves cars, lives about a block from Kelsey but spends most of his time at Jacob’s. He’s the kind of person who would run into a house with a madman with a gun to save someone who hasn’t taken the time to know him.
I’m such a bad friend.
Please don’t let him die.
I sit down in the corner, my heart and eye throbbing.
A nurse walks in through a side door. “The Fraser family,” she calls out.
I remember that’s Dex’s last name and stand up. I’m completely surprised when the African American woman stands up, too.
Our eyes meet as we step toward the nurse. “I’m a friend of Dex’s,” I say to her.
The nurse moves in. “He’s still in surgery, but I wanted to give you an update. He’s doing well. The bullet didn’t do as much damage as we first suspected.” She looks around. �
��Are his parents here?”
“I’m his half sister. Melissa Edwards,” the woman says. “Our dad works offshore on the oil rigs. He’s on his way. Should be here in a few hours. My brother’s mom passed away years ago.”
My chest fills with empathy because I know how losing a mom feels, even if I never really lost her. The nurse offers a sympathetic expression. “Okay. Hang in there. The doctor will be out to talk to you when he’s finished.” She uses her badge to beep herself back through the door.
I look at Dex’s sister. “I’m Riley Smith.”
She nods. “I wasn’t sure if you were here for him.” Her gaze goes to my swollen eye. “Are you one of the girls he got shot trying to help?”
My throat knots. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help, but it happened so fast.”
“It’s not your fault. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just a black eye.” I pull air through my nose, hoping to bypass the tears. We move over to the line of chairs and sit next to each other.
“I wasn’t aware he had a sister,” I say. Then, realizing how that might sound, I offer up, “I mean, we’re not that close. We should have been, but…”
“It’s fine.” She offers a slight smile. “I live in California with my mom. It’s only been in the last few years that I reconnected with my dad and discovered I had a brother. And I just happened to be here for a work thing.”
My phone rings. I pull it out. Melissa picks up a magazine as if leaving me to my conversation. It’s Dad. I don’t want to answer, but I know he’ll just keep calling.
So I do it. “Yeah?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“In the surgical waiting room. I told you I’m not leaving.”
He hangs up. I glance over at Melissa and see she’s on the phone now.
The door into the waiting room swings open, and I look up, afraid it’s him. It’s not. It’s Kelsey.
Immediately, she spots me and comes straight over.
She gasps when she sees my face. “You gotta stop taking swings that are meant for me.”
“It looks worse than it is,” I say.
“Have you heard anything?” She drops down beside me.