The Dead and the Dark

by Courtney Gould

  24

  On A Cold, Bleak Morning

  Logan was aware of two things when she woke up. The first was Ashley’s limbs, warm and soft and tangled with hers under the comforter. The second was blue-and-red lights flashing against her closed blinds. In her hazy half-dream, she wasn’t sure which was more alarming. She pressed her face into her pillow and burrowed under her blankets. The motel room was cool and dewy with morning, gray shadows casting sharp lines across the wall. It was red, then blue, then red.

  Logan abruptly sat up.

  Police lights were definitely the more alarming thing.

  She threw the blankets back and gave herself a quick once-over. She was still dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing the day before, though her sweater was crumpled and her skirt had rotated halfway around her waist.

  Ashley sat up and slowly blinked to life.

  “What…?” She trailed off. Logan wasn’t sure if the confusion stemmed from the police lights or the room she’d woken up in.

  Logan motioned to the closed blinds. “Apparently we have visitors.”

  “I don’t—” Ashley wearily peeled away the blankets and looked down at her legs. Her lips twisted into a scowl. “I slept in jeans.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Logan said, parting the blinds. The police cruiser in the parking lot wasn’t alone. A square van was squeezed into the narrow space between Ashley’s truck and the abandoned pizza stand. The back of the van was open and a steel cart was loaded into the back. It was hard to tell for sure, but the cloth-covered object on the cart looked uncannily like a body.

  Logan cleared her throat. “I think this is serious.”

  Gracia stood outside, talking to the sheriff. She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse and shook her head in disbelief.

  “I have to go,” Ashley said. There was a fearful edge to her voice. “How do I get out of here?”

  “Out the front door?”

  Ashley stared at Logan for a second like she thought she was joking. Slowly, Logan understood what she meant, and embarrassment coiled in her stomach. Ashley couldn’t be seen leaving the motel room. No one could know she had been here overnight, and more specifically, that she was here with Logan. Even though they hadn’t done anything but talk, the mere implication of it would be too much for her reputation. Logan had to be a secret.

  It wasn’t a great feeling.

  She cleared her throat. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone to see you.”

  “Sorry,” Ashley said. She snatched her phone from the nightstand and unlocked it. Her hands shook. This was something more than embarrassment. “I had such a creepy dream last night.”

  Somehow, the fact that Ashley didn’t get how rude it was made Logan even angrier. She grabbed the rest of Ashley’s things—a purse, a hair tie, and a set of car keys—from the breakfast table and shoved them into Ashley’s hands. “There’s a window in the bathroom if you wanna sneak out. Maybe if you—”

  Ashley scrolled through the notifications on her phone. “Wait.”

  “No, really, it’s cool. I don’t think it’s super rude to act like you’re embarrassed to be here.”

  “Wait.” Ashley’s eyes were fixed on her phone screen, wide with panic. Before Logan could ask what was wrong, Ashley slammed her phone on the nightstand and tore open the motel door. Logan hesitated behind her. She tapped Ashley’s phone and read the stream of messages:

  BUG: i’m checking out the motel wanna come?

  BUG: just got here

  BUG: are you asleep?

  BUG: just called

  BUG: are you HERE???

  BUG: i see your truck in the parking lot

  BUG: there’s a man out here. don’t come outside.

  “Shit,” Logan muttered. She threw on a pair of sandals and rushed outside.

  The motel parking lot was at once chaos and dead silence. Two police cruisers were parked in the lot, and now that she was outside, it was clear that the gray van she’d seen earlier read OWYHEE COUNTY CORONER across the side. Logan spotted Ashley on a bench near the pizza stand, eyes fixed on a point in the distance like she’d been powered down. Sheriff Paris sat next to her with a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head and said nothing.

  Ashley didn’t move.

  The wind off the lake rang in Logan’s ears. She’d been right inside; she would’ve heard something. She would’ve known there was someone dying just outside her room. The door behind Logan opened and a hand grabbed her wrist. She pushed the stranger away before recognizing it was Alejo.

  “Logan,” Alejo said. He tenderly squeezed her wrist, tugging her back to reality. “Come back inside. You don’t need to be out here.”

  “What happened?” Logan mumbled.

  An Owyhee County deputy strung caution tape across the length of the parking lot. A man she didn’t recognize paced the area, snapping photos.

  “It’s all gonna be okay,” Alejo said, “but we need to stay inside.”

  Logan tugged her wrist free. “What happened?”

  “Is everything okay over here?” Another deputy approached cautiously. He was at least ten years younger than Sheriff Paris. The tag on his uniform shirt read GOLDEN, like the police receptionist.

  “Everything’s fine, Tommy,” Alejo said. “We just wanna get out of your way.”

  “Actually, I need to talk to your daughter.” Tommy Golden put a hand on his hip. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now. We can talk here or at the station. Up to you.”

  “Can I talk to Ashley?” Logan asked. Her voice was muddled in the wind. She felt like she was drowning.

  “You can in a bit. Ashley has some questions to answer, too.”

  “I wanna talk to her now.”

  “Logan,” Alejo warned.

  “You’re not in trouble, Miss Ortiz.” Golden gave her a weary, half-baked smile. He wore his grief plain on his face. “I just need to know if you heard anything last night. If you maybe saw anyone outside.”

  “We understand,” Alejo said. He took Logan’s hand again. “You could question all three of us at once. Maybe it’d save you some time.”

  “No can do.” Golden turned to Logan. “Gotta talk to each of you separately. It’ll only take a second.”

  “She’s a minor,” Alejo said.

  Deputy Golden hesitated. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry. Sheriff’s orders.”

  Logan swallowed. “Was it Bug?”

  Deputy Golden said nothing, which meant it was.

  Shadows danced at the edge of Logan’s vision. She was about to pass out. Across the parking lot, Sheriff Paris helped Ashley from the bench and took her to his police cruiser. They left the Bates in silence, disappearing on the highway toward the police station. The sky was heavy with gray cloud cover; it weighed down on her, pressing like fists to her shoulders.

  “… What do you need to know?” Logan croaked.

  Deputy Golden motioned to Logan’s motel room. They entered, and Logan fought the urge to hide the evidence that Ashley had been here. That they’d been here together when Bug died. That, for a second, things had been okay. She wanted to make the bed, to go back to the beginning of the night, to scrub the memory from the walls.

  Deputy Golden shut the door behind them.

  “Let’s start from the beginning.”

  25

  Let The Survey Show

  “Should I get state police on the line?”

  “I tried. They’re sending someone out this week.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  “They don’t think so.”

  “Have we notified the family?”

  “God, not yet. What do I say? Frank’s always done the notifications.”

  “Frank, the county coroner is on the other line. Can you take him now?”

  “Put him through to my voice mail. I’ll do the notification, I just need to talk to…”

  Silence. Ashley felt Sheriff Paris turn his eyes on her. Everyone in the station turned the
ir eyes on her. She kept staring into the brick wall across from her, tracing the mortar lines from the floor to the ceiling in aching detail. She needed to focus. Needed to block the rest of it out. She needed to keep her eyes open, because if she closed them, she’d see it again.

  It’d only been a moment; she’d thought it was a nightmare at first, but now she knew. In the dark of the motel room, sometime between when she’d fallen asleep and when the police arrived, she’d seen her.

  Bug.

  Across the room, leaning against the makeshift desk in her dark green flannel, a braid of red hair drooped lazily over her shoulder. The room was laced with her—it even smelled like that perfume she bought from the mall in Ontario. She’d mouthed a word that Ashley couldn’t quite understand. Over and over, her mouth was long like a vowel, and then thin as a smile. She’d thought it was a name. But maybe Bug was still alive when she’d seen it, just outside the room, struggling to breathe. Maybe she was mouthing Help me.

  Ashley was going to be sick.

  “Ashley?” Becky said. She came around her desk and sat on the chair next to Ashley, lingering just on the edge of the seat like she wasn’t sure she was allowed. “Your mom is here. She wants to go with you for the questions. Is that okay with you?”

  Ashley closed her eyes. Tammy Barton was going to skin her alive for lying about where she was last night, but that was better than being alone right now.

  She nodded.

  Becky stood and motioned to the front door of the station. A warm draft funneled into the lobby, accompanied by the signature click of Tammy’s heels. In a flurry, Tammy swept Ashley into a hug so tight it threatened to cut off Ashley’s airway.

  It wasn’t the right reaction. There was supposed to be anger. There was supposed to be yelling. Instead, Tammy just rocked her back and forth, whispering It’s okay into her ear.

  “I…” Ashley trailed off. The weight of it all punched its way up her chest like a stampede. Her tears were hot behind her eyes. Her head was going to explode. She knotted a fist in the back of Tammy’s shirt and breathed, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, look at me.”

  Ashley nodded and looked up. Tammy took her face between her hands and fixed her with an intense stare.

  “You did nothing wrong.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Ashley’s ear. She was gentler now than Ashley had ever seen her. She struggled to reconcile this Tammy with the one she’d pictured on the way to the station—brow etched with fury, angry at her for lying, for being there of all places. Instead, Tammy gave her a small, quiet smile. “And Paris is gonna find who did this. Just breathe.”

  “I was there,” Ashley croaked.

  “I know.” Her mother pulled her into another hug. “It could’ve been you.”

  Ashley exhaled, pushing back the first words that came to her: it should’ve been me. Bug had been there because Ashley told her about the investigation. Bug had died because of her, just like all the others. She wrapped her arms around her mother and held her tight, like she was the only thing keeping her from sinking.

  “Ashley, Tammy, why don’t you come on back?” Sheriff Paris asked.

  They followed Paris deeper into the police station. It wasn’t particularly large—behind the lobby was a closed-off holding cell, two desks, and an office with a wooden desk and a wall of bookshelves. Ashley followed Paris into the office and took a seat on the visitors’ side of his desk. His office was surprisingly calming—white light streamed in through the blinds at the back, streaking the mahogany paneling on the walls.

  Paris shut the door and circled to his desk chair. “I figured it’d be better to talk somewhere quiet.”

  “We appreciate it,” Tammy said. “So? Do you know who did it?”

  Paris frowned. “Not yet. I’m hoping Ashley can help me.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” Ashley said.

  “Maybe not, but you can still help.” Paris leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk. “First, I have to know what you were doing at the motel.”

  Ashley nodded. She felt Tammy’s eyes bore into her. “I was just visiting Logan.”

  “And you two were in there all night? You never went outside?”

  “No.”

  “When I called your mom to let her know what happened, she said you were staying at Bug’s house. I haven’t talked to Bug’s mom yet. Were you at Bug’s house at any point last night?”

  Bug’s mom. He would have to tell Bug’s family that their oldest daughter was gone. They would hate Ashley when they found out she was feet away when it happened and did nothing. They trusted her, and she’d failed them. Snakebite trusted the Bartons, and she’d already let three kids disappear. Ashley’s throat felt swollen. She clutched the front of her T-shirt and tried to swallow her tears before they surfaced.

  “Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re accusing her of murder, Frank,” Tammy spat. She cupped a hand on Ashley’s shoulder.

  “I’m—” Paris straightened his spine and tried again. “Why don’t you tell me what you did after you left your house?”

  Ashley nodded. “I drove to the motel. Me and Logan just hung out. I fell asleep. I didn’t look at my phone. I didn’t see…”

  “And Logan’s dads? Did you see them, too?”

  Tammy grimaced.

  “No, I didn’t see them.”

  Paris nodded. “Did you hear anything from their room?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see their car in the parking lot?”

  “I…” Ashley paused. “I didn’t look.”

  “I understand.” Paris straightened a stack of paperwork and put it in a box at the corner of his desk. “Do you think it’s possible either Brandon Woodley or Alejo Ortiz left their room while you were there last night?”

  Ashley was quiet. She understood now, maybe too late, what Paris was saying. And even though her instinct was to say no, it wasn’t possible that the Ortiz-Woodleys had done this, it felt like a lie. People were still dying, and Tristan was still missing. She had promised Logan she wouldn’t jump to conclusions. That felt like years ago now.

  And she had seen someone outside the motel.

  “I … yeah. It’s possible.”

  “Frank, you don’t think they…?” Tammy said. Her expression was complicated—Ashley thought her mother would be more excited that the Ortiz-Woodleys were finally on the table. Tammy just looked disappointed.

  “We’ve had suspicions for a while, but without a credible witness, we can’t make an arrest.” Sheriff Paris fixed Ashley with a hard stare. “I know how hard this is. You’re still in shock. Logan is your friend. I’m friends with the family, too. But you were there when it happened. You’re our only chance to get it right.”

  “Tell him the truth, Ashley,” Tammy warned.

  Ashley closed her eyes. There were two paths ahead of her, both tugging at her and both pushing her away. When she looked ahead, she saw nothing but darkness. She’d lost so much already—Tristan, Nick, Bug, and something more than them. She’d lost the Snakebite she knew. She’d lost the feeling of home. She wondered how much more pain she could take.

  She thought of Logan.

  She wished she’d had a chance to say goodbye, because she was about to lose Logan, too.

  “Ashley,” Sheriff Paris said, fist clenched on his desk, “do you know who could’ve been in that parking lot?”

  Ashley took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  26

  An Apple Off The Cleaven Trunk

  “This is Ashley. I’m not here. Leave a message!”

  It was Logan’s fifth time hearing Ashley’s stupid outgoing voice mail message. It’d been hours and there was no way she was still at the police station. “Hey, can you just text me to say you’re okay? I need you to be okay.”

  Her room was empty now. Shadows clung to the walls like drapes. This room was always empty, but without Ashley it felt empty. Deputy Golden had finished questioning
her within a couple minutes and moved on to her fathers.

  Tires screeched across the pavement outside. Logan pried her blinds open in time to catch Sheriff Paris climbing out of his cruiser. He stood in the parking lot, cautiously eyeing the door to Brandon and Alejo’s room with a blank expression. He steeled himself and marched to the door, quietly pushing his way inside.

  Logan scrambled out to the parking lot.

  “I’m almost done with the questions,” Deputy Golden started. “I—”

  “Yeah, well, something came up,” Paris said. “We’ll finish this at the station.”

  “Hey, stop.”

  This was Brandon’s voice from inside the motel room. A series of thumps sounded against the wall, followed by metal clinking against metal. Logan pressed her palms to her forehead. It was finally happening—after months of speculation, they finally had enough proof to arrest Brandon. They thought he was responsible for the deaths. After all the slurs, the whispers, the glares, Paris was finally going to do it. He was going to take Brandon away.

  Except it wasn’t Brandon being led from the motel room.

  Alejo emerged with Sheriff Paris close behind him. His hands were pinned behind his back, balled into fists like all his fear was concentrated in his fingers. Brandon followed them out of the room and wedged himself between Alejo and the cruiser. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes wild with quiet panic. Behind them, Deputy Golden stood at the motel room door, brow furrowed in quiet confusion.

  “Woodley,” Paris sighed. “You gotta move.”

  “You know he didn’t do anything,” Brandon said. “You know he didn’t.”

  “How would I know that?” Paris asked.

  “He wasn’t here for the first one.”

  “We haven’t found Tristan Granger’s body. He could still be alive,” Paris said. “Which is the point of questioning. Unless you have information I don’t.”

  “He wasn’t here.”

  “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

  Brandon grimaced.

  This was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be Alejo. It made no sense. Brandon was right—Alejo wasn’t in Snakebite when Tristan disappeared. Alejo wouldn’t kill anyone. This was the same man who got emotional when someone cried on his favorite cooking show. The same dad who had to turn off the news if there was too much violence.