The One You Can’t Forget

by Loren, Roni

  “Hey, man, it’s Chef G. I’m here to talk about whatever you want.”

  Rebecca couldn’t hear Steven’s end of the conversation, but she watched it play out on Wes’s face. The line between his eyebrows, the anguished crinkle around his eyes. Steven’s pain was Wes’s pain in that moment, the teacher absorbing the emotions of the student.

  “I don’t blame you, Steven. I know what it’s like to be scared at home, to tiptoe around minefields. To feel like no one is on your side and that things will always be this bad. I’ve been there. But this isn’t the answer. Things can get better.”

  Rebecca sank to the floor across from Wes and reached out to press her hand to his knee, to offer whatever support she could.

  “Did I ever tell you my dad was in jail?” Wes asked. “He got locked up when I was a teenager, and I had to move in with my aunt and uncle who I barely knew. I thought it was the end of the world. My dad was out of the picture. My mom had a drug problem and couldn’t deal with me. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t fit in anywhere. Didn’t know how to act like a normal human being without fighting or getting in trouble. Didn’t know there were other options for someone like me. You’re way further along than I was at your age. I see you at the program. You’re a good kid. Smart. And talented in the kitchen. You’ve got a future.”

  Wes shook his head at whatever Steven said.

  “Yes you can, Steven,” Wes insisted. “You haven’t ruined everything. But you will if you don’t put the gun down and stop all this. You can have another chance. The gun takes away that chance.”

  When Steven responded, it apparently wasn’t what Wes wanted to hear. He gave Rebecca a heartbreaking look.

  She took a breath and put out her hand for the phone.

  Wes mouthed, Are you sure?

  She nodded.

  “Steven, I want you to talk to Ms. Lindt. She can explain what I’m talking about.”

  Wes handed Rebecca the phone, and she took it with a shaking hand. “Steven.”

  “Ms. Lindt.” The hoarse voice was broken with tears. “I’m so sorry. This wasn’t… I didn’t plan. I was only going to come home and pack, and he came home early and caught… I thought he was going to kill me.” He sobbed for a moment, his breath coming out in choked bursts. “I don’t know what to do. They’re never going to believe me.”

  “Steven,” she said, surprised to hear the calm in her voice. “Take a breath and listen to me, okay? I’m here for you. If you shot your father because you feared for your life, we will make sure everyone knows that. I am not going to let anyone steamroll over you because your father’s a cop or because you’re young. I believe you. I know you didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I know you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

  There was a rustling sound on the line as he moved around. “Maybe that’s for the best, though. If I just end it. What the hell am I going to do now? Even if I don’t get thrown in jail for good, who would want to take in a kid who shot someone? I don’t have anyone. I have nothing. What’s the point?”

  “The point is,” she said, his anguished tone cutting into her like tiny shards of ice, “that you aren’t alone. You have people in your life who care whether you’re here or not. You’re Chef G’s star student. Who else is he going to geek out with over old recipes?”

  Steven sniffled.

  “And think about your friends in the class. Lola will be pissed, Steven. Pissed. Xavier and Keisha will be gutted. And when we open The Burnt Cheeseball and are the first food truck in town to be run by teenagers, you’re going to miss out. Your food will not be on the menu. Your talent will die with you. And I know that I don’t know you that well yet, but I’ve lost a lot of people in my life.” She glanced at the cops who were listening in on headsets and turned her face away, trying to block them out and just talk one-on-one.

  “I was a Long Acre High survivor. I saw friends and classmates lose their lives before they could even figure out who they were supposed to be in this world, before they ever got a chance. I don’t want your friends to go through that. And I don’t want to lose someone else. Please don’t make me lose you, too.”

  She could hear him crying softly now. “But they’re going to take it all away from me. I know what they’re saying to you. You’re just telling me what I want to hear. They’re going to put me in jail. This is all a trick.”

  She swallowed hard. “Do you think I would lie to you, Steven?”

  “I don’t know, but I know you’re surrounded by cops. I know they’re hearing everything we say. I know you’ll probably tell me anything to get me out.”

  She took a deep breath and glanced at Wes. “If I come in there and look you in the face and tell you all this with no one else there, will you believe me?”

  Two cops were staring at her. One started shaking his head, and the other was waving her hands, calling Rebecca off.

  “Yes,” Steven said. “Please. I need… Yes. Just you. No cops.”

  Wes was looking at her with wide eyes.

  “Okay, give me a minute, and let me see what I can do,” she said quickly, her mind already working. “I just need you to promise that if I come in there, you will not hurt me or yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you. I swear,” Steven said fervently.

  “I know,” she said with a nod. “I believe you.”

  Rebecca handed the phone back to the cop.

  Wes leaned forward, his head already shaking. “Bec, you can’t do this.”

  “He’s not going to hurt me,” she said, her voice oddly steady.

  “You don’t know that for sure. He’s on the edge,” Wes protested. “I don’t think he’ll hurt you on purpose, but he could still hurt himself. And what if…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What if it triggers stuff for you? I won’t be there to help.”

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, her heart pounding. “I can handle this. I don’t blame him for not believing me. I know if I look him in the face and tell him what I can do for him, he’ll listen.”

  “Ma’am,” the male officer said, “we can’t let you go in there. He’s not stable. It’s too dangerous.”

  Rebecca stood. “I’ll relieve the department of any liability, sign whatever you need me to. This kid is terrified and needs a friendly face. He’s not going to hurt me. And he’s not going to come out until he believes that he has a chance not to get locked up in jail. I know I can give him that chance, and he’ll see that truth on my face. It’s the best shot we have. I will go in acting as his lawyer.”

  Wes got to his feet next to her. “Bec…”

  The two cops looked at each other. Rebecca could tell they didn’t like it, but that they were out of options. The next steps would involve more force and had a much higher likelihood of someone getting hurt. The female officer sighed. “He could take her as a hostage.”

  Wes frowned, worry etched into every inch of his handsome face. “Bec…”

  She took Wes’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “I can do this. He’s not going to hurt me. You know that. You know him.”

  Wes let out a harsh breath. “He didn’t mean for the Knight thing to happen either.”

  A ripple of unease went through her at that, but she shook her head. This wasn’t like that. She had to trust her gut on this one. “I’ll be okay. I wouldn’t go in if I thought he’d hurt me.”

  Wes cupped her face in his palm, and the concern in his eyes knocked her off-balance for a moment, but finally he nodded. “Go help him, but then come back safe to me.” He pinned her with a look. “There’s a conversation we need to have. I’ve got things to say. Don’t even try to get out of it by getting yourself shot.”

  She smirked. “That’d be one hell of an avoidance tactic.”

  “Yes,” he said seriously. “Don’t do that.”

  “Right.” On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “It’s a date.”

  He let out a long sigh.

  Ten minutes later, they’
d put Rebecca in a bulletproof vest and led her to the end of the sidewalk. That was as far as Steven said he wanted the cops to go. Rebecca stared along the broken pavement, her heart pounding so hard her breastbone hurt. The squad car lights flashing along the front of the house, the sound of voices around her, the tension like a fog in the air, all of it was trying to flip those dangerous switches inside her, the ones that would steal her away from this moment and drag her backward, make her useless. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Focus.

  She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the magnolia tree nearby, and forced herself to notice all the things that anchored her to this moment. She needed to stay here. Fully present. Steven needed her strength. He needed her here.

  She made her way up to the house and gently knocked on the door with two quick raps, something she’d warned Steven she’d do. The door lock clicked, and he called out that she should count to ten and then come in. She said the numbers aloud, and then with a surprisingly steady hand, she grabbed the knob, opened the door to the darkened interior, and stepped inside.

  The coppery smell of blood hit her hard in the darkness, the familiarity almost knocking her over. A shock went through her like she’d run face-first into a wall. That smell permeated her nightmares. Scenes flashed through her mind—images of pooled blood beneath bodies, her own blood spreading beneath her leg, Finn bleeding on top of her. Bile rose in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the memories banged at the doors in her mind.

  “Ms. Lindt?”

  The small, trembly voice was like a flaming dart in the darkness, cutting through some of the visions trying to trample her. She swallowed back the burn in her throat. “Yes. It’s me.”

  Steven flicked on a lamp. “Please don’t be scared. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

  She forced her eyes his way, tried to breathe through the panic, and as her pupils adjusted to the sudden light, she spotted Steven sitting in a back corner of the living room. He’d positioned a recliner between him and the two windows that flanked the television. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, but the edges were lit with the flashing blue and red of the police lights. The small, shadeless lamp he’d turned on had a dusty bulb and a yellow glow. His hair was soaked with sweat, his lips crusted with dried blood, and a dark bruise marred his cheekbone.

  All those lanky limbs of his were pulled tightly to him, knees to chest, arms wrapped around them. Like a small child who was hiding from the boogeyman. She wanted to rush over, make sure he was okay, comfort him in some way. But the shiny black of the gun hanging loosely in one of his hands loomed large, freezing her to her spot.

  She licked her dry lips, dragging her gaze from the gun to focus on the kid. On his eyes. She’d seen remorseless eyes, empty, cold gazes. Steven’s were brimming with emotion.

  She lifted her palm as if trying to calm a startled animal. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. That’s why I’m here, even though the cops don’t want me to be.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he whispered, looking down.

  “I believe you. I’m going to come closer, okay?” she said carefully. “I need you to promise me you won’t move the gun. I have a phobia about them, and I can’t promise I won’t freak out on you if you move it around.”

  He glanced up at that, guilt there, and nodded. “I won’t.”

  She approached him with painstaking steps, and when she was within about three feet of him, she lowered herself to the floor. Her eyes wanted to zero in on the gun, but she knew if she did, she’d lose her grip on staying in the moment.

  “I don’t want to go to jail,” he said as if to himself.

  “I know, honey.” She settled onto the cold tile floor as best she could. She lifted her phone. “I’m going to tell the police I’m in here and okay.” She spoke into the phone and then told them she needed a minute. She put it on mute. “Okay, they can’t hear us right now. Tell me what happened. Just you and me talking. I’m not wired, and I don’t have to tell because I’m your lawyer.”

  Steven shook his head, tears tracking down his cheeks. “I shot him.”

  “I know, but what happened?”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “He was so…angry. He came home early and caught me packing. I should’ve played it off, but I was just…over it. I told him I wasn’t coming back, and no one was going to make me because he was an abusive asshole and that he was going to lose his job. It was such a dumb thing to say. He knew I’d reported him again when I said that. He lost his shit. Told me at least if he was going to get reported, he should make it count. He punched me and knocked me down. I was dizzy, but I managed to get to my feet. He was coming for me again. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  His voice caught there, and he had to take several breaths before continuing.

  “I ran to the kitchen, and when I saw he’d left his gun on the counter after he’d gotten home, I grabbed it and racked the slide. I didn’t want to shoot him. I just wanted him to feel what it was like to be that scared. I told him to back up, to leave me alone. But he charged and grabbed for the gun. It went off, or I pulled the trigger. I don’t even know. It was all so fast.” His words stuck in his throat at that. “Is he… Did he…”

  Rebecca took a steadying breath. “I don’t know. Last I heard, he was in surgery.”

  Steven pressed his palm over his eyes, crying. “I don’t want him to die. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

  “I know,” she said, trying to keep a soothing tone. “I know that’s what you want. And I can help you with that, but in order for me to do that, I need you around. We can build a case, Steven. You were abused. You felt threatened. It was self-defense. Your father will probably survive, and the charge will be less. There are a lot of things working in your favor. But suicide is the worst answer. That way, he wins.”

  Steven lowered his hand and looked down at the gun in his right hand, a dark look in his eyes. “He always wins anyway, so what’s the point?”

  She shook her head. “The point is he’s never met me before. I take personal issue with the bad guys winning, and I’m not afraid of bullies. I can’t promise you a certain outcome, but I can promise you that I will give everything I have to fight for you. And it’s not just me. I have loads of lawyer friends who can help us out. Plus, Chef G will have your back. He’s seen the bruises. He’s been worried about you for a long time but didn’t have enough evidence to report. You have people in your corner rooting for you.”

  She reached out to touch him, but he jolted, the gun automatically going to his temple.

  “Don’t,” he warned.

  She heaved in a breath and lifted her palm in surrender, a head-to-toe tremor working its way through her. “Please. I wasn’t trying to take the gun. I wouldn’t do that. Please point it down again. You’re scaring me.”

  Guilt flickered in his gaze, and he held her stare for a long moment, but then he slowly lowered the gun.

  Her phone buzzed. The line had dropped, and Wes’s name lit up her screen. “I need to answer that. It’s Wes checking on us, okay?”

  Steven nodded. She hit the speakerphone button.

  “Tell me you’re both okay,” Wes said. “The police line dropped.”

  “We’re okay,” she said.

  “I don’t think I can go out there, Chef G,” Steven hiccupped. “It’s too late. I’ve done too much.”

  Rebecca’s heart had lodged in her throat, and she could barely breathe after the swift move with the gun, but she managed to maintain her outward composure. “It’s not too late, Steven. You’re only sixteen. We all make mistakes.”

  He scoffed. “Sure. I’m sure lots of teenagers commit crimes and possible murder and come back from that.”

  “You can come back from this,” Wes said, his voice crackling on the line.

  But Steven wasn’t listening. They were losing him. He was getting knotted up in his own tangled thoughts.

  Rebecca swallowed past the tension
in her throat but didn’t look away from Steven. I’m sure lots of teenagers come back from that. She forced herself to ignore the open line on the phone and did the only thing she could think to do to get Steven’s attention. “What if I told you that when I was sixteen I did something that helped lead to many people’s deaths?”

  Steven’s attention jerked her way, his brows low. “What?”

  Her throat wanted to close up, but she pushed past the automatic roadblock. She needed to say what she’d only ever said to her father. “I’ve only told one other person this, but once upon a time, I was friends with one of the Long Acre shooters. Secret friends, but friends. And one day, to save my own image, I humiliated him in a way that I know he never came back from, a way that helped turn him toward the choice he made the night he killed so many of my classmates.”

  Steven’s lips parted.

  “I’ve lived every day knowing that I did this horrible thing,” she said, her chest tight with anxiety. “No, I couldn’t be put in jail for it, but I’ve been where you are. After it happened, I didn’t want to go on. Ending my life seemed like the only option. But when I took a bottle of pills to make that happen, my dad caught me. And I promise you, my first thought when I got to the hospital was, Please don’t let me die. I changed my mind the instant I realized I might not make it. That gun”—she nodded at the weapon in his hand—“isn’t going to give you that option. It’s so fast, so final, you won’t get the chance to take it back.”

  He looked down, his shoulders shaking with his soft crying.

  “I’m not going to pretend that I’m past what happened back then, that I’m not still eaten up by guilt. I am. Every day,” she said. “But I’m not sorry that my dad caught me with the pills. I cherish every day of my life because I know how easily it could’ve been taken away, first by the shooting, then by my own hand. And I’m trying in my own way to make up for the bad decisions I made back when I was in high school. You can do that, too. Use your life for something good. You can have another chance. Have this be a beginning instead of an ending.”