by John Rector
I pushed myself up, and crossed toward first base, my position, and stood in my old spot. The bag wasn’t out, but the foul lines were chalked and the dirt under my feet felt familiar and good.
I stared up at the stands, remembering how they’d looked when they were full. In small communities, any home game is an event, and sometimes it seemed like the entire town came out to watch us play.
Now, everything was silent, but in my head I could still hear the chaos.
I took the bottle from my pocket and took a drink. The sun felt warm on my neck. I lay back and let myself sink into the grass.
Above me, the sky was a perfect blue.
I could hear the crowds in the stands, cheering me on. I closed my eyes and imagined Jessica sitting out there among them, surrounded by her friends, laughing and joking, completely unaware of what was coming.
The way it should’ve been.
The image felt so real and so peaceful. It was like a warm wave covering me and pushing me along, farther and farther away from the shore.
“Number twenty-one, Dexter McCray.”
I look around the dugout, but I’m alone. There are people on the field, and the sky behind them is a swirl of red and gray. I hear the announcer again, and this time I get up and climb out to the field.
The stands are full. People are on their feet. I can see them clapping and cheering, but the sound is covered by the wind and the thunder in the distance.
There are bats lined up in front of the dugout. I pick one up and move toward the on-deck circle. Someone grabs my arm. I turn around. Clara looks up at me and shakes her head. She is wearing her white bicycle helmet and a long-sleeved pink top with a yellow sunflower design in the middle.
“You can’t use that one,” she says, motioning to the bat. “It’s not fair.”
I look down. The wood feels good in my hands.
“What should I use?”
Clara turns and runs back to the dugout, disappearing down the steps. When she comes back she’s carrying a long black tire iron. She holds it out to me.
“This,” she says.
I take the tire iron and let the bat drop to the ground. The metal is cold and heavy. I start to turn away, then stop and look back.
“I need a helmet.”
She unstraps her bicycle helmet and hands it to me. I slide it on and head for the batter’s box.
The umpire is standing behind the plate. He’s staring at me, but I can’t see his face, only a swirling gray void behind the mask.
I look back toward Clara, but she’s gone. Instead, Jessica is sitting in the stands right above the spot where Clara was. She’s wearing sunglasses and her black and gold uniform from the café.
She sees me and waves.
I wave back and smile.
“You ready or not, McCray?”
I look out at the players in the field—more empty faces—then down at the tire iron in my hands.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Then play ball.”
The catcher adjusts his stance, the umpire crouching behind him. I raise the tire iron over my shoulder and wait for the pitch.
It comes fast—too fast, catching me in the side of the head. The pain is white and everywhere and I drop to the ground.
No one moves to help.
I stare up at a heavy, rolling sky, the color of blood and ashes.
Someone screams, far off, and then I close my eyes. When I open them again, Jessica is kneeling over me. Her sunglasses are gone and her eyes are dark and swollen.
“I’ll help you,” she says. “Don’t worry.”
I look over and see Clara’s helmet on the ground next to me. It is cracked. There is blood on the white surface.
“Is that mine?”
Jessica puts a finger to my lips. “Quiet now,” she says. “None of that matters anymore.”
She’s wrong about that, and I want to tell her she’s wrong, but the words don’t come.
Jessica leans in close and whispers to me.
“I’m here now.”
Her words are soft and sweet and as smooth as silver. When I look into her face I see my reflection in her eyes and I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try.
“Hey.”
Something hard was pressing against my ribs. I opened my eyes. For a moment I didn’t know where I was; then it all came back.
“You can’t be out here,” the voice said. “What the hell are you thinking?”
The man was old and bent. He had a key ring in one hand and a broom in the other. He tapped the handle against my chest as he spoke.
“There ain’t no kids around, thank God, but this is still a school. You can’t come here and drink. A man should know better than to do something like that.” He waved his free hand in the air, shooing me away. “Don’t make me call the police, now. Go.”
“Sorry,” I said, pushing myself up. “I used to go here. I just wanted to see—”
“I don’t care nothing about any of that.” He stared at me as he spoke, and then his eyes went wide. It was a look I’d seen before.
He knew me, and he was scared of me.
“You need to get out of here now,” the old man said. “I’ll call the police, you understand me?”
I understood fine.
I grabbed my bottle and walked back across left field to the fence. I could still hear Jessica’s voice in my head, and I tried to hold on to it. There was such warmth in her voice. I didn’t want it to slip away.
At the edge of the field, I looked back. The old man was still standing by first base, staring at me. I waved to him, then slid the bottle into my back pocket and pushed myself up and over the fence.
As I was going, my foot slipped and I went down, landing hard on my back. The fall knocked the wind out of my lungs. I felt the bottle crunch under me, and a cool wetness spread around my waist.
I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball, waiting for my breath to come back. When it did, I braced myself against the fence and got to my feet. A river of whiskey ran down my leg and into the dirt.
The old man was still watching me.
I raised my hand and yelled, “I’m OK.”
He turned away, moving slowly toward the stands.
I walked along the fence to the parking lot then out to my truck. When I got there I undid my pants and stepped out of them. They were soaked from the waist to the knees. I pulled the bigger pieces of glass from the back pocket, then crumpled the pants into a ball and tossed them in the back end of the truck.
I heard the gate open and turned around. The old man stepped out. He looked at me, standing by my truck in my underwear, and shook his head.
I started to explain, but he ignored me.
I watched him lock the gate and cross the parking lot toward the main building. When he got there he took his key ring and unlocked the tall glass door, then turned back and waved again.
“Go on, get out.”
His voice was thin at that distance.
I waved back.
My boxer shorts were soaked through, and I didn’t want to get in the truck with them on. I had two choices. In the end, I slipped them off and tossed them in the back with my pants before driving away.
I started toward home, glancing at the clock on my dashboard. It was past one o’clock. If I went home, I wouldn’t make it back in time to follow Megan. But I was naked from the waist down, so I kept driving.
I wasn’t sure how long the lunch shift lasted or if she was already gone. I figured I should at least drive by and check. If she was still there, it would be an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
The smell of whiskey was thick in the cab. If I got pulled over, I’d have a lot to explain. I looked down and shook my head.
I could hear Jessica laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I said, but she didn’t stop. The sound made me smile, and soon I was laughing with her.
CHAPTER 9
When I got to the Riverside Café, Megan was sitt
ing on the steps out front. She had a book open on her lap and didn’t look up when I drove by. A block down the road I doubled back then parked across the street and watched.
Jessica’s voice was buzzing in my head. No words, just a low steady pulse of mumbles and noise. I tried my best to push the sounds away, but my thoughts seemed to go by too fast, one after the other. I couldn’t slow them down.
I leaned over and grabbed a new bottle from the floor in front of the passenger seat. My hand wavered, but I managed to open it and get it to my lips. I concentrated on each movement, talking myself through it. Lift, drink, swallow, breathe. Lift, drink, swallow, breathe.
I knew if I focused, I’d be able to slow my mind down long enough to stop the voices. An old trick, one that I’d used when things got bad, before I had my pills.
Sometimes it worked.
When I was younger, the voice I’d heard most often was my father’s. It would scream through me, ripping and destroying. Jessica’s voice was different, soothing. I wanted to drown in it, and that was almost as bad.
I’d been on the medication for so long I’d forgotten how easy it was to let it all get away from me.
I kept my focus, and slowly Jessica’s voice faded and I began to feel calm. I leaned back and closed my eyes, taking in the silence. When things felt normal again, I took another drink.
I tried not to think about how easily her voice had slid into my mind, how comfortable it had felt, how safe. Instead, I turned my attention back to Megan.
She was still on the steps, reading. She never looked up from the book. Five minutes passed, then ten. I wondered who she was waiting for. Then I saw a black and silver Ford Mustang pull into the parking lot and stop in front of the café.
Megan closed her book. She crossed the parking lot to the car and leaned into the passenger window. A moment later she opened the door and got inside. The Mustang circled around and pulled out onto the road.
I watched it for about a block, then followed.
It was the same car in the photograph, and part of me couldn’t believe it. I’d seen the stories of teenage murder plots in the news, but I’d never expected to see one around here.
Greg told me once that when someone is murdered the killer is almost always someone the victim knows.
But why kill her?
I followed the Mustang down Main Street. The car slowed at Ridge Road before turning left and heading toward the wildlife refuge by the river. There were no houses down there, just state and federal land. The area was deserted. If I followed them, they’d notice.
But I didn’t need to follow them. I’d seen enough.
When I’d been in high school, there was only one reason couples went to the wildlife refuge. I doubted much had changed.
I drove past Ridge Road and headed toward home, letting them go.
On the way, I thought about Jessica and felt bad for her. She’d been betrayed by people she’d trusted.
I let my mind drift and imagined her sitting next to me as I drove, leaning against the passenger window and staring out at nothing.
I thought about what I might’ve said if she’d been there, but nothing came to me. I would’ve wanted to help, but I wasn’t good at that kind of thing.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything.
Jessica spoke to me.
“I’m not surprised,” she said, her voice clear and calm. “But it’s OK. They deserve each other.”
The insistence and strength of her voice shocked me.
I pictured her next to me, staring out the window, her face reflected in the glass.
She was smiling, and she was beautiful.
CHAPTER 10
The envelope was on the kitchen table. My name was written on the front in handwriting I recognized right away. When I slid my finger under the flap, the envelope tore and something fell out and landed on the table. For a moment I didn’t move. Then I reached down and picked up the bracelet.
It was made out of red and blue string, and the colors vibrated off each other like something alive. I squeezed it between my fingers then held it under my nose and inhaled.
Eventually, I unfolded the note and read:
Dexter,
I love you, and I hope you understand.
Elizabeth
I read it twice, then dropped it on the table and walked down the hall to our bedroom. Her closet was empty. All she’d left were a few wire hangers and an empty cardboard box where she’d kept her shoes.
I felt like I’d been robbed.
I grabbed a pair of pants from my drawer and slid them on, then went back to the kitchen and took a few beers from the case I’d bought that morning. I put the rest in the refrigerator then went out to the porch.
The afternoon was calm and warm. I leaned back in my wicker chair and opened one of the beers.
By the time I’d finished the first one and half the second, I was in tears. It was the first time I’d cried since the funeral over a year ago.
Fifteen years with Liz, twelve with Clara. All of it in the same house, overlooking the same field and the same empty road unfurling under a turquoise sky.
I let the tears come.
When I finished my beer, I set the empty bottle on the porch next to my feet, then leaned back and closed my eyes.
Liz still loved me, even told me so in the note. Things could be fixed. I hadn’t pushed her away for good. She’d come back if the situation improved and if I started taking my pills.
But I hoped there was another way.
The only other chance I had was finding the person who’d killed Jessica. If I could do that, Liz would see I was a good person and she’d come back, pills or no pills.
The idea made me smile. I got up and walked down the steps and across the lawn to my truck. I kept thinking about how Liz would react if I found Jessica’s killer. But not just Liz—everyone in town would know.
I’d be a hero.
I grabbed my whiskey-soaked clothes from the back of the truck and shook the rest of the broken glass out over the driveway, then took them inside and tossed them in the washing machine. I added soap and turned on the water then went back to the bedroom.
My clothes from the night before were lying in a pile in the corner. They were soaked through, and when I picked them up, water dripped off them and onto the floor.
I held them out in front of me, examining the streaks of mud and trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I’d come inside long before the heavy rain started. I even remembered taking them off before going to bed. They hadn’t been wet, and they definitely hadn’t been muddy.
I walked back to the laundry room, holding the clothes out in front of me, then dropped them on top of the dryer and spread them out.
There was a lump in the front pocket of the pants. I reached inside, and my hand closed on something cold and metal and round. I took it out and held it in my palm, felt my throat tighten. It was a ring.
There was tape wrapped around the underside of the band. A football and goal posts were embossed on one side, the initials JHS on the other.
Jessica’s ring.
CHAPTER 11
I walked through the field and crossed the ravine to the cottonwood grove. There was no wind, and the trees were silent and still. I saw the black fabric of Jessica’s uniform in the bend of corn beyond the trees, and I squeezed the ring tight in my hand, feeling it dig into my palm.
I stopped at the edge of the grove, looked down at the ring, and traced the embossed goal posts with my finger.
I still couldn’t believe it.
I had no memory of taking the ring off her finger and no idea how it’d wound up in my pocket, but it was there just the same. The only explanation I could think of was one I wasn’t ready to accept.
I looked at Jessica’s body in the corn then moved closer. The rain had been heavy the night before, and the ground around her was soft and damp. If I had been out there last night, any sign had been washed away.
Jessi
ca’s uniform was wet and covered with leaves that had been knocked loose off the corn. I crouched next to her and brushed them away, then looked at her right hand. The palm was facing up, but I could see the metal band on her middle finger.
The ring was still there.
I held up the one I’d found in my pocket and examined it again, then reached for her right hand and turned it over.
The ring she had on was a JHS class ring, just like the one I’d found, except this one had a baseball and an American flag embossed on the side.
My ring.
I felt the air rush out of my lungs and tore at the ring on her finger, trying to get it to come off. It was tight, and when I pulled, I felt her skin slide loose over the bone.
When it came off I held the ring up for a better look. I knew every scratch and imperfection. It was definitely my ring.
I sat down hard on the ground next to her body and tried to calm myself. It didn’t work.
I had been out the night before. I’d swapped the rings and had no memory of doing it.
I got to my knees and put my ring in my pocket, then took Jessica’s hand and tried to slide her ring back on her middle finger. It wouldn’t go. Her finger had swollen, and the ring wouldn’t slide past the second knuckle.
I felt my heart throb in the back of my throat, and tried to peel the tape off the band. My hands shook and it took a few tries, but eventually the tape came off. When I tried again, the ring slid on easily.
I put her hand back at her side, palm up, then stood and gathered the tape from the ground and started back toward the grove.
I told myself that no one knew the tape had been there and that everything was going to be OK.
As long as the rings were all there was.
I thought about the night before and tried to remember anything else I might’ve done, but all I remembered was climbing into bed and going to sleep, nothing more.