Kill Me Once, Kill Me Twice

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Kill Me Once, Kill Me Twice Page 13

by Clara Kensie


  To fill the silence as I ate, I said, “Isn’t that show you like on tonight? I’ll watch it with you.”

  She nodded absently as she wiped the counters. After I finished, she took my plate and cleaned the kitchen, glancing at the phone every few minutes, as if watching it would make it ring. I helped as much as she would let me.

  Finally, the garage door rumbled open, and she rushed over to greet him with a hug that he returned with a perfunctory one of his own, then breezed past her to take off his coat.

  “How was your meeting?” she asked.

  “You’re late,” I said at the same time.

  His stony face told me he did not appreciate my tone. Mom shot me a look too. “We were worried,” I added.

  “The meeting ran late,” he said.

  Mom reheated their dinner and served it while Dad complained about the business. Something about revenues and expenditures and the latest lawsuit from the Dustons. I stopped paying attention, but Mom listened dutifully. After he finished, he wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin and stood up. “Thanks for dinner. I’ve got more work to do. Don’t wait up.”

  Blinking rapidly, Mom watched him as he started to leave the kitchen.

  “Dad!” I cried. “That show you and Mom like is on tonight. I thought we’d all watch it together.”

  “I have work, Lily.”

  “Please, Daddy. You worked all day today, and Mom worked so hard making this nice dinner. It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you both relax for a while? Go. You guys get started and I’ll join you after I clean up in here.”

  His gaze traveled to me, then to Mom. “You’re right,” he said. “Good idea.” And he actually

  smiled.

  When I peeked in on them, they were sitting on the couch together, under one blanket. She had her head on his shoulder and he was lazily stroking her arm with his thumb. They laughed at the same time.

  I should leave them alone instead of joining them. I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I tiptoed away, but not before my gaze landed on the TV screen. The characters in the show were in India to attend a wedding. I blinked at the bright colors, and a new death-memory flashed: In the 1800s I died there as a twenty-year-old woman while performing in a traveling circus. I’d been attempting a new trick on the trapeze.

  The deathpain from falling fifty feet to the hard ground was nothing compared to the excitement I felt at this new memory. Wow. India. Another country for me to visit. Another adventure for me to have.

  I ran up to my room as quietly as I could and pressed a yellow circle sticker over India on my globe.

  I wanted to tell someone. I needed to tell someone. I wanted someone to share my excitement. The only person I could tell, who would have believed me and taken me seriously, was Neal Mallick.

  But Neal was dead.

  I couldn’t tell my parents. They wouldn’t believe me. Neither would Diana, or Brandon, or Seth, or Javier.

  Will?

  No. How did that ridiculous thought even form in my head? Will Duston was the enemy. I shouldn’t want to tell him anything about myself, especially not a secret as big as my death-memories. He’d use it against me.

  I ran my finger over the India sticker. My new death-memory was a secret I could never share, not with anyone, ever.

  Ignoring my Adventures in Anthropology textbook, I chose a novel from the shelf—a sword-and-sorcery fantasy that took place in a fictional world, a place I could never have possibly lived, so a death-memory wouldn’t come—and curled up in bed to read. See, I was being good. Good daughters stayed home and read books in their tidy bedrooms and did everything they could to prevent death-memories.

  Two hours later, when my parents finally came upstairs, I was still reading the first chapter. Actually, I wasn’t reading anything. My eyes were glued to the words on the page, but none of them had sunk in.

  Instead I was thinking about the box of Hot Tamales I’d found by Railroad Bridge, and the blood I’d convinced myself had come from a forest animal.

  Neal had kept my secret all these years. He hadn’t laughed at me. He’d taken me seriously. And now I was ignoring him when he needed me most, just because I wanted to go away to college.

  I had to make this right.

  In a flash I was in my doorway, peeking down the dark hall. My parents’ door was closed. I tiptoed into the hall—

  No.

  Stop.

  I didn’t have a plan. And I was breaking the rules again by sneaking out of the house. I would mess everything up if I did that. I needed to

  slow

  down. I needed to

  think.

  As much as it killed me, I returned to my room and shut the door. I would not go bolting out into the night again. I would stay. I would think.

  Maybe there was a way I could help Neal and not get into trouble.

  “I’ll look tomorrow,” I whispered to Neal as I dug the candy box from my wastebasket and hid it inside my globe. “In the daylight. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ever ~ Present Day

  2:48 Friday morning. The moon shines brightly through my curtains. Flashes from the TV light up the hallway because Dad fell asleep on the couch in the family room again. Joey is asleep in his room and the hamster wheel is squeaking quietly. I can usually sleep through all of that, but not this week. Ash hasn’t spoken to me, or even made eye contact, since I suggested he talk to his father last weekend. Spring break is next week, and he’s skipped school twice out of the past four days. Maybe he’s no longer interested in proving that Principal Duston killed Lily Summerhays and Miss Buckley. He’s probably forgotten all about it.

  But I haven’t. I can’t think about anything else. Well, that’s not true. I can’t stop thinking about many things:

  1. The scholarship.

  2. Vinnie Morrison and his rapidly-approaching execution.

  3. Chief Paladino and his unwillingness to help.

  4. Keith and his devotion.

  5. Ash and his… everything.

  6. Lily Summerhays and the strange collection of items she had hidden in her globe.

  7. Miss Buckley and her shoes.

  8. Principal Duston and his crossed-hatchet tattoo, the sparkly pink paperweight, the “You left me no choice.”

  After I breathe away the deathpain that hits, I pick up my phone. It’s too late—too early?—to call Ash, but I do it anyway.

  “You avoid me all week, and then you call me in the middle of the night?” he growls.

  “I thought you were avoiding me,” I say, relieved he’s acknowledging my existence after all. “Besides, you answered on the first ring. You weren’t sleeping either.”

  “I was online researching.”

  “Researching what?”

  “What do you think?”

  Lily’s murder, of course. “What’d you find?”

  “Nothing new. Why are you calling me at almost three in the morning?”

  “I have an idea. We’ve been going about this all wrong. We’re trying to prove Principal Duston killed Lily, but that happened almost eighteen years ago in her living room. No witnesses. What we need to do is prove he killed Miss Buckley. That happened a couple weeks ago at school.”

  “Still no witnesses.”

  “But there was a witness. One with a perfect memory.”

  “Who?”

  “Not who. What. The security camera, Ash. They have cameras all over school, including the back stairwell.”

  Ash lets out a low whistle. “Brilliant, Abrams. I’m impressed.”

  “So. I have a plan. Tomorrow morning, I’ll ask the secretary in the front office where they store the security footage. I’ll tell her I’m writing an article for the school website about the security guards. Then, we’ll have to figure out a way—”

  “Got it.”

  “But tomorrow’s the last day of school before spring break. It’s our only chance. We need to—”

  “I know what to do. See you in the mor
ning.” And with that, he hangs up.

  Three hours later, the sun has replaced the moon in the sky, I still haven’t slept well, and Dad is leaving. I catch him on his way out. “I thought you had the day off.”

  “I did, but the boss called a few minutes ago. They need an emergency delivery and he asked if I’d like the extra money.”

  Seth Siegel. I know I should be grateful that he always gives my father extra jobs, but instead I feel resentful. “Doesn’t he realize that you’re a widower with two kids home alone?”

  “Don’t start, Ever.” He slides into his jacket.

  “Will you be back tonight?”

  “Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. The delivery is in Arizona.”

  “At least say goodbye to Joey,” I remind him.

  He stiffens, just the tiniest bit. “I don’t want to wake him up.”

  “He won’t care. He just wants to know you’ll miss him.”

  “I’ll call him tonight,” he says, then walks out the door.

  He always says that but rarely follows through. Later that morning when I drop Joey off next door for daycare, I double my usual number of good-bye kisses on his chubby, freckled little face.

  Keith had to be at school early for baseball conditioning, the last one before Spring break, so I’ll have to walk to school today. That’s fine, because Ash and I need to figure out how to get that security footage and I don’t want Keith to see us together. But before I can leave for school, there’s a knock at my door. Ash is leaning against the pillar, and his motorcycle is parked in my driveway.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says with a smirk. “Come with me to The Batter’s Box. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

  I have a million reasons why that’s a bad idea, the five most obvious being:

  1. Just yesterday he refused my offer to go to that same exact restaurant.

  2. He was right to refuse that offer.

  3. He has even less money than I do, and I don’t want him to spend what little money he has on me.

  4. I’m not about to get on his bike.

  5. I’ve already eaten breakfast.

  But I settle for the sixth most obvious reason. “We don’t have time. School starts in half an hour.”

  He shrugs innocently. “Guess we’ll have to eat here then.” He walks past me and through my front door. “Whatcha cooking?”

  “Come on in,” I say, trying to sound sarcastic as I follow him into the kitchen. I made scrambled eggs for Joey, but I refuse to cook anything for Ash. “Frozen waffles are all we have time for.”

  “Mmm. Scrumptious.” He pulls a chair from the table, swivels it around on one leg, and straddles it.

  I consider throwing the waffles at him, still frozen. Instead, I drop two in the toaster and place butter and syrup on the table. “Tell me, Ash,” I say when the waffles are done. “Why is the Lily Scholarship the only one you applied for?”

  He shrugs and reaches for the plate, but I hold it behind my back. “No answers, no waffles. Hurry up. Clock’s ticking.”

  That infuriating smirk stretches across his face again. “Fine. I’ve wanted that scholarship since freshman year. Since Miss Buckley convinced me to clean up my act. At first it was because winning it would mean that everyone in Ryland acknowledged that I am not my father. But no matter how good my grades were, no matter what I did, everyone still saw me as a thug.”

  “It’s not like you did anything to dispel the rumors,” I say.

  He shrugs again. “I tried. The more I defended myself, the less they believed me. Whatever. I gave up and stayed quiet and let everyone believe what they want to believe. Now I want the scholarship for a different reason.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If everyone wants me out of this town so bad, they’re gonna have to pay me to leave. And it won’t be just Ryland that I leave. I’ll go as far away as anyone can get.”

  “Where, like Alaska?”

  “Farther.”

  “China?”

  He grunts. “Farther.”

  I grab my phone and Google it. There’s a text from Courtney about meeting with the Batgirls over spring break to plan the Little Warriors Training Camp, but I ignore it. “Perth, Australia,” I say. “It’s the farthest city from Ryland. Almost nineteen thousand miles away.”

  “Nope. Australia is still too close. I’m getting off this planet.”

  I gasp a little. “Are you talking about—” Oh, God. “Ash, you’re not thinking of—”

  “No, I don’t want to kill myself.” He chuckles. “But thanks for your concern. It warms my heart to know you care. No. After I get my bachelors in astrophysics, I’ll get my masters in aerospace engineering.”

  “You want to be an astronaut,” I say, putting the pieces together. He mentioned flying a space shuttle when we were at Soto Airfield.

  “Farther than the moon, too. NASA hopes to have people living on Mars by the 2030s, and I’m going to be one of them.”

  “You want to be an astronaut to escape not just Ryland, but the entire planet? Is life here really that horrible for you?”

  Instead of answering, he slowly peels the label off the bottle of generic-brand syrup. He looks so sad, so vulnerable. I have an urge to hug him.

  “What if you don’t win the scholarship?” I ask.

  There’s a flash of pain in his expression, then he gives a stubborn thrust of his chin. “Then I’ll stay here in Ryland and live down to everyone’s expectations of me.”

  Any sympathy I had for him disappears and I drop his plate in front of him. “You know what, Ash? For such a smart guy, you’re really stupid. There are other ways to get your degree without winning that scholarship.”

  He pours syrup on the top waffle and shoves a quarter of it in his mouth. “I can say the same thing for you. What are you going to do if you don’t win?”

  I collapse in the chair across from him. “I don’t know. I’ve always assumed I would win it. I need that degree to be an accountant at The Batter’s Box. Keith and his parents are counting on me.”

  “You sure about that?” he asks.

  I don’t have an answer.

  Compared to Ash, my grand aspiration to be an accountant for my boyfriend’s baseball-themed diner in Ryland, Indiana suddenly seems trivial and unimportant, and a waste of the scholarship money.

  Even if Ash is thinking the same thing, he doesn’t say so. Instead, he says, “I can’t see you as an accountant. The boredom would kill you within a month.”

  I have to laugh. “Whatever kills me, it won’t be boredom. Trust me.”

  His gaze locks on to mine. “I do.”

  My breath catches.

  Slowly, he leans forward until his face is just inches from mine. His eyes are dark and bottomless, his jaw is rough with stubble. His breath is sweet and warm. He murmurs, “Are you ready?”

  I feel myself licking my lips. “For what?”

  “To break the rules for the first time in your life.”

  “What rules?”

  “School started five minutes ago,” he says. “We’re tardy.”

  As if he expects trumpets to announce our arrival, Ash pushes open the school’s front doors with both hands and strides victoriously inside. We’ve missed the first bell, the late bell, and the first ten minutes of first period. The front hall is empty except for a tall, very thin security guard leaning against the over-stuffed trophy case. Hanging over the trophy case, encased in glass, is the school’s most treasured possession: Brandon Lennox’s Warriors baseball jersey, the number 09 embroidered in large white numerals over the maroon fabric. They even left on the dirt from his last championship game.

  The security guard, who would be swallowed up by Brandon’s jersey, looks at Ash over his iPad.

  “Hey, Garvin. We’re late,” Ash tells him, grinning as I pant beside him with my hands on my knees, catching my breath from running the whole way here. “No note, no excuse. Just late.”

  The guard points wearily over his shoulder with his
thumb. “You know the drill, Morrison.” He cuts his gaze down to me. “You too. Come on.”

  I do not, in fact, know the drill. I’ve never been late to school, or to anything for that matter, not even by a second. Now Ash made us tardy on purpose. I could punch him! How dare he do this to me? As I follow him and the guard to the back hallway, he winks at me over his shoulder. I return his wink by pinching him hard on the arm, but he doesn’t even feel it through his leather jacket.

  The security office, a place I’ve never been, is in the back of the building near the boiler room. Also a place I’ve never been. Cluttered and dusty, the utilitarian, L-shaped desk is dominated by one computer connected to four monitors, three of their screens split into multiple black-and-white live images from around the building. Ash sprawls onto a metal folding chair. I sit stiffly in the chair next to him as the guard enters our information into the computer. He knows Ash’s information without asking, but I have to give him my name and student ID number.

  “Unexcused tardy,” he says, handing each of us a slip of paper. His Adam’s apple bobs sharply as he speaks.

  This can’t be happening. “Will this go on my transcript?”

  “Yep.”

  “But please—”

  “Hey, Garvin,” Ash says, interrupting. “If you’re gonna make the girl cry, at least get her a Kleenex, would you?” He nudges me with his foot.

  I’m not crying, but I’m so furious with Ash for getting me in trouble that I’m about to. I hide my face in my hands. The moment the guard leaves, Ash jumps into his chair and slides a flash drive into the computer.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Last year they accused me of stealing cash from the cafeteria. I made them show me the security cam footage, which proved I wasn’t even at school that day.” Rapidly, he taps the keyboard with his long fingers. “But now I know exactly where the files are. The idiot hasn’t even changed his password.”

  He pulls out the flash drive and tosses it to me. “This is everything from the camera in the back stairwell the day Miss Buckley died. Hide it.”

 

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