Time is rushing by. I have to come up with something. “I’m meeting up with Charlie.”
“At this time of the morning?”
I throw out the first thing that comes to my mind. “We’re going to buy some junk food, then go back to her house to binge Westworld. It’ll take all day, so we wanted to start early.” My story sounds lame, but it’s the best I can come up with.
“You feel like you can eat junk food after last night?”
“I feel better.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Just some trash I’ve been meaning to throw away.”
I grab the doorknob again, holding my breath.
“Okay,” he says finally. He’s going to let me go. I almost let out a sigh of relief. But then he says, “Why don’t you give me Charlie’s phone number?”
“Why? You have my cell number.”
“I’ve been thinking, I should have some other way to reach you, in case, I don’t know, I’m trying to reach you and your phone’s not working.”
Is he asking because he plans to call Charlie and check on my story? Or does he really just think it’s a good idea to have it?
I don’t know and I don’t care right now. I have to go. “Sure,” I say. I give it to him, and he writes it down on an envelope sitting on the side table next to his armchair.
I open the door to leave, but he stops me by saying, “I’m trusting you, Alden.”
I look back at him.
“I’m doing the best I can,” he says.
“I know you are,” I say.
“Call me in a few hours. Just so I know you’re okay.”
“I will.”
“Have fun.” The look on his face tells me he’s not entirely buying my story, but wants to do the right thing. He wants to be able to trust me.
I go outside, closing the door behind me.
For a split second, I consider going back in and telling him everything. Pass the responsibility on to him and let him take over, so I can curl up and wait to see what happens.
But I can’t. I’ve got less than fifteen minutes. If I’m late, will Greg kill Amy? I feel sure he will. And it’ll be my fault. I caused this. I need to take responsibility for it. I need to fix it.
Whether Uncle Bill calls Charlie now to check on my story or waits a few hours for me to check in with him, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I get to Amy.
Before it’s too late.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It’s unwieldy trying to pump bike pedals with the bag tied to my handlebars, but it’ll be quicker than walking, and I silently thank Charlie for not asking for it back.
Fortunately, I don’t pass that many people. Empty buildings pop up on either side as I slow down near the park’s entrance. Breathing hard, I untie the bag, letting the bike fall on its side, before I head in.
I’m five minutes late. Will Greg really have killed her because of five minutes?
The two baseball fields look as barren as the last two times I was here. Abandoned. A place no one comes to anymore, or ever will.
The perfect place for a double murder.
What now? I don’t see any sign of Greg or Amy.
“Don’t stop!” It’s Greg’s voice. “Keep coming. To the second field.” As I approach the spot where a week ago Alycia had been waiting for Greg, I hear him call out, “Over here. Behind the wall.”
Did Greg plan it this way just to be cute? Behind the wall I find Greg and Amy. Greg has one arm around her shoulders, holding her in place. In his other hand, he holds a gun, which he has pressed against her head. His grin is jagged and sharp.
Between us is a hole dug several feet into the ground. Scrunched-up paper and a few pieces of wood lay at the bottom of it. Nearby is a shovel and some other items.
“You took your time getting here,” Greg sneers. “It’s been more than twenty minutes. You’re lucky she’s still alive.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I did the best I could.” To Amy, I ask, “Are you okay?”
She nods, teary-eyed. “This is all my fault, Alden. I should have just waited till this morning to go to the police, like we said. But I was so mad at him for cheating on me, for strangling that poor girl, killing her, I told myself I had to confront him. I should have never—”
“Shut up!” Greg shakes her by the neck.
Amy cries out. She’s so scared she’s physically trembling. And I’m the one who got her into this. “It’s okay,” I try to assure her.
“Let’s get this over with,” Greg says. He points at the hole. “Empty the bag in there.” When I don’t move right away, he pushes the gun against Amy’s head, and she whimpers in pain. “Hurry!” he says.
“I’m hurrying,” I say. “Just be careful with that gun. Don’t hurt her.”
“What’s the matter, you got a crush on her? You wish she was your girlfriend? Fat chance. Now get moving. But hand me the notebook first. I want to make sure you’re not trying to trick me by throwing in a fake one.”
Quickly, I open the bag and hand him the notebook. Then I empty the rest into the hole. Greg’s backpack and clothing. The cell phone.
“Very good,” he says, finished with the notebook and tossing it into the hole on top of everything else. He peers in and says, “Damn, I liked that backpack. And you dug into our trash to get my clothes? That’s creepy.”
He catches me staring at the gun and says, “What, you don’t believe it’s real? It’s real.”
“Here.” He kicks at one of the items on the ground. A can of lighter fluid. “Pick it up.” He waves the gun. “Pour it over everything in there.” He returns the gun to the side of Amy’s head and presses hard. She winces. “Don’t think about doing anything funny with that.”
Popping off the top of the can with shaking hands, I squeeze it over the hole. “More,” he says, and I do it again. The smell of the fluid is overwhelming.
“Drop it and back off,” Greg orders. “Don’t you try anything.” He lets go of Amy, but still points the gun in her direction as he pulls out a lighter from one of his pockets. I debate trying to jump him as he juggles the gun while crouching down to grab the two rags also laying on the ground, but Amy is too close. Judging from the smell, the rags are already doused in fluid. The first one flares up quickly as he lights it and tosses it into the hole. The second one flares up just as quickly, and he tosses it in as well. Then, grabbing Amy again, he backs up from the rising flames. I stay where I am, staring sadly at the rapidly deteriorating evidence Charlie and I had worked so hard to collect.
Quietly, almost solemnly, we wait until all that’s left in the hole are smoldering ashes. There is one more item left on the ground near Greg: a gallon jug of water, which he orders me to use to douse the embers.
None of us say anything for another minute as we watch the smoke spiral up and trail off into the air. Then Greg kicks the shovel. “Now cover up the hole.”
Amy looks at him. I pick up the shovel. “What are you going to do with us?” I ask.
Greg’s smile is more like a sneer. “Well, that’s a good question.” He seems to be enjoying himself. “I could do whatever I want, couldn’t I? So you start putting the dirt back in that hole, and we’ll see what I come up with.”
I begin shoveling, realizing he’s given me a weapon. He’s got the gun firmly in hand, though at least he’s not pointing it at Amy now, and I wonder if I can surprise him enough to swing and hit him before he has time to fire it. I keep a close eye on them from the periphery of my vision. Amy still looks scared. When I only have two or three shovelfuls left, she says to Greg, “What are you planning to do with us?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” I drop another bit of dirt into what’s left of the hole as he continues. “I’ve decided that when he finishes, you can both leave.”
This makes me sto
p and look at him. Amy seems more surprised than I am. “What do you mean, leave?” she says.
“Uh…you should consider yourself…uh…consider yourself lucky.” Greg seems confused all of a sudden. Like an actor who’s suddenly forgotten his lines and is improvising.
“You’re not going to kill him?” Amy says.
“I’m not going to kill…either of you,” Greg says. “There’s no need.” He points at the hole. “The evidence is burned. Gone. With no proof, nobody’s going to believe him. Him…or you.”
I shovel in the last bit of dirt.
The gun is at his side. He’s barely paying any attention to it. His focus is all on Amy.
“Look,” Greg is saying. “I told you before—”
All at once, I move, swinging the shovel over and up, the dirt hitting him perfectly in the face. He cries out, bringing one hand to his face, the gun still in his right hand. “Run, Amy!” I shout as I swing again, the spade hitting him just above his right wrist.
“Ow!” he shouts, dropping the gun. I twist around and discover Amy hasn’t moved. “Run!” I shout again. “Do you have your cell? Get out of here and call the police!”
She finally starts moving and, holding the shovel firmly across my body, I turn my attention back to Greg. He’s holding his damaged hand, the one he throws baseballs with, I note with some perverse satisfaction. He looks at me, his eyes widening into what looks like actual fear. “Get away from me!” he shouts, backing up.
The gun lays in the dirt behind him. I move forward, forcing him to take two steps back. I feint left, and he jumps away to avoid the shovel. I do it again, dancing him back a couple more steps. The shovel is an extension of my hand now, swinging again, missing him on purpose as he ducks. I’m only a couple of steps from the gun, and as he rises up, I swing the shovel once more, letting go of it this time. He grunts as it connects and I leap for the gun.
For a split second, it’s like I’m back at the summer fair again, and I’m reaching for the bag with the gun in it, and this time I get it before Alan Harder can. Only when I turn, I’m in Miller’s Park, gun in hand, and Greg Matthes is charging toward me. I try to move out of his reach while pointing the gun at him, but he hits me and we both go tumbling, the gun flying out of my hand.
Then we’re both up and facing each other. I look for the gun but don’t see it. I don’t see the shovel, either. And I don’t see Amy. Good. At least she’s gotten away.
With his good hand, Greg is rubbing his shoulder. “Let’s talk about this,” he says. The gun glints in the grass, near the other end of the dugout wall. “I was never planning to kill you,” he says. “Or Amy. I just wanted to get rid of the evidence so no one would believe you. That’s all. Killing Alycia was an accident.”
I move to my left, and he moves to block me.
“Look,” he says, “all that tough guy stuff I was doing, now and after I cornered you after school yesterday, it was just an act.”
I feint to my right, and he copies me.
“I really was going to let you go.”
I fake left, then quickly cut right and start running. He tries to react, but I manage to get past him, avoiding his reaching arm, and I dash toward the gun. When I’m almost there, I glance back and gleefully realize he’s not going to reach me in time.
Just as my fingers encircle the gun, something slams into the back of my head.
I go tumbling to the ground, thinking, “How did Greg reach me so fast?” Before I can get back up my head explodes again, and, this time, I black out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The first thing I notice is how bad my head hurts. Blood trickles down the side of my face from a nasty wound behind my ear. The next thing I notice is how bright the sun is. So bright it hurts. I look away, but it still feels like the light is a knife slipping through the cut on my head to attack the inside of my skull. The pain is so intense it’s making me nauseous. I remember now being hit in the head. Twice. By Greg? No, it had to have been a third person. Someone I didn’t know was here. Maybe Amy didn’t know, either. I’m glad she got away. How much time before help arrives?
Any movement causes the light in my head to slice deeper into my brain. I try to be still, but the ground seems to be doing a slow spin, making me dizzy and disoriented.
Someone is talking. Maybe focusing on them will help reduce the pain. I make out two voices. And now I see two figures. They’re not talking so much as arguing. I know I blacked out, but it must not have been for long. Everything’s a blur, and trying to cut through it to see the two figures only makes my pain and nausea worse. I close my eyes and try just to listen.
Slowly, the words become clear. “You didn’t have to hit him like that.” The first voice is male.
“If you’d done what you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have had to hit him.”
“What if he’s dead?”
“I hope he is. That was the plan, wasn’t it? What were you doing giving him the shovel?”
A sudden stab of pain in my head almost makes me cry out. I bite my lip to stop from groaning.
“I was improvising. I figured he could fill up the hole himself.”
“You gave him a weapon! You were supposed to just shoot him.”
“That was your plan.” The first voice again. It’s Greg. “It’s my dad’s gun. He’ll notice it’s been fired. I thought we could try…something else.”
“You agreed to it.” The second voice is female. But who? Who else could be involved in this?
“I never actually said—”
“By being here, by calling him and setting this up, you agreed to it. You killed Alycia, you can kill him!”
“But Alycia was an accident.”
“You hit her with a bag full of books.”
“I didn’t mean to. This…killing Alden… This is murder.”
Razor-edged fingers crawl down my spine.
“We’ve been through all this. You have to.”
“Damn it, I’m not going to do it.”
“Don’t you curse at me. You know I hate that.”
Silence.
Then Greg’s voice responds. “I’m sorry, Amy.”
He didn’t have to say her name for me to realize who the mystery girl is. My gut churns as I finally piece it together, my mind and my heart doing battle because as much as I don’t want to believe it, there’s no denying I was as wrong about Amy as a person can be.
“You know I don’t like it when you curse.”
“Yes, I know. I said I was sorry.”
Another silence.
Amy didn’t run away to get help. She stayed, probably hid on the field side of the dugout wall while I was fighting Greg. And when I got close to the gun, she came out and hit me with the shovel.
This whole thing was a setup. The so-called argument on the way to school that got me to talk to her, Greg treating her badly at his locker. Her telling me how Greg had changed. Her shock when I told her Greg was a murderer. Amy acting on the phone like Greg was hurting her. All of it fake, an act. I’d been trying to save her, but Amy had already known what her boyfriend had done and has been helping him cover it up.
Some investigator I am.
I try not to move. I just listen.
Amy’s voice comes back. “Do you really think even with the evidence destroyed, he won’t say anything?”
“No one would believe him,” Greg argues. “A lot of people think he got weird after what happened to his parents.”
“It only takes a few.”
“If we threatened him—”
“Threatened him. Really? You mean like you tried to do?”
“Threaten to tell the people he’s been spying on. Threaten to tell Rick what Alden wrote about him. If it’s true, Rick won’t want people to know. He’ll beat the shit out of Alden.”
“Langu
age!”
“All right. Beat the crap out of him. But you and I are the ones who know what he wrote. We could threaten to tell all of them.”
Another part of the lie. Rick Kellerman didn’t notice me following him. Amy only knew because Greg had read it in my notebook and told her about it. She’d been toying with me.
“Rick’s a big macho wrestler, but he likes fashion,” Amy says. “Big deal. Besides, you don’t have the notebook anymore, you burned it. You had to. Alden could just deny he’d had a notebook.”
Greg mumbles something I can’t make out, but it sounds like he’s still not down with the whole Kill Alden plan. Come on, Greg. Come on. Stand up to her. I don’t want to die. Please. Then comes another pause. Longer this time. I consider opening my eyes to see what’s happening.
Finally, Amy starts talking again. “I wouldn’t have gone on to church camp if I didn’t think you could handle this. You should have gotten rid of that backpack right away, or at least as soon as you read the notebook.”
“I didn’t think I had time after we dumped Alycia’s body, so I hid it in the best place I could. I figured I’d get rid of it later. How the hell should I have known this dweeb was stalking me, for Christ’s sake?”
“Do not use the Lord’s name in vain!” She sounds like she’s freaking out. “How many times do I have to tell you—?”
“Oh, come on, Amy!”
“You know how I hate that!”
Greg says nothing.
“You know what you have to do,” she says.
“I think he’s dead already,” Greg grumbles.
“He’s not. I can see him breathing. Kill him and we’ll dump his body in Powell Lake like we did Alycia’s. No one will ever find them.”
Apparently, neither of them saw the news this morning.
I hear Greg take a shaky breath. “Alycia’s death was an accident.”
“You keep saying that.”
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