What Doesn't Kill You

by Aimee Hix

  And it was gone now. They tore the house down, cleared the fields around it, wiped the past away like it was chalk, impermanent, unowned. But we had owned it. Michael and I. It was our space.

  It was all gone now. All of it. I just wanted to be empty. Why couldn’t the universe just stop kicking me in the chest? My feet pounded the pavement faster and faster until the only sound I heard was the slap of my feet on blacktop and my breath in my ears, the frantic whoosh like waves pounding the shore. It tripped out of me like it was trying to escape. I ran until my lungs hurt. I ran until everything hurt. Except my heart. I didn’t feel that anymore. I wouldn’t feel it anymore.

  If I didn’t feel it, then I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think about Michael being trapped in a burning vehicle, metal crushed in on him, glass exploding, pain consuming him. If I didn’t think about it, then I didn’t have to ask myself why Seth had stirred it all up, acted like he cared if I got my feet under me again only to push me down again. He’d said he wouldn’t lie about that, but I didn’t know what he’d lie about anymore. Maybe I never had.

  It was better being empty. It was better than how it felt when they looked at me trying to find the scar. I was good at hiding it. I could show them what they wanted to see. I could keep it to myself and if I had secrets, so what? Everyone had secrets. I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself. I could take it. It was the least I could do. And if they stopped watching so carefully, so much the better. They could feel like they were doing what they needed to help me get over it. They didn’t worry then. They didn’t have to know about Seth and the humiliation of being in his bed, knowing what I’d known about him. I could hide it all. Every day the mask fit a little better, settling on my skin and then under it. I knew it was going to be permanent eventually. For now, I could run.

  Chapter

  7

  I was still exhausted but I wasn’t covered in sweat anymore when I stumbled into the kitchen to make Ben’s lunch for school. Instead a hot cup of coffee was shoved into my hands and I was guided to a chair. I was really sucking at this guardian gig. Although I had managed to make it out of bed before the bus for once. But I’d left him alone in the dark house to get himself up, so I was pretty sure that left me back at zero. I squinted up at him, his lanky frame backlit by the under-cabinet light as he spooned oatmeal into his mouth. What teenage boy chose oatmeal? And not that stuff in a packet either. Real homemade oatmeal cooked in a pot on the stove.

  “Thanks for the coffee, sport.”

  He ate more oatmeal while looking at me. His face was thoughtful as he swallowed. “Have you thought of going to a doctor for the insomnia, Willy Bean?”

  I grimaced. That godawful nickname. It had been cute when he was five.

  “Yes, and she told me exercise was a great remedy. I have just been out for a predawn run.” I smiled at him, sunny and fake. Who was the pretend grown-up here anyway?

  “And what’s going on with Seth?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  He didn’t reply. Just looked at me while he ate. No expression, just the mechanical spoon in and chew routine. Like I didn’t know what he was doing. I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Ben, that doesn’t work on me. I know all of Dad’s tricks.”

  He pouted while putting his spoon and bowl in the sink. That didn’t work either, but I knew if he thought he’d gotten what he wanted, he’d leave it be.

  “Fine. Seth and I have a complicated relationship. We’re trying to figure it out.”

  He smiled.

  Great. Trying to figure it out clearly meant getting married and making him an uncle in his mind.

  “I meant it when I said complicated. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  He just continued smiling at me. Fine. When nothing more came of it, he’d get over it.

  After the bus drove off, I went back down to my room and slid a junk food breakfast pastry out of my secret stash. The booby-trap hadn’t been disturbed, so I knew Ben hadn’t found it. I wasn’t worried he’d eat them; I didn’t want him to throw them out. He’d been brainwashed by Mom that foods full of fake ingredients weren’t good for you. Stupid doctors and their scientific studies. I took a big bite of carbs and fake strawberry jam and chewed in defiance.

  My mind flitted back to Seth. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why was he coming around now? What was he up to? I still could not believe he’d gone through my papers. His explanation made no sense, yet nothing else I could come up with did, either. Had he really only been concerned about me? Why wouldn’t he just ask me if he was worried? But how did Seth even know about Joe Reagan? I’d told him I found a dead body but not the name. At least, I didn’t think I said a name. So how did he know what to look for?

  Seth could have been a friend of Reagan’s. Weirder things had happened. Joe Reagan hadn’t come across as a guy with tons of redeeming qualities, but a person didn’t have to be a saint to enjoy a beer with. The cops would have notified next of kin and Seth could have found out from them and then put it together from that.

  I retrieved the file Seth had left on the desk and pored over the printouts. I didn’t see anything I hadn’t seen the last time. But Violet had to know more about Joe Reagan’s life. And David and Susan would know more about Violet. Time to head back next door. I could pump them for information without implying that I was going to investigate. I had found a body while doing them a favor. They would feel indebted.

  David met me at the door wearing pressed khakis and a plaid flannel shirt. He looked like the kindly pediatrician he’d been until a few years ago. When I saw him I instinctively expected to be handed a lollipop.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so early, Mr. Horowitz. I was just wondering about some things … after yesterday.” That was nice and vague.

  “Can we do this over at your house? Susan had a restless night last night and she finally fell asleep an hour ago.”

  He trailed me across the lawns, up the stairs, and into the kitchen where he took a seat. I poured him a cup of coffee and, after setting it down in front of him, sat down too. I had my notebook open, ready to run through the questions I had when I noticed him twitch as he brought the cup up to his mouth. It shouldn’t have been anything. It should have just been stress and fatigue. But it wasn’t. It was nerves. I knew what he was trying to hide. He didn’t have the experience to lie well enough. And I was a trained observer and, frankly, a damn good one.

  “You know where she is, don’t you?”

  He startled, spilling the coffee on his dark blue plaid shirt. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. That twitch and then startling was all the answer I needed.

  “How long?”

  He placed the cup gently down on the place mat. “Willa, I’m not sure why you think—”

  “I’m not going to buy it so you might as well tell me.”

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “She called last night. To tell us she was safe.”

  I got up and made my way over to the coffeemaker to pour myself a cup and take a moment to rework my plan. I knew they hadn’t called the cops because Boyd would have been here already. She was that kind of cop plus she would be desperate for leads since the first forty-eight hours were almost up.

  “I said I couldn’t help you and I can’t, really.” My interrogation of Angela and visit to Killian’s were decidedly unhelpful. “But I can give you some advice: You have to let the cops know she called.”

  “She’s my granddaughter, Willa.”

  I sighed and cursed my own moral compass. “This is not a question of loyalty. This is about what, in the long run, is going to end up hurting all of you. The cops likely already have a warrant for your phone records. They are going to know she called. At minimum all three of you will end up charged with Obstruction.”

  He just stared at me. I saw that being reasonable was not getting through to him. I hated
having to do it, but he needed a shock to his system. I took a sip of my coffee. “How well do you think Susan’s going to sleep in lockup?”

  That got his attention.

  “You know that I am right. You know this is exactly what my dad would be telling you right now. Call the cops, David.” I’d never called him by his first name before, but I hoped it would help get my message across.

  He nodded and got out his wallet to get Detective Boyd’s business card. I pointed him to the landline on the wall. I zoned out a little bit while he gave Boyd the details of Violet’s call. He only took a few minutes to relate the facts. She was probably pissed that he didn’t call her right away, but it was still early morning. She could assume he wasn’t trying to hide anything but rather falling back on manners in a tough situation. I hoped. Either way, she couldn’t prove anything.

  He sat back down at the table and looked at me, disappointment evident on his face. I refused to feel guilty. I was helping them even if it didn’t seem like it.

  “You’re going to have to be extra careful with Boyd now, you know. She’s suspicious that you didn’t call her right away.” Now that I’d done what was right, I wanted some information to ease my own mind. “Tell me what she said. Let’s talk it out and get it straight before Boyd gets here.”

  He nodded then, with a shaking hand, picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. I waited. This was the easy part. Waiting for the words to tumble out. Just like that rookie cop should have been waiting for me to spill my guts. I gave it time for my words to sink in. He nodded again, as if to himself, and I knew I had him.

  “Violet said she arrived home about eleven thirty. She saw a truck in the driveway. A big silver pickup. She didn’t recognize it. No one was standing at the front door so she knew whoever it was, was inside the house. She assumed that meant Joe was home, so she left. She went to a friend’s house.”

  I jotted down the time and the truck description. The truck had to be in the front if she saw both the truck and the door.

  “So where is Violet now?”

  He just shook his head. I shouldn’t have bothered asking. I didn’t need to know but I couldn’t quell the drive to investigate.

  “Okay, how about an easier question: Why didn’t Violet come to you night before last? Or did she, and then seeing all the activity she took off again?”

  He just looked at me, sad and conflicted. Fair enough.

  I had roughly a ten-minute window when I knew the killer had been on scene. I’d never be able to get a time of death from Boyd. Even if I did it wouldn’t matter, since we’d have no idea how long the killer had been there before Violet arrived home. But it was something. A place to start.

  I sent David back home with the request to think about telling me where Violet was. His eyes had betrayed him when I asked if he knew where she was; of course they knew where she was hiding. They were going to gamble that Boyd wouldn’t be able to prove it. I hoped he was right.

  My mind kept circling back to Seth. I wasn’t going to be able to drop it until I knew how he was involved. I wanted to believe he was just worried about me, but that didn’t feel right. I wanted to believe he was a friend of Joe Reagan’s, but that didn’t ring true either. I couldn’t just let it be despite my deep desire to do just that; to put the pizza and the making out to the back of my mind, let it all go. I just couldn’t. Finding Reagan’s body and Seth calling me up the same day didn’t feel like a coincidence. My gut—something that I had been both encouraged to trust and admonished not to trust too much as a cop—told me that Seth knew more about it than he was letting on.

  How I was going to figure that out was still an unknown quantity. I had databases I didn’t really know how to use and less resources, less training, and less experience than Boyd. All I had was a ten-minute window when someone with a large silver pickup had been at Reagan’s house. And that Seth knew something. Piece of cake.

  I poured another cup of coffee but couldn’t remember if that made two or three … maybe four. I really needed to get a handle on the caffeine. There had been a suggestion or two that my trouble sleeping could be related to my overconsumption of coffee. I should probably start listening. Later. I needed all my faculties right now.

  I wandered into Dad’s office and tried to focus. Did he have software for collecting case data? He must. They use case management software at the police department, so some enterprising private eye must have developed a civilian version. And Ben wouldn’t let Dad get away without having something for organizational and billing purposes. I pulled up my phone and scrolled through to the picture of the passwords then booted up the computer.

  It occurred to me, belatedly, that I needed to let Dad know what had happened. I had to make sure I downplayed it enough that he didn’t get it into his head to cut their vacation short and come home early. They’d been saving for this vacation for years. I wasn’t about to let some dumbass getting himself killed ruin it for them, even if the police thought the prime suspect was their dear friends’ granddaughter. And that his best friend’s son was also, maybe, somehow involved. And, you know, that I had found the body. I was really going to have to spin that one hard.

  I also needed to tell Ben something. I should have done it yesterday.

  I was too scattered lately. It felt like my brain was on time delay. I was sure some of it was fatigue and I knew Mom wasn’t wrong that I was suffering some emotional trauma, but I had been getting by well enough. And then Seth walked back into my damn life.

  I opened the case software and created a new file for Joe Reagan. I took my time and did a timeline to the best of my ability, starting with the first contact with the Horowitzes asking me to help Violet to this morning’s conversation with David. I added the details I knew, like the times, the truck Violet saw, and Seth’s surprise appearance. Then I remembered the shoe print. I saw there was an option to add photos to the case file and I uploaded that too.

  I looked at the scant information in the file and felt a wave of frustration sweep through me. I needed more. I pulled up the database and ran the searches on Reagan’s priors again. I don’t know if I thought something was going to be updated about his murder or just hoped that there would be a Click Here to Find the Murderer button. Nothing.

  I narrowed my focus to the newer charges and printed out all the details of each arrest in the past year. I would see what I could learn about his known associates. Those would be the best bet for someone mad enough to put two bullets in his chest. It was a stretch, but it was better than nothing.

  Knowing that a good investigator follows any lead no matter how remote or bizarre, I made myself do a search on Seth Anderson, prove to myself that I had merely invented something to worry about. He could have had a friend on the force. That made more sense than him knowing Reagan and not mentioning it. So he talked with a cop buddy and decided to get on his horse and ride to my rescue. That totally gibed with my experience with Seth. He was an infuriating ass but one with good intentions.

  I found nothing, which wasn’t a surprise. I saw one speeding ticket from the week before Michael’s death. His juvenile record was sealed years ago, so I hadn’t expected to see that anyway. A memory whispered at me, of the night he’d gotten busted for underage drinking. Seth, a high school senior, his white knight complex having started very early, had seen the sweep of the headlights from the cop car pulling into the park’s lot and insisted Michael and I run. But I couldn’t. I got tangled in the roots of a tree. Seth, realizing I couldn’t get clear in time, strolled over to the cop car and confessed. The fake ID he’d used to buy the beer had been run through the system before the cops got his real name.

  I ran the alias, Seth Andrews, through the database, expecting another dead end. Instead I found a pending charge for Accessory to Murder. His pale green eyes stared out from the mug shot, so there was no question of mistaken identity.

  As much as I didn’t
want to think it was possible, the oldest friend I had left in the world had just become my number-one suspect in the murder of Joe Reagan.

  I pushed away from the computer and grabbed my phone off the desk.

  “David? I need to talk to Violet. Not tomorrow. Not later. You’ve got ten minutes or I’m telling Boyd you know where Violet’s at and I will have her throw your ass in jail. Right now.”

  I didn’t waste any time feeling guilty about yelling at him. This case had been a nightmare from the beginning. Now Seth was in the mix. This had shot past not good straight into hell on earth. My heart was pounding so hard I wondered if I was having a panic attack. I was too young for a heart attack, no matter how much junk food I ate. The nausea was the result on that snotty little voice reminding me that a potential killer had his hands all over my body last night and that not too long ago it had been much more than just his hands.

  I picked up the sticky note Seth had left the day before with his number. Maybe he was on drugs. The pending Accessory to Murder charge could have been an overdose that Seth didn’t help in time, or maybe he’d served some driver too many beers before they plowed into someone. You never knew how the district attorney was going to indict. Was it wishful thinking that I didn’t want him to be a bad guy? Yes, it was. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from indulging in some serious rationalizing. It was the only way I was staying sane at the moment.