by Paul, JL
“I…thanks,” I said, choking up again. I heard Aunt Franki rattling impatiently around in the kitchen, eager to get on the road. A sudden urge to see my family swept through me. “Um, I have to go. Thanks.”
“Take care of yourself,” Fin said, his voice heavy. “And remember that we care about you.”
“Thanks,” I croaked, the tears dripping from my eyes. I hung up and wiped my face, struggling to gain control. I wanted to be strong, had to be, to face what was coming. The next few days were going to be difficult, to say the least, and I had to be able to handle it. I couldn’t fall apart again and cause my family more pain.
I sucked in a deep, cleansing breath as my head fell to the back of the chair. I closed my eyes as I let the oxygen glide between my lips. I thought of Camille – that pesky, Jonas Brother loving little sister who had followed me around, mimicking everything about me from my clothes to the way I laughed. Oh, she’d annoyed me, true, but I’d always been secretly flattered that she thought that much of me. I’d always been touched that I’d been her favorite.
But I’d let her down. I’d been selfish. I’d caused this. She was gone, forever, because of me. I pushed out of the chair and stood near the door, waiting for Aunt Franki.
Yes, it was all my fault and now it was time for me to fess up and pay for what I’d done.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever experience the drive from Aunt Franki’s to my parents’ house without extreme anxiety or severe depression. Maybe someday I’d find a new route - if I ever felt like driving again.
My mind wandered back to Camille. Where was she now?
I bolted upright as a thought occurred to me. “Um, Aunt Franki? Have they found her?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, not taking her eyes from the road.
“Well,” I said as I tugged on the seatbelt to stop it from cutting into the side of my neck. “I mean, this guy said he … took her and all, but do we know for sure that he did? Is there any proof? Have they…you know…located…her?”
Aunt Franki switched lanes then massaged her forehead. I could see moisture collecting in her eyes and took that as a bad sign. “According to your father, this man gave the police specific details.”
Sitting forward, I twisted to face her. “That’s all fine for the police,” I persisted. “But have they found her…um…her …body?”
The muscles around her mouth tightened as did her one-handed grip on the wheel. She continued to rub furiously at her forehead, but I refused to be put off. “He agreed to take the police to the…um…sites.”
“So, he could be lying,” I mused aloud. “Or, maybe none of these girls are Camille. I mean, maybe he saw her name on the news and just assumed she was one of his victims.”
Aunt Franki shook her head. “I don’t think so, honey. Yes, it would be wonderful if he didn’t have anything to do with Camille’s disappearance, but he apparently gave the police enough information to make them confident that she was one of his…victims.”
I decided that I wasn’t going to believe it until the proof was laid out neatly in front of me. I still held out hope that Camille was alive. I didn’t care if we had to endure weeks, months, even years of more torture of not knowing – I just didn’t want to lose her.
I settled back into my seat, my chest still wound tightly. Maybe that’s why my mother was the way she was. She was still holding on to Camille, trying to keep her alive. Sympathy and understanding flooded me as I thought back on how horribly I’d treated my mother. I’d only looked at things from my point of view. I didn’t know how it felt for a mother to lose a child but I imagined it must be the most painful thing in the world.
When we arrived at the house, the driveway, as well as the curb, was full of strange cars. Aunt Franki was forced to park down the street. I leapt from the car and jogged through the slush to the porch. I ripped the door open and was blindsided by the funeral feel that seemingly permeated throughout the house. No hope was left, including the hope that I’d held on to during the last few miles of my trip. It was over, finally.
Bracing myself, I tiptoed into the living room where neighbors and police officers congregated around my family. My mother lifted her head and peeked through the crowd to offer me a sad smile. Her pale face was drained of all emotion and her eyes were weary as though she’d fought a raging war – and lost.
Then it hit me – struck me like a bat to a ball – and I stumbled, collapsing into the nearest chair. Jared pushed through the people to kneel before me, his face nearly identical to Mom’s. He clasped my hands in his and I rested my forehead on his shoulder.
“No, Jared. Just…no.”
“I’m afraid so,” he whispered, dropping one of my hands to stroke my hair. “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
A huge fist squeezed, crushing my ribs and making the intake of air impossible. I clutched my brother’s shirt as I fought the raging misery clawing its way up my throat. “This…can’t…happen,” I croaked, angry. “She’s just a kid!”
“Rena,” Dad whispered as he led my mother by the hand to my chair. They huddled around me, everyone’s arms around someone else. My tears fell fast and furious, mixing with those of my family. My sad, pitiful, broken family.
We remained that way until a uniformed officer interrupted us in order to whisper to my father that she’d been found and was on her way to the morgue. Dad nodded, unable to speak, and embraced us all harder.
“Sir,” the uncomfortable officer continued. “Sir, we need someone to identify her.”
“I know,” Dad said, making no indication that he intended to move. “I’ll do it.”
“Okay. I’ll take you when you’re ready,” he said as he shuffled toward the doorway.
“I’ll go with you,” Jared said as he extricated himself. He scrubbed his face and stood, his knees cracking in the process.
Dad stood, too, and clapped Jared on the back. “Okay, son. Thanks.” He pecked my cheek, cupped my mother’s chin, and then disappeared with the officer.
Mom remained beside me, her arms wrapped around me as if she was afraid I’d disappear, too. Maybe that did worry her. Maybe she was afraid if it had happened once, it could happen again. I had no idea how to reassure her.
“So, he had just dumped poor Robin’s body when he snatched Camille,” Mom said as if commenting on the weather.
“Mom, you don’t need to talk about this,” I protested.
She squeezed my shoulders and fixed her gaze on a spot on the carpet. “I do. She’s your sister, you deserve to know.”
I did want to know – I wanted to know every grisly detail of what that monster had done to my sister. But I didn’t want my mother to be the one to tell me.
“He took her to an empty cabin in a deserted campground.” Mom’s monotone voice chilled me to the core. It reminded me of a narrator’s voice, droning on about a senseless tragedy – someone totally detached. “He kept her for a couple of days but you see, she’d tried to escape and he panicked. He was afraid she’d identify him. He killed her.”
A fresh wave of pain washed over my body as my rage fought for control over my despair. My anger-demon made a sudden reappearance and was as desperate as I to get a hold of that monster and rip him into pieces. My body shook with pent up anger and the need to do something. I shook off Mom’s arms and raced up the stairs to my room. I slammed the door and leaned against it, my chest heaving. I eyed my possessions as the anger swelled. What right did I have to own anything? What right did I have to be alive?
Running to my bookshelf, I swept the books to the floor with my arm. Most of my books were back at Franki’s and I wished fervently that they were here, in my old room, so I could destroy them, too.
I snatched the cheer trophies I’d earned at cheer camp and heaved them at the posters of happy people on my walls. I marched to my desk and picked up pens, pencils, paperweights, anything I could get my hands on, and threw them aimlessly, working up a sweat
.
When I ran out of things to throw I began ripping posters off my walls, grinning maniacally at the shreds floating to the floor. Once that task was complete, I sank to the ground, breathless, and sobbed.
The door opened and Roberta waded through the debris to plop down next to me. She didn’t touch me or even speak as I continued to cry. She sat stoically, surveying the mess. When the tears stopped, she patted my knee.
“Better?” she asked.
“No,” I snorted. “I’ll never feel better. Never.”
“Feels like that now,” she said as she picked up a scrap of poster. “But the pain will fade with time. It’ll never go away completely, but it will fade.”
“I hate him, Roberta. I hate that man. I want to kill him. I want to make him die a slow, painful death,” I said, clenching my teeth. “And even that’s not good enough. I want to kill him over and over again.”
She nodded, her lips pursed. “Of course you do. I don’t blame you. I’d like to see him punished, too, and I’ve never met Camille. But men like that, who are not only capable of such heinous things but actually do them, they deserve the most severe punishment.”
“He’ll just go to jail,” I said. “That’s all. That’s not good enough.”
“It’s going to have to be for now,” she said, wrapping a cautious arm around my shoulders. “Do you believe in God?”
I shrugged, studying my balled up fists resting in my lap. I’d never attended church faithfully but I still believed there was a God and that He did keep an eye on things. “I suppose, but I’m a little confused on how He could let something like this happen.”
“I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on religion or God, and I don’t know why things like this happen, but I personally believe that God will punish Ted Pinther in a more effective way than we can in our courts.”
“I’d like the satisfaction of hurting him with my own hands,” I said, deflating. The fire that had raged inside of me had been doused, though not completely: A few embers still burned. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long,” she said. “I came up here to see you as soon as I arrived but I’d like to go check on your mother. Are you all right?”
I nodded and tilted my head to give her an appreciative smile. She returned it, patted me again, then heaved her body up and exited quietly. I crawled over to my bed, climbed onto the mattress, and curled into a tight ball. I’d worn myself out with my little tantrum but I wasn’t ready to sleep. I still craved answers.
***
“Hey, Rena,” Jared whispered. When my eyes snapped open, I was shocked at how low the sun had set. It took me a few minutes to realize that I was in my old room and must have fallen asleep.
“Jared?” I said around a yawn. I fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand and winced when the light hit my eyes.
“You look like you could sleep longer,” he said, his face grave, his dull eyes rimmed in red. My heart ached for him but I was so emotionally drained that I couldn’t bring myself to offer him any comfort.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “What’s going on downstairs?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Some neighbors brought food and are trying to convince people to eat. Mom’s locked in her bedroom with your counselor. Dad and Aunt Franki have been talking to the cops and the funeral home and things like that.”
I felt like a fraud, sleeping away the afternoon while the rest of my family went through the hell that came with losing a loved one. Scooting off the bed, I stood, stretching. “I need to get down there and help.”
“Nothing for you to do, kid,” he said with an awkward smile. “Dad said to let you rest but I was afraid that you hadn’t eaten in a while.”
“Was it her?” I whispered. I had to know – had to be absolutely sure.
“Yeah,” he said, ducking his head. “It’s her.”
I choked on a tiny sob. “How…how bad?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said as he got up and turned his back on me. “Just remember her how she was, okay?” He disappeared through the door. Horrified, I followed him downstairs, loathing the helplessness that seemed to fill the vacancy that my shattered heart had left.
I recognized Mrs. Cook from across the street as well as Mr. and Mrs. Langley, parents of Camille’s friend Paige. I scanned the room quickly, trying to locate Paige, but I didn’t see her. I wondered, for the first time, how Paige was taking the news. Camille had been at Paige’s house on that fateful day.
I forced a smile as I accepted condolences while pushing through the throng. I headed for the front door, desperate to take a walk and get a breath of fresh air, but Mrs. Cook snagged my arm.
“Don’t go out there, dear,” she said, her wrinkled face sympathetic. “There are reporters outside and they’ll hound you.”
“Great,” I groaned as I turned sullenly back to the kitchen. The scent of casseroles and salads nauseated me and I was starting to panic, wishing I would have stayed locked up in my room. Just as I decided to make a mad dash for the stairs, I heard my name. I whirled around to find my former best friend standing nervously in the foyer.
“Tiara?” I said, flabbergasted. A confusing mixture of emotions swirled in my gut. I wasn’t sure if I was happy to see her or not.
“Hi,” she said as she took an uncertain step toward me. “Um, I’m really sorry about Camille.”
“Er…thanks,” I said. I hadn’t figured out what the proper thing to say was. I made a mental note to ask Roberta later. “So, how have you been?”
She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
The tension floated between us like a noxious gas. I remembered a time when she would have breezed through my front door like she was part of the family and helped herself to anything in the fridge. But those days disappeared the same day as Camille had and I suddenly longed for my real friends – the people I’d left behind in Dunewood.
“Well, um, thanks for coming,” I stammered. “I’m sure my parents would love to see you but they’re sort of tied up at the moment.”
“I understand,” she said with an uneasy smile. She hugged me stiffly and moved back as though she was afraid she’d catch something. Maybe she thought death was contagious. “Look, I can’t stay long – sorry. I just wanted to stop in and say, you know, that I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Give me a call sometime,” she said as she turned to the door. I watched her leave as nostalgia hit. I shook it off and ran up the stairs, cell phone in hand. I slipped into my room, shut the door, and dialed Fin’s number.
“I’m glad you called,” he said immediately. “How are you doing?”
“It’s her,” I said as the tears returned. “It’s definitely her. My dad and my brother identified her.”
“Rena, honey, I’m so very sorry,” he said with genuine sincerity. “Is there anything I can do for you or your family?”
“No,” I said, longing for him. “I just…I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” he said. “Um, do you know anything about funeral arrangements? I think my mother wants to send something.”
“I don’t know anything,” I admitted. “But I’ll let you know.”
I chatted with him for a little while longer until my father peeked into my room and asked me to come downstairs. I promised to call Fin the next day before ending the call and reluctantly followed my father back down to the living room.
***
The next few days were a blur – a flutter of activity that made my head spin. I spent time with Roberta and was pleased to hear that my mother had, also. The medical examiner performed an autopsy and released Camille’s body to the family for burial.
The service was nice: The minister kept it brief but beautiful. The church was packed - the ensuing funeral procession to the cemetery long. As we stood in the bitter cold beside the newly dug grave, listening to more words of comfort, my mind returned to its numb state. I hardly heard the words and was shocked when Jared to
ok me by the elbow to lead me away from the polished stone with Camille’s name etched in elegant script. As we approached the car, I spotted a familiar face and shook off Jared’s hold. I jogged toward the tiny group that stood apart from the rest, launching my body into Fin’s open arms.
“Hey,” he whispered into my hair, squeezing me.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I muttered, inhaling his scent.
“We wanted to be here for you,” he said.
I pulled away to smile at my friends. Damon, Reg, and Shane hugged me, offering their sympathies. And I accepted greedily.
“We’re sorry about your sister,” another voice said as it joined our group. I was surprised to see Grant and Isaiah – I’d never told them about Camille and I was certain Fin had kept it to himself. But then, I was sure the rumor mill was working overtime at Dunewood High and the high profile case was bound to have reached even the remotest of televisions in that small community.
“Thanks, I guess,” I said, kicking myself for forgetting to ask Roberta about how to respond. But it hadn’t mattered for these people were real, genuine friends. I could have told them all to go to hell and they would have remained steadfast by my side. “Um, the Lodge my father belongs to is hosting a luncheon. Will you guys come?”
“Sure,” Fin said, pulling me into a casual embrace. “We’ll see you there.” He nodded toward the town car, my parents standing beside it, waiting for me.
“See you there,” I said, stealing one last glance at them before dashing off to join my family.
At the Lodge, I was surprised to see not only Fin’s parents, but the parents of the rest of my friends. I was moved to tears at the respect these people showed my family and the inconvenience they’d endured to miss work and school to drive all the way here from Dunewood for people they didn’t even know.
I fed off the love exuding from my friends and used it to get me through the afternoon. Several of my former acquaintances stopped in to pay respects and the same awkwardness that I’d felt with Tiara was present with them, too. It didn’t bother me as much so long as Fin was by my side.