The Return: Death, Runaways, and Romance (Ocean Mist Book 3)

by Brenda Maxfield

  I threw my phone across the room. It smacked the wall with a harsh thud and fell to the floor. I pulled the covers over my head and burrowed down inside, ignoring the seething pain in my toe.

  ****

  The next morning, the sun streamed through the window casting yawning shadows around my room. Through bleary eyes, I gazed outside to a clear sky. Its blatant cheeriness depressed me. Why hadn’t I shut the curtains the night before?

  Oh yeah. Could barely walk, that’s why.

  I wiggled my stiff toe and was surprised to find it hardly hurt. I threw off the covers and brought my foot close to my face. The angry colors on my toe had faded to yellow green. I wiggled my toe again. Not bad.

  I shoved my scraggly hair from my face and checked the clock. Eight. I never got up so early on a Saturday. I lay back down. My phone beeped from where it had settled, crooked against the far wall. A text. Probably Serena.

  I rose and gingerly put my right foot on the floor. Tolerable. I limped to my phone and checked the screen.

  Where are u? Why didn’t u call? Why didn’t u answer my texts? Are u dead?

  Serena, all right. My thumbs flew across the screen. Sorry. Everything ok?

  The phone rang. “Hey, Serena.”

  “You totally ignore my texts? Didn’t even bother to call? So, were you with Fresh Meat? And where? With your dad?” The questions burst forth like an angry avalanche.

  “Geez, give me a minute, would you? It’s freakin’ early.”

  “No, I won’t give you a minute. What’s going on? Tell me right now!”

  “I couldn’t walk yesterday. My foot really hurt. I planned to go to school, but I couldn’t do it. I took Denny. I was going to call you.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” Her voice was flat.

  “I fell asleep.”

  “What do you mean? Were you in bed with Fresh Meat?”

  “No. Step out of the gutter, would you?”

  “We live in the gutter, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “We went to Fresh Meat’s house. We sat on the couch and both of us fell asleep. Nothing happened.”

  There was a long pause. Then, “What a wasted opportunity.”

  My mind whirled back to Chicago and sweat beaded on my upper lip. I clenched the phone and worked to breathe slowly.

  “You there?” Serena asked.

  I opened my mouth but nothing came. Thoughts of grimy hands on me and bulging fat pressing into me closed my throat. I dropped the phone and grabbed my stomach.

  I hadn’t had these visions for months. Why now? I thought they were gone for good. I gulped and sank to the floor.

  “Tiffany! Tiffany!” Through the haze, I heard Serena calling my name. I snatched my cell and pressed it to my ear.

  “Yeah?” I was panting.

  “Is Fresh Meat there with you now? What are you doing?”

  “No. And nothing. Nothing.” Why hadn’t I told Serena what’d happened in Chicago? She was my best friend. My only friend. I could trust her.

  “I’m coming over,” she said, and the line went dead.

  I stared at the phone. I thought my pounding heart would fall out of my chest.

  And then a strange calm came over me. It was time. More than time.

  I would tell Serena what happened, and then maybe the memories would leave me for good.

  ****

  The noise of banging pans floated up the stairs as I walked to the bathroom. Denny’s door was open, and his mussed-up bed was empty. I hadn’t checked Dad’s room.

  “I don’t think I like oatmeal,” Denny said from below.

  I leaned my head over the bannister to listen.

  “Everyone likes oatmeal,” Dad answered.

  The doorbell rang. My eyes widened in surprise. How had Serena arrived so fast? I scuttled to the bathroom to do my business. She could wait for me in my room.

  My hair stuck out like a tired firework display. I ran the water in the sink till it went warm, closed my eyes, and splashed my face and hair. I felt for the hand towel and wiped dry. Then I found a brush sitting on the edge of the tub to comb through my tangles. I looked at myself again in the mirror. Not a total disaster.

  I opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and nearly smashed into Fresh Meat. He looked me up and down and smiled.

  “Morning. Your brother sent me up here. Your dad didn’t look any too happy, though.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello? Weren’t you the one that called all in a panic about the art show?”

  I clasped my forehead. “I’m losing my mind. I totally forgot.” I hurried down the hall to my room. Fresh Meat followed me.

  I attempted to shove my door shut on him before he could see my room, but it was too late. He stuck his foot in the door jamb, forcing the door back open, and whistled. “Whoa. What a mess.”

  “Do you mind? I have to change clothes.”

  “Why should you care if I watch? We slept together, didn’t we?” He threw back his head and laughed.

  “Ha. Ha. So funny.”

  “Tiffany?” Denny stood at the head of the stairs, staring at us. His forehead crinkled over his eyes in a map of worry. “Dad says not to stay up here.” He focused on Fresh Meat. “You want breakfast?”

  Fresh Meat’s gaze darted to mine. Sorry, he mouthed. He looked at Denny. “I don’t know about breakfast. Tiffany and I have to get to school.”

  “It’s Saturday,” Denny answered in a tone of reproach. “There is no school.”

  “An art show,” I said. “I don’t want breakfast, either.”

  The doorbell rang again. Serena!

  Fresh Meat’s eyebrows rose in question.

  I pushed around him and ran down the stairs, my toe barely hurting. Dad was on his way to the door.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, rushing ahead of him. I pulled the door open to Serena.

  “Hey, Girl,” she said and eyed Dad. “So you’re the dad.”

  Dad would never be a poker player. Every emotion hung onto his features as if painted. Right then, he looked hopeful. Like he was going to be best buds with my friend.

  Fat chance.

  “Yes, I am. Doyle’s the name.” He held out his hand to shake.

  Serena stared at his hand then looked at me. Unlike Dad, I’m a great poker player. I was expressionless.

  Serena ignored his hand. Fresh Meat had started down the stairs, and Serena’s eyes bugged. She turned and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the half-bath off the kitchen.

  She slammed the door and leaned on it. “Why is Fresh Meat here? Did he sleep here?” Her voice was a frantic whisper. “You said he wasn’t here!”

  “He just arrived. Would you calm down?”

  “Why don’t you tell me anything anymore? Are we friends or not?”

  I looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Of course we’re friends. Would you calm down?”

  She stuck her face in mine. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “The Art Show. I wasn’t at school to enter my stuff yesterday. I called Fresh Meat to break into the school—”

  “You broke into the school?”

  “No! He wouldn’t do it. He’s here to take me to school now. We’re hoping Hansen is there.”

  Serena sank onto the toilet seat. “Then why am I here?”

  “I didn’t know he was coming.”

  “What do you mean? He just showed up?”

  “I forgot about the art show. I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

  Serena’s nostrils flared, and her gaze was hard. “You think?”

  “Would you lighten up?”

  She stood. “Oh, I can lighten up, all right. See you around.” She opened the door, walked out of the bathroom, and straight out of the condo.

  I watched her go. Irritation wriggled in my stomach, and a bitter taste covered my tongue. She could have been nicer.

  Way nicer.

  But that wasn’t Serena. Wasn’t me either, for that matter.


  And she did refuse Dad’s hand. Wouldn’t even shake it. My stomach relaxed, and I smiled.

  She was a good friend.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Why are you sitting in the bathroom?” Denny asked. “That guy is in the living room waiting for you.”

  “Right.”

  I jumped up and hurried toward the stairs. “Give me a sec,” I hollered over my shoulder to Fresh Meat.

  Upstairs, I changed clothes and brushed my teeth in two minutes flat. Grabbing my jacket from the end of my bed, I went back down. Fresh Meat stood by the door.

  “Tiffany, I made breakfast,” Dad said.

  “No time.” I pushed Fresh Meat out the door in front of me.

  The air was crisp and filled with early-morning stillness.

  “Your toe must be better,” he said, unlocking the car.

  “Yeah.” I got in, and he went around, climbed in the driver’s seat, and we took off.

  “I came by way of the school, and I didn’t see any cars parked outside. I don’t think Hansen’s there. Sorry, Tiffany.”

  “You sure you won’t break in?”

  He groaned. “Do you realize what could happen to me? With my record?”

  “No one would care. You wouldn’t be charged.”

  “You are seriously insane.”

  “Yeah. You keep reminding me.”

  “If Hansen’s not there, what do you want to do today?”

  “Anything but go back home.”

  “You got it.”

  We pulled into the school lot, and like Fresh Meat said, it was empty. We drove around to the back — also empty.

  “It was a lame idea anyway,” I said. “Besides, it’s just a dumb art show. I don’t even care.”

  Fresh Meat looked at me from the corner of his eye and raised his brows. “Right. You don’t care.”

  I put both my feet on the dash. “So, where you want to go?”

  “I thought you were running away.”

  I felt my jaw go hard, and I plummeted to instant annoyance. Did he want me to leave? Is that why he brought it up?

  But, he was right. Why didn’t I go? There was nothing to keep me there.

  My silence stretched through the car. I saw his grip on the steering wheel tighten. He didn’t look at me.

  “That’s the plan,” I finally said.

  He exhaled. “When? When are you leaving?”

  I blinked. “Soon.” How was I supposed to know? I hadn’t made any concrete plans.

  “Does Serena know?”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even told your best friend?”

  I slapped the dash. My fingers tingled with pain. “What’s with everyone telling me what to do? I have a thousand moms right now!” My breath escaped in a harsh sigh, and I fixed my gaze out the window.

  Fresh Meat pulled the car over to a wide spot of gravel at the side of the highway. Rocks spit up behind the wheels, some of them flinging back to hit the fender with a ping. He cut the engine. We were on a deserted stretch of road; the only sign of life was a thick patch of fir trees and two huge black crows cackling together on a telephone line.

  Fresh Meat yanked up the parking brake and shifted in the seat to stare at me.

  “Tiffany, you’re impossible. A thousand moms? What’s going on?”

  I fought against the tears pushing into my eyes. The last place, the very last place in the world I wanted to be right then was in the car with him, crying my eyes out. I swallowed hard, trying to shove past the egg-sized lump in my throat. I put my hand on the handle of the door, ready to bolt.

  He eyed my hand, then his gaze locked onto my face. He reached across me and grabbed the handle on top of my grip. I felt the strength in his grasp. “No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re not running.”

  “Why not?” I was horrified to hear tears in my voice. “I can start my way to California right now.”

  His fingers tightened around mine. “No,” he said. “No.”

  I inhaled deeply and flopped back against my seat. His arm was still stretched across my body. When I went slack, he took his hand from mine, but his face still hovered close.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said. His voice was soft and low, and his breath fluttered over my cheeks. I kept my eyes straight forward, not daring to look into his. I didn’t blink, hoping the air would dry the swimming tears in my eyes.

  “You can cry, you know.”

  “I don’t cry.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  The lump in my throat grew. I could barely breathe. I opened my mouth and took in short bursts of air.

  Fresh Meat touched my cheek with the back of his hand. It was a soft, tender gesture, and something deep inside me cracked. I burst into a frenzy of tears, sobbing like a child. I don’t know who was more surprised, Fresh Meat or me.

  The tears poured down my face and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop them. Fresh Meat put his arms around me, drawing me to his chest. I fought him, pounding my hands on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t let go. His grip tightened, and he started whispering in my ear. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. He held on, and I kept hitting.

  Screeching a lonely cry, one of the crows outside swooped close to the car. I froze — stopped fighting, stopped wailing, stopped everything. Fresh Meat squeezed me into him, and I gave up and went limp.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered into my hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  My face was a mass of wetness. I rubbed against his coat and hiccupped and coughed.

  “Tiffany, it’s all going to be okay.” His voice was a baby’s lullaby. I closed my eyes and sank into his rhythm.

  For a long time, we sat like that, neither of us moving. It got cold, but I didn’t want to stir. After what seemed forever, Fresh Meat rearranged his arms so they rested more gently around me.

  I pulled back. “You have a tissue?”

  He reached into the glove compartment and rustled around, pulling out a napkin. “Will this do?”

  I took it and blew my nose.

  “We can talk about it, you know,” he said.

  “Nothing to talk about.” I looked at him. “Tell anyone I cried, and you’re dead.”

  “Who cares, Tiffany? Who cares if you cried?”

  I gripped the top of his thigh. “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are.” He rested an arm on the steering wheel and gazed through the windshield. Then he focused on me. “What happened to you?”

  I went rigid and felt the world swirl around me.

  He kept on. “Something happened. What was it?”

  “Nothing. Nothing happened.” How did he know? I went dizzy and squirmed to sit upright. “We should go back.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Go back,” I said more loudly.

  “We’re not going back. Tell me what happened in Chicago.”

  My eyes bugged. “Chicago? Why are you asking me that?” My voice shook with accusation.

  “Serena said—”

  “Serena! She doesn’t know anything!”

  “She only said that after you came back—”

  “She had no right! And I’m not telling you anything.”

  Fresh Meat grabbed my shoulder. “People call me a murderer. I was in juvie. My friend is dead. You can tell me.”

  I glared at him through swollen eyes. I knew my mascara had streaked black down my face so I probably looked like a freak. My hair would be a mess, too, with long wilted spikes all over my head. My anger fizzled. What was he doing with me, anyway? He could have anyone.

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I tried to make my voice hard, but it came out hesitant, almost weak. Pathetic.

  Fresh Meat remained quiet, but he kept looking at me with those gray eyes. Even with the green flecks, they were strangely clear. I drew back in surprise. For the first time, he was looking at me without any shadows in his gaze. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve seen into his soul.

&n
bsp; I averted my gaze.

  “Tiffany.” It was a whisper.

  A strange desire to tell him rumbled through my heart, crushing my lungs into tight fists. I gulped air, and my face screwed up in confusion. I didn’t need to tell him. I’d gone all these months without telling anyone. And spilling my guts wouldn’t change anything. What happened, happened. Big deal. So what.

  “Tiffany.”

  A wave of yearning charged through my mind — like the bottom of the car had ripped away and I was plunging into a gaping hole at the center of an abyss. I squeezed my eyes tight and held my breath. There was nothing to hold onto. I’d shatter. In a few short seconds, I’d crash onto the concrete below and no one would ever know me again…

  “He tried to rape me,” I blurted.

  Fresh Meat went stiff, and his eyes widened. “Who? Your dad?”

  “No. No. His neighbor.” Cement blocks pressed on my chest, but I no longer twirled into the vortex. A cold layer of sweat covered my body.

  Fresh Meat drew back against his door and stared at me. “Tell me.”

  “My dad is a jerk.”

  “But you said it wasn’t him.”

  “He left me in the apartment. It was a Tuesday morning. I was still in bed.”

  “You weren’t at school?”

  I shook my head and shuddered. “I skipped. I always skipped.”

  He touched my arm but said nothing.

  “Dad didn’t lock the door. We were in freakin’ Chicago, and he didn’t lock the door. Who doesn’t lock the door in Chicago?” My voice climbed in pitch. I took a deep breath.

  “I heard heavy footsteps in the kitchen, but I didn’t think anything. Figured it was Dad. We weren’t exactly speaking anyway.”

  I looked out the window, and my throat went dry. “I had the blankets over my head, and someone pulled them off. It was him.” I squirmed in the car seat, and a familiar sensation of slime seeped over me. “He leered at me with his mouth hanging open. He was missing one of his front teeth. I remember thinking he had a window in his mouth.” I looked at Fresh Meat. “What kind of loser thinks stupid things like that? A window in his mouth? Really? Was I in kindergarten or something?”

  Fresh Meat’s gaze didn’t leave my face.