Spilled Blood

by Brian Freeman

She flinched, and he pulled his hand back like touching a hot stove. He knew he’d made a mistake. You didn’t intrude on certain memories. You left them the way they were.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Hannah said nothing, but she came with him into the house.

  The uncarpeted stairs to the second floor were on his left. He let Hannah go first, and he followed. Upstairs, the hallway was dark. He recognized the lingering aroma of Hannah’s perfume. Everything here smelled like her, and it was disorienting, as if they were back in the past. She knocked on the first closed door on their left.

  ‘Olivia?’

  There was silence from their daughter’s bedroom. Hannah knocked again, but there was no answer. She put her ear to the door, listening for Olivia’s voice on the phone or the noise of the television. They heard nothing.

  ‘Olivia,’ she repeated, her voice sharper.

  She turned the knob to go inside, uninvited. The door was open. The two of them entered Olivia’s room, and Chris felt as if he were trespassing. With a sweep of his eyes, he recognized souvenirs from her childhood – the stuffed Gund bears on her dresser, a stone Aztec calendar on the wall from a family vacation to Acapulco – but most of the bits and pieces in the messy room revealed a girl he didn’t know.

  The room was empty. The window overlooking the river, above the muddy rear yard, was open.

  Olivia was gone.

  12

  When the ex-cop patrolling their house disappeared, Olivia opened her window and squeezed her body through the frame. She lowered herself slowly, clinging to the peeled paint of the window ledge with her fingers. The drop from the soles of her sneakers to the wet ground was only eight feet. She let go and landed with a hard, heavy splash. She waited, making sure that no one had heard her, before she headed for the river.

  She ducked under the spindly branches of the oak trees behind the house and pushed through the dead brush. Foliage above the water was dense, but the weeds on the river bank had long since been beaten down into a path. She picked her way through black puddles that had gathered in the craters of the dirt. Wild brown grasses tipped with fur brushed against her skin on either side of the trail. Below her, no more than ten feet down the slope of the bank, she could hear the noisy slurp of the river.

  Through the trees, she saw lights glowing in the houses of St. Croix. She recognized the voices of neighbors through open windows. She moved as silently as she could, like a deer, to avoid arousing suspicion. It was a small town. Everyone knew everyone else, and everyone knew everyone’s business. Keeping secrets meant not being seen, and she’d had plenty of practice slipping away.

  Two hundred yards down the river bank, she reached the railroad tracks that paralleled the highway. Trains rarely passed here in this season. She stepped over the rail and stood on the crushed gravel in the center of the tracks. In the early days, when she’d first arrived in St. Croix, she’d wandered down here and thought about jumping onto a slow-moving train as it rattled south. She’d imagined lying on top of the cool steel of the freight car, watching the clouds and stars above her, feeling the jolts and vibrations and screech of the train wheels. She’d wanted to travel far away until home was a memory.

  Back then, it had been Kimberly who talked her into staying. Running away was for cowards, she said.

  Olivia followed the railroad tracks onto the bridge over the river. The criss-cross beams of gray steel made giant X’s on either side of her. Halfway between the banks, she stepped off the tracks and climbed onto the rigid frame above the water. She leaned against one of the diagonal steel beams. The deep water had a wormy smell, dank and dead.

  She heard footsteps. He’d heard her coming. She saw a silhouette, and even without lights, she knew it was him. She felt a rush of joy that made her forget everything else. She climbed down and ran. He was twenty yards away, but she felt as if she covered the distance in two steps, and then she threw her arms around his neck and held on. She remembered how her face felt against his and how his skin smelled. It had been months since she’d touched him.

  ‘Johan.’

  He stood stiffly as she embraced him. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t look into her eyes. He studied the darkness on the river banks as if it held threats.

  ‘We shouldn’t be here,’ he murmured.

  ‘I know, but I had to see you.’

  ‘What do you want, Olivia?’

  ‘What do I want?’ she asked, mystified. ‘How can you say that? We need to talk.’

  Johan turned toward the far bank of the river. She walked beside him, feeling his distance. She brushed his fingers, expecting him to hold her hand. When he didn’t, she felt rejected and shoved her thumbs in her pockets. Her mother always said you could tell a man’s love by how he holds your hand like he never wants to let go.

  They crossed the bridge to a wide-open expanse of fields that would be thick with corn in another few weeks. In the warm summers, you could get lost in the head-high stalks like a maze. This was their place. They’d played hide and seek here like children. They’d cried over Kimberly. They’d kissed. Later, during a hot August, she’d let him be the first and only boy to make love to her.

  Now he was far away. Remote. Angry.

  ‘No one knows what really happened,’ she said.

  ‘Not my dad, not anybody. I didn’t say a word. Honestly. You’re safe.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I still love you, no matter what you’ve done.’

  ‘What I’ve done? Olivia, are you crazy?’

  He kicked angrily at the dried, broken remnants of last year’s crop. Forgotten ears lay rotting in the rows. She wondered if he was remembering the previous summer. When they were in love. Before Ashlynn. Instead, his words dashed her heart.

  ‘Don’t you understand what she meant to me?’ Johan asked. ‘I loved her.’

  Olivia felt bitter. She felt the way she had in the ghost town, seeing Ashlynn up close, realizing that this girl had taken everything from her. ‘Last year, you said you loved me,’ she reminded him. ‘You said I was everything to you. I guess you only wanted one thing.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘As soon as you had a chance, you dumped me for her.’

  Johan grimaced. ‘You’re being unfair, Olivia. It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand.’

  ‘You’re right. I never understood how you could be with Ashlynn of all people. What would Kimberly say? Did you ever think about that?’

  ‘You’re wrong about Ashlynn.’

  ‘Johan, she told me she stopped seeing you a month ago. You two were over. Why didn’t you let me help you? If you were hurting, you should have come to me. You know that. I swore I would never stop loving you, and I never have.’

  She stroked his face. His skin was smooth, and his jaw was angled. Instinctively, she ran her fingers into his thick blond hair and leaned in to kiss him. Their lips touched; his mouth felt dry. She expected him to respond, to wrap his arms around her skinny back and pull her into him. Instead, he jerked away and pushed her arms down.

  ‘How could you let me see her like that?’ he asked. His voice cracked. ‘How could you let me find her that way? Dead. In the dirt.’

  Olivia felt as if she’d been slapped. ‘Are you kidding? Is that a joke?’

  ‘Did she want to get back together with me? Is that what she told you?’ He took hold of her shoulders and demanded, ‘Tell me the truth, Olivia. Is that why you killed her?’

  She wanted to speak, but her chest was empty of air. She could hear the words, but she couldn’t say them. You think I’m guilty? You? If there was one person in the world who knew that she was innocent, it was Johan. She’d been willing to go to jail to protect him. To keep his secret.

  ‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me,’ he went on. ‘Tell me it was an accident. Tell me you didn’t do this deliberately. I was a jerk to hurt you like I did, but I never dreamed you’d go so far.’

  Olivia said
nothing, because there was nothing she could say. She was furious with herself, and she felt like a fool for trusting him. She spun on her heels and marched toward the bridge. She didn’t want more lies. She wanted to go home and wallow in her grief. She felt as she had six months ago, without Kimberly in her life, when Johan threw her over for a girl who symbolized everything that Olivia detested. The betrayal had almost killed her.

  When she heard him behind her, following her, she started to run.

  ‘Olivia,’ he hissed, ‘come back!’

  ‘GO AWAY!’ she shouted, not caring who heard.

  Drizzle made the ground slippery, but she didn’t slow down. Her long hair flew behind her. The water passed under her feet. She cleared the end of the old bridge, and as she passed through the gap where the tracks cut through the trees on the river bank, they came for her.

  Six of them. At least six.

  They were dressed in black, hidden behind masks. They burst from the brush on both sides like commandos, and before she could scream she was caught up in the vise of their arms. She opened her mouth, and a wet towel choked her as someone pushed it between her teeth. She felt her neck squeezed in the crook of someone’s arm. A pillow case draped her head; she was blind, and as they pulled it tight, she could barely breathe.

  Behind her, she heard Johan shout as he tried to rescue her, but the shout was cut off in his throat. They descended on him, too, and she could hear the pummeling of blows as they fought him to the ground. He struggled in defiance, and several of the boys groaned in pain as he broke free and retaliated. It wasn’t enough. He screamed the O in her name, but that was all, and they had him again. The beating was vicious. Relentless. When he gagged, she heard a gurgling mix of air and blood. Even when he was silent, they didn’t stop; the blows rained down, boots landing on flesh. Don’t kill him, she prayed. Oh, my God, please don’t kill him.

  She heard a muffled voice. One word. ‘Go!’

  She flailed with her arms, and her fingernail scored one of the boys’ face and drew blood. He screamed, but his cry was cut off by one of the others. Wounding him was a hollow, temporary victory for her. Four or more strong arms pinned her with iron grips. She felt herself swept off her feet and carried over their heads in triumph, like a roast pig dug up from the ground. When she tried to kick free with her long legs, they grabbed those, too, and she was frozen in place. She was a prisoner. A sacrifice.

  Her senses blurred into terror and chaos. She smelled sweat and heard the rasp of their breaths. She felt their fingers clutching her and knew her skin would be purple where they held her. She heard car doors. Running footsteps. Murmurs of laughter and anger. She was thrown inside, surrounded by invisible bodies, and they crushed her down below the seats as they fired the engine. Their shoes were on her head. Her neck. Their hands mauled her.

  It wouldn’t happen here, she realized. It would happen somewhere else.

  It would begin, and it would never end.

  13

  They split up to search the town.

  Hannah stayed at home, calling her neighbors. Chris and the ex-cop he’d hired went in different directions to hunt through the streets of St. Croix. The town was confined to a few blocks surrounded by miles of open rural land. There were only so many places to go on foot.

  He saw lights inside the Lutheran church, making the arched stained-glass windows glow in multiple colors. The church was the largest building in town. It felt like a church that immigrant farmers would build, with an understated beauty, rather than showy ornateness. The walls were lined with white wooden siding, and the panels were in need of fresh paint. The most prominent feature of the church was its steeple and bell tower, rising over the peaked roof, tall enough to oversee the entire community.

  The glass doors were unlocked. Chris went inside. The lobby was cool and smelled of oiled wood. On his right, narrow steps led upward toward the tower. On the opposite wall, near the stairs leading to the basement, he saw a large cork bulletin board lined with notices of fundraisers, farm equipment for sale, free kittens, and chili dinners. It was like a local, handwritten Internet to connect neighbors to the goings-on of the town. There were five eight-by-ten color photographs of teenagers thumbtacked to the board, too, and he had no trouble guessing their identities. He could see the disease in their faces, despite their youth and bright white smiles. These were the five who had died.

  He opened the door into the sanctuary. The ceiling angled sharply over his head. It had the silence of sacred places, magnifying the echo of his shoes. Empty, varnished pews, stocked with black Bibles, lined the main aisle. The chancel was illuminated, and he saw Glenn Magnus at the lectern, head down, as if he were praying for an invisible congregation. Beside him was the elaborate wooden altar, draped in green silk, highlighted by a brass cross that glinted under the hanging lights. Jesus stood behind the altar on a carving that dominated the wall, his arms spread wide.

  The minister looked up as he heard footsteps. Chris approached apologetically. ‘I’m sorry to intrude.’

  Magnus stepped down from the pulpit and met Chris at the front of the church. ‘You’re not intruding. What can I do for you, Chris?’

  ‘Olivia sneaked out of her bedroom. She’s not answering her cell phone.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her, but let me look downstairs. Johan’s apartment is in the basement. Maybe she came to see him.’

  The minister marched past him. Chris followed, but he stopped halfway, imagining the church filled with devout worshipers on Sunday, dressed for God with chins shaved and fingernails cleaned. Like him, Olivia had never been particularly religious. Hannah was another story. His ex-wife hadn’t tried to impose her values on Chris, but she had always been passionate about her religious roots. She was equally passionate about a woman’s right to control her body, and he wondered if that belief caused problems for her in a conservative small town.

  He left the sanctuary, and the door closed softly behind him. In the lobby, Glenn Magnus was at the top of the basement stairs. He’d grabbed a flashlight from the lower level.

  ‘She’s not there.’ He added, ‘Neither is Johan.’

  ‘Was he here earlier?’

  ‘Yes, he got back from the motel two hours ago. He was downstairs doing homework.’ The minister took a cell phone from his pocket and dialed. After listening for several rings, he hung up. ‘No answer. Maybe I’d better join you in your search. It’s not safe for them outside these days.’

  The two men returned to the streets. The minister walked fast, swinging the beam of the flashlight in front of them. They walked past houses to the highway leading toward Barron, but they found no sign of the teenagers. Magnus put his hands on his hips and examined the dark town. ‘Let’s follow the river trail behind Hannah’s house. Perhaps they went that way. Sometimes the teenagers hang out in the fields on the other side of the railway bridge.’

  ‘Okay.’

  They marched side by side. The drizzle flattened their hair and gave a sheen to their skin when they passed near house lights. The sidewalks glistened with pools of standing water.

  ‘I told Olivia to stay in the house, but she didn’t listen,’ Chris said.

  ‘Teenagers rarely listen.’

  ‘Are she and Johan good friends?’

  Magnus was slow to reply. ‘They were extremely close, but not anymore. They comforted each other after Kimberly died, but I’m afraid they won’t have anything to do with each other now.’

  ‘Why? Because of the feud?’

  ‘In part. Johan knows violence won’t bring Kimberly back. Olivia hung on to the hatred. She’s not alone. It’s a disease around here.’ Magnus stopped and put a hand on Chris’s shoulder. ‘Hannah persuaded me that we owed it to the children to find out what really happened. We tried, and we failed. Honestly, if I’d known what would happen in the aftermath, I would have stopped the lawsuit before it started. The price is too high.’

  They continued walking. Where the town ended at the river, they
plunged into the trees at the river bank. Even with the flashlight illuminating the ground, Chris found it nearly impossible to see, but Magnus walked with confidence, leading them toward the trail by the water. The minister was a tall silhouette. All Chris heard was the man’s voice, which was deep but gentle.

  ‘It must be hard,’ Magnus said, ‘coming back into Hannah and Olivia’s lives this way.’

  ‘I don’t think Hannah wanted me to come at all,’ Chris said.

  ‘No, she’s relieved. She told me so. She probably found it hard to ask, but she’s glad you came.’

  ‘She keeps me at a distance. She didn’t even tell me about the cancer. I had to find out about it from Olivia.’

  ‘I imagine she was more afraid of telling you than anyone else.’

  ‘Why?’

  The minister considered his reply. Everyone around here made calculations before they spoke. The flashlight filled his face with shadows, which made him look sorrowful.

  ‘You wouldn’t know this, but I lost my own wife nine years ago,’ Magnus told him. ‘It was very sudden. I’ve been alone since then. When Hannah moved to town, the two of us clicked. To be honest, I fell in love with her.’

  Chris didn’t want to be having this conversation. ‘I could tell you two were close.’

  ‘Close, yes. Dear friends, yes. Romantic, no. That door was firmly closed, with a No Trespassing sign hung outside. The sign has your picture on it, Chris.’

  ‘What are you saying? That she closed herself off emotionally because of the divorce?’

  The minister shook his head. ‘I’m not saying anything. That’s for you and Hannah to talk about, not me.’

  Magnus turned back to the trail. He circled the area with the flashlight, catching the brown water of the river and the winter brush in its glow. They were still alone.

  ‘If Olivia and Johan don’t talk to each other anymore,’ Chris asked, ‘why would she sneak out of her room to meet him as soon as she got home?’

  Magnus hesitated. ‘I couldn’t say.’