This is Our Story

by Ashley Elston

  She dips her head. “What Henry said to me is none of your business.”

  I gnaw on my bottom lip, trying to think of anything else I can ask her. “Why don’t you go to the police and tell them you suspect Grant took those pictures?”

  She looks at me like I’m stupid. “Why would I? He’s dead. And I’m not sorry he is. I just wish I could have been the one to blow him away.”

  I’m momentarily speechless. But I have to get to the bottom of this. “So who was? Was it Henry?” I whisper.

  She swings her backpack up, nearly hitting me with it. “Do you know how many people act outraged over what happened to us, then turn around and say that we probably knew what was happening, or that we did something to deserve it?”

  I shake my head. She’s trembling, she’s so angry.

  “Hardly anyone tried to figure out who did this to us—most just talked about us. How we looked naked. How we were touching each other. How we probably liked it.” She takes a deep breath and says, “If Henry did it, then he was the only one with the guts to actually do something about it.”

  I keep telling them it’s almost over. Everything will be back to normal soon.

  I glance at the picture again. My daily reminder.

  But there’s still one loose end…a mystery to be solved.

  One that I may never be able to figure out. One that Grant took to his grave.

  DECEMBER 3, 3:29 P.M.

  PRIVATE NUMBER: Need to talk to you. Urgent.

  My phone rings instantly.

  “I guess you heard,” he says when I answer. “I’m still at my lawyer’s office, looking over everything, trying to make a decision.” He sounds broken.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “I may have found something. I’m not sure.”

  “What did you find?” Suddenly, there’s hope in his voice.

  I tell him about noticing the chair in his post was missing from the back patio and how it’s the same chair in the picture with the girls. Then I tell him about the video from the party and the girl on the street with Henry and John Michael.

  “Lori. She was one of the girls in that picture. Henry has had a thing for her for years,” Shep says. “He was furious when those pictures came out.”

  “But I thought they were part of the prank war? Those girls are seniors, so why would Grant have done that?”

  “Grant probably thought it was the perfect way to get the juniors in trouble. Prank them by making everybody think they were the ones taking things too far. He was twisted like that.”

  “Was Henry furious enough to kill Grant if he thought he was the one who took it?” I ask.

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “But just knowing this is an option could be enough, right? I talked to her.”

  “Lori? What did she say?”

  “She wouldn’t come out and say it, but it sounds like she thinks Henry did it. Maybe if your lawyer questioned her. Or something.”

  “Maybe this will be enough,” he says, but I can hear the anxiety in his voice. “And Kate, thanks for this.”

  “This isn’t over,” I say.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  • • •

  It’s really late when Shep calls. “Want to go for a ride?”

  I don’t hesitate a second. “Where do I meet you?”

  This may be our last night. If he accepts the deal tomorrow, he’ll immediately be taken into custody. I haven’t talked to him since this afternoon, and I’m dying to find out what his lawyer thinks about Lori.

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “I’ll be waiting out front.”

  I don’t care if one of the others is watching us. I already lost my job. He could possibly be losing his freedom tomorrow. Whoever shot Grant is getting what they want.

  I hop into the Jeep the second he stops. He says quietly, “I’m really glad you’re here.” He pulls me in and gives me a quick kiss. It happens so fast I don’t think I even kissed him back.

  The top is still off and it’s a little cold outside. Shep reaches behind him and pulls out a thick blanket.

  “Here. This should keep you warm.”

  I bundle up and recline my seat back so I can look at the sky overhead. It isn’t long before I pull a ponytail holder out of my bag to get my hair out of my face.

  We leave town, driving down a narrow road with empty fields on both sides until we stop at a side road that’s blocked by a gate.

  “Just have to open it,” Shep says, then jumps out.

  I sit up a little straighter, trying to get my bearings, but I have no idea where we are.

  Shep hops back in the Jeep and pulls through. He leans closer and says, “My dad brought me here a few days ago. His company just leased this land for oil and gas exploration, and the owners live out of state, so I knew no one would be here.”

  We drive down a gravel road for a mile or so, then stop at the edge of a small pond. Shep turns the Jeep off, and the quietness of the night settles around us. The full moon shines down across the water, chasing away the darkness.

  “My lawyer and I went to see Lori at work. He thought there might be a better chance that she would talk to me, since we were friends.”

  I turn my head to the side. “What did she say?”

  “She said she called the district attorney’s office after you left, and they told her you’d been fired. She reported you for harassing her. She also denied everything. Said she has no idea who shot Grant, but there was no way Henry could have done it. Said you were making it all up so I wouldn’t be in trouble.”

  “What! I didn’t make any of it up! She’s the one who’s lying!”

  He laces his fingers through mine. “I know. But there’s no way she’s going against Henry. Lori is a dead end.”

  I throw the blanket off of me. I’m so pissed.

  “I can’t believe she reported me!” Whatever credibility I had with Stone is completely gone now. Why do I always make things worse?

  “What did your lawyer say?”

  “He ‘strongly suggested’ I take the deal. He’s looked into Logan and the missing watch and ring and those two guys. Dead end. Henry and Lori are a dead end. John Michael and his drug deals are a dead end.”

  “What about Lindsey? We know she’s lying!”

  “Yeah, but the other three are taking a deal in exchange for swearing under oath that they saw me with the Remington that morning! That only makes her testimony that much stronger. If this goes to trial and the jury finds me guilty—I’ll get life.”

  It feels like my heart drops right into my stomach. I lace my fingers through his.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t want to take the deal but I’m afraid to risk life in prison.” He bangs his head against the back of his seat. “Hell, even after twenty years, my life would be basically over.”

  “You can’t give up. You have to try,” I say.

  Shep turns sideways in his seat so he’s facing me and pulls his hand away from mine. “Try what? This isn’t a game, Kate! I’m out of time. My deal is good for twenty-four hours. I know you’re trying to help, but every lead we have is a dead end. I’m not giving up. I’m trying to figure out how to salvage a small piece of my life. If we had something—anything—I’d be the first one fighting. But we have nothing.”

  I brush away a tear that’s sliding down my cheek. “I’m with you through this, no matter what.”

  He’s shaking his head. “No, you’re not. Think about it, Kate. My life is over. What, are you going to stick by me for twenty years, wait until I’m out of prison?”

  “So this is goodbye? You brought me out here to say goodbye?” The tears are flowing now, and I don’t try to stop them.

  He pulls me close, his hands framing my face.

  “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I don’t know what else to do. I’m scared. And I’m mad. My life is ruined. There’s no reason for yours to be, too.”

  I’m sinking. Drownin
g.

  “I don’t want to talk about the case anymore. Or what will happen tomorrow. This is our last time alone together. Can we stay here a little while?” he asks.

  “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” I answer.

  • • •

  It only takes about twenty minutes to get to River Point. My hands are shaking as I pull into the familiar driveway. It’s early, the sun is barely up, and it wasn’t that long ago that Shep dropped me at home. I haven’t slept, because I can’t get past the idea that there’s something else I’m missing. And I refuse to believe every lead is a dead end. I know the picture was taken here, and I know Grant was the one who took it. There’s something really off about that picture of those girls and the angle, and I have to try to figure it out.

  What if I’m wrong in thinking they wouldn’t be here since they’re all due in court in just a few hours? What if someone is here?

  There are a few vehicles in the carport, but they seem like the kind that stay here all the time. I pull in close to the house but then go ahead and turn the car around. At least if I have to bolt, the car is pointed in the right direction, ready to go.

  I grab my camera from my bag on the passenger seat and walk toward the house just as my phone beeps. It’s a text from Shep.

  I’m sorry I was angry last night. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for fighting for me. You deserve someone who can be there for you in every way. More than anything I wish it could be me.

  His words energize me. Now, more than ever, I’m determined to find a way to clear his name.

  I duck when I pass in front of a window, although I’m pretty sure no one is here. It only takes a few moments to get to the back of the house.

  And there is the empty space where the chair used to be, according to Shep’s post. I pull another chair to this spot as a placeholder, then set my laptop on a nearby table, open to both pictures.

  I take a shot of it and compare it to Shep’s. Shep is several inches taller than me, but basically, we have the same angle.

  Then I hold it above my head and point the lens down toward the chair and compare the angle again.

  Direction is right but the camera’s not high enough.

  Grabbing a chair, I scoot it across the patio until I get it where I want it. Once I’m standing in the seat of the chair, I fire off another shot.

  It’s close. Still not high enough.

  But why would Grant be standing on a chair? I turn around and look at what’s behind me. There’s a low brick wall separating the patio from the woods. There are several trees on the other side of the wall. I search the trees through the lens, zooming in for a closer look. There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual…just some trees, bare limbs, a few birds, an outdoor spotlight pointed toward the patio, and an old weathered birdhouse.

  And then I zoom in a tad closer on the birdhouse. There’s something inside the hole, something shiny.

  I jump down and drag the chair to edge of the patio, using it so I can climb up on the wall. When I’m right in front of the birdhouse, I turn around carefully and snap a picture of the chair the girls were on.

  It’s almost a perfect match.

  Turning back to the birdhouse, I find a hinge on one side. A hinge on one side means the front must open. It’s not hard to find the latch when you know what you’re looking at. When the front of the birdhouse swings open, I almost fall off of the wall.

  There’s a camera inside, one very similar to the wildlife cameras Mr. Forres has scattered throughout his property. But this one is different. I take a picture of it, making sure the make and model are in focus.

  I glance at the light right above the birdhouse. It’s brilliant. If the lights are on, even at night you would be able to get a usable photo.

  From what Mr. Stone found out about the other wildlife cameras here, I know that if I open it there will be a media card inside, but I’m afraid to touch it. I don’t want my prints to show up here and give Stone any reason to throw out this evidence.

  I wish I had a glove or anything to put over my hand so I can open it up. I could grab my laptop from the car and load the images directly onto it.

  My sock. It’s gross but it will do the job. I sit on the wall and remove my shoe, then my sock, putting it over my right hand. I rub off the latch, hopefully removing any fingerprints I put there.

  It’s not hard to get the camera open. I hit a small button on the side and the front pops open. There is the lens, the batteries, but not much else. Where’s the card?

  I fool around with the camera until I’m completely frustrated. How can there not be a media card?

  But there is the name of a website printed just inside the door, along with a camera number and password. I take a picture of it and hop down, moving all of the furniture back to its original place.

  I check my watch and realize I’ve been here too long. Once everything is back the way I found it, I jump in the car and speed away from River Point.

  I dial Reagan’s number and it takes several rings for her to answer. “Help!” I shout into the phone. “I need you.” I’m scared about what I’m going to find. And scared about what I won’t. I need her with me when I look at the images from that camera.

  “What is it?” I can picture her sitting up in her bed, her black hair sticking out in every direction.

  “I just did something crazy.”

  “What did you do, Kate?”

  I give her the short and dirty version and she gasps about every other sentence.

  “Oh my God, Kate! You have to go to Stone and tell him about the camera.”

  “I’ve tried to talk to him. He won’t listen to anything I have to say. I need to see what pictures are on there. And I need to do it quickly. Can you meet me at the media arts room? I’m hoping I can log on to the site there and check out how to view them.”

  “Yes! Holy crap! I’ll meet you there.”

  I end the call and drive to school like a crazy person.

  By the time I get parked and inside the media arts room, I get a text that Reagan is pulling in too. When she walks through the door minutes later, I’ve never been so happy to see my best friend.

  I can’t get the website up fast enough.

  “Okay, so what’s it say?” she asks when she sits in the chair next to me.

  The website for the wildlife cam boasts of the camera’s remote-viewing capabilities and ease of use, enabling all members of a hunting lease to view images anytime, from anywhere.

  “It looks like all I need to do is log into that camera using the ID and password I found inside the door.”

  I enter all the information and wait while the site processes it. I feel like I’m going to pass out. What if there isn’t anything there? What if this is a dead end too?

  And then images start filling the screen. There are thousands of them. The camera’s settings are on the dashboard at the top of the screen and the camera is set to go off when there is movement, one picture every ten seconds until there is no movement for five minutes. It uploads through the Wi-Fi at River Point.

  “It’s going to take forever to go through these,” I say.

  I glance at the clock. It’s almost seven thirty. The morning is flying by.

  “Well, maybe not,” Reagan says. “Look, you can filter by date. What date was Grant shot? We can look for whoever went hunting with that rifle.”

  “October fifth,” I answer. “I thought about that, but they all said they left through the garage to go hunting. That’s on the other side of the house. I’m trying to see if there are pictures of Grant and those three girls.”

  Reagan scoots me out of the way and sits down at the computer. “We got the first complaints about those pictures around the first of October, so let’s look at the weekend before that all the way until the morning he was killed.” She clicks the filter-by-date button and puts in September 27–October 5.

  It takes a second for the screen to load. Once the pictures are there, we
start browsing. Lots of party shots. And I was right about the spotlight. Even at night, everyone in the images is fully illuminated.

  We scroll through until we’re at Saturday night, the week before the game. There are tons of people there, including all of the River Point Boys. My heart skips every time Shep is in one of the frames. It’s not until much later, after most people have left the party, that you see the girls. They are clearly drunk or drugged, stumbling around and falling on the ground. Grant leads them to the chair, and then he starts removing their clothing. It’s choppy seeing everything happen in ten-second intervals, but it’s easy to get the gist of what was happening.

  When he gets them just like he wants them, he steps back and lets the camera take over. There are several shots of just the girls, and then he’s back, dressing them and leading them back inside.

  It’s so disgusting.

  “They had no idea,” Reagan says.

  “I feel sick.”

  I keep flipping forward, hoping like hell there is something else here. Something that can help Shep, because at this point, I hate that anyone gets in trouble for killing Grant.

  We scroll through Sunday, then Monday, with little activity until we get to Tuesday afternoon.

  “Wait, what is this?” I ask.

  It’s two men, their backs to the camera as if they are looking out into the woods.

  The next shot, they’re sitting down at the iron table and chairs, a briefcase between them.

  “It’s Gaines,” Reagan says.

  “And John Michael’s dad,” I add.

  Ten seconds later, the briefcase is open and it’s full of cash—nice, neatly bundled piles of it.

  “What’s this about?” I ask.

  Reagan leans closer to the screen. “No. No, no, no.”

  It’s clearly a payoff.

  “We’ve had complaint after complaint come through Morrison’s office about Forres and his construction company overcharging the city for those renovations downtown. I guess this is why Gaines hasn’t done anything about it,” she says.

  “This has been on the news a lot. Reporters keep showing up at his office asking him about it.” I continue to scroll through the images. “And this is what those people are protesting every day.”