Burden Falls

by Kat Ellis

  “Of course,” I say flatly. Why is he talking to me like I’m five years old?

  “So, from what we can tell, Ford died sometime late Thursday night. I believe you might have been the last one to see him alive.”

  “You mean aside from whoever killed him,” Uncle Ty snaps, but my mind is already trying to rewind to Thursday. It’s Saturday now somehow. So it shouldn’t be hard to remember what I was doing a couple nights ago, but it’s like time has taken on this weird elastic quality, where everything only just happened but was also a long, long time ago.

  “Thursday night?” I say.

  Holden nods. “According to Ford’s mother, he came to see you after she’d gone to bed. She found a note from him in the morning as she was going to work, and didn’t realize Ford was even missing until last night, shortly before she got the unfortunate news of his death.”

  “Oh. Right, yes. I was working at the Pump’N’Go on Thursday. Ford wanted to talk to me about something he’d noticed in the last video Freya posted.”

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know. He never told me.”

  “What time did you see him at the gas station?” Holden asks.

  “I think it was around eleven thirty. My boss was there, so she might be able to tell you. Oh, and there are cameras at the Pump’N’Go—you’d get the exact time from the video.” I notice Officer Cordell scribbling this in her little notepad. “I guess you might want to talk to Mr. Hamish as well. He saw us talking outside. Actually, he almost ran into me with his car.”

  Uncle Ty makes a surprised sound, so I clarify. “I . . . slipped on the sidewalk. No harm done.”

  “After that,” Holden continues, “did Ford say where he was going? If he was on his way to meet anyone?”

  “No. I assumed he was headed home. I thought—” My voice lodges in my throat.

  “Are you all right, Miss Thorn?” Officer Cordell asks, frowning.

  I shake my head and force out the words that are trying to choke me. “Ford wouldn’t even have been out that night if I’d answered the phone . . . It’s my fault he was there.”

  I flinch when someone squeezes my shoulder, but it’s just Uncle Ty. “No, Ava. It was his choice to come see you at the gas station.”

  “And when he left,” Detective Holden says, “was Ford driving, or on foot?”

  “He can’t—couldn’t—drive. But I didn’t actually see him leave. I just know he left a few minutes after I went back inside.”

  “A few minutes after?” Holden’s eyes bore into me across the table as I study my scarred palms.

  “We argued. Ford . . . well, he kinda shoved me as he was getting out of the way, and I fell into the road. That’s why Mr. Hamish almost ran me over.”

  “What?” Uncle Ty gapes, and there’s even a look of surprise on Holden’s face.

  “You’re saying Ford pushed you toward the car?” Officer Cordell asks.

  “Not on purpose,” I say. “I think he was just startled.”

  And didn’t give a shit whether I was okay.

  “What were you arguing about?” Holden says.

  I open my mouth, but immediately close it again. I mean, we were kind of arguing about who killed Freya, but beyond that it was all pretty weird and confusing.

  I already regret saying this much to the cops because I’m sure it’ll get back to Ford’s mom, and I don’t want her to hear anything bad about Ford. Or about me, if I’m totally honest.

  So I don’t mention Ford taking my necklace. There’s no point; it’s not like that had anything to do with him dying. And I can’t bear the idea of Ms. Sutter hearing Ford was a thief. Especially not that it came from me.

  “Nothing, really,” I say softly. “Just a bunch of little things.”

  “Seems like bad things happen to people who argue with you, Ava,” Detective Holden says.

  “Now wait a minute—” Uncle Ty says, but Holden raises his hands.

  “Just an observation. But tell me, Ava, how did Ford seem when you parted ways? Was he still angry? Upset?”

  “I . . . upset, I guess. He was really freaked out when the car almost hit me.”

  What would’ve happened if I’d stayed and talked to Ford? Would it have changed anything that came after? I swallow, mouth suddenly dry.

  “And what about this . . . Mr. Hamish? He’s the same Mr. Hamish who works at Burden Falls High School?” I nod. “Was he still there with Ford when you went back inside the gas station?”

  I frown down at my hands, trying to remember. “Yes, I think so. And he had someone in the car with him. A woman. I didn’t recognize her.”

  True, sort of. I thought she was Freya Miller for that split second when I first caught sight of her. But I keep that little tidbit to myself.

  “And you finished working at the gas station at what time?”

  “Midnight,” I say, certain of that, at least.

  “Where did you go after that?”

  “Back here. I had school the next morning.”

  “Straight back here? You’re sure?”

  “I heard her come in,” Carolyn says from behind me. I’d almost forgotten she was in the room. “I was getting into bed. It was just after midnight, like Ava said. The Pump’N’Go is only a short walk from here.”

  A hawkish look flickers over Detective Holden’s face. “And where in the house is your room, exactly?” he asks Carolyn.

  “Um, at the back of the house. Above the living room.”

  He turns back to me. “Did you come in through the main door to the house?”

  I try to hide a wince. “No, through the garage door on the side.” I point out through the kitchen door, but lower my arm at the gotcha look Holden gives me.

  “Did you slam the door? Call out?” he asks.

  “I . . . don’t think so.” In fact, I know I didn’t. The whole point of coming in through the garage was so I wouldn’t wake Carolyn or Uncle Ty. I didn’t know it was going to be my goddamn alibi.

  I catch Holden exchanging a look with Officer Cordell, who’s just finished writing in her notebook again.

  “Okay. And after that—you didn’t leave to go back out again? Didn’t feel like maybe you should clear the air with Ford, anything like that?”

  “No,” I say, expecting another quick-fire question, but Holden just watches me, like he’s waiting for some elaboration. “What?”

  “So that was the very last communication you had with Ford Sutter?”

  The way he phrases it knocks the wind out of me. Because yeah, that was the last conversation I will ever have with Ford. And it was awful, and I kind of hated him that night.

  And now he’s dead.

  I lean forward, elbows braced on the table, and try to breathe.

  “Ava?” Holden prompts.

  But Uncle Ty snaps at him, “Give her a damn minute, will you? Her best friend just died!”

  And that tips me over the edge. Before I can even try to hold it in, I’m sobbing in this loud, painful way, tears and spit and just this awful sense of never. I’ll never see him alive again. Never lose to him at Rocket League. Never laugh at one of his awful jokes, or argue with him about which of the Alien movies is the best.

  Someone slides a box of Kleenex in front of me, and I wipe the worst of the mess away before looking up to find Carolyn hovering next to me.

  “You don’t have to do this now,” she says softly—but firm enough that I know she’ll go to bat against Holden if he keeps pushing.

  But the truth is I want to get this over with. Having another of these conversations in my future will just hang over me like an anxiety cloud.

  “I had a bunch of texts from him right after we spoke,” I say hoarsely.

  “What did these texts say?” Holden asks.

  I take out my phone, pull
up the thread and hand it over to him. He scrolls through, brow furrowed as he reads. Then he looks up.

  “This video he mentions in the last message—do you know which video he meant?”

  “Freya’s last Story post. Someone screencapped it and it’s been going around school.” He looks like I just said a lot of words in an alien language. “The one where Freya was poking around Ford’s bedroom?”

  Holden’s frown vanishes. “Oh yes. That one. Thank you.”

  “Detective, did you ever find out who the guy was she was talking to on the phone that night? Her boyfriend or whatever?”

  “Actually,” Holden says, leaning back in his chair, “we found no record of Freya making or receiving a call around that time. In fact, there were no calls at all the entire evening.”

  “What? That’s impossible. I heard her talking on the phone!”

  Holden frowns. “Was this the same night you went there looking for Ford?”

  I space for a second, but then I remember: This was the lie I told him when he interviewed me after finding Freya. “Uh, yeah. That’s right.” The lie feels no more convincing this time around, but if I change it now, it’ll look ten times more suspicious.

  “Are you absolutely certain it was the Sunday, not some other night?” Holden asks.

  “I’m positive,” I say, but my mind is racing now. Could Freya have been faking the phone call for some reason? No, that wouldn’t make sense—not unless she knew I was close enough to overhear. And I can’t think why she’d want me to hear her talking about her sex life. “Could she have been using someone else’s phone? The house phone, maybe?”

  Detective Holden shakes his head. “We have the records for the entire household. Every call has been accounted for.”

  “Have you asked Madoc Miller about Ford Sutter yet?” Uncle Ty asks. “Because I’m sure you realize that the river Ford washed up in runs through a fair piece of his land, not to mention the fact that the Millers and Sutters are neighbors. Three kids turning up dead right on his doorstep seems a little fishy, don’t you think? Or,” Uncle Ty adds, “have you considered the possibility that Ford was the one who murdered Freya, and someone killed him in retaliation?” I gasp, but he just glances at me with a barely apologetic shrug. “Just a thought.”

  The detective waits a moment before answering, his eyes moving between me and Uncle Ty. “We’re following a number of lines of inquiry, Mr. Thorn,” he says finally. “I’m actually rather curious to know why neither of you mentioned the unfortunate connection between your family and the Millers.”

  Panicked, my pulse quickens, but Uncle Ty sits back and sighs. “The accident that killed my brother and sister-in-law had no bearing on anything, Detective. We’ve moved on.”

  I’m amazed at how convincingly he lies, but then I wonder—is he lying? He taught Freya for over a year without any issues. Sold Madoc Miller our house. As far as I know, Uncle Ty didn’t even visit Mom and Dad at the cemetery last week.

  Am I the only one who still holds a grudge?

  Maybe there’s a reason I’m at the top of the cops’ suspects list.

  “Right,” Holden says, getting up. “Just to remind you, we’re now asking all kids to stay indoors after dark, and not to go anywhere secluded alone during the day. Two doesn’t necessarily make a pattern, but it’s better to be safe.”

  Uncle Ty and I watch the cop car rolling slowly down the lane.

  “Two?” I say. “Not three? They still don’t think the first girl is connected to Freya and Ford?”

  Uncle Ty shrugs. “Maybe she wasn’t. Coincidences do happen.”

  “It’s a pretty huge coincidence.”

  Still, I can’t think what connection there could be between Claire Palmer and Ford and Freya. Ford would’ve said if he knew her. And, aside from being pulled from the river like Ford, her death wasn’t at all similar. She drowned, and still had her eyes.

  Either way, Ford’s and Freya’s murders must be connected.

  Their eyeless faces flash through my mind, making me feel nauseated.

  Do the cops know about Dead-Eyed Sadie? Someone in this town must’ve mentioned the legend while they were being questioned. But the cops won’t think a ghost could be involved in these deaths. They haven’t seen her like I have.

  Or think I have.

  For a moment, I feel someone behind me, standing in the open doorway of the cottage. The floor creaks, and a breath whispers at my nape. My skin crawls at the sensation. I whirl around, but she’s not there. It’s just an empty hallway.

  But somehow I still feel like I’m being watched.

  TWENTY-NINE

  It isn’t Ford’s mom who answers the door, but a strange woman who looks like a younger version of her. She’s wearing a lilac one-piece snowsuit as if she just swished off a ski slope.

  “. . . Aunt Lisa?” I say, before realizing how weird it is to be calling her that when she probably has no idea who I am. The last time I saw Ms. Sutter’s younger sister was years ago, right after Trump got elected. She took off backpacking around the world, saying she’d be back “when that damned disgrace leaves the White House.” Aunt Lisa’s kind of a legend.

  Her eyes are red and puffy, but she still musters a smile.

  “Ava, right? Damn, you grew up too, huh?”

  We stare at each other for a moment, the significance of what she just said hitting us at the same instant. Because now Ford doesn’t get to grow up anymore.

  Seventeen and done.

  We’re both blinking back tears as she ushers me into the living room. The heating is on full blast, which it never is. Ms. Sutter sits in her armchair, staring at the spot on the couch that was always Ford’s preferred place to sit. She’s dressed in a smart blouse and sweatpants, like she just grabbed the first things out of her closet. I feel like a dick standing here in my long funeral coat. But my school coat was soaked after crawling over the frozen river in it last night, so it was this or hypothermia.

  Ford’s mom takes one look at me and bursts into tears.

  “I’d better put the kettle on,” Aunt Lisa says.

  * * *

  * * *

  I stay for a little while, listening to Ms. Sutter’s grief and her questions about who could ever possibly want to hurt her son. I have no answers. But she seems a little calmer by the time I leave, so I guess that’s something.

  “Thank you for coming over,” Aunt Lisa says as she walks me out. “It know it means a lot to Gloria.”

  “Are you staying in town long?” I ask hopefully.

  “A few weeks,” she says. “I’ll see how it goes.” Aunt Lisa doesn’t exactly sound thrilled, and I get the impression it’s not just because of the circumstances she’s come back home to. “I hear you moved out of the manor.”

  “Yep,” I say, glancing in that direction as we linger at the front door. It’s mid-morning, so I guess Dominic is probably up, though it’s impossible to tell whether he’s at home. “A couple weeks ago now.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be taking off after graduation?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be going to college,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

  “I didn’t mean college. I thought you might want to get out of this town now that you’re not tied here.”

  Not tied here?

  I mean, I guess that’s true. Daphne and Carla will be in college, but I always assumed that after I (fingers crossed) do the summer art program in Indianapolis, I’d come back here and . . . Well, working with Mom and Dad at the distillery was the original plan. But that’s not even a thing anymore.

  So I’ll . . . what? Find a job in Burden Falls? See if Mia will take me on full-time at the Pump’N’Go?

  No thank you, Satan.

  Or.

  I could go anywhere. Not that I can afford to just take off on some epic vacation, but I know
Aunt Lisa wasn’t exactly rolling in it when she set off around the world. She worked wherever she went. Bars, cafes, that kind of thing. Maybe I could do something like that.

  I have a momentary glimpse of myself sketching portraits of tourists on the streets of Paris, or Milan, or some other beautiful place. Uncle Ty did that the summer after he graduated.

  It would certainly beat the shit out of starting my adult life behind bars. Now that the seed is planted, the idea of just getting the hell out of here blooms. I could get away from the cops, and the deaths, and the memories.

  And Sadie.

  “I guess I have some thinking to do,” I tell Aunt Lisa.

  * * *

  * * *

  I’m barely through the front gate when my phone rings. I answer without checking who it is, assuming it’s Uncle Ty or Carolyn. But it’s not.

  “I thought that was you I saw across the lane,” Dominic says without greeting. “Can you come over to the house?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “My parents aren’t here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I mean, it was, mostly. “Aren’t they back yet?”

  “Not until tomorrow,” he says.

  “Why aren’t they coming home now? Another kid died.”

  Dominic is silent for a moment. “I didn’t tell them about Ford,” he says at last.

  “You didn’t? Why not?”

  “Because they’d worry, and they needed this break away from everything. And the whole town, my parents included, were under the impression my sister’s murder was a freak occurrence. Now that Ford has turned up dead with his eyes missing too, I think people will panic.”

  “Don’t you think they should panic?”

  “Look, can you come over so we’re not having this conversation like two six-year-olds holding tin cans and a string?” he snaps.

  I hang up without saying anything. By the time I reach the manor gates, they’re already swinging open.

  * * *