by Sara Hantz
“Relax, son. We’re only trying to piece together Dawson’s whereabouts. For all we know, he might have followed you. Now, where did you go?” Halstead’s tone is softer than Strong’s, but it’s still exacting.
“Roseland’s Mall.”
“Can anyone verify that?” Strong asks.
Why do they need someone to verify where I’ve been if the only reason they want to know is to try and find out about Dawson?
“Not exactly.” I pace up and down the garage.
“What do you mean?” Strong replies.
I don’t want to tell them about the security guard. He’d verify it all right. Then get me charged with assault.
“There were people on the bus who might have seen me get off at the mall, and I saw a security guard in the guys’ bathroom, but he might not remember me, and I don’t know his name.”
I stand still and lean against the Buick, bracing myself for the next question.
“And after the mall?” Halstead asks, arching an eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“How can you not know?” Strong retorts, his eyes flashing. It’s like he thinks he’s caught me out or something.
“I’d been drinking and don’t remember anything until I woke up on a bench in St. John’s Park this morning.”
Can they do anything to me for drinking underage? They can’t do anything to the liquor store, because I’ve no idea where the JD came from. Though I guess they’ve got other more important things to worry about at the moment.
“And then you came home?” Strong lets out a long sigh.
“And then I came home, yes.”
Could I feel any guiltier? There’s no way I’m gonna drink again. The way it numbs my feelings might help, but I can’t afford to lose control of my memories like this.
“And you don’t remember anything after being at the mall?” Halstead asks.
“I’ve already told you,” I shout, waving my arms around like a mad man. “I don’t remember a fucking thing. Dawson left, I went to the mall, and that’s it. That’s all I remember! I didn’t keep him captive, and I didn’t do anything to him!” That you know of, taunts a little voice in the back of my head. “Why don’t you leave me alone and go hunt for Dawson? You’re wasting valuable time here… It’s...” I pause as suddenly I remember something. “Monster trucks. Could he be at the monster trucks?”
Halstead’s radio mic crackles and he holds up a hand to stop me from talking. He heads back into the kitchen, with Strong following.
“Stay here,” Strong says, as I go after them.
I pace the garage floor while waiting for them, thinking back to how upset Dawson was that he couldn’t go to Prescott today. After only a minute or two, the officers return.
“What about the monster truck racing in Prescott today?” I ask, hoping that could be the answer, which would mean that I didn’t take him after all.
“What about it?” Halstead asks.
“Dawson asked me to take him because his mom wouldn’t. He might have gone there.”
It seems doubtful, though. How would he get there? Would he be able to travel on a bus on his own without being stopped? Whatever. I have to mention it, just in case.
“We’ve checked, and he’s not there. Dawson’s mom found he’d been looking at it on the computer, and she told us.” Halstead says, as he attaches his mic to his jacket.
“Oh. I thought she didn’t know. It was something he used to do with his father and his mom didn’t like it.”
That’s blown that theory out of the water. Fuck.
“Take this and call if you remember anything else.” He hands me his business card, which I place on the workbench.
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find Dawson. We’ve gotta go, we’ve just heard there’s been a sighting of a young boy answering Dawson’s description, so we’re heading downtown.”
Chapter Thirty-two
I stand by the door and watch Halstead and Strong stride across the road and head toward their vehicle, then I go to the kitchen for some water. I can’t believe that, during the whole interview, they didn’t even wonder if I’d had anything to do with Dawson’s disappearance. It’s like they totally didn’t get the fact of who my father is and what that could mean for me in the future. Then again, why should they? It’s not like they’ve looked into it like I have, and they don’t know me and my family and the likeness between me, Dad, and Granddad.
Unless the reason they didn’t make the connection is because it doesn’t exist and I’ve been deluding myself into thinking I’m mixed up in Dawson’s disappearance.
Or am I clutching at straws because I don’t want to face reality? The reality being that I’m a monster and that, in all likelihood, Dawson followed me to the mall, and after leaving the bathroom I saw him and took him to somewhere secluded, where no one could see us, and then I pounced.
Showing him never to trust those closest to you because they’ll let you down.
I lean against the wall and groan. I’d give anything to turn the clock back a year, before any of this happened. Before I became aware of everything. Even if I couldn’t totally change the future, I’d make the most of what time I had. I’d ask Summer out. Somewhere nice. On a real date, instead of spending my time dreaming about how it would be between us. We’d be two normal teenagers doing normal stuff. And I’d try to do something to stop some of the horrendous things happening. Like stop Dad somehow. Or tell the police about him and at least save some of those poor boys’ lives. I just want to do something. Anything.
Fuck it. It’s pointless daydreaming when I can’t change anything. I need to concentrate on finding out if I’m part of what’s happened to Dawson and if so try and do something about it. Except I can’t remember shit.
Why has my memory gone from the moment I left the bathroom?
Why can’t I remember?
Why?
Maybe it’s because what I did was so awful my brain’s refusing to let me remember. Maybe my memory might never come back, unless they take me to a therapist to see if they can retrieve it.
“Have the pol… I mean, have they gone?” Mom asks, cutting across my thoughts, as she comes into the kitchen, Amy scampering close behind.
I glare at her. Why did she almost mention police in front of Amy after I’ve tried so hard to keep her out of it? Amy will only get upset if she finds out that Dawson’s missing.
“Yep,” I say tersely. “Amy, go find your boots, and I’ll take you to the park after I take a shower.” I’ve never felt so filthy in my whole life.
“Yayyyy,” she says excitedly. “Can I have ice cream? Will the puppies be there? I’ll bring Rolo Bear so he can see them too. Can Dawson come with us? Can we take our bikes?” She hops from foot to foot, a huge smile lighting up her face.
“Okay, okay,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Get Rolo and your boots, and then we’ll go. Dawson’s busy. It will just be the two of us.” She runs out of the kitchen, and I turn to face Mom. “Why did you ask about the police in front of Amy? We agreed.”
A sort of guilty look crosses her face. “Sorry. Were you able to help them?”
“Not really.”
“Oh. Well, let’s hope they find him soon.” She pours herself a mug of coffee then helps herself to a biscuit and sits down at the table, looking worried.
“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask.
“What?” She looks up at me and frowns. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.”
She’s totally checked out. Again.
Chapter Thirty-three
Fifteen minutes later, Amy and I leave home. Going to the park when all this is happening may seem odd, but I need some time out. Not for long. Just enough to get some fresh air and to allow my thoughts to process without me sabotaging them, if that makes sense. Because Amy’s chatter will take my mind off of what’s happening and allow my mind to deal with it.
Amy places her warm hand in mine and, for a second,
I clench inside, worrying how I can hold her hand when I might have done something awful to another child. When thinking rationally, I know that, deep down inside of me, I don’t feel capable of doing that sort of stuff, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t. Who knows what might happen when I’m out of my head like yesterday and what’s in my subconscious comes out? And I’d be stupidly naïve to just assume that how I feel at now isn’t going to change over the years.
But pulling my hand away isn’t going to achieve anything other than upsetting Amy, which I don’t want to do, so I try and forget everything that’s going on, and focus only on her incessant chatting, mainly about puppies and ice cream. Life’s so simple when you’re a kid. Then I think of my dad’s victims and realize that’s not really true.
“Jed, wait.” I turn and see Summer racing up to us.
My heart skips a beat. Will there ever come a time when she doesn’t affect me like this? And what the hell does she want? Has she forgotten what happened the last time we spoke?
“We’re going to the park,” Amy says excitedly when Summer reaches us. “Do you want to come?”
No, Amy. No.
“Summer’s busy,” I say.
“Sure,” Summer says at exactly the same time.
That ruins my chances of taking time out to sort my head.
I glare at Summer, but she acts like she doesn’t notice and takes hold of Amy’s other hand, which is also clutching Rolo. Over the top of Amy’s head she mouths, “Are you okay?”
I give a curt nod and then turn to face the direction we’re heading. Why is she asking if I’m okay? She can’t know about what happened to me last night. Unless Mom went around to ask her if she’d seen me. Nah. No way would she have done that.
We walk in silence until reaching the park, then, after getting Amy an ice cream, we sit down on the bench near the play equipment. Would you believe it, the puppies are here again with their owner, a woman who looks a bit like Mom. She lets Amy play with them, and, while she’s out of earshot, I turn to Summer.
“Why are you here? Don’t you get I want to be left alone? Especially now I’ve got all this Dawson stuff to sort out.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth I regret saying them. If she knows about my part in Dawson’s disappearance, she’ll want to get involved, and that will only make things harder if it turns out I am responsible.
She frowns. “What’s Dawson’s disappearance got to do with you?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I turn from her and concentrate on Amy, who’s chasing the puppies. Or, rather, they’re chasing her. Whatever, she’s having a great time and is totally oblivious to anything going on here. Which is just how it should be.
“It can’t be nothing, or you wouldn’t have said it. Tell me,” she insists. “Maybe I can help.”
I toss a glance in her direction. Her face is set. She’s determined to get it out of me I’ve seen that stubborn set of her jaw many times. I ache to confide in her, but I can’t. Really, I can’t. She’d hate me forever if she finds out.
“Forget it.” I stand and start to walk away.
“Jed, wait. Just tell me. How bad can it be?” Summer demands, jumping up from the bench and standing next to me.
She takes hold of my arm and, for a second, her warmth softens me. But as quickly as that happens, I shake her off.
I draw in a deep breath. “You obviously haven’t heard. I was the last person to see him alive.”
Alive. What the hell made me say that?
“Jed. Jed.” Summer pulls on my arm. “Are you okay? You looked so scared just then. And what do you mean about Dawson?”
I shake myself out of my reverie. What would I give to return to the time when we could be at ease with each other? When I could tell her anything and not worry that she’d ever think bad things about me.
“You don’t want to know, Summer. You really don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
Something inside me snaps. Maybe I should tell her, and then she’ll leave me alone for good. Because, once she knows, there’s no going back. I sit back down on the bench, and she does the same.
“It’s Dawson’s disappearance. I can’t be sure, but I think I might have had something to do with it.” I stare at her through half-closed eyes and hold my breath, waiting for her response.
“Why would you have anything to do with it? And why can’t you be sure? It makes no sense.” She frowns.
I try to fight the urge to open up to her, but I can’t. I need someone to talk to, and, if she wants to cut and run after she hears what I’ve done, then so what? At least then I’ll have succeeded in doing what I wanted—keeping her away from me.
“It doesn’t matter why. I can’t be sure, because I was so drunk I don’t remember anything from when I left the mall yesterday afternoon until early this morning.” I avert my eyes so not to have to witness the change in hers as she processes my admission.
“Well, he wasn’t with you at the liquor store around seven yesterday,” she states with confidence.
“The liquor store? Which liquor store?” I immediately look at Summer, my eyes wide open in shock.
“The one on Hampton Street. Dad stopped there on the way home. While I was waiting in the car, I saw you come out. Actually, you sort of staggered out of there. You were holding a bag with a bottle of something in it. I could just see the top peeping out.”
Fuck. So that’s where I went.
“And you’re sure Dawson wasn’t with me?” I ask, knowing what that could mean and not wanting to get too excited until I know for definite.
“Positive. You were on your own. And when you came out of the store, you headed down Hampton toward St. John’s Street.”
Where the park is. Does that mean I spent all night in the park on my own? How come the cops didn’t find me there? You’d think they’d patrol parks at night. Unless I hid somewhere; in the bushes, maybe.
“And you’re absolutely one hundred percent sure I was alone? And definitely didn’t have Dawson with me. I could’ve left him outside and collected him after.”
My heart’s thumping madly. If Dawson wasn’t there, then I haven’t done anything to him. The relief is so intense that I can barely think straight.
Unless I stashed him somewhere. My heart plummets at the thought.
You’re not your dad, Jed. Stop going down that path.
But the self-doubt takes over. After all, if my own dad isn’t the person I thought he was, then why would it be such a stretch that I’m not, either?
Even mom, who was always a rock, fell apart since everything went down.
“I’ve already told you,” Summer replies impatiently. “You were definitely alone. I watched you for ages in the rearview mirror.”
Christ, I love this girl.
Shit. I don’t mean like that.
Actually, I do.
“Why didn’t you come over?” I ask, puzzled why she’d act so out of character.
It’s so unlike her to leave me alone. You’d think, at a time like that, she’d be in there like a shot, desperate to interfere and lecture me about drinking.
“Are you kidding?” she asks, giving a hollow laugh. “It was nearly dark, and I’m persona non grata as far as you’re concerned these days. I could see by the way you were staggering you’d had a few, and I wasn’t gonna risk it. No way.”
What did she think I was gonna do?
My few moments of euphoria hurtle to the ground with the realization that one of the few people I actually care about could think I’d do something mean to her, just because I’d been drinking.
“Well, if I didn’t have anything to do with Dawson’s disappearance, who did?” I mutter, more to myself than to Summer.
“The police are out searching. They’ll find him. But I still don’t get why you think you might be involved.”
“If you want to know, I’ll tell you. But remember, once you do know, you can’t un-know.”
Chapte
r Thirty-four
Ethan Lopez
Age seven.
Brother to Zoe and Lucia.
Son of Carlos and Isabella.
Shy.
Dark curls.
Obsessed with dinosaurs.
Wants to be a paleontologist.
Scared of spiders.
Favorite food: chocolate ice cream.
Wants an Xbox for his birthday.
Favorite teacher: Mrs. Jackson.
Favorite TV show: SpongeBob.
Best friend: Dominic.
Benjamin Franklin’s fourth victim.
Dead.
Chapter Thirty-five
It’s like what Summer is about to learn should come with a government health warning:
The following information is likely to disgust you more than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life, and you should only listen if you believe you’re of a strong enough disposition to tolerate depravity of the highest order.
“What do you mean I can’t un-know?” Summer asks.
“That once you hear what I’m about to say, you’ll never forget it, even if you’d give anything to.”
“What’s it all about?” Summer asks, a tremor in her voice.
“Me,” I whisper. “It’s about me.”
“That’s okay, then,” she replies, visibly letting out a long breath. “We’re friends, and you know I’ll support you no matter what.”
She’s so naïve; it tears me apart to know that our relationship will change irrevocably in less than a minute.
“Your choice.” I clench my fists tightly by my side. “Okay, then. The fact is… The fact is…there’s a chance that, in the future, I’ll turn into a pedophile.”
Summer’s jaw drops. “What?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“A pedophile,” I repeat, the word sticking in the back of my throat. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t had any urges yet, that I know of. And though I don’t remember doing anything to Dawson when I was out of it last night, that doesn’t mean I didn’t.”
My breaths are short and sharp, and I close my eyes to try and ease the pain I’m feeling. People say you feel better when you get something off your chest. Well, I can tell you that’s a load of crap. I’ve never felt so awful in my whole life. Awful for what I might have done last night. And awful because the most trusting person in the world, and someone I once hoped might love me as I love her, has to learn that she’s got it totally wrong as far as I’m concerned.