I rumple his hair. “Yeah, little brother. I do.”
Chapter
44
I’m drowning in a sea of red and green—satiny red against my skin, swirling green covering my legs. Getting in my way. And all around me more green—shapes moving and blending together. I’m trying to run, but the shapes reach for me, fingers grasping at my dress, pulling my hair, tearing into my arms. I push past them, my blood pounding in my ears, my lungs burning. A spot of white in the middle of the green. Someone is there.
“Help, please help me!”
But the wind tears my voice away before it reaches him. I turn and look behind me. Something grabs my leg. I’m caught. I jerk against it and fall. Spikes dig into my legs and my hands as I try to claw the vines away from my legs to stand. But it’s too late. I feel hands on my shoulders dragging me to my feet.
I wake up with a jolt. My scar throbs. I sit up slowly and try to come out of the dream. This time I want to remember. I’m missing something important. I know I am. I rub the scar over my eye. The fingers were tree branches. My leg was caught in a blackberry vine.
I know who I was running from.
I’m almost sure I was trying to get to Blake.
My whole body goes cold. I slide out of bed and cross the floor to my closet, like I’ll find the answer there. The garment bag is in the back, where Mom hung it. I haven’t touched it since cotillion. I hook my fingers under the hanger and pull it out. I forgot how heavy the dress was, long and full, tight on top, and suffocating.
I carry it across the room and lay it on my bed. I hesitate. I’ve dreamed so many times that it contained Trip’s body that I’m afraid to open it. I breathe in and force my fingers to move. The zipper sounds loud in the quiet room. The red satin looks gray in the pale light of almost dawn. I reach above my bed and turn on the light. Slowly, hesitantly, I touch the dress.
“Do you like it? It’s to wear to the dance.”
I trace the lacy patterns on the front.
“But it’s not a birthday present.”
I slide my fingers around the edges of the dress and slide it out of the bag. Spread it out on the bed so I can see everything. The skirt is snagged and ripped. A strip of the underskirt is torn off and hangs below the hem. The lace in front is spattered with little brown spots. When I turn it over, the back is covered in bigger splotches that are the same color as the ones on the white sweater. My blood.
My scar throbs.
“I’m saving something special to give you on your birthday.”
I pick up both pieces of the tigereye from my nightstand and press them into my hand.
I close my eyes, breathe in deep, and will myself to remember.
“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
The blood rushes around in my head.
“Do you like it? I had it designed especially for you.”
“It’s so beautiful. The swirls of gold and silver remind me of waves.”
“That’s what I wanted you to think. The main diamond is two carats. The side stones are a carat each. And look, tigereye. Like your eye. I always felt bad that I didn’t buy you that necklace at the fair.”
“This must have cost a fortune.”
“Nothing’s too good for my girl. I want you to wear it. Forever. It’s an engagement ring.”
The dawn filters through my blinds. I press my fists into my eyes to shut out the tears and the colors that blend into one another. My head is throbbing, pulsing between the scar over my eye and the one in the back of my head. I grit my teeth and will the memories to keep coming.
“No.” My answer slips through my lips with a tiny wisp of courage.
He looks at me in utter disbelief. “What did you say?”
“I said no.” My voice gets stronger. “I won’t marry you. I won’t live like this anymore.”
“What?” His eyes snap. “I’ve given you everything you ever wanted. Spent all that money on you.” He shakes his head hard. “You can’t say no to me.”
I know I am pushing him to the edge. But I don’t back down. I don’t even look away. “I just did, Trip. I’m done with this.”
“But I love you, Allie. No one will ever love you the way I do.”
Blake’s face flashes in my mind; he’s standing outside the inn, telling me I don’t have to leave with Trip, telling me that Trip doesn’t own me. I grip the tigereye through my purse. “You don’t love me. If you loved me you wouldn’t do the things you do to me. You wouldn’t hit me. You wouldn’t ever hurt me.”
He stands up and jerks me to my feet. “It’s Juvie, isn’t it?”
I look him right in the eye. “No. This isn’t about Blake. It’s about me. I deserve better.”
I saw the lightning in his eyes and I knew I had pushed him further than I had ever pushed him before. I had to get away. I made him think I threw the ring into the bushes so he would be distracted, so he would let go of me. But I kept it. Even after he started chasing me. Even when I knew he was going to kill me. I kept the ring.
I set the tigereye back on the nightstand and pull the dress all the way out of the bag. I search through it, inside the folds of the skirt, pick it up and shake it out. Then I dig around the bottom of the bag. The little white purse that I took to the dance isn’t here. I slipped the ring inside it as I ran.
I pick up the tigereye again and press it into my hand so the two pieces slide apart and it cuts into my palm. I had the tigereye with me that night, too. I kept it in the white purse.
Blake.
Sickness washes over me and fills my throat and heart. I can’t breathe, like I’m drowning. He brought it back to me. If he found the tigereye, he must have found the ring. Nausea, anger, and fear mix together in my stomach.
What happened to Trip after he caught me? I know he caught me. I know he’s responsible for the scar on the back of my head and the one over my eye. I’ve always known. And Blake was there that night. A white T-shirt, my only hope, my bright spot in a sea of green. I was running toward him.
Detective Weeks has his T-shirt, covered in my blood, or maybe someone else’s.
I think about the knife Blake keeps with him.
Protection.
What if there was a fight? What if Blake saw Trip do something to me and he tried to protect me?
I press the tigereye until one piece slips through my fingers and bounces onto the carpet. What if Detective Weeks knows about the ring?
What will happen if he finds out that Blake has it?
Chapter
45
The dress goes back in the bag and to the farthest corner of my closet. I get dressed as fast as I can. I stuff all the money I have from my pawned goods in my bag and go in for breakfast.
Dad looks at me, surprised, but he says, “Glad to see you’re going to school today.” I eat breakfast and then brush my teeth, like everything’s okay. I get my backpack while Dad clears his bowl and puts the dishes in the dishwasher. I’ve never seen him so slow. Every move he makes takes forever. Finally he picks up his coffee mug. “Do you want me to take you to school or do you want to take Mom’s car?”
“I’ll take Mom’s car.” I grab my backpack and head for the door.
The short drive to school is excruciating. I have to keep telling myself, don’t speed, don’t speed. Detective Weeks is watching me, waiting for me to slip up and so is James.
Maybe I can get to Blake before he goes to class. We can run away. Leave Pacific Cliffs, forever.
My heart drops as soon as I get to the parking lot. Detective Weeks’s black Charger is parked in front of the school. I try to stay calm as I get out of the car. Maybe there’s something else in my locker. Maybe he came for me. My head pounds and the crowd of students heading into the building are too close, but I push inside.
All hope drains out of my heart when I walk in the building. The crowd makes way as Blake walks by, his head down, in handcuffs. He looks past me, like he can’t see me, but I see the pain in his eyes.
It tears my heart out. Behind him, Detective Weeks is all business, but I catch the look he gives me when he walks by—triumph.
I start to follow, but someone grips my arm. I pull away. “You’ll only make it worse,” Angie whispers in my ear. She pulls me back gently and puts her arm around me.
“Wait, Allie.” Clair pushes through the crowd toward me, her eyes full of false sympathy. “They put a new lock on your locker. Here’s the combination.” She hands me a blue piece of paper. “Your teachers will be issuing you new textbooks. There wasn’t much that was salvageable from your locker.”
I look at the paper in my hand, but I can’t move. I want to scream at her for doing something so normal when everything is so wrong.
Angie tugs at my shoulder. I let her guide me toward my locker. A low buzz fills the school. It fades when I get close, grows louder as I pass by, and then fades again. It sounds like waves rushing onto the shore and then pulling back.
My locker smells like fresh paint mingled with seawater. My fingers are numb as I spin the new combination. It sticks, and then sticks again. Angie is hovering, waiting for me to open it. “Do you want me to find someone to help you get it open?”
The only one who can help just got arrested, because of me. I shake my head. The bell rings. I should forget putting away my backpack, I should forget school, I should forget everything, but I work the lock desperately, like Blake is inside and I can get him out.
I twist the lock again, and this time the door springs open. “Um, I need to head to class.” Angie leans toward me. “So you’re okay?”
I think I nod; whatever gesture I make sends her away. I’m too busy looking at what’s inside my locker.
It’s the little white purse I used for cotillion, with a note attached in Blake’s handwriting.
I needed to return this to you. I can’t explain everything here. We need to talk. Come find me as soon as you get this. Please don’t hate me. I love you more than anything. I’m sorry.
—Blake
I blink back tears as I press the purse between my fingers and feel the shape of the ring box inside.
I turn around and come face to chest with Randall. He’s mad, punching his hand into his fist. I step back, suddenly remembering that he was Trip’s friend, too. Suddenly remembering that he saw Trip hit me. But he doesn’t come any closer. “This is so stupid. We were all there. When would he have had time to … why would he torch his own paintings anyway?”
“Wait.” I look up at his face and what he’s saying registers. “What did you say? Why did they arrest Blake?”
“For torching the gym. I heard my dad said they found his knife in the gym. Somebody used it to strip some wires in the ceiling. That’s what caused the fire.”
Arson, not murder. I almost slide to the floor with relief. If James started the fire … if Blake is being blamed … I can help. I saw James at the school that night. My heart squeezes tight. If I tell on James, what will he do to me?
I leave school and head for Hoquiam. I don’t know what Blake’s bail will be, but I hope the ring will cover it. It’s the only hope I have left. Get Blake out of jail and then we can get away together.
.........
Paul has his back to me when I come into the pawnshop. I work on making my voice casual and confident, but it sounds strained as I say, “Hey.”
He turns around and smiles. “Hey, Allie. You here to shatter another guy’s heart by pawning off his gifts.”
I lick my lips. His teasing strikes too close to the truth.
“Some girls are just heartless.” He turns back toward the other side of the counter and shuffles through some papers.
I grip the ring in my pocket and start to pull it out, but I stop when Paul turns and I see what he has in his hand.
“Can you believe some girl would be so cold as to try to pawn her engagement ring?” He slides the paper across the counter so I can see it. It has a picture of the ring in my pocket with the words “PAWNSHOP ALERT” written across the top. He looks up at me with an intense gaze. “But you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you?”
I push the ring back in my pocket and pull out the tigereye. “Is this worth anything?”
He leans forward and studies it. “It’s a nice piece, but tigereye isn’t very valuable, and this one is split.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m afraid it’s worthless.”
I slide it back in my pocket. “That’s what I thought.”
Chapter
46
The wind is howling and ominous black clouds are blowing in off the ocean. I get into Mom’s car, and for a second I think about going the other direction and running away, but I can’t leave Blake to take the blame. I have to do what I can to save him. It’s like I’m outside my body as I head toward the police station. My fingers are so numb that I can’t even reach for the tigereye that’s digging into my thigh through my jeans’ pocket.
It’s pouring rain when I get into town. I’m drenched by the time I get inside the police station. The lady at the desk smiles when I walk in, like I’m here for a tour.
I grip the tigereye. “I need to talk to Detective Weeks.”
She pushes a button on her phone. “Allie Davis to see you, Detective Weeks.” I’m positive that wherever Detective Weeks is, he’s not more than forty steps from where she’s sitting.
“I’ll be right out,” his voice answers.
He’s through the door in less than ten seconds. No stewing in the waiting area, no trying to get the story straight in my head. He’s just here with that stupid triumphant grin on his face. “Glad to see you, Allie,” he says. “Saves me the trouble of going back to the high school to talk to you there. Come with me.”
I follow him back to the now-familiar office. Detective Weeks sits at the desk, motions for me to sit in a chair across from him, and waits.
The more he just sits there, the more time that ticks by, the more nervous I get. Finally I burst out, “Blake didn’t start the fire.”
“Oh?” Detective Weeks sits back and laces his fingers over his knee. “How do you know that?”
“He was with me, the night before the dance. We were together the whole time,” I stammer.
“The whole night?” he says calmly.
I feel myself blush. “No, he took me home when we were done decorating for the dance, but it was late.”
“According to the janitor, the two of you were the last ones to leave that night, and he locked up behind you. Are you sure Blake didn’t go back later, after he took you home?”
I rush forward. “I saw another guy there, just before we left. He was standing by the Dumpster. I couldn’t see his face.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Do you know who it was?”
“Yes.” I press the tigereye through my pocket. “I think I do.”
He leans forward and writes on a pad of paper. “And?”
“James Mathey.”
“Really.” Detective Weeks doesn’t believe me, I can tell he doesn’t. “The boy who threatened you at the dance?”
“Yes.” I focus on the blank wall behind him.
“What makes you think he was the one who started the fire?”
“He was following me. He told me he was following me, waiting for me to—”
“To?”
I breathe in. “To mess up. He thinks I—”
He cuts me off. “That’s all very interesting,” He picks up the pen and starts tapping it on the desk. “But what I find more interesting is that I arrested Blake for bringing a weapon to school, and you’re talking about arson.”
My heart drops so fast I feel like I’m going to faint.
“As far as I know, the fire in the school gym is still being called an accident. But if you have any more information you would like to share about that—”
I look down at my hands. How could I be so stupid?
“Since you’re already here …” He takes a box off a shelf in the corner. “I have a couple of things I’d like
you to identify for me.” He pulls out a pocketknife, stuck in a plastic bag with a label attached. “I got a tip-off that your friend Blake had this at school. Have you ever seen it before?”
“No,” I answer so fast that I’m sure he knows I’m lying.
“The fact that he brought a knife to school would be bad enough. What makes it worse is what’s on the blade.” He reaches into the drawer in front of him and pulls out a magnifying glass. He pushes the glass and the bag toward me and taps the blade through the plastic bag. “Do you see what I’m looking at?”
I lean forward. The blade is nicked in a couple of places. Caught in the edge is the same puke-brown paint that covers all of the lockers at Pacific Cliffs’ combined school. I want to believe the paint came from the one time Blake helped me get into my locker, but I’m not sure. “We think this is the knife that was used to break into your locker. That he was the one who left the notes.” He sits back with a smug smile. “How long did you say you’ve known Blake?”
“Since we were kids.”
“You know him better than I do, so maybe you could help me figure out why Blake would bring a knife to school. Or why he put those notes in your locker. Or what he might have to gain by threatening you.”
I don’t answer. It feels like the point of the knife in front of me is being twisted into my chest. I don’t dare move. I don’t dare close my eyes.
“No? Maybe you should think about it.” For a second I think he’s going to let me leave, let me go home to think about it. But he has more.
“A couple more things and then I’ll let you go.” He pulls out the plastic bag with the bloody white T-shirt in it. “Do you remember this?”
“Yes.”
“We got the lab results back. Do you want to know whose blood is on this shirt?” I don’t say anything, but he pauses like he’s waiting for me to answer. “It’s your blood. No trace of Trip’s blood, or anyone else’s blood. But unless you wore this T-shirt to the dance, we can be pretty sure there was someone else at the accident scene. Any idea who that might be?”
I stare back at him, blank, emotionless, a look I perfected last year. The only look that kept me safe. The only look that didn’t make things worse.
Breaking Beautiful Page 24