Roadkill (LiveWire)

by Daisy White

  Anita narrows her ratty eyes again, preparing for a dignified exit, taking in my denim shorts, yellow vest top, and flip flops, “Yeah, I can see you’re training hard. You can’t bring Rose back Caz, by pretending to be her.”

  Ouch. Of course the bitch has no idea what I’m up to, but all the same….ouch. A flicked v sign, and she’s gone. I ride slowly on to Leo’s, hardly noticing The Road, mindlessly dodging afternoon traffic. I also note neither of us mentioned the bracelet. I never went to pick it up, never even answered her letter. Of course, normally I would never chuck something that had belonged to my sister, but it was tainted by Anita wearing it…..

  He’s not there. I ring the bell hard, but the communal door remains closed. I ring his phones, but get nothing. Great. I’m peering like an idiot through the glass door, when a woman bustles down the stairs. Fat, greasy haired, wearing an outsize green cleaning outfit. Leo’s mum.

  “Hi!” I grab her breathlessly, and she jumps like she’s never seen me before, “It’s me, Leo’s friend Caz.”

  For a moment she looks confused, which is understandable, because we’ve only met a couple of times, then she gives a little laugh, “Of course, Leo’s girlfriend. You alright love?” Her accent is Essex, coloured with a touch of eastern European. Leo says he was born in Slovenia, and his parents moved to the UK when he was six, because the medical care was better. He hardly remembers it he says. His dad walked out when he started school, went back home apparently so it was just him and his mum, struggling on a sink estate in Glasgow.

  “Oh I’m not, well his….doesn’t matter. Anyway. Do you know where he is? He said he’d meet me and I can’t get hold of him.”

  She rolls her eyes, “Oh that boy, always whizzing around somewhere. Busy on his computer, busy out, busy…Tell you what I buzz you up, and you can wait for him. I’m sure he won’t be long.”

  “I…great, thanks.”

  She leans over suddenly and kisses me on both cheeks, “I’m glad Leo has you. He is a very…,” she pauses and a shadow crosses her round face “troubled. He is very troubled. You help him.”

  Before I can answer she holds the door open for me, and as I slip through she is gone, vanished amongst the thronging early evening crowds. I have never, naturally enough, been alone in Leo’s flat before and it feels a bit awkward. I try ringing his mobile again and leave an answerphone message along the lines of where the hell are you, and then flick his TV on, wandering to the breakfast bar to get a glass of water.

  His post is stacked neatly by the swirly silver fruit bowl where it always is. I stare at the letter on top. The envelope is thin and I can see a symbol embossed on the letter underneath, right at the top, next to the address. It’s a moon and sword. I frown, riveted, wondering where I have seen it before. For a second as I clock the name on the front I think it’s been sent to the wrong address; Alexander Havers. Not Leo Betts. But the address is right.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Really knowing I should not be doing this, heart thumping, I pick it up, studying the flap, sealed tight. I hold it up to the light. I can see the symbol clearly but can’t read the writing. Damn, what am I doing? Horrified I shove the letter under the rest, which are addressed to Leo Betts and retreat to the sofa, thinking furiously.

  For obvious reasons I don’t want to stay in the flat, and drag Leo out into the street when he finally turns up, shocked I was waiting inside, rather than hanging round the entrance. We end up going out to Ratz, having an uneasy drink, while I frantically try to find an opening to ask the hundreds of questions buzzing in my mind. Relaxed now, Leo seems oblivious, geeky as ever, smiling sweetly at my attempt at a joke, warning me off Matt.

  “He doesn’t like Anita anyway. He told me!” I am exasperated, “I thought you’d be pleased for me. You know I’ve fancied him for ages.

  Leo winces, “I don’t want to see you hurt, and just because he’s come up with some plausible story doesn’t mean he isn’t playing you along.”

  ‘Plausible’ is such a Leo word. “He isn’t and we’re fine okay. Thanks for watching my back but I can look after myself. In fact, he thinks I should careful of you!”

  Clumsy, but I expect a laugh. I am totally unprepared for his reaction.

  He leans on the table, stares right at me and I get a flash of emotion so strong I actually blink.

  “Caz, I like looking out for you,” perhaps catching the horror in my face he quickly adds, “We’re best friends right? That’s what I’m here for. You don’t need anyone else.”

  The usual crowd is buzzing around our table, but there is like this weird intense force field, we’re locked in our conversation, or locked by the conversation we’re not having. The stupid things we’re saying are not masking the unanswered questions.

  “Leo, were you out the other night? Tuesday, about 3am?”

  I see him withdraw, eyes flickering, and one hand reaches for his computer bag, touching it like a talisman, “Don’t lie to me. I know it was you. I saw you kissing that girl. Why did you tell me you were gay?”

  Silence, then, “Hey Caz, Hey Leo! We’re heading down the beach tonight for a barbeque. Do you want to come?” Melissa, bouncing up in baggy jeans and a tight blue corset top, unaware of our private electricity.

  “Um, yeah I will. Leo?” I grab my bag, deliberately challenging him to say no.

  “Okay.” It’s a quiet acceptance of defeat, and I suddenly feel sorry for him. This boy has been my best friend for six months, and now we’re strangers. So he has a girlfriend. So what? Maybe Alexander was the previous occupant of his flat. I have way too much imagination. I need to get over it. But he still stares like he’s never seen me before. Those glassy eyes a queer colour, green with darker depths.

  “We’ll catch you up Melissa. You go on.” I grin at her and jerk my head at Leo. She shrugs, but walks out the door to join a couple of other kids holding beach towels, and nattering into their phones.

  “It wasn’t me Caz. It wasn’t me the other night,” he is upset and getting agitated.

  “Fine. Look Leo whatever, calm down. Let’s just carry on. If you want to tell me anything you can okay?”

  “SHUT UP!” He slams a fist down on the plastic table, and I draw back in alarm.

  “Everything alright?” Great, it’s Matt and Ashley, dragging their boards, shirtless, cut off denim shorts streaked with dust from the skate park.

  “Yeah, we’re just heading down the beach,” Leo snaps back to normal with frightening ease.

  “Caz?” Matt is slouched against the pillar like the archetypal surf bum, but his brown eyes are alert, missing nothing.

  “We’re good thanks. I’ll call you later,” I really hope this doesn’t sound curt and dismissive, but I need to sort out the Leo stuff.

  He nods as Ashley orders drinks, “Whatever,” But as I turn to follow Leo his hand catches my wrist, “Careful.” A gentle thumb strokes the inside of my wrist and my insides somersault.

  Before I can pursue that one Melissa is yelling that if we don’t move our butts we’ll miss our ride.

  It’s almost a relief to turn my mind to the LiveWire dare. I get back about eight, after a totally weird evening. Melissa spent a lot of time flirting with Leo, who was back to his, helpless geeky persona, and kept blushing and smiling aimlessly. The sudden flash of emotion might never have been. It’s obvious Melissa is desperate to get him to ask her out, and he is just as obviously not going there. Whenever I tried to talk to him he just rambled on about how long we’d been friends and how great I was. I gave up, made my excuses and got a bus back to Ratz, then walked slowly home, texting Matt.

  Garry and Mum were out on a date, which kind of doesn’t bother me like it usually does. The usual lack of information on the dare, just that it involves a lot of running, and we meet in a random farm field about a mile from here.

  I’m still awake, puzzling over Leo, swooning over Matt, and hoping Melissa doesn’t think I’m a total loony for leaving the party so early, as Mu
m and Garry get home, whispering softly, bathroom door creaking, light clicking off. Instead of thinking yuck, I kind of feel comforted by their presence (although obviously still yuck if they’re doing what I think they’re doing.)

  Of course I should have known. Did you play chicken when you were a kid? Where you dare someone to do something, and if you don’t you’re a (doh!) chicken. Well this is different, and Rose is suddenly so close again I can almost smell her perfume, feel her breath on my neck, as I sit shaking in the inevitable circle of adrenalin seeking teens.

  The coordinator this time is a thickset boy in a jeans and an adidas sweat top. Code name Tenstar. How very original. He has an American accent and I’m reminded of Kelly. Has she set me up? Perhaps she knows Rose-Farlan is dead and I’m just an imposter….a shiver of fear dances up my spine.

  The night is thick and fuggy, promising a storm.

  “Guys, welcome to ‘chicken’. Weather’s going to close in so we have to get this done quick. The road’s over there.”

  Um…the road? It’s not a motorway, just a country lane, and Mr Tenstar explains we have to run across the road, get over the wire fence, run across the railway line, which snakes its way alongside the tarmac, and get back. Oh yeah, avoiding the random car, driven by another LiveWire indoctrinate.

  “I can’t do it, I can’t do this….” My muttering attracts the attention of the girl nearest to me.

  “Come on! I thought it was going to be way harder.” Loser say her hard blue eyes. She jogs on in the darkness.

  For a moment, I know I am dreaming. It’s Leo’s girl. Well, the girl he was snogging the other night.

  “Hey wait,” I catch her up, and she turns scornfully.

  “If you need a babysitter don’t hold my hand,” she’s a right bitch, could even give Anita a run for her money.

  “Do you know Leo Betts?” I am ignoring the revving of a car, which cuts through the heavy cloud, like a knife through flesh.

  “What?”

  I repeat my question and she shakes her head, red hair flying, eyeing me curiously, “No. “Why?”

  “Sorry, I just thought I saw you the other night. Down South street, opposite the Chinese? Garden apartments?”

  “I…Yeah I was. How do you know?”

  “You were snogging my best friend, Leo Betts,” I inform her. The headlights fall directly on her face and I am sure, she is highlighted crystal clear, sharp red fringe, pouty lips, the mole on her right cheek.

  She laughs, “What are you on? I was with my boyfriend, Alex. He lives down that way.”

  “Apartment Four,” I tell her quickly, and watch with some satisfaction as she pales.

  “Keep away from me weirdo. I don’t know what you’re going on about. Go home if you’re scared.” She disappears in the crowd, but I don’t follow.

  But I do watch as she lines up for her run, hear her name called “Lia.” Lia and Leo.

  “ Farlan.”

  As she stumbles back, gasping for breath, I line up for my run, distracted, and wondering what the hell I’m doing. A glass of vodka is shoved into my trembling hand and I chuck it in into the bushes, hear the horn, and stumble across the road. The car headlights blind me and I hear a shout, others join in telling me to run, get a move on. I realise I’m standing in the middle of the road as a couple of tons of car rams towards me. Self preservation sends me trundling towards the wire fence, my injured leg complaining at this further evidence of madness.

  The train track is deserted when I first cross it but as I grab the stupid bottle and blunder back, I hear a distant clang of gates and a warning bell. The far off rumble of the late London train becomes a thunder of wheels on metal, and for a split second I’m almost tempted to stand there and see what happens. Will I see Rose on the other side? But the thought is gone in a flash, and I make it across the line, half leaping half falling over the fence, smashing the bottle on the tarmac as I put out both hands to save myself.

  The car screeches past as I roll to safety. Exclamations, and another glass of vodka is forced into my hand. I let their questions drift past me, lifting my face as the rain starts, torrential and cleansing. Because I know. I know this was what Rose was doing when she died. It wasn’t an accident, and she didn’t mean to kill herself. She was doing what I have done tonight, and somehow it went wrong.

  Now all I have to do is prove it. Oh yeah, and find out why my best friend seems to be leading a double life. Somehow I make it home.

  *

  “Visitor Caz!”

  Ugh. I feel exhausted and my eyes are all gritty, my leg throbbing. The doctor is going to be thrilled it’s healing so well. Not. Staggering down the stairs in an oversize pink t-shirt and striped PJ bottoms I must look as rough as I feel. I’m half expecting to see Leo, or even Melissa.

  “Caroline! Are you okay? Your mum was just saying you haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Oh she was, was she? I curse my mum’s witch tendencies. Then I slump at the kitchen table yawning and curse the fact that Smiley Sue, my erstwhile counsellor, was at university with Mum. They only met up when I started this counselling crap, but now, it feels like we have a Vulture in the family.

  “Hi Sue. I did leave a message saying I couldn’t make today,” I can’t keep the edge out of my voice.

  “Sue kindly dropped by on her way to a clinic. Your hospital appointment isn’t until twelve Caroline.” Mum is always slightly uncomfortable around her dynamic friend, who looks, quite frankly, like a man in drag. Typically she makes her excuses and heads off upstairs. Wimp.

  Garry is watching cricket in the living room, slurping noisily from a mug of soup. It really annoys me when he does that. Instructing myself not to get angry I wrap my hands around a steaming mug of coffee, keeping my eyes down on the swirling brown liquid. So far I’ve successfully resisted Sue’s many attempts to get me to ‘open up’. I’m proud of never shedding so much as a tear in her counselling sessions. It’s become a battle of wills. The other Vultures have, in general flown off. We still get the occasional odd saddo journalist hanging around the house, asking how we’re coping.

  On balance I can suddenly see two more positive things about moving to Australia, and I smile sweetly across the table. Sue has a big brawny frame, big roman nose, bad teeth (big like a horse) and regimented iron grey curls, and likes to wear shapeless unisex suits. She won’t give up bugging me because a) she wants to win and see me crack, and b) I think the woman really believes she’s helping.

  “Your mum says you’ll be clearing out Rose’s room soon. How do you feel about that?”

  Depends whether I prove a LiveWire dare was responsible for her death I guess. And which murderer drove the car in her chicken game. There is still no doubt in my mind, after last night……Her voice is strident, and drags me back.

  “Did you manage to keep a diary of your dreams?”

  Do I want to remember any of those appalling nightmares?

  “You know what Sue, it’s really kind of you to come over, but I don’t need the last session. Really. I’m working things out for myself, and I’m fine.” What I really want to say is ‘go away!’ and if she wasn’t a very distant friend of Mum’s I would scream it. Just like I did before, when all the others asked me. When they didn’t stop asking, pestering, that was when I found myself in the kitchen with a knife. Because I thought maybe if I was hurt on the outside, the pain on the inside would go away. It didn’t work.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I AM FINE,” I can feel my heart thumping, the effort required to maintain my bored, world weary persona is taking all my mental strength.

  “Are you really, Caroline? Because I know we’ve been over and over the same ground but if you keep everything inside, one day it will come back and bite you. It’s not healthy,” she admonishes, like a stern headmistress. As usual her notebook is blank, but she chews a black biro furiously.

  I stretch, and yawn rudely, “Sorry to have wasted your time. Can I get you another coffee?”
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  She tuts, packing up a giant black rucksack, “I know when I’m not wanted. Bye Fiona! Caroline. I’ll see myself out.”

  Phew. Ignoring the chuntering from the living room I haul my aching bones back up the stairs and hit the computer. I’m shaking, and crossly rake all ten fingernails through my hair, scratching my scalp in an attempt to clear my head. Focus Caz. Two hours later and I nearly miss my hospital appointment, as I’m trawling Google and LiveWire. Nothing. Bloody nothing. All the archived stuff on LiveWire shows dares by date, region, pictures, who won….But according to this there was never a chicken dare in the south east the night Rose died. My theory is down the drain and I am deeply pissed off. I was so sure I was right, and now the pain of Rose’s absence is reappearing; a dull throbbing deep in my heart.

  Google reports a zillion different stories relating to the site, and interestingly, at last throws up the stuff Frankie must have been talking about. She never sent the link, even though I messaged her on the forum, so I guess she couldn’t find it.

  There is a very sensationalised bit in an American regional paper, headlining about three girls being killed in the last four years, directly relating them to the site’s mysterious founder Alexander Havers…oh my god…who has been interviewed by local police at his home in West Virginia. But he gets his mail sent to Broadridge Heath, UK? Of course it doesn’t say this so I am forced to sit back, chewing a nail. I suppose it’s a common enough name. Maybe it’s like having the same name as a celeb or something. But…but..but!

  My phone beeps:

  ‘hey babe fancy a board lesson?’

  I can’t help smiling, but there is something I need to do first.

  ‘ok see u @ 3?’

  *

  The police station smells of sweat and disinfectant, making me feel vaguely sick.

  Her eyebrows are pencilled thick and black today, and she is bustling, barking orders to her minions, but at least she’s agreed to see me. “Caroline, I understand your concern, but we did fully investigate your sister’s death. I am terribly sorry for your loss, but there is no connection to LiveWire.”