by Abby Wilder
All I could do was swallow the knot of guilt in my throat. "What do you mean?"
Cara paced the floor, eyes frantic and unsettled. "She was left to die on the side of the road like some animal, like some sort of road kill. How difficult would it have been for them to stop and check on her? They could have taken her to the hospital, not left her there to die. I overheard them talking to Dad and do you know what they said?" She stopped and glared at me for a moment but she didn't expect a response. She started pacing again, hands flailing as she spoke. "They said that when the car hit her, it injured her enough so she couldn't move. They found her with her head hanging over the edge of the ditch. It rained that night. Hard. Lots. And the rain filled up that ditch slowly. She would have known it was coming." Cara's eyes were cold steel. "She would have lain there, watching the water rise, feeling it as it lapped against the side of her mouth, her nose, until there was nothing left other than to breathe it in and die." She spat out the words violently. "Those were the last moments of her life, filled with terror and hopelessness. And she was alone."
I felt ill, as though I could actually vomit. If we had stopped and looked properly, if I had gotten out of the car, then maybe Lana would still be alive.
Cara stopped pacing. For a moment she stood still, looking out the window, jaw and fists clenched, and then she crumpled to the ground, twisted into the foetal position and clutched her throat like she was trying to strangle herself. I moved over and lifted her head into my lap, brushing her hair back. But I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything.
"She lay there, hurt, injured and scared while I downed another beer and felt sorry for myself because Ruben was annoyed with me," she whimpered. "She's dead, Judah. Lana's dead."
And then she did the very thing she said she couldn't. She covered her face and cried. Her tears soaked my jeans as the dull thud of her sister's body under the car replayed through my mind.
Chapter Thirty Three
Ruben - the previous year
It only took a few days for the rumours to start circulating, whispered in huddled groups, gossip shared over cups of coffee. I wasn't sure who started them or what they said, but Judah's life became the nightmare that mine should have. At first, it was just at school. People whispered in the shadows when he passed, obscene words were scrawled across his locker, someone even spat on him, but Judah took it all in his stride. He kept his head down, walked through the words of abuse hurled his way, and wiped the spit off his cheek without turning to see who delivered it.
My own nightmares weren't as easy to ignore. Each night, I lay in bed, terrified to close my eyes. I knew she would be waiting for me in the darkness. It started with just her hand stretched towards me, the nail chipped and broken and a vivid trail of blood running down her pale skin. But soon the visions showed more. Her arm, broken, crushed and bleeding. Her jawbone caved in. I never saw her face, though. Terror woke me before I could. I started to fight sleep rather than live through the agony of seeing her each night.
The morning after one of those sleepless nights, Judah and I walked outside to find the Fairlane spray painted with the word 'killer' across the doors. The letters were black and bold and someone had tipped red paint over the bonnet, making it appear as though it were covered in blood.
Judah stopped in his tracks. His face showed no signs of anger or frustration, although he ripped open the door and sat in the driver's seat, one foot in the car, the other resting on the gravel, staring blankly.
"Dad!" I yelled at the house. "You need to come see this."
Dad appeared in the doorway, only his face didn't hold the same blank expression that Judah's did. It turned a violent shade of red. "What sort of an asshole would do this?"
I shrugged. I had a suspicion. Ross was the most vocal in his accusations towards Judah. Only the day before, he asked me point blank if Judah did it. He remembered me giving Judah the keys at the bonfire. My response was to tell him I wasn't allowed to talk about it. Coward.
"I'm calling the police," Dad said, turning to walk back inside. "This witch-hunt can't be allowed."
The police had already been over and talked with our parents. They knew the police had interviewed us both. They also knew that there was no evidence to place us at the scene, only a witness who thought they may have seen Judah's car pulling away from nearby the spot Lana was found. But it was dark and it was raining and the witness wasn't sure, Sergeant Dickson had told Dad in confidence when Anderson was out of earshot.
"Leave it," Judah said, removing himself from the car. "Just leave it."
"So you're okay with all this?" Dad yelled, waving his hand over the car. "You're okay with them accusing you of running over that girl?"
"I didn't," Judah said quietly but firmly.
"I'm not saying you did. But this sort of vigilante action can't be left to fester. If these people think you are guilty, their actions will only get worse, not better. This is something I could do without. I'm calling the police." He turned again to walk inside, but Judah's shout stopped him in his tracks.
"No!" he yelled. His shoulders heaved and the threads of his neck strained. "No," he said again, regaining control. "Just leave it." Judah picked up a rag discarded on the garage floor and started wiping the red paint off the bonnet. It was still wet and did nothing but smear further.
"Son," Dad said, sighing and moving over to him. He stopped Judah's hand. It was the most affection I remember Dad ever showing him. "Son, if you're innocent there is nothing to be—"
Judah ripped his hand away from Dad's and stood to face him. "If, I'm innocent? If?"
"I didn't mean it like that," Dad assured him.
"Well, it's what you said, 'if I'm innocent.' You think that I hit that girl and left her to die? You think I'm lying?" Judah snorted. "Of course you do. My car was seen driving down that road. It had to be me, right? It couldn't have been Ruben. Ruben would never do anything wrong."
I froze at the mention of my name, but Dad didn't even glance my way. Judah was right. No one suspected me. But he kept going. "A girl turns up dead in a ditch and the whole town automatically assumes it was me."
"No one is saying that," Dad said.
"Everyone is saying it!" Judah yelled, and threw the rag to the ground. We all stared at it lying in the gravel. The smudged red paint looked like blood.
"Calm yourself!" Dad hissed. "Keep up behaviour like this and I wouldn't blame people for thinking you are guilty. But I know that if the police had any evidence that suggested that, you would have been arrested by now."
"And that's how you know I'm innocent? Because the police haven't arrested me yet? Nothing to do with the fact that I didn't do it, that I've told you I wasn't even driving."
Mum appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame. "Maybe you should stay home from school today, Judah."
Some of the anger left Judah's stance at her appearance. "It's Cara's first day back. I want to be there for her. Despite what everyone else thinks, despite what my own father thinks, she will know I didn't do it. She will believe me."
"I believe you, Judah," Mum cried out. She ran towards him but he moved away from her embrace.
"I just can't right now, Mum. I just can't." He threw himself into the Fairlane, slammed the door, and turned the key.
"He's not driving it to school, is he?" Mum said, her voice heightened with panic.
"I don't care what he said," Dad called over his shoulder as he started walking inside. "I'm calling the police."
The car spluttered into life and the engine roared as he drove away, the gravel spitting over the manicured grass in his wake. The Fairlane disappeared down the tree lined drive until we could see nothing but the scrawled letters of the word 'killer' framed in dust.
Judah's car wasn't at school when I arrived and neither was Judah. I considered calling Dad or Mum to let them know, but my guess was that he just needed some time alone, and who was I to deny him that when it was all my fault. He would realise soon th
at this would all blow over in a few days. The police had nothing, and after a while the gossip mill would die down and people would forget that they ever thought that Judah was involved.
Cara leaned against the school gates, waiting for me, arms crossed and expression like steel. A knot of guilt twisted in my gut as I approached. I wanted to turn away, act as though I hadn't seen her, but Cara's eyes were already fixed on me. I just hoped I didn't melt under their glare. I hadn't seen her since that night, even though I had numerous missed calls from her on my phone.
"Is it true?" she demanded.
Even though my heart was racing, my words came out calm and controlled. "Cara, I'm so sorry—"
"Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"Was it him? Was it Judah?"
A wave of guilt must have flashed across my face because Cara breathed in deeply. She wanted to hear me say it wasn't, but with that one look I had convinced her otherwise. "It wasn't him," I assured her quickly, but it was too late. Cara saw the guilt on my face, she just interpreted it the wrong way. "It wasn't him," I repeated lamely.
"They're waiting for my statement," she said, though the words were muffled with her head resting on her knees. "I wasn't going to say anything, but now—" Her words trailed off.
My mouth was dry and I swallowed slowly. "Say what?"
"Up until now, I had avoided giving the police a statement. I guess I felt guilty, like it was my fault. I refused to believe it at first, but when Sienna told me that someone had seen his car drive away from the scene, it kept replaying through my mind and I couldn't get it out. I tried to ignore it. I couldn't believe it, or I didn't want to believe it, but that look on your face said it all. How could you stay silent? How could you not say something?"
I sat on the ground beside her, hoping she wouldn't hear the pounding of my heart. Cara reached over and placed her hand on my knee. Her pale hand. Her skinny hand. A hand with chipped and broken nails. I shook my head violently to clear the trail of blood that began to drip down her arm, and instead, covered it with my own.
"He didn't do anything," I said. But it sounded lame, even to me.
"But you gave him the keys," she said, the words choking her. "I saw him. I saw him ask you for the keys. I saw you hand them over. But you wouldn't let him drive, would you? He doesn't have a license. He had been drinking. Just tell me, Ruben. Just tell me and then I'll know. When we talked later on, Judah had already gone, hadn't he? He had already driven off. If it's not true, just tell me. Tell me he didn't drive home that night, that the rumours of his car at the scene aren't true, and I'll believe you."
I shook my head but couldn't make the words come out of my mouth.
Cara looked at me, her eyes bloodshot and swollen and her voice tight. "Tell me the truth, Ruben. Before I give my statement, before I talk to the police, just tell me."
I shook my head again and looked at the ground. I couldn't meet her eyes. I couldn't see the pain and the sadness and lie, but I had already lied to the police and she was the last person I could tell the truth.
"Look at me, Ruben," she said.
I lifted my eyes slowly.
"Did he drive home that night?"
I closed my eyes and lied. "Yes."
Chapter Thirty Four
Judah - the previous year
I intended on going to school. I headed that way. I almost pulled into the carpark, but as I twisted the steering wheel it was as though a heaviness descended over me, the air turned thick, and I couldn't breathe. I pictured Cara. Only when I pulled up, all she saw were the words plastered across my car. And she believed them.
I had thought it would show strength if I turned up at school in the car. I thought it would show everyone that I didn't care what they thought, that I was innocent, but I couldn't do it. Either, I wasn't strong enough, or the word sprayed across my car had gotten to me more than I cared to admit. And even though I wasn't the one driving, I was hardly innocent.
I drove for hours but I didn't go anywhere. I didn't do anything. I just drove with the window down, the wind on my face, and let the purr of the engine vibrate through my mind until the fog lifted. There was a large truck stop out of town for all the long-haul drivers. It was deserted most of the day and only really came alive during the evenings, so I pulled in and walked inside to buy some paint remover. The man behind the counter kept looking at me and then out of the window. I didn't give him the satisfaction of responding.
While I was rubbing off the 'K', my phone rang. It was Dad. "Son, you need to come home," he said. His voice was different than usual. Normally when Dad spoke to me, his tone was coloured with annoyance or disinterest. This time, it was almost tender.
"Why?" I asked. I hoped that he would say he was worried, the school called and reported that I hadn't turned up, or maybe Ruben had called and got them worried, but everything was okay and I could go back to removing the letters sprayed across the Fairlane.
"You need to come home," he repeated. "The police are here."
I drove home picturing the scene in my mind. Police cars crammed up the driveway, lights flashing blue and red across the house, dogs scouring the property, but when I followed the line of trees down the driveway there was only one police car and the statue of the frozen boy.
Mum opened the door before I could and pulled me into her arms. "Judah," she wailed pitifully.
I detached myself and followed the voices to the lounge. Dad and his lawyer, Gus Collins, were seated on the couch with Inspector Anderson and Sergeant Dickson seated opposite them. Not a good sign. They all stood when I walked in.
"Judah," Anderson said.
I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at any of them. "Is Ruben here?"
Gus Collins came over and guided me away from the group, talking discreetly. He had been Dad's lawyer for years. I had seen him at the house numerous times for business meetings and he'd even come over for dinner a few times. "I'm advising you not to say anything. At this stage, they are just wanting to ask some questions, but let me answer them, okay?"
"Okay," I replied. What else was there to say? I couldn't tell the truth. I couldn't say who was really responsible. I had no choice but to go along with whatever was said and hope desperately that Ruben's feeble plan of driver confusion would actually work.
"Don't let this get to you, Judah. They don't have any evidence. They have nothing to go on. Trust me to deal with this, okay?"
"Okay," I said again.
Gus Collins cleared his throat and nodded. "You may proceed," he said to Anderson.
Even though I sat between Dad and Gus, I had never felt so alone. Everyone looked at me with accusing eyes. They all thought I was guilty. Mum cried silently in the corner, her face covered with her hands.
"Judah Mitchell," Anderson started, smiling tightly. "There are some things which have come to light and we need to ask you a few more questions. Is that okay?"
I grunted out a laugh and Mum choked back a sob. "Go ahead," I said.
"We have had an eyewitness come forward, claiming to have seen your car at the scene of the incident on the night in question."
I stared at the patterns on the carpet, thinking of the headlights in the rear vision mirror. When I didn't say anything, Anderson continued.
"In fact, we have had two separate witnesses step forward. One of them claims to have seen your car speeding away from the site of the accident, and the other claims to have seen you drive away from the bonfire just before the incident occurred, intoxicated."
I looked up to see if she was lying, trying to prompt a confession out of me, but her eyes held nothing but mild interest, no condemnation.
"They're lying."
"They claim they are not."
Anger flared and I got to my feet. "They're lying, okay? I never got behind the wheel that night. I never drove."
"Just let me answer any questions, okay?" Gus interjected.
"I understand that is your statement—"
"It's
not just my statement. It's the truth," I said angrily.
"Let Gus handle this, son," Dad said gruffly. Mum let out a strangled wail and Dad glared at her. "Pull yourself together," he warned.
"You see, the problem with your statement is we have several eyewitnesses who claim to have seen you take the keys from your brother that night."
I stayed silent.
"We also have a statement from your brother claiming that you both left the party at the same time and that you were driving, but then we have eye witnesses who saw him at the party alone, after you left. Is he lying for you?"
"What does he say about the accident?" I asked.
"Judah," Dad warned.
"He declined to say anything about the trip home other than the fact that you were driving, just like you, almost as though he is trying to defend you."
"That would be right," I muttered.
"Excuse me? What are you claiming happened?"
"My client is claiming nothing," Gus responded. "He maintains his innocence against any accusations and will not be saying anything to incriminate either himself or his brother."
"You've got to admit," Anderson continued, sitting forward in her seat. "It's not looking good for you, Judah. You have a history of driving while drunk."
"It was two beers, once," I said quietly.
Gus frowned and I fell silent. "A history isn't evidence," the lawyer said.
"No," Anderson agreed. "But when combined with several witnesses who saw you take the keys from your brother, the witness who saw you drive away—"
"They're lying," I said, ignoring the warning glares from Gus.
"As well as the witness who placed your car at the scene of the accident, not to mention the fight you had with Cara Armistead."
"Who said Cara and I had a fight?"
"She did."
"She did?" My voice rose an octave.
"Yes. Cara Armistead said that before you took off that night, you had witnessed her and your brother kissing and that it had greatly upset you. She said that you said, her and Ruben's relationship was nothing more than a quick thrill and that he would never choose her. She said," the detective shuffled through her papers looking for the exact quote, "you were cruel with jealousy and even went as far as to call her little sister a skank and her mother crazy."