This Is How It Happened

by Paula Stokes

  Her: Sweet. The pool is good. And Niko is fun, but I’d rather hang out with you.

  Me: Wanna come visit? I did this amazing hike I could show you.

  Her: I doubt my mom would let me, even if I could get time off work. How about you come home instead? I can teach you how to do a back flip off the diving board.

  Me: Ugh. Waiting for stuff to calm down.

  Her: You might be there forever then.

  Me: What’s that supposed to mean?

  Her: Everyone is riled up waiting to see if the Kades are going to file a lawsuit. Apparently there’s some FB page with 25,000 likes where people are asking for them to sue. And Freeman’s mom is too afraid to leave her house because people have been calling and leaving death threats on her voicemail.

  Me: That’s horrible.

  Her: Yeah. But it’s also horrible that he might get away with killing someone. The #KadetKorps needs #JusticeForDallas.

  Me: I don’t think a bunch of angry, emotional strangers without all the facts are the best people to be doling out justice.

  Her: Well somebody needs to do it.

  Do they? I wonder when exactly the whole world decided it was their responsibility to judge and punish total strangers.

  Her: Are you mad at me for telling you?

  My fingers are trembling on the screen of my phone, making it hard to type. I should just tell her, just type it out a letter at a time: Freeman didn’t kill Dallas. I did.

  But I can’t. Shannon wouldn’t understand the secrets I’ve kept from her—from everyone. There’s a chance she might not forgive me, and I can’t lose anyone else right now—especially not my best friend.

  Me: I’m not mad. I’m just not feeling very well. I think I’m going to crash.

  Her: Okay. Bye. All the hugs.

  It takes me three tries to tap out my standard All the <333 without messing up, because my hands are shaking so badly.

  I drop my phone onto my nightstand and grab my laptop. I shouldn’t do it, I know I shouldn’t, but I have to see what’s being said. First, I search Twitter using the #BradFreeman hashtag.

  Siobhan @curlsinterupted • 8s

  I just read over at @Celebrity_Watch that #BradFreeman’s ex-wife filed for a restraining order! bit.ly/1XNNbr5

  Tyrell James @RealTyrellJames •4m

  Please do not harass the Kade family in this trying time. The decision whether to pursue civil action against #BradFreeman belongs to them.

  Reale News Now @RealeNewsNow • 4m

  How many of us make it thru a week without doing something someone else finds wrong? Who gets to pick whose lives get ruined? #BradFreeman

  Justine @Kadet4Ever • 6m

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kade. Please sue #BradFreeman for wrongful death. The #KadetKorps needs #Justice4Dallas.

  Allie Cat @Allison_in_Hell • 6m

  People need to stop weaponizing their social media. There is no proof #BradFreeman broke the law.

  Allie Cat @Allison_in_Hell • 7m

  Where does seeking justice end and seeking vengeance begin? #BradFreeman

  Monkey Man @boxxofmonkees • 9m

  Boycott the Eight Ball Bar and Grill in New Melle, MO. They employ drunk drivers and killers like #BradFreeman

  CharlotteinCharlotte @charlottecharl • 11m

  What’s the name of the District Attorney out there in Wentzville? Someone find a phone number so we can make some “concerned citizen” calls.

  Patrick S @pxs1228 • 14m

  Here’s the Yelp link to that craphole where #BradFreeman works if anyone wants to leave them a review. bit.ly/1RkZzXQ

  @boxxofmonkees

  Lyle Fritz @LyleFritzThird • 19m

  Did you hear that douchebag #BradFreeman used to beat up his wife? Can’t we put this asshole behind bars for SOMETHING?

  Sighing, I click on the first link.

  CELEBRITY WATCH

  Brad Freeman’s Ex-Wife Pursued a Restraining Order Against Him

  DAVE CLINKER, 2 hours ago

  Six years ago, just after Carly Freeman filed for divorce, she also asked her attorney about filing a restraining order against Brad Freeman. We reached out to her to inquire about what precipitated this and her comments were quite chilling. “I was afraid. He’d been coming around my office, asking to talk to me.” When asked about his alcohol intake, Carly said: “Brad comes from a family of drinkers . . . he’s been known to have one too many.”

  Carly Freeman declined to comment on whether she thinks Brad Freeman should be held accountable for Dallas Kade’s death. A Sue Brad Freeman Facebook page has popped up to go with the Fire Brad Freeman page that now has over 25,000 likes. If the Kades do indeed file a lawsuit, it’s likely that Carly Freeman will be called to testify.

  Recent Comments:

  Kadet4Ever: I hope the Kade family pursues the wrongful death lawsuit. The #KadetKorps needs closure!

  lovemelongtime: Get over it, world. Dallas Kade and Tyrell James are both sellout wannabes. Kade’s whole album sucks the big one.

  Carly Freeman: [This comment has been deleted by an administrator.]

  Carly Freeman: Fine, I’ll try it again without swearing. This article took my words completely out of context. For anyone interested in the truth, it’s over here: bit.ly/1qFdySJ

  It feels weird to be reading words that Brad Freeman’s ex-wife wrote. It feels weird that I know she’s his ex-wife, as if he’s somehow become intertwined with me, even though we’ve never even met. I skip over the rest of the comments to click on her link. A plain black-and-white blog site opens. There is only one post.

  THE TRUTH ABOUT BRAD FREEMAN

  BY CARLY FREEMAN

  A couple of days ago I was approached by a blogger from the website Celebrity Central regarding the Dallas Kade accident. I was told that as one of the people who knows Brad Freeman the best, I deserved to have my story told.

  But what appears on their website isn’t my story. It’s bits and pieces of my story, excerpted out of context and rearranged to fit the narrative that Brad Freeman is a terrible person—an abuser, an alcoholic, and a repeat offender drunk driver who is responsible for the accident that injured Genevieve Grace and killed her boyfriend Dallas Kade.

  I’m not going to speculate about who’s to blame for the accident, because I wasn’t there that night. But I’m also not going to stand by and let my words be used to hurt a man I was married to for eight years, a man I still respect and consider my friend.

  During the divorce proceedings, I inquired about a restraining order because I was afraid of both Brad and I getting into trouble at work since he’d been coming around my office between his paramedic calls, asking to talk to me. I didn’t want either one of us to lose our jobs and I figured the easiest way for us to move on from the divorce would be if we minimized contact. However, my lawyer was quick to explain that a restraining order can only be filed if there is proof that someone has threatened or stalked a person. Brad Freeman has never threatened or stalked me.

  About his drinking, what I actually told the blogger was, “Brad comes from a family of drinkers, but he’s not an alcoholic. Like most of us, he’s been known to have one too many occasionally, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  I am so angry and hurt that my words were twisted in this manner. Please share the link to this page so that everyone can know the truth.

  Recent Comments:

  jenjennjenni: how do we know you’re really brad freeman’s wife?

  Carly Freeman: I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t care. I just wish that all of you out there liking those mean Facebook pages and destroying a man’s reputation without all the facts would stop and think about whether the media is giving you the full story.

  Macon Bacon: Do you want to earn $4000 a month working from home? Now you can kick back from the comfort of your living room sofa and make enough money to support your whole family, just by reviewing products and service companies. More info: bit.ly/1VfNIl0

  pxs1228: I be
t this post is from Freeman, pretending to be his wife. Hey Freeman, you need therapy, dude.

  CharlotteinCharlotte: LULZ! I bet it is him. #Loser

  Carly Freeman: I should have known some of you would think I’m Brad. I’m not going to waste time trying to convince you of otherwise, but the next time you decide to tell someone they need therapy, stop and consider whether your own actions have helped cause them to lose their job and their immediate access to mental healthcare.

  Allison_In_Hell: I’m so sorry you had to create your own blog just to get the truth out there. There’s no denying that our legal system is flawed, but holding individual people accountable is not fair or helpful. Even if Brad Freeman did cause the accident, what people are doing to him is the digital equivalent of stoning someone, and that is not okay.

  Carly Freeman: Thank you, Allison. I agree.

  Sarah Kwan: So Brad really lost his job?

  Carly Freeman: Not just Brad. The restaurant where he works was vandalized. The owner can’t afford to fix the damages so he’s closed the place permanently, leaving about forty people without jobs. I also heard the nurse at the hospital who drew Brad’s blood has resigned because protestors have been demanding to know her identity and she was afraid for her safety and for the safety of her coworkers. People think their anger is righteous and justified, but they can’t see beyond their target to all of the other innocent people they are also hurting.

  Tears burn my eyes. I read the last sentence over and over. Carly Freeman might as well be talking to me. I wish I could respond, but my mom would kill me. Of course I could always respond anonymously. Half of these people are hiding behind screen names and false identities.

  But before I can come up with a name to use, I’m distracted once again. An email notification has just popped up on my screen.

  I have a message from Brad Freeman.

  CHAPTER 29

  To say I’m terrified to open this message is an understatement. How did he get my email address? What could he possibly have to say to me? Oh, maybe something like that you’re a raging bitch for continuing to let him take the blame for something he didn’t do.

  No. He doesn’t know I know the truth. I can’t believe his lawyer is letting him contact me. I stare at the screen for another whole minute, and then my curiosity gets the best of me. I click on the message.

  Dear Genevieve,

  I am terribly sorry for your loss and for everything you have gone through. I hope you are healing from the accident.

  I’m not sure how much you know about what’s been happening, but Glen and Nora Kade are going to file a wrongful death lawsuit against me. I don’t know what they’re hoping to accomplish, since I don’t have much money to give them, but I don’t want to put my family through six more months of this hell.

  If by some chance you get your memory back, it would be really helpful if you could come forward and tell everyone I didn’t cause the accident. I am not trying to blame you, and I promise I won’t go after you for any money for damage to my truck or my medical bills. I just want to clear my name. I want my family and coworkers to feel safe again. As you can see below, things are getting out of hand. You’re the only one who can help me.

  Sincerely,

  Brad Freeman

  I swallow back a lump in my throat. I was stupid to think that after the charges were dropped things would get better for Freeman. Sure, maybe he’s no longer looking at jail time, but what kind of life can he have with everyone gunning for him? How long will it be before people get tired of going after him? And what will be left of him when that time comes?

  I click on the link he’s provided. A YouTube video starts to play. The image is somewhat shaky but it’s a building surrounded by a mob of people. I squint to read the words on the black sign in front of it: Eight Ball Bar & Grill. The camera angle switches and I watch a brick being thrown at the restaurant’s front window. The grass cracks, but doesn’t break. This must be the vandalism Brad’s ex-wife, Carly, was talking about. A second brick flies through the air, and then a rock. All I can do is watch in shock as more people start throwing things. The front window shatters, shards of glass falling to the concrete sidewalk. And then just when I think it can’t get any worse, it does.

  A bottle arcs through the air. Not just a bottle, a Molotov cocktail. As I watch, the flaming vessel hits the broken front window and falls into the restaurant. The Eight Ball Bar & Grill begins to burn.

  I feel sick inside. On the screen, there is shouting. The picture tilts on an angle. Sirens sing in the background. Someone mumbles something about getting the hell out of there. The video ends and the screen freezes on the last frame, a blurry, tilted image that somehow seems to mirror my life. How did everything get so messed up?

  I stumble from my room to the bathroom and drop to my knees in front of the toilet. With one hand I pull my hair back from my face, but my stomach is empty and all I do is retch violently.

  Gasping, I collapse to the floor and end up on my side. I need to talk to someone—anyone. No, I need to talk to Dallas, but I don’t dare open my laptop so I can see his picture. I’m afraid Brad Freeman might send me another email. I wonder again how he got my address.

  I close my eyes and try to imagine Dallas is in the bathroom with me, but the only images that come to me are ones of my ex-boyfriend in a coffin, of him being lowered into the ground forever.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I say, tears pricking at my eyes.

  This time Dallas doesn’t answer. Maybe it’s because I’m not looking at a picture of him. Maybe it’s because he’s dead. Or maybe it’s because I do know what to do—I’m just terrified. Terrified of how the world will judge and punish me for the things I’ve done. Terrified no one will understand, everyone will leave me, and I’ll end up completely alone.

  CHAPTER 30

  There’s a sharp knock on the door. “Genevieve?” Rachael calls. “You okay in there?”

  “Just a second.” Using the bathtub for support, I pull myself back to my feet and hurriedly splash some water on my face. I open the bathroom door. “I’m fine. I just haven’t been feeling very good today.”

  Rachael touches my face. “You don’t look fine. Your skin is clammy and you’re shaking all over. Did something happen?”

  You mean like did I burn down a restaurant?

  “No. I think I just ate something bad.”

  She frowns. “I ate the same food as you today. Maybe we should go to the urgent care.”

  “Really.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be okay. I need to talk to my dad about something, though. Do you know if he’ll be home soon?” I fight to keep my voice level. As scared as I am, I can’t let this go on any longer. No matter what the consequences are, I need to tell the truth before things get any worse.

  “He’s spending the night in Salt Lake City tonight, remember? He’s got that tumor removal surgery in the morning.”

  Shit. I forgot about that. Dad is expecting to be in surgery at least ten hours, and then he’ll be in Salt Lake City for an extra day just in case there are immediate complications.

  “He’ll be back on the fourth,” Rachael says. “But if you need him, you can call him.”

  “That’s okay.” I need him, but I can’t do this over the phone. I say a silent apology to Brad Freeman as I shake my head. “It can wait.”

  The next day is a haze. There’s not much going on with the touch trail, so Rachael tells me I should take the day off and rest. I assure her I’ll call her at work if I start to feel worse. Once she’s gone, I crawl back into bed and try to go back to sleep. It doesn’t happen, so instead I spend the day cataloguing all my sins: jealousy, selfishness, recklessness, cowardice, lying, more lying, still more lying. I think about every single thing I’ve done in the past few weeks and stick mental pins in all the places where I made terrible choices. It’s like a road map of destruction leading from my house to Tyrell James’s house to Wentzville all the way to Utah.
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  Elliott texts me at lunchtime but I can’t bring myself to read it. I can’t bring myself to do anything. I don’t shower. I don’t eat. I don’t even change out of my pajamas until right before Rachael gets home.

  After I’m dressed, I venture just far enough outside to get the mail. As I head back to the house, I catch sight of the old man next door peeking out the blinds at me. I quickly drop my head to my chin, my hair falling forward to hide part of my face. I hurry back inside and toss the mail on the living room coffee table, my heart pounding erratically until I’m back in the safety of my room. It’s like I’ve reverted back to the girl I was when I first got here.

  My eyes flick to my computer. Maybe I should respond to Brad Freeman’s message. I could tell him I got my memory back and that I’m going to tell everyone the truth, once I tell my parents and we figure out the best way to proceed.

  I log on to my email account and start to reply to his message, but I’m only a few words in when it hits me that this might be a bad idea. How do I know this message is even from the real Brad Freeman? It could be from a reporter, or some inquisitive Kadet who doesn’t believe Freeman is guilty. Or even if it really is Freeman, what if he publishes my reply to him before I get a chance to talk to my dad?

  Rachael knocks on the door to my bedroom. “Genevieve?”

  Shutting my laptop, I grab a book and pretend to be reading. “Come in,” I call.

  She ducks into the room and shuts the door behind her. “I figured since it was just us girls tonight that maybe we could do something fun. St. George is having a Fourth of July carnival this week. They’re supposed to have some awesome rides there.”

  The thought of carnival rides—of even just leaving the house—almost sends me running to the bathroom again. “I’m not sure I’m up to it,” I tell her.

  “You’re still feeling sick?” She tilts her head to the side, her brow furrowing. It’s easy to read her mind.

  “Don’t call my dad. There’s nothing he can do from Salt Lake City and I don’t want to worry him for no reason,” I say. “I promise if I’m not feeling better by tomorrow I’ll go to the doctor.”