Instinct

by Mattie Dunman

  I catch his revealing choice of words and pursue them. “Thinks she did? You don’t agree?”

  Simon trains a shrewd expression on me, as though considering my mettle before he answers. Finally he turns around to shut down his computer and gives me a half-smile. “Buy me a cup of coffee and we’ll talk,” he offers.

  “Absolutely,” I return, my answering smile delighted.

  Ten minutes later we are comfortably situated in a booth at the same café to which Cole brought me. Steaming mugs sit in front of us, mine filled with apple cider, Simon’s with black coffee.

  “So what do you really want to know?” he asks, and I can’t help a small chuckle. It’s kind of refreshing to have someone else be able to see to the heart of the matter.

  “I’m interested in the circumstances of her death. From what I’ve heard, there was some evidence that she may not have been alone on the bridge.”

  Simon looks at me with more attention, his gaze calculating. “Not many people know that, young lady.”

  I give him an enigmatic smile. “I have my sources.”

  He snorts and takes a drink of his coffee. “Quite the little reporter, aren’t you?”

  “This is my first time working on a high school paper. I’m used to freelancing,” I explain and when he asks for details I hand him the ever present portfolio. He looks through it with interest, and I can see by the quirk in his lips that he is both impressed and entertained. Finally he slaps it down on the table and gives me a sharp look.

  “Alright, young lady, you’ve proved your point. There was quite a bit of dirt on the bridge where the girl jumped. And there were two sets of footprints. One the same size and shape of the girl’s, and one larger set that could’ve been male. A couple people were questioned, namely the boyfriend and the ex, but neither was charged.”

  I process this information in silence, listening to the thrumming in my bones telling me once again that there is more to Miranda’s death than meets the eye. “Is that all?” I ask, leaning forward.

  Simon chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re inquisitive aren’t you? Well none of this is confidential, just unsubstantiated stuff I wasn’t allowed to print. There were peri-mortem bruises on the girl’s arms, like someone had gripped her too tight.”

  This news disturbs me on a number of levels. My eyes drift to my arm, where the bruises Jake gave me seem to come alive in response to what I have just heard. “Someone gave her bruises before she went over,” I mumble, lost in thought. Simon nods, his eyes brightening with shared interest.

  “That’s right. And there was evidence of self-inflicted wounds on the inside of her upper left arm.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “She was a cutter?”

  “Looks like. Coroner said the oldest mark was only a few weeks. She started pretty recently.” Simon frowns and I have a feeling he’s wondering precisely why he’s being so forthcoming with me. I now know better than to wonder myself.

  “Then doesn’t that support the suicide theory?” I ask, not willing to give in to the uncomfortable prick of guilt in my chest. After my encounter with Jake earlier, finding out if Miranda was murdered is a matter of survival.

  With a shake of his head, Simon takes a swig of coffee. “Not necessarily. If she was cutting because someone was abusing her, then he may have helped her off the bridge too.” He waves his hands dismissively and drains the last of his coffee. “But all this is immaterial now. Half the reason they wouldn’t let me print this stuff was because the cops ruled it a suicide and closed the case.”

  “What was the other half?” I ask pointedly.

  He gives me a disapproving look. “You’re too curious for your own good, you know. This is a bit deep for a high school reporter.”

  I roll my eyes and lean forward, my voice unwavering. “I’m not your average high school reporter. I can read between the lines, and you left quite a bit out of your stories. Who didn’t want those details printed?”

  Simon throws up his hands, as though giving up. “Fine. It’s your funeral. The police were looking pretty hard at the ex-boyfriend. Apparently there were some rumors floating that he may have gotten physical with her. Boy certainly seemed pretty unstable when I saw him.” He stares off in the distance, remembering.

  “And?” I prompt, deeply invested in the answer.

  “And do you know who his father is? Mayor Geoffrey Wise. The evidence was circumstantial anyway, and you don’t print speculation about the mayor’s son in a small town, girl.”

  I examine my reflection with a sense of bewilderment. I’ve watched enough TV and movies to know that I’m not hideous, but I’ve never had an opportunity or reason to qualify how attractive I am. An antique store is rarely a place where teenagers go to shop, so exposure to people my age has been incredibly limited. Without regular comparison to my peers, or being out anywhere that guys might hit on me, I have no idea where I fit in. Mom has always told me that I’m beautiful, but I’m her kid and she has to say that.

  I’m not skinny, but I’m tall and mom says I have an hourglass figure and should be proud of it. My hair is long, just below my shoulders, and wavy; a curious shade, not quite blond, but not quite red either. When I was very little, my dad said it was like spun gold. My face is heart-shaped accentuated by a widow’s peak on my forehead, and my eyes are a clear, dark grey. My skin has an olive tint thanks to Dad’s Spanish roots and my own addiction to sunshine, and my complexion is generally clear, excluding the occasional raging pimple that plagues everyone. But I do have a spray of freckles across my nose and cheeks that no amount of makeup ever seems to cover up. I can thank my mom’s Celtic heritage for that I suppose.

  What I don’t see in my reflection is the reason for Jake’s frenzied attraction to me. It’s obvious after what happened today that he’s more than casually interested, but I can’t understand it, or comprehend why it’s made him so angry. What frightens me more is the flash of exhilaration I felt when his lips first crashed into mine. Developing a crush on Jake is a really, really bad idea.

  With a sudden wave of dizziness I realize Jake has given me my first kiss. At the thought, tears stream down my face and a choked sob escapes me. I feel like my chest is caving in, as though Jake actually beat me senseless. In all my imaginings, all those lonely afternoons at the store, watching happy couples window shopping, seeing thoughtful men coming in to buy their fiancés antique jewelry, dreaming of the day my own moment would come, being assaulted and ending up with a bloody lip wasn’t part of the fantasy.

  There is a bitter tang on my tongue as I realize how Jake has stolen this from me, has poisoned a desire I have cherished for so long, one of the hopes I wanted to fulfill when I came to school. It’s gone now, and I can’t get it back.

  A clinking noise at my window startles me from my depression and I turn, frowning. When it comes again, it sounds like pebbles being tossed at the glass, but that can’t be it. I can’t imagine anything more stereotypical, so it can’t be possible.

  The tapping comes again, so I hastily wipe my face and trip over to the window, my heart pounding uncomfortably. For a moment I can’t see anything outside. Twilight has come and gone and our miniscule yard is blanketed in shadows. As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can make out a man-like shape and panic clutches at my chest. A small glow flickers into life and the man’s features are thrown into relief, revealing Cole, holding a lighter, smiling as he looks up at me.

  My heart skips a beat, but it’s not from fear this time. An answering smile creases my face and when he waves for me to come down, I have to force myself not to run down the stairs.

  Mom is still sitting in the living room, curled up on our circa 1980’s green sofa, a thick flannel blanket tucked around her feet. She glances up at me as I enter the room with a sleepy smile. I look around the cozy room, smaller than at our old house, but more comfortable somehow. When we moved, we had to downgrade our style of living a bit to cover the moving costs and the new store. Our old house had t
hree bedrooms; but now we are down to two, and a bathroom we have to share. The rooms are a bit more cramped in this house, a pre-fab built sometime in the eighties, and it has a lot less character than our old historic home, but we’ve adjusted surprisingly well. I think part of it is the thrill of starting over, of finding this town where we have no ties, no previous obligations.

  It’s also the fact we are on our own. When we left Virginia, Mom drew up an agreement releasing my father from any further financial obligations. He’d been paying alimony and child support since he left when I was eight, but she let it slip that she wanted to cut all ties when we moved, including him. I respect her for it, and have tried not to make any unreasonable demands when it comes to money, hoping to make the transition easier.

  I hate the idea of being indebted to my father as much as she does.

  “I miss having a man in my life,” she says, giving me a finger wave. I blink, surprised to hear that she’s thinking of dating again. She only had one boyfriend since Dad left, a year-long affair with a perennially immature artist who ended up cheating on her. She’s been gun-shy since.

  “Been watching romantic comedies again?” I tease. She widens her eyes and then blushes, realizing what I have heard.

  “Caught me. I just met a really nice man in the shop this afternoon. He was looking for a vintage cigarette case. Very cute.”

  I grin at her. “Go for it. You’re still totally hot,” I say, ducking out of the way as she swats at me. “Speaking of cute guys, there’s one waiting for me outside. Mind if we go for a walk?”

  “Bring him to the door to meet me first,” she stipulates and I groan. “I just want to see what Harpers Ferry has to offer!” She puts up her hands as though warding off an attack. I almost argue, but this playful exchange makes me hesitate. It’s the friendliest we’ve been with each other lately and I don’t want to ruin it.

  “Fine. Hang on.” I stomp to the door, making sure she notes that I’m doing this under protest. Cole is sitting on the porch steps and jumps to his feet, grinning wickedly.

  “Hey,” I say, grinning.

  “I’m drawn to you,” he says, and my heart slams against my chest in one great thrust. He watches me curiously, and I can see him wondering what he’s revealed about himself. I clear my throat and forge ahead.

  “So, my mom wants to meet you. Do you mind?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious, wondering if he’ll read something into my request.

  “Not at all. Mothers love me,” he promises, his smile widening.

  I blow out a breath in relief and wave him in, noticing with appreciation the tight cut of his jeans and his confident stride. It’s impossible not to compare him to Jake, and I find myself wishing that my first kiss had been with Cole. It’s funny how his overtly bad boy image is so misleading, how Jake, the golden boy, is really the dangerous one.

  “Mrs. MacKenna, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Cole Durant. I know your daughter from school,” he lies smoothly, giving me a subtle wink. A smile twitches my lips as the faint hum of the falsehood dances under my skin. I have no intention of correcting him, since I doubt my mom would be thrilled about me meeting him on his motorcycle.

  “I’m so glad Derry is making friends already. Between you, Nicole, and Jake, she really seems to be fitting in.”

  I nearly choke at her statement, and Cole’s smile loses some of its zest. “How did you know about Jake, Mom?” I finally spit out. She glances at me, confused by the shock in my voice.

  “Oh, I guess I didn’t mention. The man who came in the shop today is his father, Geoffrey Wise. He told me Jake mentioned you. He said you two are in journalism together.”

  Cole cuts a glance my way, and I could swear there is an accusing look in his eyes. I swallow my initial response and force a smile. “Yeah, that’s right. We are. We haven’t really talked much though,” I mumble, noticing the keenness in Cole’s expression as he surveys my face, his eyes locking on my split lip.

  “Well, it’s still nice. Ok you two, have fun. Be back by ten,” she says, waving us off. Cole shakes her hand and says something complimentary that makes her laugh before he puts a hand to my back and propels me out the door. He waits until we are at the edge of the yard before he swings around and takes my chin gently in his hand. Even though I know he is only doing it to get a closer look at my lip, my skin tingles under his fingertips.

  “What did he do?” Cole demands fiercely, eyes narrowed in anger. An insidious finger of dread strokes the back of my neck and I shiver. Cole closes his eyes and immediately the feeling dissipates. He opens his eyes and gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry. Lost control for a second there. Are you okay?”

  I mean to tell him I’m fine, not to worry, but the contrast between his momentary loss of control and Jake’s strikes me hard and I gasp, tears welling up and preventing me from answering.

  Cole’s expression is stricken and he raises his other hand to tenderly trace my cheekbone soothingly, his eyes deep pools of remorse.

  “Oh, Derry, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry,” he whispers forlornly. I shake my head and try to get control of myself, mortified I’m having this reaction. I draw in a steadying breath and attempt a smile.

  “It’s not you, Cole. I swear. It’s just been a long day.”

  Relief softens his expression and he strokes my cheek with his thumb, moving slightly closer, the warm, spicy scent of oranges and cloves clinging to his skin. “I know Jake did something. How did you get a split lip?” he asks more calmly. I hesitate, wondering if I can get out of telling him, but the resolve in his gaze tells me I have no choice.

  “We had…an argument. He was trying to apologize for yesterday, and I asked him what it was about me that made him so angry and I kept pushing. He just…flipped out and shoved me into the wall and kissed me; it was rough, and he didn’t let go at first.”

  Cole’s expression is terrifying, and he drops his hands, clenching his fists so tight I can see the veins in his arms; he glares past me, eyes dark, no longer reflecting the light from the porch.

  “He said he was sorry, and I know he was. I just…I guess I underestimated his strength. I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

  Cole’s attention snaps back to me and some of the anger fades. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. He has issues with control, and yeah, it can be difficult. But he should never have even touched you, much less drawn blood. I’ll kill him,” he growls, the fury swelling again.

  Tentatively I reach out and touch his arm. “It’s over, Cole. I told him to leave me alone, and I think he will. Don’t worry about it.”

  A rueful smile twists his lips and his shoulders relax. “I didn’t mean that. But we are going to have a little brother-to-brother chat. I’ll make it clear you’re off limits. I’m staking my claim.” There is a glint in his eyes that makes my pulse pick up.

  Blood rushes to my cheeks and I bite my lip in confusion, wincing as I pull at the sensitive skin. “I don’t…um…what?” I stammer, totally lost for words. I’ve watched people flirt for years thinking I was picking up technique, but now, faced with Cole’s dark beauty and the brush of his skin against mine, my mind has gone empty and I’m left a blithering idiot.

  “Well, at least it wasn’t your first kiss, right?” he asks playfully, but I can hear the buried interest. My face falls and I look away. “It was?” His pitch rises with surprise, but I fix my gaze on a tree behind him, staring at it like it holds all the answers.

  He places a finger on my chin and turns my head to face him again, his eyes a deep sapphire as they search mine. Compelled to answer honestly, I nod. Regret flashes across his face and then he draws me closer, his eyes trapping me in a moment that seems to last forever.

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” he whispers, mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath on my lips. Still incapable of speech, I just shake my head, my skin suddenly on fire, anticipation and hope thrilling through my veins. “Let me show you how it’s done.” His voice is little more than a sig
h and suddenly there is no space between us.

  His lips touch mine feather light, the disparity from what Jake did making me dizzy, the kind of head-spinning weightlessness I used to feel when I was a kid, twirling and twirling just to see the world fly by. He focuses on my lower lip, carefully avoiding the sore spot, and my mouth opens slightly, drinking in the heady, warm feeling that spreads through me as his lips part and press against mine with just enough force to make my knees weak. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I revel in the sensation of his lips, his breath mingling with mine.

  He pulls back abruptly, eyes wide with surprise, and takes a step away from me. A chill settles over me and I miss his warmth, his closeness in a way that doesn’t make sense, as though we have been pressed together much longer than a moment.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” he says and my heart drops to my stomach, my head turning hot and fuzzy.

  “Oh…I…I’m sorry,” I stutter, so humiliated I’m surprised I’m still standing. I back away, stumbling, wanting nothing more than to get away from Cole, from the disbelief on his face. “I’ll just…”

  I step on a fallen twig and the crack seems to wake him from his thoughts. I am avoiding his eyes, but he grabs my hand and I halt, so close to tears I don’t dare speak.

  “No, no…I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, that’s not why I came here tonight. I wanted to continue our conversation from yesterday, but then you smiled like you were happy to see me and you were hurt…and I couldn’t stand thinking Jake kissed you first.” He speaks in a frantic rush, pulling me closer to him. I dig my feet in, searching for my lost dignity.

  “You know what, Cole? I’ve had about all I can take of bipolar behavior today, so why don’t you just get to the point or leave me alone?” I am shocked at how controlled I sound, since hurt is still roiling around my gut like broken needles.

  “I can’t believe this. I’m usually so smooth,” he mutters, releasing me to run a hand over his head in apparent bafflement. I just glare at him and cross my arms over my chest to hide the fact that I am still trembling.