His words sink in for a moment before I really understand them. My resolve flags, cracking like glass under too much pressure, but I ruthlessly quell it, forcing the weakness back to be agonized over later.
“Did she have any other injuries?” I ask, noting with dismay that my mother is fast approaching, a scowl on her face.
Radcliffe frowns at me and rubs his beard. “You know I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Yes. Her neck was broken and the wound on her head was extensive.”
“From before or after the fall?”
He shrugs, glancing up as my mother comes to stand next to me, eyes dark with disapproval. “No way of telling just yet. The cut bled before she died is all we know. And the broken neck wouldn’t have taken much more to kill her without treatment…” Radcliffe breaks off as my mother gasps. Disappointment is hard enough to chew in my mouth as I watch him slowly come to his senses, realizing on some level something very strange has just happened.
“What are you thinking, telling her things like that? She’s been through enough,” my mother growls defensively, thwarting any further attempts on my part to obtain any more information.
Radcliffe stares at me with hard, suspicious eyes. “Sorry ma’am. She…asked,” he says lamely, at a loss to understand why he has just given me the kind of information the public never hears about. Suddenly I need to get out of here, away from his sharpening glare, away from the whispers and surreptitious glances from my classmates.
“I need to go home,” I tell Mom, the panic in my voice genuine. She glances around for a moment as though looking for someone and then nods.
“Okay Sweetie. Let’s go.” Helping me stand, she shoots another stern look at the officer before herding me through the crowd.
“Tomorrow morning, Miss MacKenna,” Radcliffe reminds me, his voice carrying through the din of conversations around us with alarming precision. I face forward and give no sign I heard him.
By the time we get outside, I am holding back tears again, thinking of Nicole being awake, aware when she hit the water. Somehow, up till now I had cherished the idea she didn’t know what was happening, that she didn’t feel the icy grasp of the current pulling her under. I no longer have that luxury.
“I’m very interested in your daughter,” a male voice trumpets from our left and my mom drops my hand like a stone, turning swiftly to meet the speaker.
“Geoffrey. I wondered if I’d see you here,” she answers, her own voice practically a simper. Stunned, I look to see to whom she’s talking and get my first glimpse of Cole and Jake’s father.
Geoffrey Wise is tall and broad-shouldered, a tailored black suit draped elegantly over his lean frame. He is attractive, though not classically handsome like his son Jake and without Cole’s chiseled features. He is like a slightly blurred photograph of each of them superimposed over one another, as though all the clarity he lacked was bestowed on his children. Salt-and-pepper hair is brushed back from his face, and faint lines crease between his eyes, giving his expression a severity at odds with the welcoming smile he has trained on my mother. A sense of power hangs over him like a cloak, and I feel a pull toward him, a thin wire between us that snaps tight with awareness. He smiles at my mother and turns his compelling gaze on me.
“So this is Derry. I’m glad to finally meet you,” he says, voice settling over me like a warm coat, reassuring and familiar. Crawling insect wings flutter beneath my skin and I throw off the calming influence of his voice and view him with more attention. He watches me with predatory interest, not sexual or lascivious, but with the greedy air of one seeing an item of worth hidden at a flea market.
He is like Cole, like Jake. Like me.
Talented.
Instead of answering him, I glance at Mom, waiting for the introduction. Without knowing what he is capable of, I am reluctant to speak directly to him.
“Honey, this is Mayor Wise. Jake’s father,” she informs me. I nod as though this is new information to me and give him a wary smile.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Derry,” he says, smile broad and enigmatic. “I’m so very sorry for what you’ve been through; your mother has told me what good friends you and Nicole were. I hope you’ll let us know if there’s anything we can do.” He gestures to his right as Jake emerges from the dark sedan at the curb, eyes fixed on me.
“That’s very kind of you, Geoffrey. I’m sure we will,” Mom answers, when it is clear I am not going to respond. Warning bells are going off in my brain, telling me I cannot win any verbal exchange with this man. An instinctual, bone-deep dislike of the mayor winds through me as I watch him put an arm around his son, their features more clearly similar up close. The sun has gone down, but Jake’s hair is still luminous, his skin clear and smooth, the streetlamps kind to his features. The edges of his mouth turn up slightly, shyly.
“My father wants us to date,” he says, leaning forward slightly. With an effort, I manage not to flinch.
“Hi, Jake.” I realize I am holding myself tense, as though expecting a blow.
“I missed you,” another voice chimes in, low and sweet in its honesty. Cole climbs out of the car and hurries toward me, arms outstretched. A loud rushing sounds in my ears and then I am in his arms, tears falling heedlessly on his black wool pea coat.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’ll be okay,” he whispers, stroking my head and holding me tight against him. For the first time since Nicole’s phone call, I feel safe, unassailable. I tune out the sounds of my mother and his father talking, the chatter of people leaving the funeral home, the slosh of passing cars tossing aside wet snow. All that remains is the soft, steady thrum of Cole’s heartbeat under my cheek and the quiet hum of his voice in my ear.
“Derry, I didn’t realize you knew Cole so well,” his father says, tone disapproving. With one last squeeze, Cole releases me and I find that I am steadier on my feet, less afraid, as though he has drawn fear and grief from me like venom from a snake bite. I brush the wetness from my face, wondering if I have permanent tear tracks tattooed down my cheek by now.
“Cole’s a good friend,” I say firmly, realizing that any anger I still harbored about his reaction to our kiss is irrelevant now. Justice for Nicole is more important, and I could use his support.
Cole’s eyes gleam appreciatively at my endorsement and he hangs an arm over my shoulder. Mom looks at us benevolently and I realize that she must like the idea of having both the mayor’s sons interested in me, in whatever capacity.
With a swiftness that is immobilizing in its unexpectedness, Jake wrenches Cole’s arm away from me and places himself between us, his eyes twin black holes of unexpressed fury.
“Jake, don’t be rude,” his father commands, and the power of his voice hits me like a baseball bat. I am not the intended recipient, but I still feel as though I ought to apologize for something.
Jake breathes heavily for a moment, jaw clenched tight enough to bleed his face white. His eyes cut to me and whatever he sees there seems to deflate him more effectively than his father’s words.
“Sorry,” he whispers, and I know he is. He turns around and marches crisply back to the car, leaning with his hands on the roof, face turned away.
“Well…ah, we’ve got to be going,” my mother says, bewildered by the turn of events. Cole takes my hand in his and squeezes reassuringly.
“I’ll stop by tonight, okay?” he asks uncertainly and I understand he is aware of my recent avoidance of him. I manage a weak smile and nod. He squeezes my hand again and then walks over to Jake and whispers something to him. After a moment, Jake and Cole join the line to get into the funeral home and I breathe a sigh of relief, ill-equipped to cope with any more drama from the brothers.
“Salinda, I’m sorry about that. I think Derry has had quite an effect on my boys,” Geoffrey says smoothly, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that is incredibly disturbing. Everything about this man screams “danger!” to me, and I have learned to trust my instincts.
“I
t’s been a long day, Geoffrey. I’m going to take Derry home now,” Mom says wearily, patting me absently on the shoulder. After another moment, Geoffrey shifts his attention to my mother, turning up the wattage on the smile considerably. Mom blinks and actually bats her eyelashes. With a sense of doom, I tug at her arm and she finally starts moving.
“Of course. May I call later and see how you’re both doing?” he asks, his voice rubbing against my mind like silk. I shudder and focus on the cold wind that slaps me in the face, the damp heaviness that permeates the air just before a big snow giving it weight.
“Please. Goodnight, Geoffrey,” Mom says and we cross the street to get to the overflow parking lot where our rental car waits. Mom’s Torino was hauled up from the riverbank sometime yesterday, but the alignment was off, so she got a loaner while the mechanic fixes it. The fact that she still hasn’t punished me for stealing her car and damaging it is some testament to how much she actually worried about me. I find it oddly comforting.
When we finally reach home I go back to my room and flop down on my bed, exhausted to the point of delirium and too rattled to be left alone with my own thoughts.
Miranda’s journal is still sitting on my desk, its binding somehow darker than I remember, and I imagine it soaking up Nicole’s blood, locking her secrets inside, waiting for me.
Getting slowly out of bed, my body protesting with every shift of muscle, I drag myself over to the desk and sit down in front of the book, fingers resting lightly on the surface. I have no choice now. I promised Nicole I would read it.
I have to keep at least one promise to her.
Undoing the button clasp on the front, I let the book fall open to the first page and begin reading.
September 30
I don’t understand Phillip. He was so sweet to me at first; he gave me presents every time he took me out, he carried my books for me, introduced me to his friends. He was nice to Nicole. He seemed so perfect. I don’t know what has happened to make him change.
It’s like I don’t exist for him when other people aren’t around, and then he suddenly becomes that sweet, attentive boyfriend again. The minute we’re alone, he drops it. It doesn’t make sense and it hurts, it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.
October 2
He told me he doesn’t want me seeing Nicole anymore; that she’s not welcome to sit with us at lunch. I asked him why, and he said, ‘you belong to me now.’ Like that answered my question. I don’t get him at all, it’s like he’s a different person.
I didn’t listen to him, and I started to go sit with Nicole at lunch today. Before I got to her table, Phillip came up behind me and twisted my arm around my back so hard it brought tears to my eyes. I asked him what the hell he was doing and he said ‘don’t disobey me. Don’t make me look like a fool,’ and then dragged me off to his table. As soon as we sat down, he changed, acted all sweet and concerned. He asked me what was wrong, and everyone was looking at me, and I swear there was this…light in his eyes. I lied and said nothing was wrong. I don’t know why I did that.
October 4
I’m going to break up with Phillip tomorrow. I think he’s trying to abuse me somehow. It’s not physical. Apart from the day he dragged me away from Nicole, he hasn’t touched me, except in front of other people. But the things he says to me when we’re alone.
He called me at three this morning. I was barely awake and he said so many crazy things. He called me his toy and he said he would play with me until I broke. When I saw him at school, he acted like nothing happened. I asked him about the call and he said he didn’t call me; he had no idea what I was talking about. And then he acted all worried about me the rest of the day, telling people not to upset me, that I was feeling fragile. He told people at lunch that Nicole and I had a fight, and she wouldn’t be coming around anymore.
I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. He just had this look on his face when he talked about Nicole. I think he might hurt her.
I put the journal down and close my eyes, giving the words time to reconfigure on the pages beneath my fingers. After a moment I look through the entries again and find that my initial impression of the truth isn’t far from what she actually wrote. It is the next entry where things begin to change.
October 8
I have to watch what I write in here. He found the journal in my bag this afternoon and read it. He was angry. He said I had to stop writing mean, untrue things about him. He told me not to bother hiding it, he’d find it. He’d know if I was bad, he said.
He says if I misbehave he’ll take it out on Nicole.
I didn’t know people like him existed. It’s like he’s this empty shell, and the only thing that fills him up is my misery. It’s food and drink to him. I can’t get away from him. I know that he’ll just do something to Nicole. I wish I could tell someone, I feel so alone. I wish Jake wasn’t acting so weird. Half the time he’s too angry to talk to me and then other half he just follows me around like a lost dog. I looked out my window last night and he was just standing there in the shadows on the sidewalk, watching me.
Slow tears twist down my cheeks as Miranda’s loneliness and misery leaks through the pages, blurring my vision and replacing her unmeant honesty with shallow words that barely scratch the surface of her true feelings. With increasing depression, I turn the page to find the entries I have already seen, the truth behind the words lost now except to memory. That Miranda didn’t feel safe enough even to write in her journal what Shockey had done to her, how Phillip treated her when he found out, how lost and violated she was, breaks my heart.
Anger, fierce and pure, dries my tears and bolsters my grim determination to glean all I can from this journal, to allow Miranda to share her pain with someone else, even if it is too late to help her. I move on to the next entry, gritting my teeth in expectation of the emotional assault.
October 15
Everything is numb. I am hollow. They shoved their hands in me and dragged it all out with their greedy fingers. Everyone has a piece of me now, everyone but me.
I have to carve myself up, shape myself into something new. I don’t exist anymore. Someone new has to be here. They look at me with accusing eyes, Jake, Nicole, like I should be the same person, but how can they know, they can’t know that everything I ever was has been stolen. HE has it, HE has all of me and HE will take whatever’s left when I’m done carving up the leftovers. I don’t even bleed right…I have to push down so hard to get the blood. I must not have much left. I think it must still be there, a deep puddle on the seat, all that blood. It wouldn’t stop, I think the tap is broken.
October 21
I wanted to tell Nicole today. She stopped by my locker and just looked at me. I knew she was going to cry, she makes this face when she’s going to, like she’s swallowed a lemon. I wanted to tell her, I wanted her to make HIM stop, wanted her to know about Shockey, but then HE came up behind me and put his fingers around my neck and I knew HE would snap my neck right there if I said a word.
HE told me I couldn’t tell anyone what Shockey did because HE would look like a fool. I belong to HIM now, and it’s my fault I got dirty.
I don’t know anymore, I can’t remember what I used to be like, how I used to feel. I am this new person, an empty person, and I think I’m broken. Maybe HE will let me go soon.
October 24
He put a gun to my head tonight. He took me to a movie with his friends and after he dropped them off he took me to the place where Shockey raped me and he opened the glove compartment. He pulled out the brown paper bag and told me to open it if I was so curious. I told him I didn’t need to, I didn’t care, but he made me. It was a gun, I don’t know what kind, but it was heavy and cold. He picked it up and put it to my head. It didn’t really bother me, I think it would have been better if he’d just shot me.
But he said the crazy things again. He said he was almost done with me, and that if I ever told anyone about him he would use the gun on Nicole, h
e would kill her and he would make sure that I watched. I cried then. I didn’t think I still could.
I promised I would stay quiet, I swore it, and he said he didn’t believe me, that he would watch me and if he ever saw me even speak to Nicole he would kill her. I believe him, I think it would be easy for him. I don’t know why he hasn’t killed me.
Then he put the gun away and took me home, he acted sweet again, like he used to. Told me I was his girl, his lovely girl. He said I have a beautiful soul and he’s so lucky to have me.
He took it. He took my soul.
October 30
I am going to tell Jake. I can’t tell Nicole, but if I tell Jake, he’ll keep her safe from HIM. Jake doesn’t scare me anymore, nothing can scare me anymore. I’m going to tell him everything. He can stop Shockey, he can make all of it stop. I’m going to tell him tonight.
I don’t care what he thinks of me anymore, what anyone thinks of me. I just want her safe.
It is the last entry.
I drop the book and curl myself into a ball, sobbing so hard I can barely draw breath and making this strangled moan that hurts my ears. I don’t know how long it goes on, but the tears keep coming. I have never cried like this before, not over my dad leaving, not over some of the horrible things I’ve learned about people, not even over Nicole’s death. It feels as though all the sorrow, all the despair that was contained in those pages is finally being released through me, that Miranda is the one sobbing uncontrollably, not me.
I take a shuddering gasp and drag myself back from the bleak words, willing my hands to be steady as they take the journal again, closing the cover respectfully, as though pulling a sheet over a naked corpse.
Another sob chokes me, but I clench my jaw to prevent its release, somehow convinced that holding that last cry inside will keep me connected to Miranda, to Nicole, to what must be done. With an effort, I swallow it, feeling it shift from the futile weakness it represented to something else, something hard and hot, a knot of flame that lodges itself in my chest and pulses, telling me to do something, anything.
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