All Unquiet Things

by Anna Jarzab

  There the message cut off, whether by her own volition or the arbitrary nature of cell-phone technology—or by someone else’s doing—it was difficult to say. Carly’s voice was garbled, and I thought maybe she was messed up on something. Later I learned from the police that Lucy Miller had thrown an End of Summer party that Thursday night (her parents were coming home from Europe on Saturday), and Carly had been in attendance. Her set drank heavily, and I knew that she had at least toyed with drugs—provided oh-so-generously by Adam Murray—so she could’ve been high as well. I couldn’t really parse the message, but I figured it had something to do with her friends. She had told a secret, started a fight, and in her state she thought I could help her figure out what to do about it. This was probably just a drunk dial she would regret after she sobered up. I kept telling myself to ignore it, but the tone of the message worried me. Carly seemed frantic and upset. Against my better instincts, I gave up pretending not to care and tried calling her.

  I phoned Carly four more times that day, but every time it just went straight to voice mail. I became increasingly concerned for her as the day wore on and possibilities ran through my head. I had once promised her that I would always help her if she asked, and I had ignored that promise earlier. The guilt I felt about not answering her call out of some sort of frigid pride weighed heavily on me. After everything, I still wasn’t capable of abandoning her.

  The fifth time I called her, around nine p.m., was no different. She didn’t answer. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that she might be avoiding my calls; I came up with all sorts of other explanations, like she’d left her phone in the car or at the party the night before. Finally, I decided that the best plan was just to see her. At least then I could tell if she was all right. If she didn’t want me around, she wouldn’t be shy about it, but at least I would know.

  Empire Valley is practically dead after dark, and the hills aren’t that far from my mother’s house. I drove up Argot Canyon Road, which runs perpendicular to Empire Creek Road, where, as it later turned out, Enzo Ribelli’s car had been parked. The two roads meet just ten feet from the bridge, so I made a quick right onto the creek road and then a left onto the bridge. I was crossing it when my headlights picked up something crumpled in a patch of grass near the wall. I thought it was a dead deer and took out my cell phone to call animal control before I realized that it was a human body.

  I remember putting down my phone and getting out of the car. I didn’t think to call 911 until after I saw that it was Carly. I had no idea I was looking at a corpse. I ran over and turned her face. Her eyes were open, and blank. Her lips were already blue. I let her face fall to the side again—I couldn’t stand to look directly at it—and lifted her halfway off the ground. With my fingers I fumbled around on her neck until I found her artery; she had no pulse. She was covered in blood, and now so was I. I laid her down and went to the car to call an ambulance. When I hung up, I returned to Carly and crouched at her feet, my back against the wall. I didn’t have to wait long. Within five minutes I was in the rear seat of a squad car, headed for the police station.

  Senior Year

  “They questioned me for three hours,” I told Audrey as she snapped some photos of the spot where I found Carly. “Then they let me go.”

  “Did they think you did it?”

  “I don’t think so. The coroner said she died less than two hours before I found her, and I was at home all evening, which my mother verified. Besides, wouldn’t make a lot of sense for me to go to all the trouble of disposing of the gun just to call 911 myself and wait for the police.”

  Audrey pulled an overstuffed file folder out of her shoulder bag and removed a small stack of papers from it.

  “What’s that?”

  “A transcript from your interview with the police the night Carly died.” She held it out to me. “Do you want to see it?”

  I shook my head. “No thanks, I was there. If you have my interview, what do you need me for?”

  “I wanted to hear it from you.”

  “So you’re trying to see if what I tell you matches what I told the police?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So you don’t trust me.” I guess it made sense. I still wasn’t quite sure I trusted her, either.

  “No, I do. But it’s been a year—something new might have come up.”

  “What are you doing with copies of the case file? Did you walk into the police department and steal it?”

  “No, my dad’s defense attorney gave it to me,” Audrey said, putting the file away.

  “Because you asked nicely?”

  “Because Dad told him to. They’ve been friends since high school. I have copies of everything the police ever turned over to him.”

  “And you’re sharing all of this with me because …”

  “You were Carly’s friend—you cared about her. Even she knew that. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have called you after Lucy’s party.”

  “If you say so.” I had wondered if maybe it was more than that. Knowing that Carly had been wearing my bracelet the night she died had stirred up hope that she might still have had feelings for me.

  “I say so.” Audrey flipped the page. “You still remember the message she left you by heart, huh?”

  “Some things you never forget.”

  “Indeed.” She paused. “Now all we have to do is figure out what it means.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.” Somehow I had fallen into the position of devil’s advocate, and I was so invested in my role that I was starting to say things that I didn’t even believe.

  “I don’t think so. She wouldn’t have called you out of the blue if it wasn’t something serious.”

  “Why didn’t she call you?”

  Audrey shrugged. “We weren’t really getting along that well before she died. We fought a lot, about stupid stuff mostly. She thought Lucy and I had something to do with that rumor going around that she was pregnant. She wasn’t, and we didn’t—at least, I didn’t.”

  “Were you at Lucy’s party?”

  “Yes, but Carly wouldn’t speak to me. I left early, right before her big argument with Adam. Cass told me about it the next day.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice when she mentioned Cass. It was refreshing to know I wasn’t the only person still obsessing over a long-ago breakup.

  “What was their fight about?”

  “Cass said that Carly thought Adam was cheating on her,” Audrey said. “He didn’t mention a name, so I guess Carly didn’t know who.”

  “Do you know what time she left? Or who drove her home?”

  Audrey shook her head. “No. I didn’t think to ask. I assume she drove.”

  I nodded. “The thing is that Carly sounded angry on the message, but she also sounded guilty. And scared. What could have happened at the party to make her feel that way?”

  “I keep asking myself that same question. She was reacting to something for sure.”

  “‘Somebody has to pay for what happened to us,’” I quoted.

  “I can’t figure out what that means. Who could have done something to you and her? You didn’t even know the same people anymore.”

  “Adam Murray,” I said in a low voice, almost to myself.

  “What did Adam ever do to you?” I glared at her. She gave me a wide-eyed, haughty look. “He stole her from you? Is that what you think?”

  “Well, he did.”

  “Sure, partially. But he didn’t drag her kicking and screaming. She left you and went to him of her own free will, Neily. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

  “I know,” I said sharply. “I know that. But maybe Carly found out he was cheating on her, like Cass said, or maybe he did something worse. It’s possible.”

  “I guess so.” Audrey leaned against the bridge’s stone wall. “Though I can’t see why she’d be freaking out about Adam’s infidelity. All his boys screw around like that. Except Cass, I mean, but he doesn’t really count.”

&nbs
p; “Why not?” I asked. “He’s one of the boys.”

  She shook her head. “He’s Cass. He’s different. A childhood friend, but only part of Adam’s crowd when he wants to be. Same goes for me. Or, went for me, I guess.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But you said Carly and Adam fought about him cheating on her.”

  “Well, Cass wasn’t sitting there watching the argument play out like a prize fight,” Audrey said. “He probably missed most of it. He told me that they took it into a room and closed the door, but everyone could still hear their muffled shouting through the wall.”

  “What else could it have been?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “I guess we start asking questions.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Eighth Grade—Spring Semester

  One afternoon, right before spring break, I had to go to the dentist instead of Carly’s house. When I told her, Carly shrugged and said that it was just as well. Her mother had an appointment, and she was going along. She looked strangely put out, and I had the ego to think it was because of me.

  “Cheer up,” I said, poking her softly in the shoulder and flashing her a grin. I had had a crush on her for months and was constantly trying to find ways to touch her, to be close to her, without creeping her out. She never seemed to mind. “There’s always tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And—”

  “I get the idea,” she said, slamming her chemistry book shut and standing up.

  “Where are you going? We have forty-five minutes left before last bell.”

  She glared at me and snapped, “I don’t care.”

  Before I could really wrap my brain around what had happened, she stormed off. I called her name, but she didn’t turn around, just said, “It’s not always about you, Neily,” loud enough for the entire library to hear. Gert glared at me from behind the circulation desk.

  “It wasn’t me!” I insisted, but all that did was earn me another dirty look.

  My mother and I ordered pizza that night, for once eschewing all pretenses that she might actually cook. Usually, she banged around in the kitchen for about a half hour, searching the cabinets for something half decent to make before giving up and ordering takeout or microwaving something frozen. The only thing my mother could do well in the kitchen was bake.

  When the doorbell rang, my mother shoved a twenty in my hand and said, “Tell him to keep the change.”

  But when I opened the door, Carly was standing there, clearly distraught.

  “You’re not the pizza guy,” I said.

  She looked as though she’d been crying. Unsure of how to react, I peered past her at the darkening street. “How did you get here? Did you walk?” It would’ve been a long walk.

  She shook her head. “My dad dropped me off. I need to talk.”

  “What’s going on? I don’t—did something happen to you?” I asked. She dropped into my arms so suddenly I barely caught her. “Carly. What’s wrong?”

  For a few moments, all she did was press her face into my shoulder. When she finally lifted her head, my T-shirt was wet and so were her eyes. I ushered her out onto the porch and shut the front door, gesturing to a bench where we could sit and talk.

  “What happened today?” I asked. I meant the library—I thought her current state of upset might have something to do with our fight.

  “My mom had an appointment,” she said, biting her lip.

  “I know, but you didn’t have to leave like that. You could’ve talked to me about it.”

  She shook her head. “My mom was having these pains, in her stomach, kind of. It had been happening for a while, and since she’s always had indigestion, she thought it was just getting worse, that it might even be an ulcer. My dad examined her and wrote her a prescription, but the medication wasn’t helping, so two weeks ago she went in for a more thorough exam. We got the results today.”

  I pulled back a little, afraid to look at her. I wanted to stop her from saying what I knew was coming, to keep deluding myself that she was angry at herself for blowing up at me and was here to apologize. But she surged forward.

  “It’s—um—it’s cancer?” She wiped at her eyes. “Ovarian cancer. And they kept giving us all these odds and numbers, so when I got home I looked it all up and I realized what it meant. And my dad, you know him, putting a positive spin on it, but he’s a doctor, he knows. It’s not—well, it doesn’t look good.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder. I couldn’t think of anything else to do to comfort her. What words? I had none.

  “And the thing is, they kept saying how if they had just caught it sooner, they’d be able to do more for her. It’s not fair! She’s always taking me to doctors—orthodontist, dentist, dermatologist—dragging me to yearly checkups. And all this time, she’s been the sick one, and she never did anything to take care of herself.” Her hands dropped into her lap. “I don’t want to lose my mom, Neily.”

  My mouth hung slightly open, like I was getting ready to say something important. What I wanted to say was: I’m so, so sorry. But instead I said, “I love you.” Only then, when I said it out loud, did I know that it was true.

  Carly threaded her fingers through mine and I squeezed her hand. She said it back to me, and I was relieved in a way that I wasn’t expecting. I didn’t know that I needed her to say it until she did. I was so grateful; I leaned down and kissed her fearlessly, which was unlike me. When she kissed me back, I brought my hand up and cupped the nape of her neck, pulling her hair with my clumsy fingers. I tried to back off, to apologize for hurting her, but she kept me close, kissing me softly at first, then hard and fast until the lines between us blurred.

  Senior Year

  After we were done at the bridge, Audrey dropped me off at my father’s house. As I climbed out of the car, she thanked me for my help.

  “I think this goes without saying, but please don’t tell anyone I’m doing this,” she requested.

  “I won’t.” Who would I tell? “Hey, Audrey?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  She gave me a sarcastic thumbs-up and started backing up.

  “Wrong finger!” I called after her.

  When I walked through the door, I noticed that someone had cleared my bags out of the foyer. I found my father in the kitchen, flipping idly through Time.

  “Hey, son,” he said amiably. He pointed to my beer, which was sitting out on the counter. “Did you have a bad day or something?”

  “Let me think—is it a weekday? Then, yes.”

  “Where were you just now?”

  “Skeet shooting.”

  “No, really.”

  “Really. I’m getting good.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me. When do I get to meet your new girlfriend?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I said quickly. “And you were, what? Spying on me? Is your shoe also a phone?”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was guessing. So who is she?”

  “Nobody. Just this girl from school. We were working on a project.”

  “Oh, a school project,” he said, putting on his best Knowing Father look. I liked to think he spent time practicing it in the mirror.

  “When did you get so interested in my comings and goings, anyway?”

  He looked away, as if embarrassed, and shrugged.

  “Dad, what do you know about Enzo Ribelli?”

  He thought for a moment. “You mean besides the fact that he murdered a girl down the road from my house?”

  “Yes, besides that,” I said blankly.

  “I didn’t know him personally. But if memory serves, he and his brother, Paul, didn’t really get along. They grew up here, you know. We all went to Brighton together.”

  “Yeah, I know.” It was part of the Legend of Kevin Monroe.

  “When we were at Brighton, Paul was the hotshot. He was three years younger, but he got better grades and was
a great football player. Enzo didn’t even really try, but you could tell it bothered him, all the attention Paul got. All Enzo came out of Brighton with was a substance abuse problem.”

  “Things haven’t really changed much.”

  “No. They haven’t.”

  “When they arrested Enzo, did you think he was guilty? I mean, did it make sense—just the person he was?”

  “Well, there was this one incident in high school—but it might have been an exaggeration, and my memory’s sort of fuzzy on the details.”

  “What happened?”

  “Enzo had this girlfriend a grade lower than him, really pretty. Anyway, one day she came to school with a black eye and by the time the day was over everybody was saying that Enzo had hit her and that her father was going to press charges.”

  “Did he?”

  My father shook his head. “I don’t think so. She changed schools soon after that.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why all the sudden interest in ancient history, Neily? Did something happen at school today?”

  “It’s nothing. Never mind.” I went to the fridge, got another beer, and went up to my room.

  Audrey caught up with me after second period on Monday.

  “I’m late for class,” I told her, slamming my locker shut and walking away. She followed me. “How is it that my coldness is not putting you off?”

  “I thought you were going to help me,” she said.

  I stopped and faced her. “I changed my mind. Your father-he hasn’t exactly built up a reputation for honesty and nonviolence. Maybe you believe him, but that doesn’t mean that I have to.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”