by Owens, Molly
“I’ve just been thinking lately, how different I am from Camille. She is so stunning. Like she’s just stepped out of a magazine. I can’t understand how you would go from her to me.”
“You’re not going to like my answer,” he warned with a smile.
“I can take it,” I responded lightly, realizing he wasn’t going pretend like he and Camille were just friends anymore.
“Well, there are girls to fuck and girls to fall in love with. You figure out which you are,” he laughed lightly and then added, “The big clue should be the fact you’re still a virgin.”
32
I was standing naked in a sterile white room, my arms tied behind my back. One small bed was the only furnishing. On the bed was a single calla lily. I heard the slamming of a door behind me. I spun around to see a set of eyes peering at me through a tiny window in the steel door. I recognized the eyes immediately. They were gray and muddy and seemed to dance with evil delight as they bore into me. I took a step backwards, away from them. I wanted to hide, to cover myself with something but there was no escape. I was trapped. I heard his laugh, high pitched and jagged. I tried to scream but nothing came out of my mouth, it was taped shut. Then the pain began, deep in the small of my back, ripping at me like I was being cut in two. I twisted in agony, the pain so intense, but I was helpless to stop it.
I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. My back was throbbing from the stinging welts I had suffered the day before. I opened my curtains to let in some fresh air and found that the sun was just coming up over the hills. It was too early to be awake, but I didn’t even bother trying to fall back to sleep.
I filled the bathtub with lukewarm water and dumped a half a box of baking soda in, hoping that it would help sooth my stinging back. I sank into the tub carefully and closed my eyes letting my mind wander. The water grew cold as the sounds of my house coming awake began. I heard my dad frying an egg in the kitchen and toasting a piece of bread. Then my mom’s slippers flipping under her feet as she walked up the stairs and directly to the coffee grinder. It whirled and buzzed noisily, followed moments later by the sound of dripping liquid in the coffee pot. I could hear my parents talking to each other in low voices. I imagined my dad remarking on the weather forecast, morosely pessimistic about the drought. I could hear my mom mmm’s and ah-hah’s, she was agreeing without actually listening to his words.
If I concentrated carefully on the routine sounds buzzing through the house, I could almost imagine that I was back in time, before Levi had ever entered my life. I could practically feel what it was like to be that Chelsea, the self-confident Chelsea who rolled her eyes at girls who seemed so easily ruled by their boyfriends. I could experience in the depth of my being what it had been like to know right from wrong, good from bad, and to believe that I would always act accordingly. That person whom I could slip back inside of as I focused my mind on the habitual sounds floating from the kitchen, was the girl whom Levi had noticed that first day at 7-Eleven. He had watched her, chosen her. The sick irony is that she was long gone. That Chelsea had slipped quietly away and had been replaced by a hollow shell of a girl who acted from a place of fear and self preservation. Like a wild horse, I was being broken. I wondered if the new domesticated Chelsea would even be who Levi had wanted in the first place.
I got dressed into a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I pulled my hair back into a bun. I wouldn’t have to think about what I looked like until at least that night, Levi was on some kind of mission, illicit I was sure, with James and some of the newer Delancey Boys. I filled a mug with half coffee and half cream, and then popped it in the microwave to bring it up to a drinkable temperature.
My mom looked at me suspiciously as I sat down at the dining room table next to her, “It must feel like the middle of the night to you Chels,” she said looking back to her newspaper, “Do you have to work this early?”
“Nope. I just couldn’t sleep. Besides, I should probably start transitioning to hideously early mornings. School starts soon, you know.”
She raised her eyebrows at me but was too absorbed in her paper to comment further, “Chelsea!” she suddenly gasped, “Isn’t this Toby?” she pushed the paper toward me.
I could feel my heart sink as I looked at a photograph of Toby Fanning staring back at me. Below the photo was the headline, TEEN FOUND SLAIN. Tears began to well in my eyes as my mom read the article aloud, “Montecito High School junior, Toby Fanning was found bruised and partially decapitated in the backwoods of Vistas Park yesterday by a mountain biker. The seventeen year old junior was last seen by his mother on the night of Monday, July 6 at ten o’clock in the evening. His mother, Marcy Fanning, told staff reporters that she had received a note from her son stating that he would be spending the summer with his father and had not placed a missing persons report, ‘I had no reason not to believe his note,’ Fanning told reporters. SJPD made a statement to reporters late last night indicating that they are pursuing this as a homicide, but would not comment on possible motives or suspects. A memorial service will be held at the St. Jacobs High School Cathedral tomorrow at 10AM.
“Did you know he was missing,” my mom asked in a near whisper as pressed my fingertips against my eyes.
I shook my head, not looking at her. My worst fears had just been confirmed. I suppose somewhere in my mind, I knew that Toby was dead, but as long as there wasn’t any proof of this fact, I could go on believing that he would magically appear in my English class next fall, chattering away to me about some obscure band. But now that I’d seen it in black and white, there was no denying that the heinous prank I had been part of had left Toby dead.
I felt my mom pull me into a hug, and I began to sob. She patted my back soothingly, but with each pat, the sting of contact worked as a reminder of why I was in this mess to begin with. Why Toby was dead. Levi Bennett.
If I had ever been close to exposing the details of my predicament to anyone, it was at that very moment. I felt my mouth open to explain it all to my mom, but the words wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t force them from my lips, no matter how hard I tried, they were stuck.
There is a tradition for the women in my family. Whenever something really bad happens, something so sad we can’t face it, we take to bed, and that is exactly what I did that day. My mom checked on me every couple of hours, bringing me lunch and then dinner. Levi called a few times, but I didn’t answer, knowing I would probably face punishment later, but not caring enough to reach for the phone.
Of course my parents assumed that I was despondent over the loss of a friend, which was part of it, but honestly, and I know this will make me sound shallow, only a small part. My overwhelming sense of doom was based primarily on the fact that I felt responsible for his death. And then there was the realization that my boyfriend, the person I spent the majority of my time with was truly insane. I was now convinced that Levi was willing and capable of ending my life if he ever felt so inclined. I spent a lot of the day contemplating why Levi would want Toby dead. What had he done? I had no idea; all I knew was that I didn’t want to make that same mistake.
I watched my bedroom walls as the sun set and they fell dark. I eventually flipped on the TV and scanned the channels aimlessly. I heard my mom’s footsteps outside my door. She peered in at me with sad, tentative eyes, “Sweetie, Levi called, he sounded really upset. I hadn’t realized he and Toby were so close.”
I nodded noncommittally, “I guess.”
“I told him that you had taken to your bed for the day. He said that he’d be by tomorrow morning to take you to Toby’s memorial,” she paused, “Would you rather I go with you, honey? I can cancel my morning clients.”
“No thanks Mom. I should go with Levi,” I sighed, “He’ll need the support.” Besides, I thought to myself, I doubt he meant it as an option.
The drive to St. Jacobs the next morning was thick with silence. It wasn’t until Levi pulled his car into a parking spot and turned off the ignition that he finally sp
oke, “Don’t be too upset, Chelsea. Toby was a complete douche.” I scowled at him with fierce eyes. He threw his head back and laughed, sounding exhausted, “Listen, Punky. I know you think that you had something to do with this, but you don’t know anything.”
“Oh really? I don’t?” I asked sarcastically, “Then tell me Levi. How did it happen? I’m sure you know.”
He turned his head toward me, took a breath and exhaled slowly, “It is not safe for you to know anymore then you already do,” he said grimly, “Just trust me on this one, please. You really shouldn’t blame yourself.”
“Fine,” I said opening the door, “Let’s get this over with.”
I’d been to a couple other funeral services in my life, two of which were for kids from school. The first was when I was in eighth grade and Nicole Spellman died of leukemia; the second was just last year after Tyler Simmons was killed in a drunk driving accident. Both services were similar to Toby’s in that they were spilling over with people. There is something so obviously horrific about the death of a kid which draws a big crowd, unlike my great Aunt Clementine’s memorial where only a handful of mourners showed up. Maybe it’s human nature to want to bring meaning to something as tragic as premature death.
The cathedral at St. Jacobs was swarming with people, so many in fact, that they had plugged in speakers outside so that those who did not fit inside would still be able to hear the minister’s inspiring words. Like always, Levi pushed his way easily through the crowd with the authority of someone carrying a backstage pass. He pulled me with him to the second row of the chapel, just behind Toby’s family. I stood quietly next to Levi as he politely shook Mr. Fanning’s hand and kissed Marcy Fanning’s cheek, offering his sincere condolences. Marcy cried quietly into a handkerchief, not looking at me. A lot of good those earplugs did him in the end, I thought morosely, and then scolded myself for being so cynical, even at a funeral. Levi’s parents arrived next, going through the same pleasantries with the Fanning family as Levi had. The church music began and we all sat down.
Mr. Bennett reached over Levi and patted my thigh, “Good to see you again, Chelsea,” he smiled wickedly, “Sorry it has to be under such disturbing circumstances.”
I nodded coolly, and crossed my legs, knocking his hand off my thigh. Levi squeezed my hand. These two are quite a pair, I thought sardonically.
The minister droned on, about what exactly, I can’t be sure, I was too occupied by the private conversation I was having with God in my head. I was attempting to explain that I hadn’t meant for this to happen to Toby, and begging him to see it in his heart to forgive me. And, oh by the way, if he could lend me a hand with the Levi situation, I would really appreciate it, big time.
Following the memorial service we drove to the private reception that was being held at the Fanning home. There were already people gathering in the large, high ceilinged living room, and more around the pool. Several waitresses weaved their way in and out of the mourners caring trays of seared ahi on toasts, and crab cakes with aioli dollops. I stood silently next to Levi as he chatted politely with adults about the weather and the dire state of the economy.
I watched as the Fanning family arrived home. First Marcy with her daughter Shawn, tightly locked under her arm. A couple minutes later Mitch Fanning arrived with Bryce and Sophie. They all looked exhausted, as if the color from their cheeks had been sucked out with a syringe. Concerned mourners gathered around them, more hugs, more pats, more words of sympathy.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennett meandered in after another half an hour. My eyes followed Mr. Bennett as he greeted the gathering like he was a celebrity meeting his fans, big smiles, emphatic handshakes all around. After several minutes he whispered something in Mr. Fanning’s ear and the two slipped away down the long hallway. I wondered what business they had today.
I excused myself to the bathroom as Levi headed out to join a group of Sophie’s friends on the back patio. I didn’t need to watch while they all drooled over my boyfriend, the murderer. I walked through the kitchen where I found Marcy slumped over the counter, her face in her hands. My instinct was to keep walking, but guilt won over. I approached her and placed my hand lightly on her back.
“I’m so sorry, Marcy,” I said quietly.
She turned to me, her face stricken with pain, “Oh, Chelsea!” she wailed, pulling me into a hug. I felt her body heaving against me as she sobbed into my shoulder, “I don’t know how I am going to live without him!” she said between stuttering gasps.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, feeling completely ill-equipped to deal with this level of emotion. Holy crap I’m having to grow up fast this summer, I thought, this can’t be healthy for my development.
Marcy eventually stepped away from me, wiping her eyes with her arm, “I’m shutting down Yogurt Heaven,” she said in a perfectly calm and business-like voice.
“Oh,” I said, taking a second to catch up with her sudden change of topics.
“Shawn and I need to get away for a while, and Mitch doesn’t want to hassle with it.”
“I understand,” I said nodding, “You need to take care of yourself right now,” I said sounding exactly like my mom.
Marcy patted me on the shoulder, looking at me meaningfully, “You know, the last day I got to really spend time with Toby was at that concert,” she sighed, “I will always remember that day.” You’re not the only one.
She took a deep breath and walked out of the kitchen without another word. I decided to lock myself in the bathroom for a couple minutes of peace. I found that the guest bathroom in the hall was occupied, so I walked down to Toby’s bedroom where I knew there was a bathroom he shared with Bryce.
I stepped soundlessly into Toby’s stagnant bedroom. My heart feeling suddenly heavy as my eyes wandered over his neatly made bed, the black computer monitor on his desk waiting to be switched on, a stack of Rolling Stones magazines on a shelf. All the life in his room was gone. I remember when my cat, Dixie, was run over by a car when I was nine, for weeks afterwards I would expect to see her when I walked past the back door in the morning, lying stretched out in the sun, waiting for her bowl of kibble. It was as if my heart hadn’t received the memo from my brain that she had gone to the kitty heaven in the sky. I know it’s probably sacrilegious or something to compare the death of my cat to that of Toby, but standing in his room that day felt completely different. His life was undeniably over. He wasn’t coming back, both my heart and mind were on the same page this time. I’d like to say I believed his soul was still with us that day, but that’s not how it felt, not at all. It was more like somebody had taken a big pink eraser and rubbed him right away. Toby was undeniably gone.
I opened the door to the bathroom, forgetting the fact that knocking would be the kosher thing to do, and there was Bryce. He sat on the counter, looking completely vacant, not registering at first that I had walked in, he just stared at me.
“Oh,” I stammered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”
He continued to look at me, unblinking. I turned to leave the way I’d come, but his voice stopped me, “You did this to him,” he said sounding strained. My stomach began to sink, the truth of his words cutting deeply into me, “He would never have gone up there if you hadn’t…” Bryce’s voice cracked.
“I didn’t know,” I said, desperate to justify my actions.
“I still can’t believe you would go along with him. I thought you would…” he groped for the words, his eyes becoming wet with tears.
“What about you,” I said defensively, “You were with Levi that night. Why didn’t you stop them?” I knew, even as the words slipped from my lips what his answer would be.
“I couldn’t, I was already in too deep. You were an outsider. You are the one who doesn’t drink or do drugs. You’re the girl who every teacher loves, who gets good grades and has never done anything wrong, ever. You were our only hope. We counted on you to do the right thing. We were sure you’d go to the police.”
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I could feel the blood draining from my face, “What do you mean we?” I said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“For fuck’s sake Chelsea!” Bryce said angrily, “Unlike you, Toby wasn’t an idiot. He knew Levi was going to do something to him. It was just a matter of time. We gambled on the fact that you would be the one person who would go to the police. But you screwed everything up. And now Toby’s dead. I hope your little romance with Levi was worth it.”
My head was spinning. Toby and Bryce had known all along that I was going to be used as bait that terrible night, they were counting on it. I had been the unknowing pawn in two conflicting schemes. They’d been right to assume I’d go to the police. That is exactly what the old Chelsea would have done. And it may have actually worked. Levi had nothing on me at that point; I had no reason not to go to the authorities. Toby had risked his life with the assumption that I would take the morally correct and logical path, as I’d always done in the past. Unfortunately, they had made one fatal miscalculation: the power of my infatuation with Levi.
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing my words were utterly meaningless. Bryce slid off the counter and left the room, his anger nearly tangible as his body brushed past mine. I followed him through Toby’s room, my mind urgently searching for something to say that would make him forgive me.
“I don’t want to ever look at you again,” Bryce hissed at me as we reached the hallway. His words stopped me in my tracks, and I froze watching him lumber down the hallway toward an awaiting group of apologetic mourners.
I’m not exactly sure how long I stood there. I began banging the back of my head slowly and rhythmically against the wooden doorjamb. The pain was minimal, but it was just enough to keep my mind from focusing too carefully on all the what-ifs that were torturing me. What if I’d gone to the police? What if I hadn’t let Levi climb in my window that first night? What if I hadn’t gone to the concert? What if Hannah hadn’t left me to fend for myself?