Bring Her Home

by David Bell

  Bill thought of her exposed breast, her body on display for all those strangers to see. Her body exposed to the elements in skeevy Dunlap Park. “What part of her body are you talking about?”

  “You tell me. Pick something.”

  Right then he wished he had the stick again, the one he used to bash Paige’s hand when they were little kids. He wanted to lash out at her, to say or do something that would hurt her. And the very act of hurting her would allow them to not face the subject that hovered in the air between them like a noxious cloud.

  But they weren’t kids anymore. And he could push her away as hard as he wanted, but the substance of what she was saying wouldn’t change.

  Why did Summer react that way every time he came close?

  Why was she so animated when Candy came nearby?

  Why shake her head and make a sour face when she heard her own name?

  Bill brushed past his sister, heading for the bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Bill reached the girl’s side. He studied his daughter’s form.

  She had to be wrong. Paige had to be wrong.

  The police, the doctors, the paramedics. Everyone looked at the two girls and reached a conclusion. Sure, they looked alike and dressed alike. Go out into the streets of Jakesville or any other town in America and see thousands upon thousands of fifteen-year-old blond girls, all wearing the same clothes and listening to the same music and carrying the same phones and talking the same way.

  But people didn’t mix them up.

  They didn’t mix them up when they died.

  “I don’t want to do this, Paige.”

  “I know. I don’t want you to do it either. If you just do it now, we don’t ever have to talk about it again. I’ll apologize. I’ll say it was a silly conspiracy theory or whatever you want to call it.”

  Bill felt a hitch and tremble in his legs. If a strong gust of wind came through the room, it would have sent him reeling, making him tumble end over end until he crashed into some obstacle.

  He might even welcome that wind. Something—anything—to take him out of that room.

  “Her hands,” he said. “Summer has Julia’s hands—you know that. Long, thin fingers. I know I’m biased, of course, but she has beautiful hands. When I came here to the hospital that first day and they were bandaged, I actually thought about them being damaged. It’s silly and vain—”

  “They are nice hands. I noticed them when you came to visit. Right before . . .” She left the thought unfinished.

  And Bill stood in the hospital room, facing another moment of “right before.” If he went ahead and acted on Paige’s hunch, things might never be the same again.

  Never.

  “I’d know my boys’ hands anywhere,” Paige said. “And Kyle’s. Hell, I’d recognize your hands anywhere. Yours look just like Dad’s.”

  “Okay, so you want me to just . . . just look at her hands and see if they’re Summer’s? Fine.”

  He reached down and started unwrapping the gauze on Summer’s hand. A silly thought entered his head, one that made him think of monster movies on late-night television. A mummy. Some dumb archaeologist sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and unleashing the worst terrors imaginable on the unsuspecting victims in the way.

  “Let me call a nurse,” Paige said. “Be careful.”

  “I’m being careful.”

  But he didn’t stop unwrapping.

  And he was in the line of whatever would be revealed.

  When he’d peeled the wad of gauze off the hand, he threw it onto the floor.

  At first, he only saw the healing scrapes and bruises. The hand looked like it had been through a war.

  But it was a smaller hand, the fingers shorter than he knew Summer’s were. Nothing at all like Julia’s. Nothing at all like his daughter’s.

  Or had Paige’s crazy notion so infected his mind that he couldn’t see reality right before his eyes?

  No. He was right. And Paige saw it too.

  “Oh, Bill.”

  He wished for the wind to blow him away.

  Part

  Two

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The man from the funeral home arrived at the house in the afternoon. He wore a dark suit, his black hair slicked back from his forehead, and he looked surprisingly young. As he came inside, shaking hands with Detective Hawkins and Paige, Bill wondered why he assumed all funeral directors would be older. After all, weren’t all old funeral directors once young funeral directors?

  The man gave Bill a sincere and lengthy handshake, introducing himself as Todd Winter of Winter and Sons. Bill assumed Todd’s father had handled Julia’s funeral, since he didn’t remember meeting him then. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, and then looked around for a place to sit, a slim black briefcase clutched in his left hand.

  “We can sit at the kitchen table,” Paige said, stepping in when Bill didn’t speak up.

  The four of them trudged out to the kitchen. In the twenty-four hours since the discovery at the hospital, a number of neighbors and coworkers had come by, bringing casseroles and desserts, more than Bill and Paige alone could eat. The food was stuffed in the refrigerator, and several cakes and pies sat on the counters untouched. Bill had leaned somewhat heavily on the Tennessee whiskey the night before, and the fog of his grief was amplified by the lingering cloud of a hangover. He vaguely remembered Adam coming by, offering support, and then Paige taking the bottle away sometime just after midnight. He thought he’d cried like a child as Paige led him back to the bedroom, slipped off his shoes and pants, and tucked him under the covers.

  He knew for certain she’d left a bucket by the side of the bed, because he stumbled over it in the morning when he woke up, an inch of fuzz covering his tongue and an eyeball-melting headache roaring through his brain.

  Paige offered everyone something to drink or eat.

  The undertaker declined, and Bill said nothing, but Paige still went over and brought him a steaming mug of coffee, something clearly designed to keep him awake and sharp while the conversation took place.

  When they were all settled, Hawkins nodded to Todd Winter, who nodded back and slid some papers out of his briefcase. But he didn’t look at them.

  “We have some things to decide, Mr. Price,” he said. “I’ve been talking to the Rodgers family as well as to the police about the ways in which we can proceed. Do you feel you’re up to making some of these decisions today?”

  Bill stared at the man’s hands, which looked to be professionally manicured. Sunlight streamed through the window above the sink and shone off the lacquered finish on his nails.

  When Bill didn’t answer, Paige spoke up. “Bill? You said you wanted to talk about this now. And get it over with.”

  “Yeah,” he said, the single word emerging with great effort. He sipped from his mug as Todd Winter nodded, happy to have been given the green light. Bill felt the irrational urge to laugh rising in his throat. He didn’t know why. It seemed funny to be sitting at a table in his house, with his sister by his side, listening to a man young enough to be his own son talk about funerals and cemeteries.

  “The first question has to do with Summer. Would you like her to remain in her present location, or is there another place where you’d like her to be buried? The Rodgers family is fine either way, so if you wanted her to stay where she is—”

  “Sure, they’re fine,” Bill said. “Their daughter isn’t dead.”

  Todd Winter kept going without acknowledging what Bill said. “And it’s too early for there to be a tombstone.” Todd cut his eyes to Hawkins.

  The detective recognized his cue and said, “We’d already processed the body for any evidence relating to the crime, so as far as the investigation goes, we’re finished.”

  “The reinterment would be an added expense,” Todd said, �
�but given the nature of the situation, it seems only right that the City of Jakesville would handle that on your behalf. They informed me they want this to be as painless as possible for you, considering how difficult this time has been. Isn’t that right, Detective?”

  “Absolutely. We have that offer on the authority of the mayor’s office.”

  “I should sue you,” Bill said, speaking through clenched teeth. His hand formed into a fist, and he held back, resisting the urge to thump it against the table. “I should sue you and the hospital and anybody else I can find for what you’ve put us through.”

  “Bill,” Paige said.

  “And the Rodgers family should sue you as well.” Some of the fog lifted from Bill’s brain, only to be replaced by anger. He paused a moment to consider that anger was the one thing that chased his grief away. “We’ve all been through hell because you all fucked up. The hospital too. They have plenty of money.”

  “I understand that, Bill,” Hawkins said. “I’ve apologized, and I’ll keep on apologizing. To you and the Rodgers family.”

  “How did this happen?” Paige asked. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Hawkins hesitated a moment before answering, his hand rubbing against the underside of his chin. “We were looking for two girls, and we found two girls. Badly beaten and unrecognizable. You saw her, Bill. You know the condition she was in. One girl, who we now know was Summer, was only partially clothed. In fact, the girl we originally thought was Summer was wearing Summer’s jacket with Summer’s ID inside.”

  “So Haley was wearing Summer’s jacket,” Paige said. “They must have switched or borrowed or something.”

  “All of this because one girl borrowed another girl’s jacket,” Bill said. “Candy didn’t look at the clothes? She didn’t notice?”

  “She thought her daughter was dead,” Hawkins said. “She didn’t think about the clothes. You never saw them, did you? Haley’s clothes were removed when she was brought into the emergency room. No one thought twice about it. And there’s another curious thing about the clothes, something that we’ve been thinking a lot about as we investigate.”

  “What curious thing?” Paige asked.

  Bill saw the intense interest on his sister’s face. It showed on Todd Winter’s face as well.

  “We know these girls had to have been attacked somewhere else. We’d searched the park thoroughly, and they were found on a busy trail. So we have no idea where they were from the time they disappeared to the time they were found. The attack, the beating, appears to have happened on Saturday, given the severe condition of the injuries. We just don’t know where those girls were for those thirty-six hours or so.”

  “You still didn’t say what was so unusual about the clothes,” Bill said, his voice flat.

  “Right, right,” Hawkins said, his index finger in the air. He cleared his throat. “The girl we now know was Summer died at the time of the attack, or shortly after. But Haley survived. So the attacker had these girls somewhere for all that time, with one of them alive. Clinging to life, but alive.”

  “Maybe they thought she was dead,” Bill said.

  “Maybe. But unlikely. You see, Haley wasn’t just wearing Summer’s jacket. She was wearing a lot of clothes, a hodgepodge of things. Much more clothing than Summer was wearing when they were found.” Hawkins looked almost pleased with himself as he spun out the theory. “It seems possible the attacker knew Haley was alive and knew how cold it was the night they were taken to the park. Somebody put more clothes on her in order to keep her warm, to help ensure that she might survive the night. It says something about the attacker’s mind-set.”

  “Attacker or attackers,” Paige said, emphasizing the plural.

  “Agreed,” Hawkins said. “We don’t know.”

  Bill’s mind spun like a gyroscope. He summoned the energy to lift his shoulders.

  “If one girl was wearing most of the clothes and you couldn’t recognize either one, how on earth did you conclude which was which?” Paige asked. She sounded agitated, almost angry. Under normal circumstances, Bill would have stepped in and asserted his older-brother authority by telling her to calm down. But he didn’t. He liked her flash of anger, her frustration with the absurdly heartbreaking situation they were all in.

  Hawkins’s face flushed. Not with anger, Bill thought, but with sheepish embarrassment. “Summer’s ID was in the pocket of the coat Haley was wearing. Haley’s coat, as it turned out. And Haley was found wearing a ring, but Candy Rodgers said it didn’t belong to her daughter.”

  “Girls share jewelry,” Paige said. “And clothes.”

  “Summer’s bracelet,” Bill said. “She wasn’t wearing it.”

  “What bracelet?” Paige asked.

  Bill’s voice sounded raspy, tired. “Julia gave Summer a bracelet for her thirteenth birthday. She wore it every day since Julia died, but it wasn’t on that girl in the hospital. I thought maybe it got stolen or lost when they were attacked, so I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t expensive, but it meant a lot to her.”

  “No one thought to check dental records or identifying marks. A lot of people assumed some pretty big things, but they did it because they were eager to get help for the girl we thought was Summer. And because they were focused on tending to the needs of the Rodgers family, who we thought had lost a daughter. We’re a small community here. People get stretched thin. They don’t deal with cases like this—”

  Bill pounded his fist on the table, making the coffee mugs and spoons jump and rattle. “Enough with the bullshit excuses, Detective,” Bill said. “You all fucked up. The biggest fuckup of all time.”

  Hawkins’s face remained flushed but otherwise stoic. “I’m sorry, Bill. I’ve already offered to resign or be taken off the case. I’ll take my lumps however they come.”

  Bill jumped up from the table, moving so fast he knocked his chair over. It clattered to the floor. His hand stung, and he had no idea what he’d even stood for. He wanted to walk. To walk away and just keep going, even though he knew he couldn’t. He had nowhere else to go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Bill stared out the window at the bleak backyard. The sky was overcast, the leaves long gone. “So Summer died right away,” he said, his breath fogging the window glass. “She didn’t suffer.”

  “That’s safe to say, Bill,” Hawkins said, trying to sound encouraging.

  Encouraging. When the best hope you have is your dead child didn’t suffer in the cold after being beaten to death.

  Bill turned and looked at Paige, whose face was full of sympathy, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She was remembering his revelation the day before about Julia’s death, his guilt over ignoring her call so she died alone on the kitchen floor, leaving Summer instead of Bill to find her body. And he knew Paige conflated the two deaths, imagining that Bill’s guilt over Julia’s dying alone bled over to Summer’s lonely death, her only companion unconscious and unable to help or comfort her.

  Bill hated his sister’s tendency toward psychoanalysis, even if her insights were correct. He couldn’t shake the notion that the two people closest to him, the two people he cared about most in the world, died alone. And he wondered again why he ever let Summer leave the house that day.

  Easy, he thought. I had no reason not to. I had no reason to think this would happen.

  Todd Winter cleared his throat. “Would you like to discuss these other issues another time?” he asked. “Maybe everyone needs to process things further, and we’re not working under any immediate time constraints.”

  “I think that sounds like a good idea,” Paige said, sniffling. “Maybe we still need some time to process.”

  “No.” Bill shook his head like an obstinate child refusing a vegetable. He walked back to the table and stood over the fallen chair. “No way. Let me ask you something. Whose clothes was Summer buried in?”
/>   Todd Winter appeared unruffled by the question. “Clothes provided by Candy Rodgers. A dress that belonged to Haley.”

  “And the casket?”

  “The Rodgers family chose it. It was really quite lovely.”

  “I want her out of there,” Bill said, poking the table with the point of his index finger. “I want her buried next to her mother, on the other side of that cemetery. There’s an empty plot.” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “It’s supposed to be for me, but I’d like Summer to be there, next to Julia. That’s where she belongs. In her own clothes. Not Haley’s. Not something Candy Rodgers picked out and prayed over.”

  Winter and Hawkins both nodded their heads slowly, doing their best imitations of wise sages who could handle anything. It made Bill even angrier to see them acting so calm in the face of what was going on. But, then again, how would a cop and a funeral director react to a tragedy? They saw it in some form nearly every day. If they couldn’t handle it calmly, they wouldn’t be in their lines of work. But the logical thought didn’t ease Bill’s anger at their stoic demeanors.

  “That’s all perfectly feasible,” Winter said. “I can begin making the arrangements.”

  “And I want a new casket,” Bill said.

  Everyone remained silent for a moment.

  Bill added, “One I pick out.”

  “I probably should have made this clear earlier,” Winter said, “but the Rodgers family told me, told us, they’re okay with Summer remaining in the casket she’s already in. We could simply relocate it to the plot you’re speaking of—”

  Bill shook his head again. “One I choose.” He pointed at Paige. “We choose. Paige will help me pick it out.”

  His sister looked surprised to be included in the task and probably even more surprised by Bill’s insistence on paying for his own casket, but she wore a look of perfect support and understanding, even going so far as to reach over and squeeze Bill’s hand.