by David Bell
They all stood there attentively, a roomful of adults, standing around the bed of a battered teenage girl, waiting for the next words to come falling out of her mouth.
If there were words to come. If the memories were there.
When Haley opened her eyes and spoke again, after what felt to Bill like an hour but was likely closer to ninety seconds, they all listened while she poured out her fractured memory of that day. Haley told them that she and Summer set out from Bill’s house with every intention of meeting up with the boys from school. It was cold, and they wore heavy coats, but they were only walking two miles to a new subdivision being built. Todd’s dad installed plumbing fixtures in the newly constructed houses, and the kids sometimes went there to drink and party where no one was likely to see them.
Haley claimed there was nothing unusual about the day. But she admitted that Summer had been acting somewhat unusual in the weeks leading up to the attack.
“Unusual how?” Hawkins asked.
“I knew it was her mom’s birthday right around then,” Haley said. “And she was just moody and distracted. She talked about the things they wouldn’t get to do together.”
“Like go on the sixteenth-birthday trip?” Bill asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Haley said. “She mentioned that once. I didn’t know what to do for her. I just tried to be around her, you know, just be a friend for her.”
Haley went on to say that Summer seemed distracted again as they walked out to the new subdivision. She wasn’t saying much. She walked with her head down, like some heavy weight was pressing on her shoulders. Haley almost asked her if she wanted to turn back or go somewhere else. She knew there would be drinking with the boys and maybe even the expectation of more than drinking. She told Summer to just go to the mall or a movie or to just go sit at her house and do nothing if she wanted—
But Summer never had the chance to answer because a car pulled alongside of them as they walked.
“And they grabbed you?” Bill asked.
“No,” Haley said. “Not that. Not that at all.” Some of the energy and life drained out of Haley’s face. Her eyes closed again, and Bill hated to see the finality of that gesture, as though the closing lids were extinguishing his view of his last glimmer of hope.
“She’s fading,” Candy said.
Bill moved closer. “Who was in the car?”
“Bill—”
Haley’s eyes opened. Slowly. But they opened.
“It was a girl. That girl who sometimes hung out with some of the guys from school.” She rubbed her forehead again, kneading her fingertips into the skin. It looked painful to Bill, like she was hurting herself. “She worked at . . . I can’t remember. A restaurant like McDonald’s or something. And they met her there. She’s older, maybe.”
“Emily Kress?” Bill asked.
Haley’s eyes opened wide. “Emily. Yeah, that’s her name. Emily. Blond and kind of short. She picked me up that day and took me to the house where the guys were.”
“Why was she hanging around with high school kids?” Hawkins asked.
“They became friends wherever she worked. Clinton was really pushy, really confident. He’d talk to any girl. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Emily partied with those guys. They drank together and everything. It made Clinton feel like a big man to have an older girl around.”
“You said she picked you up?” Hawkins asked. “Or picked both of you up?”
Haley started shaking her head, her eyes distant as more of the memories came back. “Me. She picked me up.”
“You said Summer was with you,” Bill said. “You just told us that. Where was Summer?”
Haley continued to move her head, back and forth. Back and forth, her eyes seeing something only she could see. “She didn’t get in the car. She decided not to go.” She stopped moving her head and fixed her gaze on Bill. “She said she was heading toward home. To do something she had to do.”
Every eye in the room turned toward Bill. It was like getting hit by a thousand spotlights. “What did she have to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Haley said. “She didn’t say. Or I don’t remember.”
Bill’s skin prickled under the room’s watchful eyes. He turned to Hawkins. “Maybe that elderly witness was right. Maybe that man did see her walking that way. Toward home.”
“Did the two of you switch jackets that day?” Hawkins asked.
Haley’s face scrunched. “Yeah, maybe.” Her face remained frozen in an exaggerated mask of concentration. “Yeah. She was wearing that orange one, the one she didn’t really like. And we switched because she liked mine better. The gray one. She always liked that jacket.”
Hawkins nodded, then asked Haley, his voice gentle, “Did you see Summer again that day, Haley? Did she come to the house later? Did you maybe see her somewhere else?”
“Can I get some water, Mom?”
Candy lifted the plastic cup, angling the straw into the corner of Haley’s mouth. She took several long pulls, her neck muscles contracting. She nodded at Candy, who took the straw away, reaching out with her other hand to wipe a drop of water off the corner of Haley’s mouth. Candy looked around the room at the gathered men, her eyes nervously expectant.
“I don’t think I saw her, no,” Haley said. She wiped at her lips. “I really don’t think I did.”
Cold air blew on the back of Bill’s neck, like the air-conditioning was running, even though it was only late February. He shivered.
Hawkins’s voice remained low and calm as he asked, “So what happened to you that day? Who hurt you?”
Haley swallowed again, with the same force she’d used to take in the water. Bill waited with everyone else. Even though Summer was apparently not around for the attack, he still wanted to know. He needed to know something, some answer that completed one of these mysteries.
Haley told them she and Emily were at the unfinished house, a structure with walls and windows but no drywall, no plumbing. They were protected from the wind but not the cold, and the boys had a bottle of whiskey taken from somebody’s parents. Yes, Haley said, she did a few shots with them as the bottle was passed around. The liquor felt warm in her body, even as the strong taste made her feel a little sick.
“I don’t really know what went wrong,” Haley said. “Everyone was having fun. I thought so, anyway. But then Clinton brought up that stupid contest they’re having.” She looked around the room, her eyes half-lidded. “Did you all know about that?”
Hawkins nodded on behalf of the adults. “We do.”
Haley told them about an item on the checklist, one that Clinton and Todd kept bringing up that day: sex with a woman who was not a high school student. Haley could tell they had it in mind to check it off their list, and they kept trying to get everyone to drink more and more.
“Something went wrong. I can’t really say what. It’s like . . . It’s like there’s a black spot in my mind sometimes. But they did something to Emily she didn’t want them to do. She told them no, that she was going to leave. She said no. I heard her. Maybe . . . Maybe she even called them something. She insulted them, said they were just little boys. I’m pretty sure she called Clinton a fag. It turned bad then. They started fighting.”
“Who did?” Hawkins asked.
“Clinton. Todd. Emily. They tried to force her, you know. Clinton—it was like he wasn’t normal, like he was possessed or something. He was so angry. I tried to talk to him, to calm him down, but he wouldn’t. He scared me. He just started swinging.”
“And you?” Candy asked. “Did they force you—”
“Clinton just kept swinging and swinging. I wanted to protect Emily—I know that. I think Todd might have . . . might have tried to stop him too. I think Clinton swung at Todd at one point. I wanted to help, but . . . I woke up here. I was really cold at some point. Really, really cold. I do
n’t know how I got to the park. I don’t know how I got here.”
“Why was Summer’s bracelet in Adam’s house?” Hawkins asked, his voice carefully controlled. “Was there something going on between the two of them? Some reason it would be in there?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice weak. “Adam’s house? I . . .”
“Why was it there?” Hawkins asked.
“I don’t know. Summer left that day. She started toward home . . .”
“So maybe she was heading for Adam’s,” Bill said, his voice just above a whisper. “Why was she going there?”
Haley shook her head. “I don’t know. I just thought she was going home.”
Then everything was silent in the room. Candy came over and slid into the bed next to her daughter, pulling her close. Haley rested her head against her mother’s body, her already-young face made instantly younger. Candy kissed the top of the girl’s head, and Bill felt like an intruder on the intimate scene.
Hawkins apparently did as well. He cleared his throat. “Well . . .”
Haley perked up. “Do you really not know where Summer is?”
“Not yet,” Hawkins said.
She turned to her mom. “I wish I hadn’t let her leave that day. If I’d just gone with her, wherever she went. She just kept talking about her mom dying. She talked about it more right before that day than the whole year before. Mom, why didn’t I go with her?”
“Shhh. You didn’t know. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Bill followed Hawkins to the door, but he stopped before he exited.
“Your mom’s right, Haley. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you tried to save Emily. That’s really something. Really.”
Haley started crying, burying her face in Candy’s chest.
Bill left the room.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
“Do you believe that?” Bill asked in the hallway. He realized he’d shouted, so he lowered his voice when he said, “I mean it. Do you?”
“I’m not ruling it out,” Hawkins said. “We’ve got one girl’s fuzzy recollections. And you’ve got Hammond’s story of going into your house, finding Adam, and then finding the bracelet at Fleetwood’s. I’d like more, but it’s a pretty good start.”
An ache formed in Bill’s chest. It grew into a stabbing pain. He looked at the hallway—the white walls, the bright lights—heard the incessant ringing of phones and beeping of monitors.
Bill took a step back and sank into a chair. Beads of sweat popped out on his head.
Hawkins said, “Are you okay, Bill? You look sick.”
“I am sick.” Bill wiped his forehead, the tips of his fingers coming away wet.
“I’ll get a nurse.”
“No, not that.” Hawkins remained standing in front of Bill, looking down at him, hands on hips. “I was wrong about everything.”
“We’ve all been trying to get it right.”
“No. It’s more than that. You’re a cop. You went where the evidence took you. You did your best.”
“I tried to.”
“But me . . . I’m her father.” He rubbed his forehead again. His skin felt hot and feverish. “I let that man into our lives. I befriended him. He had a key to our house. I trusted him . . . with everything. I didn’t see any of this going on with Haley or Summer.”
Hawkins bent down a little, his big face coming closer to Bill’s. “You can’t protect a child from everything. You just can’t. And you’re a single parent. So is Candy.”
“But right in my backyard. Literally.”
“Don’t let your mind work too fast. Bill—”
“And Doug Hammond. I wanted to kill him, Detective. I did. I think I went out there to the woods tonight because I wanted to kill him. To hurt him. When I hit him with that flashlight . . . I wished I’d hit him harder. I wanted to hit him again and again.” Bill could feel the blow, the shiver that went up his arm when the flashlight made contact with Doug Hammond’s skull. It scared Bill, yes. But it satisfied him. He liked hurting the man he thought had hurt Summer. If Hammond hadn’t got the better of him, if the girl with the pink hair hadn’t disabled him with the sap, Bill couldn’t say what he might have done. And not being certain about that made him feel sicker, sadder. “He was innocent of what I thought he’d done. If I’d hurt him, we wouldn’t know what we know now. He really was helping. I think he cared about me because I’m a dad. Because he was distraught over what happened to Emily.”
“He’s not innocent, though,” Hawkins said.
“How do you know that?”
“Because nobody is.” Hawkins straightened up. “You’re going to have time to beat yourself up soon enough. I hope you have a lot of years to do it. I really do. But right now we’ve got other things to think about. Okay?”
Bill shook his head. “Adam’s dead. And if he did it, and if Summer is still alive somewhere . . .”
“Let’s get going,” Hawkins said.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Bill wasn’t certain which way to go.
He asked Hawkins if the police intended to search Adam’s house again, and to make sure to look in the attic and the crawl space and every nook and corner of the basement. And Hawkins promised they would, that a team was already on its way to Adam’s house with the sole purpose of going over everything.
“We know what we’re looking for now,” Hawkins said. “We can hope for some DNA evidence, if Haley’s story checks out all the way.”
“And I suppose you’ll be searching the park again?” Bill asked. “You know there are caves out there, hidden overhangs, and rock formations. If he wanted to hide someone . . . Adam was outdoorsy. He liked to camp and hike.”
Hawkins was nodding. “We’re going to hit the park again. We’ve been through there before, many times, but it can’t hurt to do it again.” He rubbed his chin. “We’re going to have to call in other agencies. Firemen, paramedics. Maybe the National Guard can help. Or Fort Campbell. Volunteers.” He shook his head, still rubbing his chin. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“And not much time, right? Even if Adam took her and kept her alive, she’d be alone now.”
“But we can’t assume it was Adam Fleetwood,” Hawkins said. “We’re going to look into that, but we don’t have a slam-dunk case against him, not by a long shot.”
“Yeah, right. I’m having a hard time accepting all of this myself. Maybe she was walking toward home and maybe some other maniac took her.”
“Right.”
And both men understood the ticking clock they were dealing with. If Summer was alive somewhere, she was alone. Untended. Eventually the time would run out.
“Keep thinking the best,” Hawkins said. “I’ll stay in touch.”
He left the hospital. And Bill felt very alone. Like a spectator to the events of his own life.
As Bill was walking through the lobby, intending to head home and clean himself up, his phone rang. When he read the name on the screen, a true feeling of warmth passed through him, the first really good feeling he’d had that day. He sat down on a couch in the lobby and took the call.
“Hey, Paige.”
“Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m at the hospital.”
“Are you hurt? Bill, Mom and Dad are gone. And Summer . . . I don’t want to lose you. I can’t bear it. How are you? Just tell me.”
“Whoa. I’m okay, Paige. I’m okay, I promise.” People passed in front of Bill. Some of them carried bouquets of flowers, on their way to visit a sick relative or friend. Bill felt for them all, the uncertainty they might be facing. The fear of the unknown. That was worse than grief, worse than loss. He felt grateful for the sound of Paige’s voice. It tethered him to the world. A world of hope. “I’m not hurt. I came here to see Haley.”
“Stay put.”
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“What do you mean?”
“I’m here. In Jakesville.”
“What? Why?”
“Why do you think, dumbass? You left me that message. It sounded like a suicide note, like something Grandpa would have written to Grandma before he landed at Normandy. I got in the car and started driving. I told Kyle he had to handle the kids again. You needed me.”
For a moment, Bill couldn’t say anything. He watched more people go by, listened to the ding of the elevator. A couple emerged, the woman in a wheelchair being pushed by a nurse, the man carrying a car seat with a newborn in it. They looked happy. And scared. Bill remembered that day well.
“I didn’t expect you to come, Paige.”
“Well, I did. I’m just getting into town. I’m going right by the hospital. Where are you? Haley’s room?”
“I’m in the lobby.”
“Don’t move.” A silence fell over the line, and Bill thought the call was lost or Paige had hung up. But then she said, “I want to see you right away. I want to know your big, dumb, stupid, big-brother self is okay.”
So Bill didn’t move. He listened to his sister and stayed put.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
Paige gave Bill a hug. She sat down next to him on the small couch in the lobby and pulled him close to her. Bill gave in to the embrace, allowing himself to be wrapped in his sister’s arms. He didn’t care about the people walking by and looking, people who probably assumed that one of their loved ones had just died, leaving them to comfort each other in the public space of a hospital.
It felt good to have her there. When he’d called Paige, he hadn’t intended for her to show up. Bill simply didn’t want to have unresolved business with anybody else in his life. There’d been enough of that. Too many things left unsaid. Too many of the wrong things said at the wrong time. He didn’t want anything bad with Paige.
When they finally let each other go, Paige looked him over. “You’re filthy. You look like shit. And there’s blood on your coat.”