Zoey steps forward. Unlike Devon, she recognizes me. I lower my phone and run. I dart past the shed and sprint toward the road. My feet crunch atop gravel as I run down the driveway. I move further away from voices and music. As I reach the fields, I hear footsteps behind me. Someone else running. It must be Zoey.
I pick up speed, looking back to try and identify who is chasing me. It’s too dark, but I can clearly see the shadowy silhouette of someone behind me on the road. I look forward, raise my arms and pump harder in the direction of my car. I stay focused, making deliberate strides. Whoever is running behind me is fast. I can hear their steps moving closer. I look back again, can see the person has made considerable gains in my direction. I still can’t see a face; it’s too dark. Behind them, I see faint flashes of blue and red. Police? Did they decide to break up the party after all? Whoever is chasing me doesn’t take notice. They’re still running.
The moon bounces off my windshield, bringing the outline of my car into view. It’s nearby. I can’t quite touch it. But within a minute, I will. I look back one more time. The shadow is still chasing me, and I see the police vehicles have stopped at the entrance of Zoey’s driveway. Maybe the person following me will see and turn around.
As I face forward, my foot slips on something slick and I fall. My shoulder breaks my landing, and I howl in pain. Whoever is behind me now has a considerable advantage. I listen as their footsteps pound closer. Stop right by my body. I feel a sharp pain on my head.
Forty-Three
Spring 2006
I waited for Mom to come downstairs. I’d been dreading our conversation.
“Della,” she said, her voice weighed down with anger more than surprise. “Shouldn’t you be at the theater by now?”
“I need to tell you something,” I told her. I’d spent all night preparing, and yet I still wasn’t ready. She’d find out eventually, but she deserved to hear it from me.
“Oh no.” Mom collapsed in a chair and leaned over the table. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“What?” I was temporarily distracted by the absurdity of the question. There was no way I could be pregnant. I was still a virgin. I felt immediately guilty. Never in my life had I so badly wanted to be pregnant. Or arrested. Or suspended. Because anything—any tragic circumstance a parent could imagine—would be easier to digest than what I was about to tell her. “No, Mom. I’m not pregnant.”
“Thank God,” Mom said, letting out a deep breath. “Well, it better be important if it’s worth skipping work.”
I looked down and immediately started crying. I’d worn a brave face all weekend, and I just couldn’t anymore. I knew how destroyed Mom would be when I told her what I had to say. Here she was going through a laundry list of my possible failures, all the while clueless about the horrible truth.
“Della,” Mom said, shaking the back of my chair. My sudden burst of emotion scared her. “Are you worked up over this Amber mess? Honey, I’m sure it’s nothing. She might already be back.”
But I knew Amber wasn’t back. I’d stayed up half the night calling her, receiving no reply. This morning, while Mom was soaking up the last of her sleeping pills, I walked across the street and asked Karen if Amber had returned. She hadn’t. She hadn’t responded to any texts or calls. She was gone. Just like the others.
My entire childhood, I tried to get others to see the darkness within Brian. It didn’t work. That was my only comfort when it came to the SCU girls; I couldn’t have done anything more to save them.
With Amber, it was different. Brian had hurt her before—hurt her more than she was even willing to admit—but that’s not why he killed her. For whatever reason, she got in his way. She became a roadblock in his path, and I put her there. He knew I’d talked to her, and that what she told me wouldn’t have been good. Even then, I’m sure he didn’t think I was on to his crimes at SCU. To him, I was dumb Della. He never imagined I’d be the person to out him. Still, Amber remained his only living victim. He needed to snuff out the one person who stood witness to his violence.
All I wanted to do was call Brian and ask him what he did to her. However, I’d been told to wait. So that’s what I did. Wait for a response. Wait for Mom to wake up.
“She’s not coming back,” I said.
“What do you mean she’s not coming back? Did you talk to her?”
I took a deep breath. “She’s not coming back because Brian hurt her.”
“Brian? What are you talking about?”
“You said he was out most of Saturday night. By Sunday morning, Amber was gone.”
“That’s a coincidence, honey. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I rocked in my seat, trying to regain the breath I’d lost crying. “I have to tell you something. It’s about the missing girls at SCU.”
Her posture turned stiff. She almost seemed frozen. “I asked Brian about that,” she said. “He said he didn’t know anything about it.”
I shook my head and blinked away tears. Brian was still playing different roles, pretending not to know about his own horrors.
“I thought it was weird he didn’t tell me,” I started, before sharing the rest. I tried to connect each piece directly, cutting through dramatics. I explained how Danny said Brian had volunteered to pass out pamphlets about the missing girls, proving he must know something. I told her about my timeline; Brian was on campus when each girl went missing. I told her I’d seen Brian arguing with Mila over Christmas break. I told her about my conversation with Amber. That Becky’s stabbed body had been found this weekend.
“And then I found these in Brian’s room,” I said. I slid over the Ziploc bag that contained the bundle of IDs. We didn’t need to add more DNA for the forensics team to sort out.
Mom had never been this quiet. She didn’t argue with anything I said. She wanted me to finish. She still didn’t speak when she picked up the bag, but I could see tears in her eyes.
“What are these?” she asked, her voice shaky and weak.
“The IDs of all the girls who’ve been reported missing.” I bit my lip, trying to remain strong. “I think he’s been storing them here. That’s why he’s been coming home.”
“Are you accusing Brian of hurting these girls?”
I’d expected this. Brian was her golden boy. I’d always been afraid of Brian, and yet even I’d struggled to believe he was capable. I’d wanted to be wrong. But I knew I wasn’t.
“Yes, Mom.” I knew it was important to eliminate any wriggle room. “I think he hurt them. Why else would he have their IDs hidden in his room?”
“There could be tons of reasons,” Mom said, dropping the bag on the table. She didn’t even take the time to look through and see each name. Each face. “Maybe they belong to someone else. Maybe he knew these girls.”
“I think it goes beyond that.”
“It doesn’t mean he hurt them,” Mom said, her arms crossed. “Maybe he was helping them. Almost all of them are still gone.”
“The one who was found had been murdered.”
“Listen to what you’re saying, Della,” she said. Now she was angry. “You’re accusing your brother of murdering a girl.”
“I know.” I looked down, wishing more than ever Dad was here to help. “You know Brian has had issues—”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Mom pushed her chair away from the table but remained seated. “You two have had this rivalry for years. But this? This is a whole new low, Della.”
“I’m not making this up.” I knew she saw the proof. She was pretending not to see.
“What type of sister is quick to believe such horrible things about her brother?”
“I’ve been wrestling with this for days.”
“And now you think he’s hurt Amber? Our neighbor. Your friend.”
“Amber knew things about Brian. Things he wouldn’t want her sharing with anyone.”
“That doesn’t mean he’d hurt her! You’ve been conducting this silly investigation.
Why don’t you just talk to him? He’s your brother.” She stood and walked into the kitchen. She rummaged through the junk bowl. “Where is my phone?”
“You can’t call him, Mom. It’s too late.”
She turned around, her pupils dilated and wild. “You took my phone?”
“Yes.”
She marched over to where the landline charged, but I’d moved it, too. She let out a hurried breath, like she was being chased. “What do you plan on doing, Della?”
“I plan on doing the right thing.”
She ran over to the table, but I’d already grabbed the Ziploc bag and was holding it tight in my hands. Mom panicked.
“We have to talk to Brian,” she said. “I know he wouldn’t be involved in something like this.”
I’d considered all weekend what I would say to Brian. Did I owe it to him, as his sister, to give him a warning? But that would just play into his manipulations. It would provide him time to create excuses, concoct a convincing version of events.
Watching Mom’s reaction hurt, but nothing compared to the pain those girls must have gone through. The pain six other families were currently experiencing. Seven, including Amber’s family. They were still searching. We had answers. Those families deserved to know what happened to their loved ones, even if it hurt us.
“The police will talk to him,” I told her.
She slammed her fists against the table. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? Like a spoiled child! How will you feel when the police look into this and discover Brian wasn’t involved?”
“I’ll be relieved.” I started crying again. “I hope I’m wrong about this.”
“Let’s talk this out,” Mom said. She pulled her chair closer to mine and sat. She leaned on her elbows, her hands reaching in my direction. Pleading. “Let’s go over the timeline again. There must be an explanation. Something that doesn’t line up.”
Before I had a chance to respond, the doorbell rang. Mom looked toward the front. “Who is that?”
“The police,” I whispered. I lowered my head.
“No, Della,” she said. “You can’t.”
But I already had. After I’d returned from Amber’s house, I’d called the tip line. This time, I asked to speak with Detective Jeffries by name. I told him my name, my real name, and that I thought my brother might be connected to the missing women at SCU. I told him I’d found the IDs in his bedroom. After we hung up, I went downstairs, hid the phones and waited for Mom to wake up.
I walked to the front door and opened it.
“Are you Della Mayfair?” an officer asked. Several other officers stood behind him, waiting to tear apart our home and our lives.
“Yes.” I stepped back.
Mom wailed in the background. As the officers approached her, she started screaming. “She’s a liar. That little bitch doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
The officers tried to calm her, which only made her rage more. I felt scared. I knew Mom’s reaction would be bad. I didn’t want her to get in trouble. Or hurt. Eventually they took her into another room, but I could still hear her broken screams.
“Della,” the officer said, trying to distract me from Mom’s outburst. “This is very important. Have either of you contacted your brother today?”
I shook my head.
“Are you sure?” he asked again.
“I just now told her what I found,” I said. I handed him the Ziploc bag and sat down.
For a split second, the officer’s stern expression cracked. I was a teenage girl doing the unthinkable. I was accusing my brother of a horrendous crime. My mother was having a nervous breakdown on the other side of the wall. I saw the sorrow in his eyes as clearly as he saw the fear in mine.
“You’re doing the right thing, Della,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”
I didn’t feel okay about it. Not for a long time. That lonely pain consumed my life for what felt like years. It lasted longer than anything else. The arrest was quick, as was the sentencing. The press dubbed Brian the Sterling Cove Stabber. I didn’t think the press would ever drop Brian’s story, but eventually even the articles subsided. I left school and cut ties with everyone, even Danny. Mom and I took her maiden name and left Wilsonville for northern Florida. But the pain followed us. I didn’t know if it would ever go away.
I used to make myself sick thinking about different alternatives. If Brian never knew I’d visited Amber that weekend. If I’d only told Detective Jefferies about my suspicions the first time I called the tip line. If I’d only acted sooner. If I’d only done more… Amber would still be here.
Brian’s crimes were notorious. People remembered the college freshman who managed to kill six female students in under six months. They often forgot about the ex-girlfriend in his hometown who also lost her life. I never forgot. Amber was my cross to bear. Amber was my fault. On the nights I blamed myself most, I repeated the responding officer’s words to myself:
I did the right thing. I did the right thing. I did the right thing.
Forty-Four
Now
As I creep closer to consciousness, I hear Danny. He’s in conversation with another man about my condition. I pull at the tight sheets covering my legs. When Danny sees me, he immediately ends his discussion and comes closer.
“Della,” he spits, before adopting his calm bedside manner. “Della, are you awake?”
“What happened?” I ask, as the throbbing in my head returns.
I recall my most recent memory. I was running along the fields. I fell, and something cracked against my skull.
“I’ll speak with her,” Danny says to the other man, a doctor. I’m not sure the tactic would have worked with any husband, but the man shows Danny some professional courtesy by quietly exiting the room. He closes the door on his way out. Danny turns to me. “You had a nasty fall. An ambulance brought you in.”
“A fall?” I ask. I remember slipping. Had I hit my head on the pavement hard enough to knock me out? I didn’t think so. I recalled being hit a second time by something else. The specifics are rushing in so quickly, nothing quite makes sense. The most important detail comes into focus, the fear making me hold my breath. “The baby. Danny, is the baby—”
“The baby is fine.”
He squeezes my hand, signaling it’s okay to breathe. It’s okay to feel. I begin crying immediately. I’m consumed with my own foolishness and regret. What if I’d been more injured? What if I’d lost the baby due to my own stubbornness? I didn’t realize how devastated I’d be until this moment.
Danny gives me a few minutes to regain my composure. He’s relieved I’m all right—that we’re all right—but underneath that relief is anger. I jeopardized more than just myself, and he’s going to make sure I know it.
“The police were responding to a noise complaint when they found you beside your car,” he said. “Can you tell me what you were doing at some high school party?”
“I called the police,” I say, leaning my head against the pillow. “I was only there because I wanted to prevent something bad from happening.”
“Something bad?”
“You know what happened at the last party,” I say, staring at him. “And this party was held at Zoey’s house. I had to make sure no one was in danger.”
“Here we go again,” he says, pulling away.
“Please, don’t be angry.”
“I am angry! What were you thinking? You could have been hurt. You could have lost the baby.”
His words cut like a knife, because he’s right. I should have waited. I should have protected my own child instead of chasing down Zoey. “I only left my vehicle because I wanted to make sure everyone was safe.”
“You were the only person in danger, Della. You’re lucky the police found you.”
“But the party—”
“Nothing happened at the party. They found some underage drinkers and called their parents. The most eventful incident was them finding you bleeding from
the head.”
“I don’t think I just fell,” I said. “I think I was hit with something.”
This could be my opportunity to implicate Zoey. I could say I remember her hitting me. Finally, she’d suffer the consequences of something. But I don’t want to provide a statement Zoey can refute.
Danny stands and walks to the front of the bed. He places his palm on my head as I lean forward. I feel his fingers as they stroke my scalp. I wince when he comes close to the bandage. The throbbing in my head is nothing compared to the anxiety building in my chest.
“I know I didn’t just fall, Danny.”
“Do you have any idea how foolish that was? Especially considering your concerns about Zoey. The last thing you need to do is track her down by yourself.”
“Someone has to do something.”
“Just hear me out. Please.” He leans over the bed and looks into my eyes. “I believe you think Zoey is dangerous. Based on everything you told me, I think she’s dangerous. I only want you to consider the other side of things. Just for a second. This other student was attacked, much like the girls Brian hurt. Much like Amber. Maybe all the similarities are pulling you back to that lonely place you were in fourteen years ago. Maybe you’re projecting all of this onto Zoey. Even if you’re right, is it worth the toll it’s taking on you? On us?”
I think back to what Dr. Walters said in our last session. It’s not a far stretch from what Danny is saying now. I haven’t been myself, and maybe that’s what I’ve really been searching for in all of this. Proof I’m still the woman who can trust her gut, hoping it will make a difference this time. I was too late for Amber. We were all too late for Brian. Whether I like it or not, the past is still very much a part of me. It courses through me, bumping and fluttering.
“I was only trying to do what I thought was right.” I lay my head against the pillow, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks. “I didn’t want to lose Darcy the way I lost Amber. I want things to be different this time.”
What I Know: An utterly compelling psychological thriller full of suspense Page 27