by Taylor Hale
I try to fight it, but I slip away.
Weightlessly, I dream of floating like a buoy on calm, frothy water, clouds above my head and blue everywhere. For the first time in years, when my eyelids flutter open, I don’t want the dream to end.
I wake up slowly. This time, I’m not surrounded by white lights; I’m bathed in a syrupy-orange glow. The sun sets through the window of my room in the cottage.
“Livvie, can you hear me?” Mom hovers over me with a smile. I sit up and clutch my throbbing head.
“Mom? What happened?”
She hands me a glass of water, and I chug some back before she sets it on the nightstand. “We discharged you from the hospital, sweetie. Those doctors were doing their best, but we need to get you home to Dr. Levy.”
I rub my eyes. I don’t remember putting these pajamas on. I don’t remember much of anything, really, other than leaving the hospital in a blur. Voices sound through the walls—Dad talking to someone else.
Mom must sense what I’m thinking, because she says, “West came to see you.”
Even though my body is cold, my heart warms. I try to stand, but my knees wobble. Mom holds me up.
“Take it easy, Livvie. They put far too much medication in you.”
That explains why my head is still spinning. Mom helps me out of the room, into the bathroom. My skin is so pale, my dark hair almost black in contrast. I don’t recognize my own reflection. Still, I brush my teeth, wash my face, and tie my hair back in a ponytail. Slightly more awake, I go into the kitchen. As soon as Dad sees me, he rushes over, but I’m looking past him at West, who stands beside the kitchen table. He wears the same torn-up look as them.
“Jesus, Carrie, should she be walking around?” Dad asks.
“I’m okay, Dad,” I say and move past him to West. Though most of my body still feels like it’s been numbed by a dentist, I’m slowly beginning to thaw. The clouds in my head part to reveal opaque memories.
The doctor said I hallucinated everything. That can’t be true, but I can tell by the way everyone’s looking at me that they believe it. I’m a burden to all of them, but somewhere in this town, the man who caused this is alive. I wonder if he enjoys terrifying people. Maybe that’s what made me the perfect target for him; the girl who jumps at the sight of her own shadow. The perfect girl to torment.
I know I should be scared, and when the sedatives wear off, I probably will be. I should want to get far away from Caldwell, but I don’t—because there are still things for me to overcome. I want to prove to everyone that I can be strong. I want to look the killer in the eyes when the police find him. I want to show him that he lost.
“Hey,” West says hesitantly. “I got worried when you didn’t text me. Your parents told me what happened. Well, some of it.”
With nothing to say, I wrap my arms around him and place my ear against his beating heart. He hugs me back and presses his lips to the top of my head.
Before I saw the deer, my memories of last night are crystal clear; I remember West leaving, Roger coming over, and the image of the man creeping on the laptop. I also remember telling Roger I suspect Miles.
West has to know the truth. Maybe he’ll even know something about Miles that we don’t, so I grab his hand and lead him toward my room.
“Sweetheart, keep that door open,” Dad says.
I leave it open a crack and sit on the bed. West waits a beat before he joins me. I open my mouth to tell him about Miles but get choked up—because West might get upset with me for suspecting his brother. He and Miles have issues, but they’re still family.
“I told your parents about what happened on the cliff,” West says and fidgets with his hands. “I’m sorry, but I think they had to know.”
“I understand.”
“What happened to you, Olive?”
The last thing I want is to push West away, so I take a deep breath and tell him the truth about the deer. My truth, anyway. When I’m done, the first thing he does is check outside the window. He comes back over with confusion on his face.
“You’re sure you saw a dead thing out there?”
“It was as real as you are now.”
“But the cops wouldn’t lie about it not being there, Olive.”
“I know.”
“Were you drunk or something?”
“No! You know I don’t drink.” Overwhelmed, tears fall from my eyes, and I try to wipe them away. “Besides, they checked my blood and I was sober.”
“What else do they think it could be?”
We both lie on the bed, and West pulls me to his chest. His skin is warm through his shirt.
“It’s all right.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on in your head, but whatever it is, it’s not going to change how I feel about you.”
I hold him tighter. “That’s the thing, we don’t know what it was. They think I imagined it. But what if the animal killer planned all of this? What if he came back and moved the carcass? What if he took Keely as a distraction? What if he’s been killing animals for me? Because he knew I was coming back to town.” West is silent. “I know how it sounds. My parents don’t believe me either.”
“Hey, don’t worry.” He wipes one of my tears with his thumb. “You’ve been through a lot. I bet when you leave this place and get home to the city, you’ll look back on all this and wonder why you were even upset. You’ll go totally back to normal.”
“But I wasn’t normal in New York either.” I pull away. “I’m weird at school, my friends only talk to me because we’re on the same sports team, and I’m so jumpy that people actually used to make games out of scaring me.”
He pauses. “You never told me that last part.”
“It’s the truth. Being back here has been messing with my head, but if I leave now, I’ll just be going back to being that scared, jumpy girl in New York. How is that better?”
“But maybe Caldwell isn’t the place you’re going to heal, Olive. Don’t get me wrong; I’d love for you to stay. But not if this place is making you feel like shit.” His words make sense, but I’m just too stubborn to accept them.
I sit upright in the bed. I have to tell him about Miles, but I don’t know how. “Who do you think the killer is, West?”
“How should I know?”
“Last night, when Roger came over, it was because he wanted to show me footage of someone lurking around his house at night.” I say, “Peeking into windows, including the window of the room I was sleeping in.”
“What, someone was spying on them?”
“I think he was there for me.” When West doesn’t reply, I blurt, “I told him I suspect Miles, West.”
His eyes flit over my face, but I can’t tell if it’s confusion or concern that crosses his features. “You think Miles was spying on them, or you think he’s the animal killer?”
“Both, maybe. I don’t know.”
West shakes his head and looks away.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I choke out. “It’s just—I made him so upset this summer by being with you. I thought if anyone would try to spy on me, it had to be Miles.”
He leans forward and holds his hands together. Grunting in frustration, West runs his fingers through his dark hair. “Jesus, Olivia. I’m not mad at you, but I wish you’d talked to me before the cops. I’ve got my issues with my brother, but I wouldn’t accuse him of that. He might be a freak, but he’s not a killer. Remember how upset he got when we were kids and my dad was always killing shit? Miles cried at every bit of roadkill until he was like, thirteen.”
It’s horrible, but somehow, what West is saying doesn’t ease my suspicions. “I only told Roger I thought Miles was the one looking in the windows.”
West is quiet for too long, but I don’t have it in me to break the silence. Finally, he says, “Maybe I
could see him doing that.”
“Wait, really?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. He was always a bit weird, he used to creep through my room when I wasn’t home all the time. But we’ll both see him at the barbeque tomorrow, if you’re still coming. I’ll try to see how he acts.”
“I’m still coming. I need something that makes me feel normal.”
West opens his mouth to respond, just as Dad shouts, “Guys, come out here—they’re saying something on the radio.”
We go into the kitchen, where plates of reheated pizza and cups of grape juice wait for us on the table. West and I sit down, and I immediately cram a bite of pizza into my mouth. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was. Dad turns up an old school antenna radio. The voice of a reporter crackles into the room.
“We’re getting reports that a suspect has been taken into custody regarding the case of the Caldwell Animal Killer. At this time, the evidence is being withheld, but police have identified the suspect as sixty-eight-year-old Robert Jenkens.”
I drop my pizza.
“What?” West scowls. “That’s not right.”
“Jenkens, known for his position as owner of the fisherman’s supply shop along the shore, hasn’t had a known criminal charge since the ’80s, when he was charged with kidnapping his own daughter from his ex-wife. The daughter was eventually returned unharmed, but a restraining order was filed against Jenkens.”
I don’t know what happened with Mr. Jenkens’s daughter, but it was decades ago. Surely he’s changed. He isn’t the animal killer—I feel as strongly about it as I did when Miles told his stupid story. But if they have him in custody, they must have something on him, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
“As of right now, no charges have been laid. We’ll keep you updated as the story unfolds.”
Mom turns off the radio. “Oh, that’s just awful. I can’t believe old Mr. Jenkens would do that.”
“It isn’t him,” I blurt. “It can’t be.”
“Agreed,” West says.
“How could you kids know?” Dad asks.
“We . . . just do,” I say. “Mr. Jenkens is innocent.”
“The police don’t seem to think so.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” West looks at me. “We’ve got to go see him.”
Dad laughs. “The only way you’re getting out of this house is if I’m driving.”
We arrive outside of Caldwell’s police station downtown, and it’s strangely cold tonight, the sky totally clear. I’m wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and my reflection in the rear-view mirror is ghoulish, but I don’t care; I’m still numb. But I have to find out what happened to Mr. Jenkens.
Dad stops in the parking lot at the side of the building, and I ask him to wait for us there. He’s irritated but allows West and I to rush out alone. The lights from downtown blot out the moon and stars. Just as we reach the station, with its concrete brick walls, we notice there are vans parked on the road and reporters crowding off to the side of the entrance.
“What the hell,” West mutters.
We go into the police station, just as Jenkens storms out of a room. He adjusts his jacket with a gruff grunt.
“Jenkens!” West shouts.
We hurry over to him. He looks equal parts angry and dejected, but it’s a good sign he’s being released.
“What are you doing here?” he asks us.
“We didn’t believe what we heard,” I blurt. “And you’re out now, so it can’t be true, right?”
Jenkens is quiet. Behind the counter, a receptionist glares at us, so we step off to the side. West says, “Come on, man. Talk to us. What’s going on?
“I found the dog,” Jenkens says, so low I almost can’t hear. “The dog that drowned.”
My spine crawls. That was the one kill Roger said didn’t match the animal killer’s regular MO.
“Was already dead inside the water,” Jenkens says. “Must’ve fallen in, but I knew right away it was the Dalys’. Didn’t want to get involved, so I just put it on their lawn. Days later, I found the collar caught in one of my nets, knew how it’d look if I came forward with it, so I just kept my mouth shut. It’s what I’m good at.” He pauses. “But I don’t kill nothing but fish.”
I let out a breath of relief. “But why are you here now? Why did they arrest you?”
“Didn’t hide the collar well. Some kid found it in my shop and played with it like it was a toy. Their parent saw it, and that’s how all this shit began.”
“But you’re innocent,” West says. “That’s why they let you go, right?”
“I am innocent. But they only let me go because they didn’t have enough to keep me. I’m still under suspicion. They made that much clear to me.”
“They’ll know you’re innocent for sure when they find the real killer,” I say.
Jenkens coughs into his forearm. “See how well my shop does till then, kid. Those reporters were talking the moment I got taken in. The damage is done.”
Poor Mr. Jenkens. My summer has been rough, but his has been catastrophic.
“Well, where are you going now?” West asks him. “You need company? You can’t go out there, there are reporters everywhere.” When Jenkens doesn’t reply, West says, “Come on, man. You know sometimes you were more like a second father to me than my own dad, right? You were the only adult who listened.”
A pause, and Jenkens mumbles, “Can’t stop you from following me, Weston.”
West gently touches my arm. “I’m going to stay with him, okay? We’ll sneak out back before those reporters see. I can come by your cottage later and grab my car. That cool?”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll go home with my dad.”
We quickly kiss, before I tell Mr. Jenkens I hope he’s okay and go back to the parking lot, where Dad waits for me. As we drive back to the cottage, I think about how I told Roger about Miles; he must be questioning him soon, if he hasn’t already.
I know West was doubtful, but Miles has been giving me bad vibes all summer, and with everything that happened to Jenkens, it all points to him. There has to be a reason for that.
19
The savory smell of grilled hot dogs permeates the backyard air of the Hendricks estate. A cloud of smoke billows from the barbeque as a caterer in a white uniform pokes food on the grill, but I’m too queasy to think about eating.
Since I slept all day yesterday, I didn’t get much last night. Ever since I woke up, I’ve been worrying about so many things—Mr. Jenkens’s well-being, and when I inevitably see Miles today.
My parents are beside me, but Dad keeps checking his watch and Mom is anxiously fidgeting with her hair. They agreed to come today only so I would be quiet and let them take me back to New York in peace. They’re definitely uncomfortable with it, but I’ve insisted that I feel fine. Which is only a half lie. I flatten my skirt and scan the yard. Dean, Shawn, Faye, and Keely are sitting at a picnic table under the shade of a willow tree. When the guys see me, they laugh. Keely says something to them, and I get the grim sense that they’re talking about me. I search for any sign of Miles, but he isn’t there.
Feeling small, I look for West. Crowds of adults stand in casual circles, holding paper plates of potato salad and bottles of beer. A sprinkler cascades sheets of water in the air and gleams against the afternoon sun. A trail of little kids, tripping and falling over their own tiny feet, snakes through the yard.
“I should go find West,” I tell my parents.
“Don’t wander off too far, Olivia,” Dad says.
I’m rounding the side of the estate when West’s car pulls into the driveway. He gets out, and I run at him with a hug.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re here.” West is dressed nicer than usual, in a pair of dark jeans and a white T-shirt, opposed to his usual black. He squints at the sun and scans th
e backyard. “You seen Miles yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“Me neither, but he’s here somewhere. Let’s get some food.” West takes my hand and leads me toward the barbeque tent. Keely and the others watch from under the willow tree, and I realize this is the first time West and I are out publicly in Caldwell as a couple. It gains some looks—mostly from the adults. I look at my feet, but then a baritone voice booms from across the yard.
“Weston!” It’s Brian. He stands under the wooden gazebo and waves to us, Beatrice and my parents next to him.
“Oh great,” West mutters to me. “Since we’re in public, he’s putting on the Father-of-the-Year act.”
Still, we awkwardly join them anyway. Brian places a firm hand on West’s shoulder and squeezes.
“Did you get something to eat, darling?” Beatrice asks me, a pleasant smile on her raspberry lips. Her platinum hair is pinned back by clips and she’s sweating beneath her foundation; I can see it threatening to melt away.
“No.” It’s blunt, but I’m not about to forget the way she treated me the last time we saw each other. I ignore the quizzical look from my mom.
“Anyway, Weston,” Brian says, “I was just telling Allen and Carrie about your apprenticeship and how well it’s going.” It’s like Brian has put on an entirely new face—he wears the same pinkish-red skin, leathery wrinkles, and golf shirt, but he’s acting differently. Fake.
West is talking about his work when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. Keely waves to me, beckoning for me to come over. I slip my hand out of West’s grasp, and when he doesn’t notice, I step away.
The shade of the tree is safe from the sweltering heat of the sun, and dots of fluff from dandelions float over the grass. Keely pulls me away from the others, who are still draped over the furniture. Miles is there now, too, and a sense of unease crawls from my spine all the way to the back of my skull. I focus on Keely as she hugs me.
“Oh my God, my dad told me you were in the hospital—are you okay?”