After You Died

by Dea Poirier

  The way he talks about it, like he thinks it’s summer camp. A surge of fire flickers through me. I cut him off and glower at him. “So outside of the guns and torture, it’s just like a regular high school?” Sarcasm and anger are thick on every single word, I spit them at him.

  “Exactly,” he says as he shrugs and takes a drink. I clench my teeth. I hate when he acts like we’re on the same team.

  “I can’t believe my little boy is a murderer. Asher, you’ve got to be good. I don’t know if my heart can take you going to prison.” The tears pour from her eyes. Black rivers form on her cheeks.

  “I’m not a murderer.” I slam my hand on the table. My palm stings, and regret hits me before I even close my mouth. My heart sinks, I don’t want to yell at my mother. More, I don’t want her to believe I’m a monster. Her eyes go wide, and she looks at me like she doesn’t even know me. It’s a knife to the gut.

  After the slightest jump, she faces the door. I hear her whimper, and I know she’s started crying again. Her purse has fallen to the floor, but she won’t pick it up. Instead, she sobs quietly, body shaking with emotion.

  I breathe in slowly. “Mom, look at me.” My voice is forceful, but calm.

  Her watery eyes peer at me through her lashes. She’s still not quite looking at me. It’s the look of a scolded child.

  “I did not kill Olivia. I swear to you. You know me, you know I loved her.” I stop and correct myself. “I love her, more than anyone, anything. I’d die a thousand times if it’d bring her back.” My love for her didn’t stop because she died. It’s still as real as if she stood here beside me.

  “I want to believe you,” she says, her lips quiver, and she blots her eyes.

  She wants to, but she doesn’t. The words sting and I look away.

  “Believe me, then, you know me. I couldn’t even kill quail, deer, hogs. Every time he took me hunting. How could I kill her?” My dad took me on so many failed hunting trips I can’t even keep count. No matter how trivial he thought the animals were that he put in front of me, I couldn’t kill them. There’s no way I could make that leap to a person, especially not her. There isn’t a violent bone in my body.

  If I were a murderer, wouldn’t I know?

  She shakes her head. After a long moment she asks, “So, what happened, then?”

  I shift, and lean against the table. “I told you, I don’t remember. I don’t know.” The words come out a growl through my gritted teeth. I’ve said the words ‘I don’t remember’ more in the past few months than I ever thought possible. Anger rises again, hot and thick, it burns my throat, and blots out my thoughts. I don’t want to be in the same room with her. If she stays, I’ll just end up yelling.

  “Mom, Dad, I love you, but can you please send Eden in? I really need to talk to her.”

  A tight-lipped little nod from my mother follows. Neither of them say they love me back. I swallow the pain. They don’t even say goodbye. But I hear my mother’s sobs when the door closes. My stomach knots. What if I never see her again? I might have ruined my only chance to convince her I’m not a killer.

  Eden flashes me a half smile when she comes in. Her long black hair covers most of her face and falls onto her shoulders. For a moment, she peeks at me through her hair, and I see her face is deathly pale, red halos hang around her brown eyes, too. I shake it off. She can’t have been crying, Eden never cries. A golden necklace with several planets and a star hangs loose from her throat. It’s a trinket I stole for her form the Kennedy Space Center when we were thirteen. She distracted Mom and Dad while I pocketed it. As far as I know, she hasn’t taken it off once. Eden says she’s going to be the first woman on the moon. Funny how it turned out for us, she wants to leave the planet, all I want is to get the hell out of Florida.

  For a moment, she makes me forget everything else. There’s never been even a flicker of fear in her eyes when she looks at me. I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always been on my side—no matter what. Guess that’s what happens when you share a womb.

  She rests her arms on the table and looks at me for a moment. When her head falls and rests on her arms, it feels like my heart is breaking. Being apart from her all this time, it makes the situation so much worse. I reach out and take her hand. She looks at me again, her eyes flooded with tears. She chews her lip, and the tip of her nose turns red.

  “I hate this,” she says as she sniffles. Her honesty startles me. Eden has a habit of acting tough in front of everyone. I always see right through it, but seeing her like this, so broken, it kills me.

  I nod. “I can’t say it’s my favorite thing.”

  “Not even in your top ten?”

  I almost grin at that. “How’s life on the outside?”

  She shrugs. “Weird. Mom barely leaves her room. Dad barely leaves work. Things are so quiet at the house, it feels like we live in a graveyard.”

  I look down as frustration prickles inside me. I don’t like that I’m stuck in here while she’s going through this. But I push past it, there’s something more pressing.

  “I need your help,” I plead. I’ve never been one to plead with Eden, it feels strange. Spending eighteen years with someone will teach you when you need to jump directly to pleading. This is one of those times.

  “What?” She asks, her eyebrows pull together. And I know she’s taken off guard by the request.

  I look down at my handcuffed hands. The weight of the situation, the guilt, overwhelms me, and my words sink to the bottom of my mind. I hate to ask her for help. This can’t have been easy on her. She lost someone, too. And here I am, wanting favors, needing her help. I swallow the guilt when desperation wins out. This isn’t something I can do myself, and there’s no one else I can ask. “I need you to keep looking. We have to find out who really did this.”

  “I’ve been looking. I haven’t found anything.” She looks down, but it’s not sadness on her face. It’s frustration. She likes to puzzle her way through things. It kills her when she can’t solve a mystery.

  While I was in the hospital, she gathered articles from the newspaper, and tried to figure out what possibly could have happened that night. We haven’t found a single clue, not so much as a rumor someone else might have done it—someone who isn’t me. There are only two things left—the mansion and the police report. No part of me wants her to go to the mansion, especially not alone.

  “Can you try to get the police report? There might be something in there.” I know it’s a stretch, it’s asking too much. But we have to try. There has to be something.

  “I’ll try, but I don’t know if it’s possible. Thanks to everything that’s happened, we’re now the most well-known family in Ocala. And it doesn’t help that Olivia’s dad works at the police station. He’ll kick me out the second I come through the doors.” The way she sits back in the chair and crosses her legs, I can tell she’s debating the challenge. She wants the challenge.

  Maybe it’s a stupid idea. I don’t want her getting in trouble for me. Who knows what they’d do to her if they find her snooping around a police station.

  “Look, one of the guys at school, his dad works at the station, too. I’ll talk to him, see what I can do,” she offers.

  “Thank you,” I say, as I sit back in the chair, and she glances toward the window. “How’s school?”

  Her eyebrow perks up as she looks at me in disbelief. “You didn’t even care about school enough to go. Why do you care now?”

  I shrug. Really, it’s just a distraction. Something to fill the time before they drag me away to Dozier. I’d rather think about anything else.

  “Did Mom say something to you?” she asks as her eyes flash toward the door.

  I shift in my seat and lean forward. “No. What’s going on?”

  She laces her fingers together and avoids looking at me.

  “What’s going on, Eden?”

  She shrugs and chews on her lip. “Nothing.” She clears her throat, and turns slightly toward the door. “I’
ve just missed a few classes is all.”

  “You never miss class, ever. You gave me a twenty-minute lecture when I got a D in gym because I never went,” I remind her, as I shake my head.

  “It’s not a big deal.” She leans back and crosses her arms.

  “It wouldn’t be a big deal if it was me. If you’re not going to class, there’s obviously something going on. How has Dad not grounded you for life?”

  She looks away again. “Mom is covering for me.”

  “Ah, the new favorite,” I joke.

  “Yeah, it only took being the last kid left in the house,” she says with a half-smile.

  “Right. So…why are you skipping?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I lean across the table, and hold my hands out toward her. “It does matter.”

  For a long moment, she doesn’t take my hands. She just look at them. Her hesitation isn’t lost on me.

  “I don’t want you to worry.”

  “Too late,” I say as I tap the table.

  She finally gives me one of her hands. Her fingers are ice cold. “Dominic has been following me. Well, I think he has,” she shakes her head. “I might be crazy, imagining it. But he wouldn’t stop following me to class. Then, I swear, I saw him standing in the tree line outside the house.” She shudders.

  “Why would he do that?” I ask, careful of my tone. I don’t want Eden to think that I don’t believe her. Eden’s always hated Dominic, but I can’t let that fact overshadow what she’s telling me. Every other time she’s complained about Dom, I’ve shrugged it off. But this time, something feels different.

  “I don’t know, I don’t want to talk about it.” She looks away.

  “Amma is back,” she says to change the subject. My guts twist. A wave of homesickness crashes into me. She was the best part of being home. Amma is our housekeeper, and she was our nanny when we were younger. I miss her fiercely. “She wanted me to tell you that she doesn’t think that you did this, not for a second. She knows you couldn’t kill Olivia.” She continues, and my eyes burn with tears. I blink them, and look at the wall for a minute, breathing through my nose to calm myself.

  “Are you holding up okay?” I ask, hoping that changing the subject will dry up the tears in my eyes. I don’t ask her if she’s okay often enough, it’s hard to remember sometimes that she lost Olivia, too. It’s even harder to remember that her whole life has changed.

  “I’ll survive.” She rolls her eyes at me. But I see the sadness there, no matter how she tries to hide it. I know she’s just putting on a brave face to be strong. I wish I could be more like her—stronger.

  There’s one thing I know that she’s going to have to do to survive. “Eden, now that I won’t be there anymore, you can’t protect Mom.”

  Eden’s eyes go wide for just long enough for me to notice, she presses her lips together into a thin line. I know what she’s thinking when she won’t look at me. She’s going to take her place in the food chain. She’s going to take my place in the beatings.

  “Eden,” I say, my voice firmer, nearly scolding her. “You can’t intervene. Dad could do a lot of damage. He could kill you.”

  I don’t want my mother to get hurt. But I’m not willing to sacrifice Eden for her. My mom chose Dad, she’ll choose him every time over the two of us.

  “Fine,” she relents. But she still won’t look at me. I know she’s lying.

  There’s no use in arguing with her. I don’t have time anyway, a guard bangs against the metal door. She pulls herself from the seat and gives me a hard hug. I press my eyes closed as she squeezes me. Eden never hugs me anymore. I savor it, it may be the last one I’ll get. I pat her shoulder with my shackled hands. When she leaves the room, my head swims like all the air rushed out of the room at once. Part of me left with her.

  After

  I’m awake before they come for me. My tired eyes burn. I try to blink, but it feels like I’m dragging sandpaper across my eyeballs. Last night, though I lay on the thin mattress waiting for sleep to come, I watched the sun sink below the horizon, then the moon rise. Every time my eyes began to droop, my heart would skip into a gallop, and my thoughts would swarm. I replayed my conversations with my Mother and Eden so many times I have them memorized. After that, I tried to run through any scenario I could think of for when I get to Dozier. But I kept coming up with blanks. I don’t know what to expect.

  “You ready?” A short guard, with buzzed brown hair asks from the cell door.

  I’m not. It doesn’t matter, though.

  The old rusted springs creak when I shift on the mattress, I slide from the bed. I won’t miss this place. After I sit up, I have to force myself to breathe. Anxiety has wound itself so tightly around my chest, I feel like I’m bound with ropes.

  I’ve been the only inmate on this cell block the whole month and a half I’ve been here. You’d think I’d have a better rapport with the guards, but I still don’t know any of their names. I’m shitty when it comes to people.

  “Cheer up,” the guard says to me. “It won’t be so bad.”

  I feel like the words haunt me and dig at me. As though he threw knives at me. What does this guard know about bad? Things will never be good again. No matter what happens. Olivia’s still gone, I’m still here. She should have lived, I should have died. No matter what else happens, there will always be a void in the world where she should be.

  We weave through what seems like miles of identical looking cinderblock-lined hallways, they file me out the back door and onto an empty bus with “Florida Department of Offender Rehabilitation” painted on the side. It’s obviously an old school bus, converted for their needs. Painted white, bars added to the windows.

  The soft leather of the seats reminds me of school, home. But I distract myself, and stare out the windows, before I allow it to remind me of her. There’s one good thing about being shipped off to a reform school, I won’t have to go home where everything will remind me of Olivia. If I had to live with that, I’d off myself in a month.

  As the old diesel engine roars to life, one of the guards takes a seat in front of me. He’s surprisingly young for a guard at a jail. So young in fact, I’m not sure he’s out of high school. His face is smooth, there’s not even a hint he’s ever had to shave. I’ve noticed a common theme amongst the guards, all of them have their hair shaved nearly down to their skulls.

  I try to swallow the unease digging at the back of my mind. Not knowing exactly what’s waiting for me at Dozier is setting me on edge. I press my elbows into my knees, leaning on them, to keep my legs from bouncing. When I can’t distract myself, I decide to talk to the guard.

  “I’m kind of flattered,” I say to him, making small talk.

  “Oh?” He’s not quite interested.

  “This whole bus, for little ol’ me.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not star treatment. Maybe if you’d gone a little more cannibal on the girl. Dozier is getting a fresh shipment of several bodies today.” He smiles at me, and I notice he’s missing several teeth. The few he has don’t look in good shape. “You’re going in with a few other newbies, lucky really, all the heat won’t be on you.”

  I look out the window and chew on my thumbnail. I’ve never been to a new school. I’ve never even moved. I went to a high school so small, I’d grown up with every single student since kindergarten. The guards may not be the only ones who are dangerous at Dozier, the kids might be just as bad, or worse.

  “Not sure it will do you much good.” He eyes me. “Long pretty hair like that.” His tongue flits across his remaining teeth, and he reaches out, like he’s going to touch me. I recoil. “They’re gonna eat you up.” He drags out the words like he’s telling me a ghost story.

  I hope it’s all talk to scare me. But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s being honest.

  A nervous laugh slips through my tightened jaw. The bus jolts forward, I stiffen, and the guard’s attention moves to the front as we drive. First
, we travel west, picking up three other inmates. After, we course north-west, picking up two others in Gainesville. Every mile we rumble along, anticipation is thick in my blood. Thoughts clot in my mind each one tainted with anxiety, and all I can do is try to distract myself with miles upon miles of swamp land.

  After one of our stops, I look up when someone sits across the aisle from me. His black hair is only a few inches shorter than mine. Dark eyes glisten as they inspect me. His skin is a deep warm shade of brown. He has a wide build, but he’s skinny, like he doesn’t get enough to eat. Stubble clings to his hollow cheeks, and forms a neat square around his wide mouth. His arms are muscular, but the rest of him is straight lines and sharp bones. I nod my head at him, he nods back.

  “Sayid,” he says introducing himself, glancing at me for just a moment.

  “Asher.”

  This is the part where we’d shake hands if we weren’t handcuffed. He raises an eyebrow as he inspects me. The incredulous look leads me to believe he doesn’t think I should be here. I see him start to speak a few times, my guess, he’s trying to pin down what exactly I did.

  “What’d you do? Steal a motorcycle?” he asks. The way he clamps his lips shut, and his cheeks brighten after he asks, I think he’s trying not to laugh.

  If only.

  “Murder.” The word slips from my lips too easily. I’ve gotten too accustomed to saying it, it doesn’t burn my throat and bring me to tears anymore. This time, only a few knots form in my stomach, and after a deep breath they come loose.

  The way his eyes go wide, and his mouth hangs slack, I regret saying it. Maybe I should come up with a lie. I can’t spend the next five years of Dozier with people looking at me like that.

  “You?” I ask, though by the look on his face, I’m not sure he’ll ever talk to me again. I don’t blame him. Would I react any differently if I was in his situation? Not likely.