by Alana Terry
“I’m saying that even if your father and your brother weren’t lovey-dovey, all your dad had to do was wave this file over your brother’s head. That feels like pretty good incentive to cooperate with Daddy, don’t you think?”
I don’t answer. I want to go back to sleep, wake up, and imagine it’s senior skip day all over again.
“Marco was there to help me.” My protest is as weak as my body feels. “He was ... we watched movies together,” I conclude lamely.
Drisklay doesn’t acknowledge my non sequitur, sparing me further indignity.
“So here’s what I think happened,” he says. “Daddy found out who it was that killed his daughter all those years ago. Or at least he had his suspicions, and he was willing to circumvent the law to act on them.”
I don’t reply. Suddenly, Sandy’s muffins no longer sound so appealing.
“Daddy wanted to get revenge through the son,” Drisklay continues, “but he knew you were dating him, so he decided to wait it out. For all I know, he didn’t want to upset you and was waiting for the two of you to break up before he made his move. Just because someone’s a monster of a human being doesn’t make them a terrible parent.”
I pause, realizing that in a single sentence, Drisklay has explained a paradox that’s plagued me for years.
“But you and Lover Boy didn’t break up,” he goes on, “and one Friday last May, Daddy got a call from your boyfriend talking about marriage. That’s when he discovered how serious a relationship you two were in. He’d never give you away to the son of the man who raped and killed his daughter. So that’s our motive right there. Daddy comes out to the cabin. Makes his move. Next thing you know, two people are dead, your boyfriend and your mother. I’m going to give your father the benefit of the doubt and guess he didn’t mean to kill his wife. Maybe she was trying to stop him. Trying to protect you and he got mad when she stood in his way. That’s for the crime scene techs to figure out, not me.
“Now, Daddy’s got two victims, one intentional, one not. He dumps Gomez’s body in the lake, trusting the mud and silt to do their work to hide the corpse. As for you, now he’s only got two choices. He can kill so you can’t ever testify against him, or he can mess with your memories. He doesn’t want to hurt you, plus he’s got access to the right kind of drugs, thanks to your brother and his job.”
My head is swirling, and I’m trying desperately to keep up. “How is that sounding so far?” Drisklay asks.
I want to argue. I want to defend my family.
But I have nothing to say.
“So we’ve got our motive and our means down,” Drisklay concludes. “Now all I need you to do is tell me the rest of the story. Tell me exactly what happened when you and Gomez got to the other side of the lake.”
CHAPTER 33
After we’ve traveled about half a mile down the trail, Chris insists we stop. With my head injury, I’m in no shape to keep hiking. I need a break.
He wraps his arms around me. I feel tired. So tired. “Are you hanging in there?” he says. “Don’t go to sleep on me, all right? You’ve got to stay awake.”
“I’ll try,” I promise him.
He smiles down at me. “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Did you really mean it when you said you never wanted to marry me?”
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to feel his lips pressed against mine.
But even more than that, I want to sleep.
“I didn’t mean it,” I answer.
Chris grins again. “I didn’t think so.”
“I was scared for you,” I admitted. “I thought that ...”
Chris shushes me. “I get it. You don’t need to explain.”
Surrounded by trees and bushes, we’re staying to the side of the trail so we can stay more easily hidden. At least I hope we’re hidden. I’m staring up at the bright blue sky, at the leaves rustling gently in the breeze. A pair of birds passes by overhead.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Chris gives me a little shake.
“Huh, what?”
“Don’t fall asleep,” he repeats.
“I wasn’t.”
“What are we going to do now?” he asks after a minute.
I need to think, but my head hurts too much. Why am I always the one who has to come up with the plan?
“Run away with me,” Chris says.
“What?”
“I’ll take you someplace far from here. Someplace where your dad will never find us. We’ll be safe. We’ll be together. We’ll be ...”
I press my finger against his mouth. Was that the wind? I’m certain I heard something.
Chris leans forward and whispers in my ear. “I’m serious, Mia. I know you didn’t mean what you said back there. I know you thought that the only way to keep me safe was to break up with me. But think about it. Even if we break up, that’s not going to stop your dad if he wants to come after me, right? So either we go to the police, or we ...”
“No police,” I interrupt. Wasn’t he listening to anything I said? Doesn’t he realize my dad has contacts everywhere?
“Okay. Okay. No police. I just thought that ...” Chris sighs. “So there’s only one option. You run away with me. We’ll find someplace. I’ve got a cousin in Missouri. We can pool our money together. Take a train ...”
I shake my head, even though each time I move, my brain feels like someone’s swinging a baseball bat against my skull. “Don’t you think he can figure out about your cousin in Missouri?”
“We’ll find somewhere else then,” Chris insists. “We’ll run to Canada. Mexico. Come on. There’s gotta be someplace.”
He’s right. He’s right about everything. Breaking up won’t solve our problems. Our only hope is if we stay together.
“I just want to keep you safe.” He’s holding me close, and my blood is smeared across his forearm. He still has his shirt off, but he feels just as warm and just as protective as if we were wrapped in a king-sized duvet.
“Come on,” he says. “We should start by getting you to a hospital. You need stitches or something for your head. Then we’ll figure out how much money we have, see where we can go ...”
I squeeze my eyes shut. How can he make it sound so easy? How can we just leave everything behind? Our graduation. Our friends.
My mom ...
“I don’t feel so good,” I say.
Chris takes a look at my head. He must think I’m talking about my injury. He scoops me up in his arms. “It’s going to be okay,” he assures me. “When I had that dream, when God showed me that I’m going to become a pastor and make you my wife, I made him a promise. I promised him I’d take care of you no matter what. Give you the shirt off my back.” He chuckles and looks down at his bare arms. “Guess he took me literally.”
I want to laugh when he says this. I really do. Want to believe this is all going to work out. That Chris and I can just walk out of these woods, bandage my bleeding head, and make our escape. Canada? Mexico? Why not? Other people have run away before. Disappeared.
Am I ready to leave everything else behind? Everything but Chris?
And does it really matter? Now that Chris knows, now that I’ve told him everything, neither of us are safe here. We have to get out. We have to ...
Chris stops in the trail. “Did you hear that?” he whispers, crouching us both down behind a tree trunk. I’m still in his arms, my biceps tense and sore from clinging to him so tightly.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.”
“Mia! Mia!” It’s my dad. He’s found us already. How did he get here so fast? How did he know we were on the other side of the lake?
“Stay here,” Chris tells me. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Mia!” Dad shouts. He’s not near us yet. If Chris got a running start ...
“You go,” I hiss in Chris’s ear.
“What? You’re crazy.”
�
�Go,” I tell him, pleading. “You can run faster than he can. Go. I’ll stay here. Distract him when he comes by.”
Chris is looking at me like I’ve grown purple eyebrows. “I’m not leaving you here all by yourself.”
“I’ll be all right,” I assure him. My dad is a very dangerous man, but he would never hurt me.
Never.
And in an instant, I know. This is what I can do. This is how I can save the man I love.
Back by the dock, I was ready to make Chris believe I’d stopped loving him. I was ready to make him think I hated him if that’s what it took to save his life.
In the end, I think I knew it had to end this way. I give him what I know will be our last kiss.
“Go,” I tell him. “Don’t tell me where you’re going. Don’t write to me when you get there. Just be safe and start your life over.”
“I won’t leave you here.” His voice is stubborn, and each second he hesitates my father is getting closer. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to protect Chris at all.
“Please,” I beg. “Do this for me.”
I press my forehead against his. Assure him once more that I’ll be safe. “My dad will never lay a finger on me,” I promise.
“I’ll never stop loving you,” Chris whispers, holding me close for one last second. “Remember that,” he says, his eyes steady. “Don’t ever forget.”
I’m not sure if it’s his words or something in his gaze that tells me what he’s planning. Or maybe I just know him so well.
“No, don’t!” I shout. It doesn’t matter now if Dad hears where we are or not. I try to grab Chris’s hand, but he’s already darting down the trail.
Back toward the lake.
Straight toward my father.
CHAPTER 34
Detective Drisklay scowls and waves away the junior detective who props the door open to see if we want more coffee.
“And that’s the last thing you remember?” Drisklay asks me with a frown.
“That’s the last thing I remember,” I repeat.
Drisklay sighs. “Well, I imagine it’s not quite rocket science to figure out what happened next. Gomez played the hero, got his body dumped in the lake, and Daddy took you home along with a whole arsenal of drugs to make you forget.”
My whole body started trembling at some point when I began talking about hiding in the woods with Chris, and it hasn’t stopped since. “What about Mom?” My voice is barely louder than a croak.
“We still don’t know if your dad attacked her before or after he killed Gomez. To be honest, I’m not sure the timeline really matters.”
“Why couldn’t you figure this all out before?” I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but it doesn’t make sense to me. “Don’t you always look at the family first?”
“Your father had an alibi,” Drisklay says. “We have records of him chartering a flight on his business jet to Florida that morning as well as footage of him at his offices in Miami.”
“So that was all doctored?”
Drisklay shrugs. “That’s for the prosecution to determine.”
I don’t say anything else. It certainly makes sense. If Dad could wave his hand to make the allegations against my brother disappear, if he could kill his own wife as well as my boyfriend, he certainly would have found ways to cover his tracks.
“What happens now?” I ask.
Drisklay leans back in his chair and takes another sip of coffee.
“Now we do what we can to put your father behind bars and make sure he never gets out.”
“Is that going to work?” I ask. “Is there enough evidence?”
“I’ve sent off your blood work to the lab already. If they find what I’m certain they’re going to find, that’s a good start.”
“But what if he just blames my brother?”
“I’m sure he will,” Drisklay continues. “Which is why I have men bringing Marco in right now. This file right here.” Drisklay taps on the envelope with my brother’s name on it. “I think your brother’s going to have some compelling reasons to cooperate with us.”
I stare at the table. Think about what lies ahead. I shake my head. “You don’t know my dad,” I tell Drisklay. “You don’t know how good he is at getting out of stuff like this.”
Drisklay leans forward. “Miss Blanca, I didn’t become the head detective here because I treat justice like a game. I’m here because I put men slimier, sleazier, and even more well-connected than your father behind bars for a living. And that’s exactly what I intend to do here. Now.” He stands up. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ve got a pile of evidence in my favor and one sick and twisted son of a gun to get off the streets.”
CHAPTER 35
Early fall. A crisp, breezy morning. I hear the rustling leaves outside the window of Sandy’s guest room.
It’s comfortable here. I’ve probably slept better in the past six weeks than I have since the incident last spring. Of course, getting myself off those drugs my dad and brother were slipping me has helped tremendously.
I suppose in a way Sandy was right. Even though there’s a medical explanation for my memory’s return, the fact that I’m here at all, that I’m safe, is nothing short of a miracle.
Marco got called into the police station the same day my memories came back. It didn’t take Drisklay long to convince him to testify. Which means they’re going after Dad next. I try to remember what Drisklay told me that day in his office. Just because someone’s a monster doesn’t make them a bad parent.
I wonder if it’s normal to feel sorry for my dad. And guilty since I’m the reason he’s in so much trouble.
Sandy’s been amazing, of course. Said I can stay here as long as I need. I can think clearly now and form new memories, but I never did recover everything I lost last summer. It’s probably just as well. I can’t imagine the trauma of having to learn each and every day Mom and Chris are dead.
It’s even worse knowing that my Dad’s to blame.
Let’s just say I’m glad that chapter in my life is coming to an end.
Sandy has something she wants me to watch when I’m ready. Someone made a video of Chris’s funeral last summer. I couldn’t go. I was entrenched in police interviews, and for the first few weeks coming off the drugs, my senses were easily overwhelmed by crowds and loud noises. I heard the service was pretty amazing. Something like a hundred people came forward and asked for prayer. Most of them were teens from school or the youth group. A big chunk of them have become Christians.
So maybe Chris’s dream of becoming a preacher and telling so many people about Jesus came true after all.
Right now, my life consists of morning devotions with Sandy and her family, lots of naps, and meetings with Drisklay. I guess that’s going to be the story of my life for the next several months. Meetings and lawyers and appointments all the time. I’ve had a couple different doctors give me full exams to make sure my brain’s recovered. That and to ensure I’m healthy enough to testify at my father’s trial.
I did a Google search of that drug Marco stole from his company, the one Dad kept slipping me to make me unable to remember. Apparently it’s been used with PTSD victims to make them forget their trauma entirely. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m just glad to have my normal brain back. It’s kind of creepy when you sit down and think about how much one little pill can impact everything. Make you lose your memory. Your entire identity, really.
Like I said, I’m glad I don’t remember those three months last summer.
I missed graduation, but I was awarded my diploma anyway. Sandy drove me by my old school a few weeks ago to pick it up. She’s called NYU on my behalf too, and they’ve agreed to defer my scholarship. Some people take a gap year to travel the States or backpack across Europe. Looks like I’m taking a gap year to testify against my own father.
My emotions have evened out as my body finally purged the drugs from my system. I’m still devastated. Still miss my mom more than words can expr
ess. And I know I’ll remember that determined look on Chris’s face for the rest of my life. Both he and my mom died protecting me. I guess that’s supposed to make me feel thankful. Maybe gratitude will come later. At this moment, I just feel guilty. Sandy has a friend who’s a grief counselor. Says she’s ready to talk with me whenever I feel strong enough to come in. There’s no rush. My job is to get by day to day. It’s still disorienting to wake up and recall that my mom and boyfriend are dead and my father’s the one responsible.
Some days I wish I could forget again. Just for a little while.
I know I have a lot to be thankful for. I’ve been reading my Bible a lot when Sandy’s out running errands or busy getting dinner ready. I still don’t know why God allowed so many terrible things to happen to me and the people I love most, but I guess he’s never promised to give us all the answers. He’s just promised to walk beside us in our sorrows.
I’ve found the Psalms especially comforting these past few weeks.
It’s early, but I hear Sandy puttering around in the kitchen. I’m surprised she doesn’t wake up the entire cul de sac when she’s in there cooking. Pretty soon, I’ll get dressed. Head down the hall. See if Sandy needs a hand setting the table or pulling her whole wheat muffins out of the oven.
There’s a Bible verse I read the other day. It’s another one from Psalms. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing.
It’s hard to describe how disorienting it is to lose your entire family in a day. To find out that your mom has been killed and your brother and father are both implicated. It’s even weirder trying to describe what I feel when I think about losing Chris. Sometimes I’m not sure if I should say my boyfriend is dead or my fiancé is dead. It feels to me like neither word describes who he was or what he meant to me.
Some days I wake up furious at him. He should have never taken off down that trail. I could have stalled my dad. There’s no way he would have hurt me. It could have given Chris the chance to get away. I’m mad at him for playing the hero, mad at him for dying. Mad at him for leaving me so alone. And then I remember that verse from Psalms.