Shadows Among Us

by Ellery A Kane

  Sure, it’s a cheap shot. Especially after his performance in group. Where he’d nearly convinced me that he had a real heart, not the Tin Man’s pocket watch. But then he’d gone and done it, just like he always did. After group, he’d stood in the parking lot in front of everyone—Luciana, Sawyer, Jane, Debbie—and leveled me. I told you. We should’ve had your father locked up a long time ago. The implication: I’d dropped the proverbial ball. The ball being our daughter. After all, I’d been the one with Crazy Krandel for a father. I’d been the one who’d worked at the kind of place said crazy father belonged.

  Cole throws up his hands at me. “Really? Why do you always want to pick a fight?”

  “Why do you think? We both did this, you know. That summer we drove her away.”

  “You think I don’t realize that? That I don’t have a million regrets?” He crouches down beside the open window, his voice softening. “I’m not here to fight. I came back because I was worried about you. I thought Sawyer would’ve stayed.”

  “I told him and Luci to leave. I just needed some time.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Anyway, I’m sorry I said the thing about locking up your dad. You did your best to protect her from him.”

  “So—” My lungs squeeze shut as I try to say the words. “Did they arrest him?”

  He nods. “Detective Sharpe said he tried to reach you. They took him down to the station for questioning, but they can only hold him for forty-eight hours. He said—”

  A pair of headlights beam from behind Cole, and he turns to look, shielding his eyes as Sawyer steers his truck into the lot. A moment later, Luciana follows in Boludo. I imagine how we must look to them, Cole and me. Like it or not, this is what’s left of our fragmented little family. The two of us.

  “We couldn’t leave you here,” Luciana admits, practically pushing Cole aside to lean in to my open window. She slips a tarot card into my hand and whispers, “I got another jumper. It went straight out of my purse and onto Boludo’s floorboard. Like it had to be seen.”

  I turn it over and lay it faceup on the seat, my blood whirring at the sight of it. The archangel, Gabriel, plays a golden trumpet as men, women, and children rise from their graves with outstretched arms.

  Cole peers over her shoulder, addressing me. “Sharpe also said they found those hairs you were talking about. Fingerprints too. They sent it all to the lab.”

  When I don’t respond, he moves closer. “What is that?” he asks.

  I hold it up to him and read the name of the card. “Judgment.”

  BEFORE

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  (Saturday, August 13, 2016)

  “Happy birthday to me.”

  Dakota studied her work in the mirror. Not as good as Hannah would’ve done, but not bad for an amateur. She’d blown out her hair, even used one of the fancy styling products Hannah had left behind. But most importantly, she’d dyed it a vibrant rose gold again. She only wished changing her mood was that easy. Inside, she still felt like sad, faded pink.

  Gus scratched at the bathroom door, and she let him inside, grateful for some company. He plopped onto the rug with a sigh, gazing up at her with his doleful brown eyes.

  “Fifteen kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” she asked him. “I know you were fifteen a long time ago and probably don’t remember. Dog years and all. But trust me. Major suckage.”

  He cocked his head. Like he was contemplating her statement. Before the debacle of this summer, she’d planned to spend her birthday with Hannah at Six Flags, riding their new coaster and stuffing her face with way too much cotton candy and funnel cake. Instead, she’d be going to a lame dinner at some hoity-toity restaurant with parents who could barely stand to be in the same room. She hadn’t even heard from Hannah. Such was the state of her universe.

  “Hurry up in there! Your dad will be home any minute.”

  About time. After he’d eaten a few bites of birthday pancakes and kissed her on the forehead—Happy birthday, sweetheart—her dad offered up some excuse about meeting with his attorney and slunk out the door. Like the weasel he was.

  “Big week for him this week.” That’s how her mother had explained it. Or excused it.

  Dakota slipped into the simple black dress she’d worn for eighth-grade graduation—depressing how it still fit—and twirled for Gus. “Mom’s gonna freak,” she whispered to him, crouching to his level. He nearly caught her nose with his wet tongue.

  Dakota opened the door to her mother lingering in the hallway mirror, pinning diamond studs in her ears. She’d really gone all out. Red dress by Trina Turk, Manolo pumps, Louie clutch. The earrings Dad had bought her last Valentine’s. Same frown though, spoiling it all.

  “Jesus, Dakota. Did you really have to dye it again? School’s starting in a few weeks, and you know how strict Napa Prep is about stuff like this.”

  She shrugged. “What about Drake Gunderson? He dyed his black with white streaks and nobody cared.”

  “Don’t they call him Dracula?”

  “Exactly. The school just let it slide.” She joined her mom in the mirror, making a goofy face. Tongue out, eyes crossed. Nothing. Not even a smirk. “At least I didn’t get a tattoo.”

  “Not funny. If you get a tattoo, I’m taking you straight to Napa State Hospital and admitting you myself.”

  Dakota laughed. “Are there any patients like Hannibal the Cannibal? Because that’d be cool.”

  Finally, the glacial surface of her mother’s face cracked. “Just keep Hannibal the Cannibal under wraps at dinner, okay? Your dad doesn’t know I gave it to you. And he’s got enough on his plate right now.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Mom. He probably doesn’t like liver with his Chianti anyway.”

  ****

  Dakota had to hand it to her parents. They put on a good show for the patrons at Bouchon. Her dad even managed a compliment halfway through dinner—Those earrings look great on you, Mol—which lit her mother up like a Christmas tree. It was almost like old times, the three of them. When the cake arrived—a perfect little mound of chocolate drizzled with more chocolate and topped off with shavings, also chocolate—Dakota could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It looked a lot like a birthday candle.

  Her dad cleared his throat and raised his glass for the annual birthday toast. “Fifteen years ago, right about now, you arrived in the world and made our family complete. We’re so proud of you, sweetie. Pink hair and all. I know it hasn’t been an easy summer—we’ve all struggled—but it’s going to get better from here on out. Your mom and I hope this gift will be the start of a great fifteenth year.”

  Dakota opened the envelope he’d placed beside her plate. Inside the standard birthday card, she found a slick brochure plastered with smiling teens rappelling down the side of a rock face. Dakota’s hands shook as she read.

  Starry Sky Wilderness Retreat

  Young adults face a unique set of challenges in our fast-paced society. Inundated with images from television and social media and lofty expectations from parents, friends, and teachers, teens often struggle with depression, anger, low self-esteem, and anxiety. At Starry Sky, we go back to basics, using a strengths-based approach and the healing powers of nature to ensure that teens grow into happy, successful, and independent adults. Starry Sky treats young men and women, ages twelve to eighteen.

  Dakota tossed the brochure at her mother and watched it flutter to the ground. “What the hell is this? You’re sending me away?” The words were out and wreaking havoc before she could contain them. Heads turned at the tables around them. Her father lowered his voice to a threatening growl.

  “Language, Dakota.”

  Faking a smile for the onlookers, her mother retrieved the brochure. “It’s only for two weeks before school starts. You’d be back by the third of September, right in time to start school on Monday. We just wan
t to be sure you’re solid, especially going into swim season. This place comes highly recommended.”

  She pointed to the shiny, well-adjusted models on the cover with their put-on excitement. “Look. It’ll be an adventure. Plus, your dad and I need a little time to . . .”

  “To what?”

  Her mother’s hands stirred the air between them. As if a gesture could explain the totality of this ambush. On her birthday, no less.

  “Great. So I’ll be learning to make fire and bury my poop while you and dad figure out your marriage. I’ll save you the trouble. He’s cheating on you. I saw him on prom night. There you go. Problem solved.”

  Dakota thought she’d feel relieved, stunning her parents into silence with her revelation. Casting it off like a straitjacket. Instead, her chest ached. Like she’d held her breath too long at the bottom. When the waiter came over to ask if they needed any help, Dakota inhaled before she answered.

  “Yes. The mental kind, apparently.”

  ****

  Dakota saved her tears for later. After her dad paid the tab. After the funeral-quiet car ride home. After they’d all retreated to their respective corners. She buried her face in Gus’s fur until a wet spot formed on the side of his stomach, darkening his golden hair.

  The buzz of her phone—a text from Liv—drew her back to the land of the almost-living.

  OMG did u c this???

  Those three question marks seemed ominous, but Dakota clicked the link anyway.

  Hannah had released a new vlog—Guys Want To Be Hot Too—featuring her newest subject, Tyler Lowry. Dakota watched as Hannah styled his hair—fauxhawked, slicked back, spiky, and mussed. At the end, Hannah perched atop Tyler’s lap and turned to the camera. “So, guys, put a little effort in. I promise it’ll pay off.” Then she pressed her lips to Tyler’s, leaving him breathless and red-lipped.

  Dakota wished she could hate Tyler. But that she saved for Hannah. And it sat like a hot coal in her stomach, demanding release.

  She scrolled to the bottom of the video and typed a comment in all caps. Then she copied it, pasted it, and pasted it again. Until her fingers got tired.

  LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER.

  LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER.

  LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER.

  LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER.

  ****

  Dakota jolted awake, her face mashed against the screen of her cell phone, which glowed as bright as a curtainless window. Telling her two things: It was 1:30 a.m. And she’d missed two calls and thirteen texts. From Liv and from the group chat at Napa Prep.

  She opened Liv’s string first, dread growing as fast as a poison weed in her chest, tightening around her heart.

  Damn girl. Hannah is super pissed.

  U better call her.

  Is this u?

  The last text linked back to the group chat, forty-five members strong. Most of them Tyler’s lacrosse buddies. At midnight, he’d sent out the photo. Of her. The one she’d deleted. He must’ve saved it somewhere.

  But the photo had been altered. She could guess by who. Because Tyler couldn’t photoshop his way out of a paper bag.

  Dakota’s face, all pouty and seductive and coached by Hannah, sat atop a very naked body. Definitely not hers. It could’ve been, though, with the budding breasts and the swimmer’s shoulders. Even the summer tan lines were perfectly placed. A nice touch that left no doubt. This was Hannah’s handiwork.

  Tyler had written: PSA on Dakota Roark: Total psycho, flat as a board. Hard pass.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Eight

  (Sunday, August 14, 2016)

  “So did you think any more about Starry Sky?”

  Dakota sat at the kitchen table, her bare feet resting on Gus’s stomach. She stared past her mother to the wall, stirring her Cheerios until they drowned, bloated in their milky bath.

  “Well, I left the brochure on the coffee table just in case.”

  When Dakota’s phone vibrated against the table, she flinched. Like it had become a part of her, her nerves hardwired to its circuit board. Maybe that’s why she’d been buzzing all night and into the morning. She flipped it over and gazed into its face. It told her what she already knew. Everyone was talking. About her. Her and those naked photos.

  “Are you even listening to me? You’ve been tethered to that thing all morning. Give it to me.”

  Panicked, Dakota eyes darted up to her mother, to her outstretched hand. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Phone. Now.” She watched helplessly as her mother laid the phone on the counter. “Relax. You can survive for a few minutes without it. What’s so important anyway?”

  Dakota shrugged. “Liv asked me to sleep over tonight. Her mom can pick me up from the library.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I thought we could spend the day together. Talk, maybe. Like we used to.”

  “Why? Dad’s not here. He’s never here anymore. He’s the one you need to talk to.”

  “After last night, he thought it would be best if he gave you a little space.”

  “Me? What about you? Did you even ask him if it was true?”

  Her mother sighed. “I don’t want you to worry about this stuff.”

  Dakota pushed back from the table, startling Gus. He pranced nervously between her and her mother. “I thought you wanted to talk. But you only want to talk about me. Like I’m the problem. The identified patient. Isn’t that what you shrinks call it?”

  “When did you get to be such a smart-ass?”

  The cell phone buzzed again, reminding Dakota what was at stake. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just don’t want to talk anymore. I’ll go to the stupid Starry Sky thing if that’s what you want. But until then, let me enjoy my last few weeks of summer. Okay?”

  Without asking, she swiped the phone from the counter and tucked it away, safe in her back pocket. Her whole body hummed with relief. “So, Liv’s tonight, if you’re alright with it?”

  “I guess so. I’m glad she’s been a good friend to you lately. How’s it been with Hannah? Has she said anything to you?”

  Dakota realized then how wide the chasm had grown. Her mother on one side. Dakota on the other. A torrent of secrets and disappointments rushing between them, too dangerous to cross. “No.”

  Her mother frowned. “Really? No drama?”

  Dakota laughed, but it hurt. And the chasm grew. “C’mon, Mom. You know I’m a no-drama llama.”

  ****

  Grandpa Krandel parked the truck and pointed out the window. “I got an idea.”

  Dakota gaped at the storefront. Bull’s Body Art. “Are you serious? Mom’s head would literally explode. Boom.” She mimed sudden detonation with her hands, and her grandfather watched her fingers, transfixed.

  “Back in Nam, we dropped a helluva lot of bombs. Cluster bombs. Chemical bombs. That was damn near the only thing we were good at. Blowin’ shit up.” He chuckled a little, and Dakota held her breath. She never knew when or where or why he’d turn into Crazy Krandel. “Now, you told me your birthday wasn’t so good, right?”

  She nodded.

  “That some good-for-nothin’ boy broke your heart?”

  Another nod.

  “And your mama wants to send you to sleepaway camp because your daddy can’t keep it in his pants?”

  “You know about Dad?”

  “Hell, it’s all over the papers.”

  Her mom had tossed the Napa Valley Register—probably before Dakota came down for breakfast—but she’d found it anyway, the headline covered with the scrambled eggs she hadn’t touched. The Cheerios she’d sent to a milky grave.

  Hospital Board Meets On Monday To Determine Fate Of Renowned Pediatric Oncologist

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Alright, so I’m battin’ one thousand on all counts. It
sounds like what you really need right now is a great big ole bomb. Tell ya what, I’ll get one too.”

  ****

  Dakota watched as Grandpa Krandel gritted his teeth. Even with his face scrunched in pain, he managed to wink at her. “This hurts worse than the damn punji pit.”

  Bull snorted so loudly, Dakota half-expected his nose ring to fly out. Which would have made him one piercing short of a half dozen. And those were just the ones she could see.

  “You’re lucky,” he told her. “Your grandpa’s hella cool. We met over at the VA.”

  Dakota nodded, watching the cage take shape on her grandfather’s sinewy bicep.

  “At the PTSD group,” Grandpa Krandel added. Then he motioned to Bull. “Remind me what that stands for again.”

  Their voices chorused in unison, “Pretty Tired of Shit, Dude,” and Dakota laughed.

  Chuckling himself, Bull started up again. He filled in one of the cage’s dark bars, and Grandpa Krandel winced, air hissing like steam from between his teeth. He made a show of grabbing Bull’s arm, begging him, “No more. No more.”

  Bull stopped and turned to Dakota. “He does know this isn’t the real thing, right?”

  “Wait one gosh darn minute.” Grandpa Krandel peeked up at them, trying to hide a smirk. “You mean to tell me this ain’t a real tattoo?”

  “You said you both wanted the semi-permanent ink.” Bull looked from Dakota to the applicator in his hand and back again. “We don’t tattoo minors. It’s against the law.”

  Grandpa Krandel punched Bull’s arm. “I’m kiddin’. Of course, we want the semi-permanent. This skin is too pretty to mark up with a goddamn needle.” He smiled at Dakota. “Besides, we’re going for firecracker level. Not the A-bomb. Right, Dakota?”

  Bull shook his head, laughing to himself, before he returned his focus to her grandfather’s shoulder, where he inked a small black bird.

  “Right.” In that moment, Dakota’s heart soared, the highest bird in the sky.

  ****

  Dakota studied Bull’s handiwork in the small mirror he’d given her. “It looks so real,” she said, already imagining her mother’s stunned face. Her father’s disgust. Tyler and Hannah’s shock and awe.