Dead Wrong

by Kristi Belcamino

  “I’m looking for Flip.”

  I look around to avoid looking at her bare breast with the infant hanging on it.

  The stove is black except for one part that is still semi-white and has OVEN spray-painted in green on it. A box of wilting produce sits beside the stove and a few plastic containers of herbs are on the counter nearby.

  “He’s not here. His room is over there,” she gestures to a room across the way. “He went out.”

  “Do you know how long ago he left?”

  She looks at me like I’m crazy and shrugs.

  I realize that she has no concept of time. Not the way I do.

  The baby makes a loud sucking noise. I jerk around and leave the room. I head toward the room the girl pointed at. A curtain of beads hanging down partially blocks the doorway. They vibrate as I brush through them. Inside, there are a few band posters on the walls. A picture of Jazz and Flip is taped above the futon bed. It’s crooked, but they are both smiling. My stomach turns. Even though I think my hunch is right, it’s still hard to imagine Flip doing something to Danielle.

  And I can’t imagine Jazz as part of this. Jazz is my friend. She would never have been involved in something like covering up Danielle’s death? Or would she?

  I can’t imagine her living here with Flip, but I guess this is their love nest. Ick. Everything is dirty and something smells rotten. No wonder they spend the warmer nights on the beach.

  This is the side of the gutter punk life that Raven wanted to keep me away from.

  Is this what he was trying to protect me from?

  In the other room, I hear the baby cry and heels clopping across the floor and then up or down some stairs. The cries grow fainter. I have to be wrong about Flip. He couldn’t have hurt Danielle. Not smiling Flip. But my stomach tells me otherwise.

  Then I spot it — Flip’s book bag. Even though the silence tells me I’m alone on this floor now, I look around me quickly before I race over to the bag and crouch.

  I dump everything out and scatter the papers looking for the book. It’s not here. Was I wrong? Frustrated I toss the papers around. Maybe the picture is loose in this jumble of papers. It has to be here. I look at the mess before me — lighters, books, loose papers, cigarettes, a bandana, a journal, small rocks, a candy bar. I stare. Where is it? Why isn’t the Leif Enger book, Peace Like a River, in his bag?

  I know that’s where the picture is. I remember how guilty Flip acted when I sat up and saw him reading this book on Raven’s futon. He shoved something in the pages to hide it. The picture of Danielle and me. I know it. I know him having the picture doesn’t prove anything — anything except that my hunch about him is right. That’s why it is so important for me to find it. To make sure I’m right before I confront him.

  I scan the messy room and under the corner of the futon I spot something white and blue. The book. I lunge for it, yank it out from under the futon and hold it upside down, my fingers running across the pages until it falls out on the ground. There it is. I pick it up gingerly. I was right.

  The glossy picture between my fingers is the missing photo of Danielle and me.

  I turn back, grab Flip’s journal, and scan the pages. Nearly every page has Danielle’s name on it. I unfold a piece of paper and cringe. A drawing I had made of Danielle in my sketchbook of her lips and her face. He tore it out? He stole it from me? I hadn’t even noticed it was gone.

  He’s obsessed with her.

  I look at the back of the book and as I read, my eyes grow wide. I involuntarily lift my hand to my mouth in horror. Here it is right here in black and white. My proof.

  “I didn’t want to do it, Danielle. You have to believe me. I only wanted to love you and have you love me back. If only you would’ve loved me back, you’d be here with me right now. If only you hadn’t laughed I wouldn’t have lost my temper and we’d be so happy together.”

  The clatter of the beads in the doorway behind me sends a chill down my back.

  He’s back. I can feel his eyes on my back. He saw me. He sees me reading his journal. He knows.

  The little hairs on my arms stand up straight.

  I turn, very slowly. He is staring at me, holding a frying pan by his side.

  He knows. He knows I know.

  “Hey Flip. Where’s Jazz?” If she’s around, I have a chance. I swallow and try to smile, to act cool.

  He stares at me and shakes his head. He moves over to where I’m standing, taking in his book bag and how the flap is open. He looks down and sees his journal splayed open on the floor in front of me. I back up on my hands and knees into the corner. He’s no longer between the door and me. I have one chance. We are both equal distance from the open door now. I can run faster than him, I know it. Slowly, I get to my feet, not taking my eyes off him. He snaps his gum watching me, waiting. I take one step and then run.

  Right before the door, he grabs my hair, yanking me back so hard I fall on my back, my shoulder striking his steel-toed boots. The wind is knocked out of me and I gasp for air.

  “Not so fast.”

  He yanks me up from underneath my armpits before I have a chance to react or catch my breath. Dragging me, he throws me face down on the bed. My face presses down into the thin mattress that smells like sex and vomit. I gag and turn my head, swallowing back bile that has filled my throat. But he turns my head, smashing my face deep and hard into the futon and I can’t breathe.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  I’m going to die. I’m starting to see black. Flip yanks my head up out of the mattress and I gasp for air. My throat burns. Then, once I catch my breath, I lean over and throw up. He holds my hair back and I’m too weak to push his hand away.

  “I’m sorry, Em.” I swallow and swipe at the bile dripping down my chin. He tenderly wipes it away with a piece of his shirt. I want to turn and pummel him with my fists, but I’m too weak. Plus, I know I need to figure out a plan to escape. Fighting him is a sure way to end up dead. I know that now. I eye the cast iron frying pan. He dropped it by the door when he attacked me. Thank God he didn’t bean me with it or I’d already be dead.

  Be smart, Emily.

  He puts his hands under my armpits and sits me on the nasty mattress. I blink, looking around. He pulls up a chair between me and the door.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, scrunching up his face. His Mohawk doesn’t have gel in it and hangs down on one side all the way to his chin. He flips it to the other side in frustration. “Let’s figure out a way for you not to get hurt.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, knowing I’m being flippant.

  His eyes narrow at my tone. “But you know what happened? Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look down as I say it.

  “Bullshit.” He shakes his head in disgust. “The only way you’re going to get out of here alive is to be straight with me now. You be straight with me, tell me what you know and who you told, and maybe we can figure out a way to let this go, where I don’t have to hurt you.”

  I know he’s lying. That’s why I’m still alive. He’s going to kill me no matter what. He just wants to know how much I know and who I’ve told before he does. I need to bluff like I’ve never done before.

  I nod. “I know. I know you ... know about Danielle’s death and how she accidentally died and you’re keeping it a secret.” I’ll let him think it was an accident and that I think that. “What happened?”

  Here is his chance to make some excuse, which I’ll pretend to believe.

  “I loved her.” He mumbles the words, his nose running and words thick with tears. “Girls like that never look at us. Gutterpunks. But she liked us. She was a goddess. So beautiful.”

  His eyes grow glassy. He’s back at that day. I can tell.

  “She wanted to talk to me about Raven. About getting him back. I told her I would help. Jazz went to bed so I told Danielle we should go down to the secret beach to talk. I told her that Raven didn’t want to be
with her anymore because she was too straight. She’d never do heroin and he’d never stay with her unless she did.”

  “That’s bullshit!” I say. “A total lie. Why did you want her to get high?”

  “I figured it would relax her, make her more open to what I said.”

  “You shot her up?”

  He nods. “First I gave her a little bit of a roofie—in her drink to relax her.”

  I swallow. “Like you gave me?”

  “You only got half,” he says distractedly. “Anyway, she loved heroin. Loved it. She was hanging on me, playing with my Mohawk, laughing with me. Telling me how much she liked me. She was worried about Raven waking up, kept looking over at him, so I told her, I gave him something to keep him sleeping. And then I told her.”

  I think about what Raven said, that his brain was foggy that night and he couldn’t stay awake. Flip drugged Raven the same way he drugged me that night.

  He’s still talking.

  “I told her she was too good for Raven. She was, you know,” he looks down at his feet. “Danielle was too good for any of us. I thought I would die if I didn’t tell her right then how I felt. She needed to know. I knew we were leaving at the end of summer and I needed to tell her how important she was to me.

  “I told her that I loved her. That I worshipped her. That I would die for her.”

  A chill runs down my back. He looks up and over my shoulder, his eyes unfocused as he remembers. Suddenly, fiercely, he turns his gaze back to me, locking eyes. His eyes narrow and I catch my breath.

  I wait. His eyes turn black and he spits the next words out.

  “And she laughed. She laughed so hard she was rolling on the ground. I mean, she was already so fucked up she could barely stand up, but she sat on the ground laughing until she had tears coming down her face.”

  “What?”

  He nods vehemently.

  “She told me that I wasn’t even good enough to lick her shoes.”

  My mouth is suddenly dry and it’s hard to swallow. “She said that?”

  But I know it’s true. I know that cruel streak she has. Had.

  “I was stone cold sober. Okay, I’d had one shot when I first got to the secret beach — liquid courage, you know. But I was sober still.” His eyes squint, remembering. “I yanked her up by her hair and that’s when she must have realized she was being a total douchebag because she apologized.”

  More like that’s when she knew he was going to kill her.

  “I figured she was just drunk and didn’t mean it. I wanted to convince her that we had something special — this magic — this chemistry that meant we were supposed to be together,”

  He swallows hard and I stare at his Adam’s apple as it bobs.

  “So I kissed her.”

  As he says the words, his voice grows louder. “I kissed her. I grabbed her face and I kissed her. Hard. And long. And I know she wanted me back. I could feel it. She wanted me as bad as I wanted her. But then she pushed me away. I think she remembered Raven and felt guilty about it or something. I grabbed her and told her she had nothing to worry about. I’d take her away from all of this. Raven would never know. I’d take her down to Nashville, where my dad lives. He’d let us crash there. He’s got this huge house. He’d let me stay. Especially if I showed up with someone like Danielle. Then, he’d know. He wouldn’t think I was ...”

  His mouth clamps shut.

  “He wouldn’t think you were what?”

  He closes his eyes. “It was something stupid. Just me and my friend fooling around. It didn’t mean I was ... you know?”

  Now his face is red.

  “Didn’t mean you were what? Gay? He thought you were gay?”

  “If I came home with Danielle, he could never say that again. He’d let me move back in. That’s why I became an oogle. He kicked me out. It’s just a stupid misunderstanding. I tried to get Jazz to go down there with me, but she said she’d never live in the south because they would treat her like they treated blacks in the old days. I told her I would never let happen. But she was too afraid. I guess her great grandpa or something got killed by the KKK or something.”

  For a moment, I feel a surge of sympathy, mainly for Jazz, but, also, a tiny bit for Flip now that I know why he had to run away. But I push it down. He killed Danielle.

  “What happened when Danielle pushed you away?”

  “I grabbed her, but she bit me. It hurt like a motherfucker. She bit me so hard I still got a mark. But she got away and ran down to the lake and right into the water. I went in after her. I got her. We were both treading water and I found her and she wouldn’t relax. I was trying to save her, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept fighting me. She kept hitting me and spitting at me. I kept trying to tell her I was going to save her ... But she kept trying to get away, kept pulling me down underwater with her so I had to do it. I had to hold her head under. I had to keep her under so I could still breathe. I swear, she kept pulling me down in the water with her. We would’ve both drowned. I had to do it. I had to hold her down.”

  Tears and snot are dripping down his face now.

  “I had to do it or I’d be dead, too.”

  He’s justifying murder. I stare at him, not a shred of sympathy in my eyes. I thought we could both pretend it was an accident and he would let me go, but with his confession, all bets are off. I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this alive now. And I’m filled with fury hearing how he killed Danielle without a trace of remorse, making excuses for his heinous act.

  “You killed my friend.” I put as much venom as I can muster into four words.

  He slumps off the chair to the floor and closes his eyes.

  He nods. So imperceptibly I almost miss it.

  “Let me go, Flip.”

  His eyes fly open. “I can’t. I just told you everything. I can’t go to jail. Do you know what my dad would do?”

  I know my life depends on convincing him of what I say next. “You can explain. They’ll understand it was an accident. I totally see how that could happen. I’ll vouch that you told me it was an accident. You had to do that or you’d be dead, too. Flip, let me go. You don’t need two dead bodies on your conscience.”

  “I’m sorry, Emily.” His eyes snap open and his face is like stone. “I think you’re a really nice girl. Really nice. I really liked hanging out with you, but I can’t go to jail. I just can’t.”

  He stands and starts to pace, looking around him, eyes wild. “What am I going to do?” He is mumbling to himself.

  I glance around. My eyes settle on the frying pan. It’s between the chair and me. Flip is on the other side of the room pacing. I inch my way over to it, keeping my eyes on Flip who is now punching a wall. I’m so close. Only six inches away. He doesn’t notice yet. I grab for it. By the time I have my hand on it, Flip has yanked my hair from behind again, pulling me back. I swing the hand holding the pan behind me and barely make contact with him with my weak swing because his grip on me loosens and he swears.

  “Knock it off. I don’t want it to be like this.” Flip has a claw-like grip on my wrist holding the handle of the frying pan. His fingers dig in so hard, I lose my hold and the pan falls on the floor.

  “Like what? You want to just kill me nicely where I smile at you and tell you it’s okay, you’ll still go to heaven?” I sneer.

  He wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me close, pressing his body up against mine. “I thought maybe we could ... you know?”

  “Fuck you.” I spit the words out, feeling him press his groin against mine.

  “Come on, Emily. You want me a little bit, right? I mean maybe it will be so good, I won’t have to kill you.”

  “Never.” I grit the words out through partly closed teeth and struggle to pull away from him, pulling at his arm with both my hands, but he tightens his forearm against my neck so it’s hard to breathe and keeps pressing himself against me.

  “See, you bitches think you’re too good for us oogles, but you�
��re not,” he spits the words out.

  My arms are basically free. The one self-defense class my mom made me take focused on kicking a guy in his privates, but he’s so close up against me, I can’t. I frantically think what other vulnerable parts they told us to attack. The eyes.

  His head is now pressed against mine from behind and he’s spitting his words and kissing my ear, which makes me cringe and start to cry. I need to get away.

  I curl my hand into the shape of a claw and start scratching away at his face, digging for his eyes. I feel something hard and slimy at the same time he howls in my ear so loudly it hurts. But not as much as his arm tightening on my neck. I choke and gasp and can’t breathe, but then suddenly he lets go as he tries to stop my hand, which continues clawing at his face. He grabs my hand and bends my fingers back.

  My world becomes a white-hot blinding glare of pain. All I see is white. Distantly, I register that the screaming I hear is my own. We both crumple to the ground. I feel something on my back and reach behind me. The frying pan. I grab it and arc my arm like I’m winding up for a Frisbee throw and slam it into the side of his head. His face grows slack and his head lolls to one side.

  I curl up in the fetal position, cradling my fingers and my hand. I’m whimpering and crying when I hear voices. Then with a loud crack, the entire room is lit up like fireworks and the boom sends me cowering into the corner.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Daylight streams into the room as boards are violently ripped off the windows.

  My ears are still ringing from the noise and my eyes blink against the bright light.

  “I’m here. In here. I’m okay,” my voice cracks.

  What seems like an Army storms into the small bedroom and men in uniform have Flip on his back and handcuffed in seconds. I watch stunned, still lying on my stomach on the ground.

  Raven rushes over and pulls me up and into his arms.

  “What on earth was that?” I mumble into his shirt.

  “A flash bang. Don’t worry the cops are here. You’re safe.”