Blake’s posture stiffened. He moved his head up, pushing against the gun Aaron still held in place. Blake suddenly seemed injected with more energy than he’d displayed at any time since I’d been in the basement with them.
“You killed her,” Blake said.
“Don’t change the subject,” Aaron said.
“No,” Blake said. “You killed her. You just said you knew where she lived. You wanted to hurt me, so you hurt her. And then you went over to Ryan’s house and threatened his family. That’s why you won’t let that go. That’s why you say you’re going to hurt Amanda and Henry if you leave here.”
“Don’t be simple,” Aaron said.
“Hold it,” I said.
They both looked at me as my voice bounced off the walls, silencing their bickering. They’d been acting like I wasn’t there, like they were deeply engaged in their own private spat.
“What do you mean, Jennifer told you a different story about that night than Blake told you?” I asked. “Jennifer wasn’t there. We didn’t even know her in college. She didn’t know what happened that night.”
Aaron looked at me like I was simple. He shook his head. “Somebody in this room told Jennifer all about that night.”
My eyes went to Blake, and our gazes locked on each other for a moment. I wasn’t sure what I saw there—shame? fear? anger?—but he quickly looked away. And he remained quiet, as though ceding the floor to Aaron.
So I looked over at him. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Aaron,” I said. “You’ve been saying a lot of things, but none of them make any sense.”
“Then let me enlighten you.” Perhaps sensing whatever was building in Blake and putting the steel in his posture, Aaron took a step back from him while still holding the gun in his direction. But it no longer touched Blake’s head. “It seems that our friend here liked to talk to his girlfriend more than anyone else. Apparently he had the habit of occasionally throwing back too many drinks and then having true-confession time with Jennifer. Even though he was supposed to be quitting.” Aaron looked over at Blake. “He told her lots of stuff during the times they were together. His sexual exploits. And shames. The times he cheated on tests, the papers he plagiarized. The time in junior high he helped bully some kid who then tried to commit suicide. I guess he told her all the things he couldn’t tell Samantha. Maybe those things didn’t fit the image he wanted to project to her. Maybe those things would ruin their future prospects. Maybe he thought her family wouldn’t tolerate the embarrassing aspects of his past.”
I looked at Blake, who stared at the floor. I knew him well. He’d told me many things over the years, and, yes, he tended to get loose-tongued when drunk. And when I knew him well, he was frequently drunk. But he hadn’t told me the things Aaron had mentioned.
Was Aaron right? Had Blake spilled his guts to Jennifer because she was so far removed from his world?
From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the bat. It was out of my reach unless I dove for it.
But it was there.
Aaron’s voice drew my eyes back over to him.
“Are you listening, Ryan?”
“He quit drinking. He opens up more when he drinks, but he quit.”
“Oh, right. Well, Jennifer says he always tried to quit. But he fell off the wagon. Hard. After he saw me at the Chinese restaurant. She said it was like he’d seen a ghost. Like he was Ebenezer Scrooge or something. He showed up at her place the next night with a bottle of Jim Beam and a loose tongue. He really unburdened himself when he told her about the night of the accident. The night that changed everything for me and nothing for the two of you. Although maybe not in the way we once thought.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear but desperate to know.
“He’s lying, Ryan,” Blake said.
“Why would I lie?” Aaron asked. “Why would you lie when you were drunk? Why would Jennifer? She said she knew you had already gone back to your old girlfriend. Sam. The one with the money and the rich daddy and the job. She knew that, but she was willing to listen to you one more time because you seemed so pathetic and needed someone to talk to.”
“What did Jennifer say about the accident?” I asked.
“What do you remember about that night, Ryan?” Aaron asked. “What exactly do you recall happening when we drove off and wrecked everything? Eighteen months in jail. No degree. No way to get a job. What happened during that ride?”
My mind scanned back through the years, pinpointing that night I’d thought about so many times before. I remembered the drinking, the smell of stale beer, the wooziness and sloppiness the alcohol brought on. The music pounded as we poured shots and pushed them toward the fresh-faced kids who wanted to join Sigil and Shield. I remembered someone handing me a joint, which I might or might not have smoked. I remembered dancing with someone I might or might not have known.
And I remembered Aaron. Young. Eager. His clothes not quite right. His attempts at jokes not quite landing. And the desperation to belong oozed off of him like sweat. It covered every inch of his body. He followed Blake around like a puppy. He drank what Blake handed him. He fetched Blake beers when he needed them. At some point, a song came on, something stupid and cloying, and Blake told Aaron to dance. So Aaron danced, making a fool of himself in front of everyone. We laughed with him. But mostly at him.
And then . . .
“We went out to get the sign,” I said. “That was my idea. It used to be a tradition with Sigil and Shield. They’d done it for years, but the club got in trouble for stealing it before we started at Ferncroft, so we had to stop. But we always wanted to get it one more time before we graduated. I’d always talked about doing it with Blake, but that night, I told you to do it. And we went in my car. And you know what happened. We all do.”
“Do we?” Aaron asked. “How did you find out about the accident?”
I remembered that. Vividly.
I woke up in the emergency room. My head was pounding. My body hurt. I knew we’d been in an accident, and when Blake came into the room, I asked him if anyone had been hurt. He said Aaron had been banged up pretty good.
And he told me he just didn’t know about the other car. But he thought it was bad.
Very bad.
Deep shit, he said. We’re going to be in deep shit.
“He told me I needed to be careful about what I said and did,” I said to Aaron. “That the cops were going to ask questions, but if I played it smart, it would work out. He said he’d arranged things at the scene so it looked like you were driving and not me. And I said I didn’t like that, that I wanted to tell the truth and face whatever music I needed to face, even though the thought of it made me sick. But Blake reminded me of my mom and the money she’d borrowed for me to finish college. And he told me my life would be over, ruined, if I took the blame for the crash. And he said everyone was going to think you were driving. He told me to keep my mouth shut about my role.”
“He told you,” Aaron said. “Blake.”
“Yes, he did. I was so foggy. I was drunk, and I hit my head in the accident. . . .”
“Then you didn’t remember anything,” Aaron said. “Blake told you what you did. Blake supplied all the details and all the information. Blake planted the whole story in your head.”
It was my turn to take a step back. A shakiness started in my hands and felt like it passed through my entire body.
“That’s not possible,” I said. “I was there. It was my car. I did—”
Then Blake spoke up. His voice rose above mine.
“You didn’t, Ryan,” he said. “You didn’t do any of it. I know because I did it.”
“That’s not—”
“It is,” Blake said. “I was driving that night. I was the one behind the wheel when the accident happened.”