There’s a pool of red-rose blood in my mouth. I could spit it out if I wanted to, but I also need to taste it. I need to taste the pain that I caused … force myself to endure the bitter, coppery brine. After all, I’m the reason he’s bleeding. I can’t lift my arms or move my legs, it’s like my entire body is composed of doll parts. Stiff and plastic and dead. It reminds me of another time I couldn’t feel my limbs … the time Chris got mad, a little too rough in the bedroom …
Psst. I’m back here, ya know … The voice is familiar, younger than Chris’s voice. My arm flops like a cooked spaghetti noodle, my fingertips teasing the edge of the rearview mirror, trying to match a face to the voice. I tip the mirror, just enough to bump it up a notch.
Her eyes are round like quarters, her wavy hair golden in the flicker of emergency lights. There are rosy-red strips of blood in her hair.
I’m right here. I’ve been back here all along, she tells me.
Fifteen-year-old Valerie Hutchens is in the backseat of the Buick. It’s not just her head—thank god, she’s more than a head—but in her lap there’s a present. Don’t, I whisper. Chris’s blood drips from my mouth and onto my chin. Don’t, I beg through bloody lips. The shiny blue gift-wrapping falls away like feathers, exposing what’s hidden inside.
Chris’s nose and mouth … the scar on his brow … are peeking out through the paper. Surprise, she says. She smiles, the corners of her lips turning up so high they threaten to split and tear …
My arms are numb as I realize I’m dreaming again. I keep my eyes pinched shut.
I can feel him between the sheets.
The knotty curve of his spine. The soft bits of fuzz on his shoulders. The mole above his tailbone. The tension in his back and shoulders; always a part of him that was angry, like me …
I run my knuckles over his back bones. Press harder, he says. Dig in.
***
When I opened my eyes, I was alone in my motel room. My stomach did a somersault, the events from the day before gushing back like a tidal wave.
I’m in over my head—I have no idea how to help Valerie at this point.
Her aunt is dead. Murdered. And Valerie’s missing—but is she gone by choice or by force? I do not know. Again, she’s not answering me …
And a man named Chris, who looks like my Chris, could be the one who took her.
Rationally, I know it’s not him—my Chris is as dead as a doornail—but maybe there’s a small part of me, the part losing control, that wishes that in some other life, some alternate universe, he is there …
Shoving the blankets and sheets aside, I stared at the clock on the nightstand. The smudgy red numbers blinked back at me.
My head throbbed from the whiskey, and withdrawals from the pills. I need something … something to keep me going …
I could have gone back to sleep. But there was no way I was taking the chance of getting sucked back into that dream. No fucking way.
***
I paced the floor of Jimmy’s garage while Lincoln sat slumped comfortably in a chair in the waiting room. He looked so relaxed and calm that it was borderline annoying.
“Jimmy said it’d take a while longer. We don’t have to wait here, Camilla. He’ll call us when it’s done …”
I stopped pacing, staring at the closed door, listening for Jimmy working on my truck on the other side.
The lobby smelled like diesel and floor wax; the plastic waiting chairs so stiff they were making my back ache. Pacing felt good; I needed to burn off this excess energy.
“You sure you’re okay?” Lincoln asked.
“Yeah, just didn’t sleep much last night.”
Lincoln knew I was searching for my friend, but he had no idea who she was … I was hesitant to mention her full name in case he came across a news report about her murdered aunt.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get back home? If you want me to take you to look for your friend, I will …”
“Thanks, Lincoln. I appreciate all your help, really, I do. I need to get back home to Wisconsin.”
“I understand …” But I could hear the disappointment in his voice.
A half hour later, we were still waiting. The door to the garage stayed closed, tools clanking loudly behind it, the only sound that reassured me it was getting done.
Lincoln offered to go pick up some sandwiches for us, and I was relieved to catch a break from him. I liked him—maybe I liked him a little too much, honestly—but I could tell he sensed my unease, that he knew something was wrong … and if he asked me a few more times, I’d probably wind up telling him the whole truth about Valerie.
Confusion lingered, my emotions over Valerie playing tug-of-war inside me.
Nothing about this made sense or jived with Valerie’s character. Could she be involved in her aunt’s murder? No freaking way.
But what do I really know about Valerie? I only see what she wants me to see … what she allows all of us to see on social media. And a public persona is often different than reality …
I took my phone out, staring so hard at my empty contact list that my eyes watered from exhaustion. I needed sleep.
Everything is getting that hazy look around the edges to it … and I’m officially out of my medication, and the withdrawals will get worse before they get better …
I needed to unblock my sister and give her a call. Before I went home, I had to assess the situation and Hannah could be my gauge. But instead of unblocking her, I looked up Bonnie Brown on Facebook.
We weren’t friends—never had been—which made sense considering we were never friends in real life. If I can say one good thing about Bonnie: at least she’s honest. Besides that first day we met, she’s never bothered pretending that she likes me. It’s been blatantly obvious all along that she doesn’t.
Some of Bonnie’s profile pics and posts were public, and occasionally, I liked to see what she was up to—at least I used to, when Chris was still alive.
I hadn’t checked her page in a while, and honestly, I was scared to.
Her profile pic looked as it had for a while—a snapshot of her and Chris, their warm brown eyes and jet-black hair made them almost look like twins.
I sighed, staring at Chris’s face and neck … and his shoulders and chest. I wanted my husband back, and in one piece … he was so handsome in this photo, so solid and so alive …
I scrolled down to look at Bonnie’s page, my eyes instantly locking in on a public post at the very top of her profile. I stared at the words, my mouth falling open in horror.
My ex-daughter-in-law not only stole my dear son’s ashes (THE SON SHE KILLED!) but she also took my great-grandad’s water pot and stole a 9mm handgun from my room (a present from my DEAD SON!). Please keep an eye out for that crazy bitch. She is a danger to society! Call the police if you see her. CALL THE POLICE, PLEASE.
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***
“Thanks,” I said, accepting a sandwich and an extra-large Polar Pop from Lincoln.
“Turkey and cheese okay?”
“It’s fine,” I said, already stuffing a bite of it into my mouth. The gas-station sandwich was part soggy, part stale, but I was ravenous, eating so fast I could barely finish swallowing the final bite. I guzzled down the soda, feeling a jolt as the caffeine hit my bloodstream. My hands were shaking badly … caffeine wasn’t going to cut it. I need my pills. I need a drink.
Lincoln was watching me, his eyes creased with concern.
“Everything okay?”
If he asks me that one more time, I might snap his neck.
I nodded, taking another big gulp of soda. I set the pop on the floor by my feet. “Just eager to get home, I guess.” I imagined what my homecoming would be like—the local Oshkosh police, all two of them, snapping cuffs around my wrists.
I can’t go back there again.
Lincoln smiled that sorrowful half-smile, making me wonder why he cared so much that I was leaving …
The door to the garage swung open and a rough-looking man barreled through it, fingers tucked into thick loops on his stained-up carpenter jeans. He had a long white beard and too many tattoos to count. He introduced himself as Jimmy.
Maybe he has a local connection and can get me some Lortabs and Xanax, I considered, eyeing his biker tattoos.
“You’re ready to go,” he smiled, dangling out the keys to my truck like a gift. They were a gift; I never thought I’d be so grateful to have that rusty old truck back again, but I was.
I paid the painful price of 2700 dollars, wincing as I accepted the receipt. At this rate, I’d be broke in a couple weeks … but maybe I won’t need any money, considering I might be in jail soon.
I imagined the look of sheer satisfaction on Bonnie’s face as the doors to my jail cell slammed shut. I’d finally get what was coming to me—after all, that’s what they all want, right?
Maybe the weight of my mistakes is strapped to me, like a bowling ball to my chest, and they’re pulling me down down down all on their own, no choice left in the matter …
“Thanks again for being such a huge help,” I said to Lincoln as we stood next to my truck in the parking lot. “It’s been nice getting to know you. And … thank you for your service to our country. I never told you that, even though you told me you were army …”
I stuck out my hand, but Lincoln pushed it away and reached in for a hug.
There was static electricity between us, heat emanating from his chest and warming up mine. As I gripped him in a hug, I held on tight for a second, hands grazing over the bulging muscles in his shoulders and back. How long has it been since I touched a man?
“Will you call me sometime?” Lincoln asked, his expression adorably hopeful as we pulled apart.
“Definitely,” I promised, climbing into the truck and slamming the door. As much as I liked him, my thoughts were on my next move … and right now, that involved a trip to the liquor store on my way out of town.
I waved at Lincoln as I backed up, a feeling of guilt blooming from my chest and filling me up completely.
Lincoln represented a different option, a different route that I could have taken … but, at this point, there was no reason to drag him down with my ship of horrors.