84. Dangerous People

It’d be nice to think that waking up in the same house as Jocelyn was romantic. But after a night of restless tossing, I come downstairs to find my mother and Jocelyn already awake.

So much for bringing her breakfast in bed.

It feels like summer camp, having Jocelyn here, seeing her raw beauty this early in the morning. It also feels natural, like she belongs here with us, like she is safe and secure and happy.

For a while this morning we believe it.

But that’s before the cops come knocking on our door.

 

Jocelyn had to call her aunt. There was never a question about that. What she told her I didn’t ask, but I got the feeling that she didn’t mention anything about the shooting.

Yet she told her aunt enough.

About two o’clock Sunday afternoon we hear a car come up our drive. Mom opens the door to find a dark-haired woman wearing a strange combination of clothes—a long flowery dress and black leather boots and an overcoat that looks like it came from an apocalyptic movie—and Sheriff Wells standing behind her. When I see the sheriff I start to panic.

I’m going to go to jail and will never see Jocelyn or my mom again.

Mom doesn’t sound like she’s panicking. At least not on the outside. “Can I help you?”

“Where is she?” the woman says in an accent that seems to want to cover up her Southern roots.

“Are you Jocelyn’s aunt?”

“Where is she?” the woman demands.

“Helen—it’s fine, I’m in here.”

My mother lets them in and closes the door behind them. I might as well hold out my hands and let the sheriff cuff me.

I can see a very faint resemblance between Jocelyn and her aunt—the long, dark hair, though Jocelyn’s looks like a model’s and her aunt’s looks like a dwelling for a pack of wild birds. The eyes, too, though Aunt Helen has a hardened look about her, a look that’s also missing something.

She looks kinda crazy.

I’d never say this out loud or to Jocelyn, but it’s the truth.

I guess anybody willing to shack up with good ole Wade must be a little crazy.

“I called the law immediately,” Helen says, making me slightly pause on her usage of the word law. “We went to the house right away.”

“And?” Jocelyn asks for all of us.

“Place was deserted,” Sheriff Wells says. “Looks like your uncle—”

“Step-uncle, though not technically,” Helen asserts quickly.

“Well, whatever he is, looks like he’s gone. Want to tell us exactly what happened?” the sheriff says.

“My aunt was gone on one of her excursions—”

“I collect antiques, dear.”

“Yeah. And she left me with Wade. He was drinking all night and day. Kept talking about how cozy it was, just the two of us there alone. It’s not … not the first time he’s come after me.”

Her aunt looked as though she wanted to argue, but Jocelyn wasn’t finished. “He took the keys to my Jeep so I couldn’t leave. But when he went outside to his truck for something, I called Chris, and he came to my rescue.”

Sheriff Wells turned to me. “And what did you do, son?”

“I got there and just—I just told him to stop.”

Both the sheriff and Aunt Helen stare at me, waiting for more.

“I told him I’d called the cops and they’d be coming any second. That freaked him out.”

“And that was all?”

For some reason Wells looks at me like I’m lying. Which, of course, I am.

“Yeah, that was it.”

“So mind me asking where the two bullets came from? Along with the blood in the bedroom?”

“It was me,” Jocelyn shouts out. “I did it.”

“No, she didn’t. She didn’t do anything.”

“What really happened?” the sheriff asks.

I swallow and look at Jocelyn.

Then I tell them the truth. Everything.

Well, almost everything.

“And you just tossed the gun out the car window?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the woods—somewhere between there and here.”

Wells stares at my mother for a while and seems to be thinking.

“That fool of a man—I told him to stop it—I told him he better get his mind back in the right place.” Aunt Helen sits next to Jocelyn and looks her over. “He’s gone, now, and he’s probably gone for good.”

“Look, why don’t you ladies go out while I talk to Chris and his mother, okay?”

Jocelyn looks at me with a fearful glance, one that seems to say, Don’t leave me. Don’t let me go.

“Can I—” I start to ask.

“I just need a few moments,” the sheriff says.

I nod as Jocelyn follows her aunt outside.

I hear the sheriff sigh and watch as he rubs his hand through thinning hair.

“Look. I know Wade—he’s up to no good. He’s had some run-ins with the police before. I know his kind. I wouldn’t shed a tear if you’d killed the guy. He’s probably already down to Florida by now, drunk out of his mind and probably needing a change of pants after you almost killed him. I doubt he’ll be back.”

I’m waiting to hear the verdict, waiting to hear the trouble I’m in.

“You keep your original story and that’ll be the end of it. I’ll have Jocelyn file an official complaint and that will be it. No gun and no shooting and no missing handgun. Got it?”

I nod.

“Thank you,” Mom says.

“Listen to me. Both of you. Wade is a lowlife. And there’s no guarantee he won’t come back. You two are alone in this cabin, and I can’t be driving by every moment of every day. You sure you got rid of that handgun?”

I nod and breathe in and don’t blink, but I doubt the sheriff believes me.

“Well, if you did, if you really did, then you guys might think about getting some more protection. Mrs. Buckley, there are some dangerous people out there in this world, even around Solitary.”

“You don’t think that this has anything to do with what happened to me at the restaurant?”

The sheriff shakes his head. “That’s what I don’t like. You two are attractin’ trouble, and I just—well, you might just want to think twice about Solitary.”

“What about Solitary?”

“Being here.”

“We’re not going anywhere, Mr. Wells.”

“I hear you. I know. I’m just sayin’.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

I wait for a response, but the sheriff just nods. “Nothing. Except be careful.”

“We’re being careful. My son just happened to be called to help out a young girl in a precarious situation.”

“I know. It’s just—well, it seems like there are more and more of these—what’d you call ’em?—percarious situations.”

“Precarious,” Mom answers.

I look at the sheriff and wonder.

Can I trust him?

I wonder if I can tell him what’s going on with Jocelyn. What’s happening with her and what she suspects about this place.

“You folks gotta be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’. I don’t want to have to come back here if anything happens, got that?”

“I understand,” Mom says.

The stern face looks at me, as if waiting for me to tell him more.

Don’t, Chris. Not yet. Not now.

We walk outside and see Aunt Helen standing next to the police car with Jocelyn.

“I’ll take them home,” Sheriff Wells says. “I need to get a statement from Jocelyn.”

I feel like I’m at the edge of an ocean watching Jocelyn getting into a boat heading into the stormy sea.

She hugs me and tells me it will be okay and she will call me later.

I want to ask what we do from here and where do we go and what happens next, but I know she doesn’t have a clue anymore than I do.

As we hold one another, I can feel a trembling.

I can’t tell if it’s me or Jocelyn.

Or both of us.

“I’ll be fine,” she says.

But I don’t believe it.

As the car backs down our driveway, I watch it leave and I wonder when I’ll see her again.

I stare down at the woods below us, hearing the burble of the creek.

I watch for a while, as if I’m waiting to see someone come out of those woods.

I know someone is watching me. I just can’t see him.

Someone’s there.

If you are, then you’ll know that I’m not scared.

That’s what I think, but deep down, I’m terrified.

I’m terrified of losing her.