THEN
With his sister’s killers behind bars, life became a new sort of normal. DJ went back to school. He looked after his father: cooking, cleaning, helping him get to bed when he was too drunk to walk. The boy didn’t mind, not really. He just wanted to make his dad’s life easier—to keep him happy, to keep him from leaving. DJ missed his mom and his sister, but he had his video games and he had his junk food. When he was playing, when he was snacking, he was numb. He didn’t have to think about all that he had lost.
He wondered if his mother knew about the conviction. Perhaps the prosecutor had written to her? He knew that his dad would not have bothered to communicate the news to his mom. And DJ didn’t either. His mom’s letters continued to come, one every ten or twelve days. She was feeling better, she said. Her family was caring for her and she was getting stronger all the time. She never mentioned the trial or the crime or even his sister. And she never asked him to come. She never said that she was ready to be his mom again. And so, he never wrote back.
DJ and his dad lived in a toxic fugue for nearly six years, the boy eating his feelings, the man drinking his. The liquor made his father sick and yellow. He refused to see a doctor, but it was clear to DJ, to anyone, that his dad would die soon. DJ felt no sorrow at the thought. Not because his father had been cruel and abusive, physically, verbally, and emotionally. But because DJ had become inured to loss. It felt like his destiny.
His eighteenth birthday coincided with the release of one of his sister’s killers. He and Amber Kunik would be granted their freedom the same year. DJ had a few months on her, though. He was a man; she was still incarcerated. As a legal adult, he applied for visitation. He didn’t know why, but he needed to see Amber in person. He had been a child when he’d sat in the courtroom and watched her play with the lawyers, the judge, and the jury. He wasn’t sure his perceptions, his memories, could be trusted. It was doubtful that the inmate would accept DJ’s request, but he had to try. Surprisingly, she agreed to his visit.
Amber Kunik was in a women’s facility with minimal security. In the eyes of the law, she was not a cold-blooded murderer. They met in a sterile room furnished with utilitarian tables and chairs. Around them, husbands, mothers, and children visited their inmates. Two guards stood sentry: a sleepy-looking male and a young, wiry female. The boy knew that, if he wanted, he could lunge across the table and strangle Amber before they reacted. With his considerable weight, they wouldn’t be able to tear him off in time to save her life.
His sister’s murderer had not changed much since the trial. She looked healthy and slim. She was wearing makeup, which surprised him.
“Why did you want to see me?” she asked, her tone suspicious, eyes wary.
He felt a strong and undefinable surge of emotion. “I—I don’t know. I just had to.”
Her face softened. “I’m sorry about your sister,” she said, in that sweet voice he’d heard on the stand. “She was a beautiful girl and she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
Was this why he had come? To hear her apologize?
“I feel terrible for what Shane and I did to your family,” she continued. “I was young and confused and stupid, and I’ll never forgive myself.”
He accepted this with a nod, his throat clogged with loss.
“How are your parents?”
He broke down then, fat tears rolling down his plump cheeks. He told her everything—about his mother’s abandonment, his father’s drinking and abuse. He told her how he couldn’t stop eating, how it was the only way to make the pain go away. She listened, her pretty face twisted with sympathy. When he had finished, she opened up about her own family. Her father had been arrested for solicitation, humiliating both Amber and her mother. Her mom’s blind loyalty to her husband had felt like a betrayal. Shane Nelson had offered an escape. He was older, handsome, charming. But he was sick, a sadist, a deviant.
DJ and Amber, an unlikely pair, connected through their pain. Their conversation segued into common interests, shared likes. They were both fans of Friends; they loved Tom Cruise and chocolate. When their time was up, Amber bestowed on him that infamous smile. “Maybe you could visit me again,” she said. “I’ve still got three more months.”
DJ nodded. His heart felt strange, lighter. Was it forgiveness seeping into the constricted muscle?
“Next time you come, could you bring me a little treat?” she continued, in the same girlish voice. “The food in here is terrible.”
He smiled at her. “Chocolate?”
She smiled back. “How about an Oreo Blizzard?”
He looked at her open, innocent face. Was it possible she didn’t remember connecting with his sister over the frozen dessert? Had she forgotten using it to lure Courtney to her death? No . . . the bitch had been playing with him. He was a diversion, a distraction, a toy. His childish observations had been accurate. Amber Kunik was a psychopath, just like Shane Nelson. He stood then, his bulk shifting the table. She remained seated, watching him, her pretty face blank and innocent, but for a cruel glimmer in her eyes.
He turned and left. He never went back.