As I waited for death, the peaceful delirium I had been under was suddenly yanked from underneath me. I couldn’t see a thing, but my other senses were heightened: the burnt smell of gunpowder assaulted my nose, the salty, metallic taste of my own blood made my stomach roll, and the ringing in my ears was deafening. It was all wrong.
This was not my made-to-order Heaven.
And if I wasn’t en route to Heaven…
Panic clawed its way up my throat, and I instinctively reached for the only thing that could give me comfort: my locket. That’s when I realized I could move. I was alive.
I sucked in a huge gasp of air as if I’d been held under water and my lungs were seconds from bursting. But they wouldn’t expand; the crushing heaviness threatened to suffocate me. Shades of gray and flashes of white swirled in front of me as I strained to focus in the near-darkness. Icy chills shuddered through my body when I realized the problem.
Logan was on top of me, his weight holding me to the ground. My arms trembled as I pried his body away from mine and maneuvered onto my side. As I did, I caught the look in his eyes—those glassy, gray-blue eyes staring at me. But they weren’t right. They weren’t angry or haughty or anything at all. It suddenly registered—it wasn’t my blood I was lying in.
“Oh please, God,” I begged, “please don’t let him be dead.” I moved to crouch over him, my fingers searching in the shadows to find a pulse in his neck, then his wrist, like I was trying to read braille. Not a hint of movement. My mind raced, trying to remember the steps of CPR we’d learned in health class.
I tilted Logan’s head back, pinched his nose and sealed my mouth over his. Maybe it wasn’t too late. I expelled as much air as possible into his mouth in a one-second breath, then remembered chest compressions were supposed to be done first.
Sliding my palms to the middle of Logan’s chest, just below his breastbone, I pushed down hard and fast. Only then did I feel the slimy, wet substance gushing beneath my hands. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the swamp of blood covering Logan’s torso.
It was too dark to see a hole, but it had to have been where the bullet hit him, and my chest compressions made it worse. If I found the hole, maybe I could plug it. Maybe it wasn’t too late. I swiped my shirt over him, trying to clear it away, but it didn’t make a difference; my shirt was too saturated. By the faint light of the moon, I moved my hands across Logan’s chest and abdomen, searching, smearing the oozing substance like it was finger paint instead of blood.
Crushing heaviness started at my feet and began to cave in slowly around me as if I were trapped in a silo filling with grain.
“Logan, Logan, say something,” I pleaded until there was nothing left inside me.
He didn’t answer, but I didn’t expect one—I already knew he was dead. I’d seen death before—when my mother died—and knew with an unexplainable certainty the very moment she had passed.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, I pushed away from him and leaned back on my knees. My lips tingled with the taste of whiskey, and something else: salt and metal. I raked the back of arm across my mouth, trying to wipe it away. A surge of nausea overtook me when I realized what it was.
Holding onto the car like it was a crutch, I doubled over and staggered my way to the back of the car to throw up.
Oh my God. The weight of the truth crashed down on me like a tidal wave, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t catch my breath. I was drowning, sinking, dying, and somehow it was better than facing reality.
After my body stopped its impulsive heaving and shaking, I forced it to uncoil into an upright position and willed my shoulders to hold my head up. Drained, empty, and lost, I managed to take in my surroundings like a camera shooting snapshots at a crime scene.
Choppy and broken, my vision would spin and stop, then focus on one small detail. Like the way the interior car light shimmered on a few strands of my hair tangled in Logan’s limp hand. Or the way the blood on my hands seemed to pool from the smaller lines in my palms toward the larger ones like streams feeding a river. I was mesmerized by the way the color of Logan’s candy apple red Mustang matched the identical shade of his blood.
The worst part, though, was the slight smirk on one side of his lips—so slight I wondered if I was imagining it. It was as if he was saying, ‘I win.’ And he had. I was the one who would be left living hell on earth. Then I wondered if there was another bullet left in his gun.
When I caught sight of Logan’s cell phone sitting on the dash, my body instinctively moved toward it. I picked it up, my fingers dialed 911, and I heard myself say, “I shot him.”
The female voice on the other end of the line spoke, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“I shot him. Please help him,” I said as if I was stating that the milk carton was empty. I didn’t mean to shoot him, but it didn’t even matter…
The line clicked, ending the call, and I moved the phone in front of me, staring in disbelief. The battery was dead. Dead, just like Logan.
A shiver crawled up my spine, and I tossed it away from me as if it was a poisonous bug. Nothing made sense; everything seemed completely separate from everything else. Like the blood on my hands had nothing to do with Logan’s lifeless body, or the phone call had nothing to do with the gun that lay beside him. Numb and emotionless, I began to put one foot in front of the other.
Without making a conscious decision, I followed the light of the moon. Stumbling through the dark field, I ended up on a dirt road that eventually spilled out onto a narrow country road—it seemed vaguely familiar. My legs continued moving me straight ahead. I heard the low rumble of a truck coming up behind me and was aware of the headlights moving toward my body, but I didn’t turn. Maybe it would run over me and I would disappear right into the earth—somewhere between China and Hell would surely be appropriate. I didn’t flinch as the warm breeze of the engine blew past me. Its taillights disappeared like the shrinking flame of a sparkler.
I’d been walking maybe an hour, or possibly a day, before I heard another vehicle coming up behind me. As its lights surrounded me, I scooted towards the center of the road so I could make a better target of myself. Maybe I would get lucky this time and some drunk driver would take me out. But since nothing about my day had been lucky so far, the engine whined as it slowed down. The car moved around me slowly to pass, then screeched as it came to a stop beside me.
Unflinching, I continued forward until I heard an angry voice shout, “What the hell are you doing?” It was Kat. She shot out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?” She motioned her hands toward the front of my shirt.
Looking down to see what she was talking about, I realized it was my formerly white, now tattered tank top. The pounding in my ears resumed.
“Rivveeerr, whattthappppeeneeddd, aaarreeyoo-ouuokkkkaaayyyy?” Her words dripped out, all gooey and stuck together. When I didn’t respond, they got a little faster but with the same tone.
Since I couldn’t get my brain to coordinate with my mouth, Kat took charge and began to check me over. Satisfied the blood on my shirt wasn’t coming from me, she simulated a cop move. She grabbed my arm, opened the back door, pushed my head down, and guided me into the backseat of the car.
I vaguely recognized the person in the passenger seat and I knew her voice, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Kat motioned for her to move into the driver’s seat, she jumped in the backseat next to me, and then waved for the driver to go. Their muffled voices blended into the lights from the dash, making me dizzy. Darkness swallowed me, and I knew I was a breath away from passing out.
A sharp slap on the undamaged side of my face snapped me out of it. “What was that for?”
“It’s about time,” Kat said. “River, tell me what happened.”
Struggling to suck in air, I stammered, “I, I…I killed him. He’s dead. I killed—”
“Who?” Kat shook her head.
“Logan, I killed Logan. The g-gun. I tried to scare him with his gun, and we fought, and I—”
Her face went pale, and she clung to my arm. “Are you sure? Are you sure he’s dead?”
“I…I’m sure. It’s my fault.”
“I know you, River. You wouldn’t—couldn’t hurt anyone.” Her green eyes brimmed with pain as she tried to convince me of something that sounded better than the truth. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is. He’s d-dead, and it’s my fault.” I glanced down at my bloody shirt. “I need to go to the police.”
“In this town?” She shook her head. “We’re still in Winston. They’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”
“But that’s where murderers go…they go to jail.”
“No.” She grabbed my head and forced me to look her in the eyes. “Listen to me. People don’t mess with the Westfields and get away with it. They own this town; Logan’s dad is on his way to becoming mayor, his uncle’s a judge, and half the police force is run by his family—they’re the filthiest kind of rich.” Kat dug her fingers through her hair. “You could not have picked a worse family to screw with. There’s no way in hell they’d let you go. No way they’d let you tarnish their son’s good name.”
“I already called 911 from his cell phone, but it cut off. If I turn myself in first—”
“Trust me,” Kat frowned, “as soon as the police trace that signal, they’re coming. And the Westfields will be hell-bent on making you pay for their only child’s death.”
Everything she said was true, and I knew it.
“Right now, we have to get you out of here and figure out a plan.” Then, speaking to the driver, she said, “Come on, Billi Jo, let’s get her home.”
When we arrived at Castle Court, Kat told me exactly what to do. With her hands firmly on my shoulders, she talked real slow like she was speaking to a kindergartner. “River, you have to pull it together for your sister’s sake, okay? You can fall apart later.”
My insides knotted. “Oh God, my sister. What’s going to happen to Jamie?”
“I’ll take care of it.” She pushed me up the trailer steps. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Focusing really hard, I tried to do just what she said: I took a scalding shower, dressed, and gathered my bloody clothes into a garbage bag. And because I couldn’t stand the thought of taking the clothes with us to dispose of later, I took the bag to the dumpster at the end of my line of trailers. The cops might find them, but it wouldn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out who killed Logan.
I went back inside, threw some clothes in a duffle bag, grabbed the suitcase with my mother’s things, and set everything in the hallway. Then I went to my bedroom and pulled up the corner of the mattress to get my emergency money. Stopping at Jamie’s room, I shook her arm gently.
Startled, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What…what are you—”
“Listen,” I struggled to keep my voice level, “there’s been a real bad accident and I have to leave town—I’ll explain later. Here’s some emergency money for food and bills if you need it. Don’t let Jack know you have it.” I stuffed a wad of money in her hands.
“What?” She smoothed a shaky hand over her straight brown locks. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet, but as soon as I do—” Kat showed up in the doorway, and her glare stopped me.
When she bent down to talk to Jamie, she placed a small piece of paper in her hand. “This is all you need to know right now. Memorize the information, then get rid of it, okay?”
Jamie stared at the paper for a few seconds, then looked at Kat with saucer-like eyes.
“Listen kid, the cops are gonna be all over you. They’ll be watching everything you do, hoping you’ll lead them to River. You have to be careful and follow the instructions exactly.”
Jamie nodded again. Kat gave her a quick pat on the back and stood up.
I gave Jamie a tight hug, taking in the scent of her favorite vanilla lotion. “I love you,” I choked before Kat scooped up my bags and handed one of them to me.
“Come on, we have to hurry,” she whispered, then raced down the trailer steps, stopping to pick up a large suitcase at the bottom.
“What do you mean we?”
“Do you think I’m going to let you go by yourself?” Kat scanned me from head to toe and back up. “You can barely function.”
My eyes searched her face for a better answer—an explanation of why she would risk so much for me. “Why would—?”
“Because you’re my sister—maybe not by blood, but in every other way.”
“But—”
She put a hand on each side of my face and looked deep into my eyes. “You are the reason I’m alive.” My blank stare must have conveyed the fact that I had no idea what she was talking about, so she continued, “When we were thirteen, do you remember the incident with my mom and her boyfriend?”
How could I forget? I still remembered Kat standing in her back yard, wearing her blood-spattered yellow dress. It was the night of our eighth grade formal, but we never made it to the dance. Instead, we spent the night outside the hospital’s ICU waiting to hear if her mom survived her boyfriend’s vicious beating.
“River, you stood by me through that whole thing and for all those months afterwards when my mom stayed in bed fighting depression. She was so angry at me, she refused to speak to me, and it killed me.” Kat always insisted it was her fault that her mom’s boyfriend beat her up, but she would never tell me why. “You were there for me every day. You didn’t know it, but I was suicidal.”
Her eyes glistened with tears as she let go of my face. “You gave me your strength when I didn’t have any of my own. And now I intend to do the same for you.”
I could barely comprehend everything she said. I was used to Kat being the tough one, the leader—it was a rare moment when she shared her feelings.
I put my hand to my head. “But where? Where would we go?”
She motioned her hands outward. “Anywhere but here.”
Billi Jo pulled up in her uncle’s latest junk heap, slid out, and popped the trunk. “Las Vegas, here we come,” she sang out.
Kat put her fingers to her lips to quiet her.
“Vegas?” My head snapped toward Kat. “Why would we go all the way to Vegas? I assumed we were just going somewhere for a day or two until we figured things out and made a plan.”
Kat glared at Billi Jo, then switched into serious business mode. “Besides the fact that the entire town of Winston is bought and paid for by the Westfield family, this is Texas—they take their football seriously. Logan Westfield wasn’t just the pride of Winston; he was the pride of Texas. You took that away from them. I promise you, there’s going to be a witch hunt.”
“But once things cool down and I explain—”
“River, you and Logan come from two different worlds. If that wasn’t the case, the outcome might be different. Logan was perfect in their eyes. Unless he had some big criminal record, no judge or jury in this state would ever buy the whole self-defense thing from someone like you.”
I never even explained to Kat what happened. “How did—?”
She put her hand on my back, pushing me in the direction of the car. “Not now.”
“We’ve always said someday we’d move to Las Vegas together—it looks like this is as good a time as any.” Billi Jo grabbed Kat’s suitcase and heaved it into the trunk. “Besides, aren’t we already in trouble for aiding the criminal or something like that?”
I pushed Billi Jo’s arm off and made her face me. “Really, you guys can’t come. You’ll be in huge trouble. You have a life here.”
In an instant, Billi Jo turned serious, her deep black eyes begging like a beaten puppy. “River, you know I don’t have a life here. You know I don’t.”
It was true. Billi Jo’s life here ended the day her little brother drowned. From that day on, what pain Billi Jo didn’t inflict upon herself, her parents did for her. Not by physical abuse, but by blatant indifference.
“Please, let me go with you.” Her black eyes darted back and forth between Kat and me. “Please. You guys are all I have.” It was true—we looked out for each other more than most families.
The slightest hint of Billi Jo’s quivering lip sealed the deal. Unable to speak, Kat made circular motions with her hands for everyone to get moving.
Billi Jo grabbed my suitcase and struggled to lift it. “Whatcha got in here, a dead body?”
Kat scowled at her and snatched the suitcase out of her hands. “First of all, lay off the weed. Second, are you sure you’re in? It’s not too late to take your uncle’s car back.”
In an attempt to hide her tear-filled eyes, Billi Jo loaded the last box. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna miss me around here.” She tipped her head. “Well, unless you’re talkin’ about the Monday night poker tourneys with Travis and his GA buddies. They’re gonna miss my weed supply, but they sure won’t miss me takin’ all their money.” She slammed the trunk. “Besides, it’s not like we’ll be gone that long. As soon as we get things straightened out, we’ll figure out a way to get River a fair trial, and then we’ll be able to come back.”
I had no idea if she believed what she said or if was strictly for my benefit, but I felt certain she knew we needed a ray of hope—something to hold onto.
When Kat put her hand on Billi Jo’s arm, she turned to us. “You need transportation, don’t you?” She swiped at her cheeks. “And you two are crazy if you think you’re leaving me here by myself.”
Kat bit her bottom lip a few seconds, then opened the car door. “But this is Travis’ car; he’s gonna be pissed.”
Billi Jo made an attempt at steadying her voice. “He still has his truck, and it’s not like he’d report it stolen or anything. He won it in a card game—not exactly a legal transaction. Plus, I’ll be saving him the trouble of losing it back.”
Kat sucked in a huge breath and looked at both of us. “Alright then, let’s get out of here.” She held the back door open and waved me in. “It’s time to disappear.”
The word disappear caught my attention. It was exactly what I wanted to do—the best idea I’d heard in the last twenty-four hours. Disappear.