I lock the front door behind me, the afternoon’s sudden chill giving me goosebumps. But it’s not just the breeze. It’s the adrenaline. After a late lunch, I told Neil I needed to go for a walk to refresh my memory. In reality, my thoughts are crystal clear for the first time in weeks.
The nugget of memory—what Lisa told me that night—burns in the centre of my chest.
I walk uphill towards town, and the road is quiet. The salt of the ocean hits my nostrils, and I’m struck by another memory out of the blue. A memory of a day many years ago. The sun was setting over the school parking lot. All the kids had long gone home. Except for me.
My dad was drunk when he finally arrived to pick me up. As he often was. I threw my bags into the back seat of his car, and when I got in next to him, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and whisky fumes. I refused to look at him.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled.
I looked out of the window, feeling more alone in the car than in the parking lot.
“Drive-through ice cream?” he asked.
I sat in silence as we drove. He cranked the window open. Maybe he was hot. Maybe he just wanted to save me from the funk of cigarettes and booze. As we waited for our ice creams, he turned to me.
“Bud, life is too serious for you to be so serious.” He’d pulled a funny face at me. I couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t matter what happened. There would always be a drive-through to go to, and something to laugh at.
But none of that is here now. Including him.
I wish you were here now to tell me what to do, I whisper. But there’s no answer, of course. So I keep walking, focusing on the one thing that can happen. That I can make happen.
When I get to the bar, I order a Coke and sit at a corner table. I scroll through my phone, avoiding InCheck. I say the words over and over in my head, like the sound of them will solidify my recent memory.
Choke, choke, choke.
My Coke is only half drunk when Sebastian walks through the door.
His shoulders are slouched and he looks smaller than I remember. The bartender pours him a whisky. He knocks it back, orders another. When he’s on his third drink, the bartender calls across the room to ask if I want anything else. My eyes burn into Sebastian’s back, hoping he will turn and see me. But he doesn’t. So I order a coffee and wait.
When he leaves the bar a few hours later, I’m practically salivating. He’s had at least five whiskies, and I could really use one right now. But I won’t. I wait for him to walk out before I get up to pay and leave.
Outside, the street lamps create little circles of light in the fading daylight. The town is deserted, apart from Sebastian. As I follow him, I feel a sense of anticipation. I think of Neil. Whether he’s looking into Lisa’s second phone. If he even believes me. You’re going to mess up this whole investigation, I imagine him saying. But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m doing the right thing. I’m about to fix something, not break it.
Choke, choke, choke.
“Hey,” I call out. “Hey, you!”
He turns around. We’re at the end of the road, just before the downhill. From here, the water shimmers below us. As he turns to face me, I’m suddenly reminded that it’s just the two of us out here. That if something had to happen, I’d be all alone.
As I walk towards him, I dig around in my bag for my house keys. It was a move my father taught me the first time I wanted to go out alone to buy chocolate.
“Do you have your keys?” he asked me. “Keep them in your fist.”
He took my hand in his and put a key between each finger, like a crude knuckleduster. “Like this.”
My father looked at me with a rare seriousness. “Always be prepared for the worst, Bud. If someone grabs you, take a swing at them. As hard as you can.”
Now, I scrabble for the keys that can protect me from the worst. I clutch them in my hand and hold them close.
Sebastian says nothing as I walk towards him, looking around us for a sign of life—a lit window, or an open door. But there’s nothing. As I get close to him, I see the thin line of his lips, his furrowed eyebrows like caterpillars. He looks surprised.
My breathing is loud in my ears.
“I know who you are,” I tell him.
His face is contorted. He takes an unsteady step forward, his hands still in his pockets. “What?”
I steady my voice. “I know who you are.”
“And who are you?”
“A friend of Lisa’s.”
I try my best to stand my ground. We’re a few feet from each other now, and suddenly he doesn’t look as small as he did in the bar. He’s a foot taller than me, with legs that look like they belong on a rugby player. He could pick me up—or knock me down—without a second thought.
He shakes his head loosely. “Lisa? I—I don’t,” he slurs. A few beats pass before he speaks again, his voice deeper this time. “What do you want?”
“She called me,” I say, feeling the adrenaline rushing through my body. “The night she died. From the dock.”
I don’t move my eyes from his. But I carry on because if I don’t, I might run far, far away from here.
I hold my keys tighter and take another step towards him. “I know who you are, and I know what you did to Lisa that night.”