Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  He clears his throat. “I don’t think she would believe you because she knows you lied about Sean and Gibbs.”

  I feel like he just pulled my plug out of the wall. No pulse, no breath, darkness.

  After several seconds, I hear, “Delaney. I’m sorry for telling you. I shouldn’t have. Your mother never wanted you to know. I just . . . struck back without thinking.”

  Finally, I pull in a breath and whisper. “Never wanted me to know what?”

  He starts to walk away. “I think I’ve done enough damage here.”

  “No. Tell me. Know what?”

  He stops and deflates, looks up at the ceiling, then speaks softly and gently. “There was no tent. Sean and Gibbs had sex on a picnic table and in the bed of her truck not far from the lake.” He faces me. “I’m sorry, Delaney. For some reason you lied about the tent.” He sighs. “Tell your mother whatever you want. I won’t mention our conversation. I hope your father can help you.”

  I watch him walk away then grab the wine bottle and glass and head back to my room.

  6

  I slam the door to my room and lean against it, panting. No tent? I saw a tent, dammit! I watch the scene again in my head—walking through the trees, hearing Dad and Gibbs groan and giggle. The fluttering, camouflage netting appears, hiding the tent behind them.

  I move to my desk and pour my glass full of wine. I’ve never snuck wine or beer before, but tonight I need to. After swallowing half the glass, I click through various documents, searching for “tent” in each. The word appears in every version where I find Dad and Gibbs together.

  How could I have lied about the tent? Why would I?

  I drink the entire glass and pour another.

  Maybe Khannan is lying. He could’ve made up something to keep me from telling Mom about the vibrator. But why wouldn’t he worry about me asking Mom about the tent?

  Unless he said it to make me even more crazy, just like he replaced the screen and locked the window so I’d question whether I even came home at lunch. Grrr! I guzzle half the glass.

  Why didn’t Mom ever ask me why I lied?

  Because she knew I was destroyed by the incident and probably thought the trauma made me hallucinate. They still had sex. I didn’t make that up.

  Maybe I imagined the tent so I could only hear them having sex rather than seeing them on a table? Like a defense mechanism.

  Like drinking too much wine. Numb the craziness in my head so I watch things happen from behind protective glass where nothing can hurt me.

  My phone vibrates with a message from Garrett. Almost there.

  It’s almost two, I’m buzzed, and I look like shit. I text back. OK. I guzzle the rest of my wine, strip off my clothes, and rub cleansing wipes everywhere. Don’t want to risk running into Eddie in the bathroom. I add some touches of perfume and pull on some sweats. Tie my hair up and add some lip gloss. Yes, all we’re doing is watching meteors, but I don’t want to gross him out if he puts his arm around me.

  I slip out my window, but before I jump from the tree limb, I take a photo of the screen under the bed. I realize I should’ve taken pics of the chair at lunch. Why didn’t I think of that?

  The night air is wet and cooler than this afternoon. I’m glad I’m wearing sweats in case we sit in the truck bed. That would be nice. Sitting on a blanket against the back of the cab, snuggled against his chest, watching hundreds of lights streaking the sky.

  He pulls up just as I reach the curb. I open the door and climb into the cab and into what smells like a glass of old beer with a touch of puke in the background.

  His lips spread into a wide grin. “Hey, Laney! You look great!” His head bobs slightly.

  I don’t close the door. “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, but Jake and Terry were. Just dropped them off. We were at Marissa’s party. Her parents are out of town. The boys got loaded, but I was the designated driver, so no worries.” He notices I haven’t closed the door. “Hey, close the door. It’s cold outside.”

  I almost go back home. I should. But what will I do? I can’t sleep, so all I’ll do is drink, read through my stories, and hope Dad calls before I pass out.

  I shut the door and buckle up. “Drive careful. You have precious cargo on board.” I smile. He nods back. “By the way, there’s always at least one security cop in this division, so don’t go over twenty.”

  He actually salutes me. “Yes, Ma’am. Never had a ticket. Never will.” He pulls away from the curb and moves slowly through our neighborhood until we reach the gate. Garrett waves at the little black Ford parked near the clubhouse and shoots me a goofy grin. He may not be drunk, but he’s high on something. I’ve never seen him so animated. My scalp tingles, and I think I should’ve stayed home.

  He pulls into traffic and heads north toward the park as he cranks up his music. I hear Drake and Tyler the Creator in the background while he talks and his fingers beat on the steering wheel.

  “Yeah, Marissa’s kinda wild, but I guess you know that, huh?” He swings his head toward me. “Since you spent the night with her and Kaitlyn.” His grin widens. “She had videos.”

  I gasp and feel my eyes pushing out of their sockets. I did not spend the night! “Videos?”

  He nods his head and slaps the wheel. “Mostly of Marissa and Kaitlyn, but she shared a few others.”

  I don’t want to ask. I lean toward the window and look out. He turns into the park and drives toward the lake. I stare at the sky and can’t see a single star.

  “Don’t worry. She blurred all the faces, so no one could recognize who the girls were.”

  “Good to know.” Faceless, naked girls—a boy’s wet dream. “Guess she didn’t blur the other parts.” I open the window and look. No stars. The sky is covered in clouds.

  “Nope.” His eyes lock onto my breasts.

  “It’s cloudy. Did you know that?” I pull out my phone and click on Safari.

  “Really?” He stops near the lake away from lights and opens the window to look outside. “Well, crap!”

  I swipe through pages. “You said the Leonid showers were tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he sits back down and closes the window. “The 17th.”

  “They were in November on the 17th.” I show him my screen.

  He scrunches his brow then remembers. “No, it’s the Geminid showers! They’re in December.”

  I punch in Geminid and read the window. “December 13 – 15. Today is the 17th. They’re over.”

  “Well, it’s cloudy anyway. Guess we’ll have to find other things to do.” His eyes linger on my breasts as he plants his arm along the top of the bench seat. “You know, what you said today after class, and I quote, ‘If we didn’t spend so much time studying, maybe we could do something else.’ Then you kissed me. So I figured you were giving me signals.”

  Oh, my God. “Signals?”

  “Yeah.” He shifts the truck into Park and slides along the seat.

  I can’t believe this is happening. “The something else was watching the meteor shower.”

  “Yeah, but then you said, ‘What else would we do?’ As you gave me a come-on look and then kissed me.” He touches my hair and stares at my face. “You have nice lips.”

  My heart is fluttering under my shirt. I’m breathing so deep, but I still can’t get enough air. He watches my chest rise and fall like he can see my skin.

  I remember thinking after the kiss that it was one choice I wouldn’t regret. Am I now?

  “And you have an amazing body. I don’t know why you keep it hidden.” He slides closer. “You’re a knock-out, Delaney West.”

  He gently touches his lips to mine, and I smell the beer on his breath. But his lips are so soft. He slides his hand behind my neck and gently pulls me to his mouth, this time pressing hard. His mouth opens as he moves his fingers along my throat. I love the feel of his touch, but I can’t help flinching. His body moves closer, and I feel his other hand on my leg, moving in slow circles up to my hi
p.

  I’m scared, but I do like his lips. I push back against them and lift my hands to his chest, feeling his pecs through the shirt but also holding him back. His left hand moves behind my hip and then higher.

  “Your face was blurred, but I recognized the sound of your voice . . .”

  He draws his face away and traces my lips with his fingers. “When you came I knew it was you.”

  I pull back, my muscles tight. It couldn’t have been me! I left before any of that happened. He just saw boobs and ass. He couldn’t have seen me.

  His voice is low and breathy. “All this time I thought you were so shy, so reserved. But then you kissed me in the middle of the hall. And got naked at Marissa’s. Mmmmm.”

  He kisses my neck, but I feel cold and tremble. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I think it was.” He kisses me again and flicks his tongue along my lips. “And I do believe I smell and taste wine.” He raises his brows. “Yes. Did you drink some wine before I picked you up?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “There is so much more to you than I realized.”

  His hands push against my breasts through the sweatshirt, feeling their shape, pushing them together. I suck in a breath and can’t blow it out. I want him to stop, but some part of me wants more. I hold his wrists as he rubs my breasts, pushing his arms back, but then I arch my back, pushing my chest toward him.

  “And you’re not wearing a bra.” He laughs. “Now why is that, Laney?” The tip of his tongue pushes through his lips. “How much did you drink?” He shakes his head as he gropes. “You wanted to loosen up a little?”

  My mind flashes back to taking off my clothes and cleaning up then pulling on sweats. No underwear. Shit! His hands move under my shirt and find my nipples, squeezing them between his thumb and finger. Too hard. Then he yanks up on my shirt.

  “Please!” I keep him from pulling it over my head, but my breasts are exposed.

  “Yup! Those are the ones! Big, beautiful boobs. They were bouncing in the video.”

  He pushes his face into them. I try to pull my shirt down. “Please, Garrett, take me home. I don’t want to do this.”

  “Sure you do. You just don’t want to admit it. It’s been cloudy all day. You knew that. You get drunk and wear nothing under your shirt.” He pinches my breasts just before I force my shirt down. “And I’ll bet you got nothing on under those pants either.”

  He pulls the top of my pants toward him before I can react then barks a laugh. “Hah! No panties!” He shoves his hand between my legs. “And dripping wet. Laney, you’re horny as hell!”

  I slap his hand away and lift my foot, ready to kick him.

  He laughs as he unbuckles his belt.

  “No! You will not do this, Garrett! Take me home!” I pull my phone out of the pouch on my shirt and punch 911. “Take me home.”

  His eyes widen as he hears the rings and then a woman’s voice. “911. What’s your emergency?” He glances at my phone then locks eyes with me. “Hello. What’s your emergency?”

  “Just a minute, please.” I cover the phone and feel blood rush to my face. “Take me home, Garrett,” I snap. “Or I tell her you’re raping me.”

  He snarls, “Bitch!” at me, buckles his belt, and slides back to the steering wheel.

  When the truck lurches forward, I uncover the phone. “No emergency. Sorry.” I buckle my belt and try to calm down. My heart is racing, and I can feel my pulse in my neck.

  He slams on the brakes at a Stop sign inside the park. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” His lips curl back from his teeth as he clenches his jaw.

  He’s going to kill me! I speak slow and soft. “This was just a misunderstanding, Garrett. Please calm down and drive me home. Please.”

  “You’re a goddamn bitch!” He pulls a half pint flask from under his seat and takes a drink.

  Shit. Should I open the door and run? I try to speak calmly.“You shouldn’t drink right now, Garrett.”

  “Yeah, well you shouldn’t have got me all worked up then called the cops.” He drinks again.

  I grasp the door handle, ready to pull. “I got you worked up? All you’ve done since we stopped is grope me.”

  “You ran out to the truck, boobs bouncing under your shirt. Why’d you do that, Laney? Huh?” Another drink.

  “I just forgot to put on a . . .”

  “Bullshit! Then you kiss back. If you didn’t want it, you could’ve turned away.”

  “I liked kissing you, but . . . then . . .”

  “Yeah, well fuck you!” He slams down on the accelerator, and we screech along the road, the back wheels swerving and ripping over the asphalt.

  My muscles lock tight. “Slow down! Please!”

  He takes the curve too fast, and his back tire slams into the curb. I grab the handle above the door and feel my stomach twist up into my chest. He pushes harder on the pedal. “Stop! Please!”

  He looks at me with a twisted smile. “That’s all you know how to say. Stop. Stop!”

  A deer leaps into the road ahead of us and freezes in the headlights. “Garrett!”

  He snaps his head to the front, hits the brake and twists the wheel. I scream as the truck spins out of control toward a tree. Just before Garrett’s door slams into the trunk, he covers his head with his arms and screams. The back end whips around, hopping the curb and twists as it falls down an embankment, forcing the truck into a roll. My body goes limp as it jerks and slams into the window and seatback. Over and over until we shudder to a stop upside down.

  My seatbelt bites into my legs and neck. I feel a fiery pain in my arm and see blood dripping onto the roof below me where Garrett is crumpled, his head twisted sideways, gashed and bleeding. He doesn’t move or make any sound.

  I reach into my shirt pouch, looking for my phone, but it’s gone. I see it directly below me, out of reach, its glass shattered.

  I feel dizzy, and my fingers twitch. I try to undo my seat belt, but I can’t reach the buckle. I try to move my other hand then feel blinding pain. My whole body shudders. I see a bone sticking out of my arm as more blood pumps out. The roof light dims as my blood covers it.

  I’m going to die here. “Help! Help!”

  I strain again to reach the buckle, but I can get no closer than a foot away. I squirm, trying to slip out of the straps, but I feel bones grating against each other. I almost pass out.

  No!

  I did not choose this.

  The warnings I felt before I closed the door outside my house flash through my mind. Why didn’t I follow them?

  I did not choose this.

  I close my eyes and force my mind to see and feel my arms on my desk, my butt on my chair, my face on my keyboard, like I fell asleep waiting for Dad to call me back.

  I will not die here. I force myself to block out the pain and the sound of blood dripping. I am only tired and a little drunk, and my eyes see nothing.

  My mind is a vice clamped around a 16-year-old girl sleeping at her desk. I push myself into her until I breathe her air and feel her pulse.

  I smell wine. And my body odor. I did not change my clothes. I move my head and feel the hard drive disk start to spin. I feel keypads digging into my cheek. I move my fingers to my hair and push it back behind my ear.

  I’m in my bedroom. Not here. Not here. The world spins.

  My phone rings.

  My eyes snap open, and I feel the phone vibrating in my back pocket. And see the lamp on my desk. I hear the ringing and feel my mind rising to it like a lifebuoy. My head lifts, and I stretch my neck, reach back to my jeans and pull the phone to my face.

  Dad is calling me back.

  7

  I swipe to accept. The word barely releases from my mouth, “Dad?”

  “Hey, Laney. Did I wake you?”

  My mind starts to wander back to the truck, but I force myself to see my Dad’s face—his light blue eyes and long dimples and the fullest lips ever wasted on a man, cheeks and chin always full of blond
e stubble. “I wasn’t asleep. I . . . was kinda in between.”

  “I would’ve called earlier, but I had to work a late shift tonight.” His voice is smooth, almost like he’s singing. “What’s going on, Laney? Why’s your mind in a bad place? You got me worried, Baby Girl.”

  I haven’t heard him call me that for years. I bite my lip and wipe my eye. “I’m taller than Mom by several inches now. You’ll have to find a new nickname.”

  “You’ll always be my baby girl. Always.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ve missed you.” I try not to cry, but both eyes flood. I stand up and walk to my bed, trying to loosen the crick in my back.

  “I’ve missed you, too. Almost called a few times, but I chickened out. Just didn’t think I could take hearing you yell at me again.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’ll never yell at you again. Promise.”

  There’s a pause, and I think I hear him wiping his nose. Then he clears his throat. “I hope so, Baby Girl. I sure hope so. Does Hannah know you’re calling me?”

  “Yes. She gave me your number.” I walk to my window and notice the screen is in place, the window locked. I gasp in a breath.

  “So what’s going on with you?”

  “Just a second.” I bend down and look for the screen under my bed. Nothing. When I stand, the world swirls, and I think I’m going to faint. I grab onto my headboard.

  “Laney? Are you there?”

  I look for used wipes in my trashcan but find none. I press the home button on my phone and search for the photo I took of the screen under my bed. Nothing.

  “Hey, Laney? What’s going on?”

  I check Recents for phone calls and see mine to Dad and his call back. Nothing to 911.

  “Laney, you’re scaring me.”

  “I’m here. Sorry.” I met Garrett. I got into his truck. He violated me. We had a wreck.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Where do I start? I snap my gaze away from the window and walk away. “I can’t stop thinking about that day at the park. Over and over. I’ve written dozens of stories where I made different choices.”