by T. A. Kunz
“I’m so sorry,” Connor says. “This is all on me. I was the one who asked Donovan to come talk. We lost track of time and I guess we fell asleep.”
“We were only being a support for each other, Aunt Helen. I swear. We’ve both been going through a lot, and we needed this. I’m sorry I snuck out and fell asleep out here and worried you,” I say in a plea for her understanding.
Her face softens a bit as her eyes dart back and forth from Connor to me. She releases a heavy sigh. “It’s nice to see you again Connor,” she says at last.
He nods. “You too, ma’am.”
“Please don’t call me ma’am. It makes me sound ancient,” she says. “Call me Helen. And I think it’s about time for the two of you to get ready for school, correct?” The disapproving parental stare returns in full force.
I lean over to give Connor a hug. It draws on longer than I initially anticipated. A throat clears behind me, and I release my grip on him. Our eyes meet for a moment and half of his mouth turns up into a smile.
“I’ll see you later,” he says as our faces hover close together.
“I look forward to it.”
Another throat clearing rings out. Abandoning my desire to be near Connor, I leave the truck. The weary look on his face returns … the look that was present when I first saw him earlier. I’m left with a slight wave between us before he drives off.
My aunt wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Please don’t do anything like that again, okay? You could’ve just asked us. I mean, we probably would’ve said no, but still, it would be nice to know where you are,” she says as we walk back toward the house.
“I know. Like I said, I’m sorry. I just really needed to see him,” I reply.
“I know, Donovan. I was young once too, you know. But with everything going on right now, you can’t just do things like this. You shouldn’t be so impulsive. Just let us know next time, okay?”
“I will, Aunt Helen. Promise.”
I say the words to pacify her, but deep down, there’s only one thing currently on my mind.
I miss him already.
Drea
The school is abuzz with news of a guy from our rival school, Taft High, being found dead in Lake Wilson. The story broke this morning during a local news broadcast. He’d been reported missing yesterday and then his car was found at the edge of the lake, followed by his body being recovered from the water shortly thereafter. They were calling it an accidental drowning since his car was littered with empty beer bottles. They’re awaiting further details from the sheriff’s office.
I open my locker and remove the few books I’ll need, stuffing them in my bag next to Harrison’s jacket. I plan to give it back to him sometime today.
“That was Connor’s friend they found this morning,” Donovan says in a hushed tone as he comes up beside me. “I’ve tried calling him, but he doesn’t answer. All of my texts to him have gone unread.”
“Damn, really?” I ask. He nods slightly. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. Poor Connor.”
“Yeah, we spent the night together last—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupt.
“Oh, no. Not like that,” he rushes to reply. “We just stayed up talking in his truck. I feel awful for him. He seemed to be doing a little better and now this.”
“I’m sure he’ll respond soon. Like you said, he’s going through a lot,” I say.
I hope Connor’s okay. Poor Donovan.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to still be there for him,” he says.
“True, but that just means you’re a good person and you care about him. Give him time. I promise he’ll reach out when he’s ready.”
The warning bell resounds throughout the hallway as he says, “It’s just really hard.”
My heart goes out to him. At least whatever’s left of it. “I know.” I pull him in for a hug. “We should probably get to class. Let’s continue this at lunch, okay?”
“Yeah, all right,” he replies, pulling away.
As we go our separate ways, I’m reminded of a theory I’ve been kicking around for a while now. Are all of these incidents linked? This group all knew Carrie. Maybe Shaun did something to Lori and then did this to himself. I have no idea what kind of relationship Lori had with these people, so I’m going off of wild assumptions alone.
There are too many coincidences.
I consider mentioning this to Donovan later, but with his new relationship, I’m not sure how he’ll take me implicating one of Connor’s friends. My mind races with crazy theories.
The school day seems to stretch on and on in an endless succession of monotony. Standing now in front of Lori’s locker during my free period, I become lost in thought while staring at the memorial. Some of the flowers have wilted, but fresh ones have been placed amongst them.
My bracelets still there.
It still hurts. Every day. But now those feelings are tainted by the new information about Lori and my incident over the summer. My feelings are now even more muddled with confusion than before, but I still find myself getting sentimental while scanning the photos plastered all over her locker.
Like the newly placed flowers, there are also a few new pictures posted on top of previous ones. The one constant of her memorial has been the photos. They cover every inch of the locker’s face, leaving no room for more. These new additions stick out like a sore thumb.
They’re from the night of Sophia’s party. The night Lori died. There’s one of Donovan, Lori, and me. There’s one of just her and Donovan in what appears to be her car. And then there’s one of just me and her.
My eyes narrow on that one. We never took a picture of just us that night. We’re also wearing different clothes in the picture.
Then it hits me. It was from the party over the summer. I vaguely remember posing for it, but I don’t think she ever posted this one to her socials.
It’s not a selfie. Who took this photo?
The more I stare at it, the more I remember posing for it. As the memory resurfaces, I recall Trent taking this photo at Lori’s request. Most of that night though is a complex web of misinformation and fragmented memories.
Did Trent put these here?
I need to ask him. I need to know if and why he did this. And why this photo in particular?
I make my way down the hall and then turn the corner, headed for Trent’s last class of the day. Almost all of the football players are in the same math class together. Harrison is an exception though, since he’s in AP Calculus.
Don’t ask me how I know that.
I plan to wait outside until Trent emerges after the bell. He’s one of the last people I want to see right now, but I need answers.
The bell sounds and people pour out of the classrooms lining the hall. My eyes focus on one door in particular, waiting for my moment to pounce, but that moment never comes. The last person seemingly leaves the room and I wait a minute before moving up to peer through the thin window on the door. Only the teacher remains at her desk.
“Really interested in Mrs. Fuller’s calculus class, huh?” Harrison asks near me.
I pan my gaze up and see his face hovering overhead, staring through the same window. “Actually, I’m looking for Trent, if you can believe it,” I reply, rearing back from the window.
“Oh … I haven’t seen him. I heard he never showed up today. Probably at home moping over the scout. Hell knows I considered it,” he says with a faint laugh.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“It was partly my fault. I shouldn’t have let Trent get to me like that. I’ve only got myself to blame really.”
“So no one has heard from him since last night?” I ask.
“Not sure. It’s not like I’m keeping tabs on him,” he replies.
I move closer to him. “You really think he just skipped school because of that?”
He releases a scoff. “His ego took a huge blow last night. He’ll be licking his wounds for a while,
I’m sure.” A frown forms between his eyebrows. “Why are you so concerned about him anyway?”
“I’m not. I just had a question about something dealing with Lori. I thought he might be able to give me some insight.”
“I see.” He dodges my gaze as he slings his backpack over his shoulder. “By the way, how are you holding up after last night?”
“As well as I can, I guess.”
“I’m sorry again for how all of that came out.”
“Yeah, but I’m glad you told me … everything.”
A glimmer of a smile crosses his lips. There’s this palpable awkward energy between us that I wish wasn’t there. I can tell he wants to talk to me, and I want to talk to him, but here we are, just kind of tip-toeing around what we both want. Then I realize I never gave him an answer about the dance, and that’s probably not helping matters given that it’s tonight and all.
Would he even still want to go with me after all of this?
“Hey, I have to get going,” he says. “I’ve got some stuff to do before tonight. If I somehow bump into Trent, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”
We can’t leave things like this.
He begins to walk away and I follow in step, moving against the flow of the crowded hallway. “Hey, wait up,” I say while digging into my bag for his jacket. “I wanted to give this back to you.” I present it to him. “And I also wanted to thank you. I realize I never did last night.”
“No worries. You were cold and I didn’t need it,” he says with a slight wave of the jacket, and then starts to walk away again.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I blurt.
He stops and turns around. “I’d really love to, but could we do this later? Like I said, I’ve got a lot to do before tonight,” he replies, glancing down at his sporty-looking smartwatch. “I’m already running late. Raincheck?”
“Sure, raincheck,” I reply, not really knowing how to take this whole exchange.
I should’ve just said yes to the dance.
I watch him move away until he’s swallowed up by the throng of people. Guilt settles in my gut as I trudge back to my locker. Donovan’s there waiting for me. A folded piece of paper is clutched in his hand and the look on his face doesn’t bode well for our impending conversation. When his eyes meet mine from afar, the concerned look seems to worsen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when I reach my locker.
“This,” he replies, handing over the folded piece of paper.
I open it. When I see what’s on it, my eyes leap from the image back up to him.
“Isn’t that a page from the diary you said you couldn’t find?” he asks. “It’s that tree by the trail leading to the barn I hung out at with Connor and his friends.”
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in my locker. It wasn’t in there this morning, so someone put it in there during the day.” His eyes dart around with suspicion at the people in the hallway.
“Let’s go check this out,” I say. “Maybe there’s a clue or something at this tree. Why else would this have been left in your locker?” Even as I ask the question, I wonder if this is a terrible idea.
He mulls it over for a moment. “I don’t know, Drea. I mean, if there is someone out there doing all of this, should we really go poking around and blindly follow clues they could be leaving behind? Maybe we should just let the sheriff’s office deal with it.”
“No offense, but the officers in this town still haven’t found Lori’s murderer. I’d say they’ve had their chance,” I reply, folding up the piece of paper and stuffing it in my bag. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve already waited long enough for answers.”
“Okay.” After a moment’s hesitation, he says, “Let’s go then. It is still light out. What could possibly go wrong?”
Please let this be a real breadcrumb.
Donovan
While sitting in Drea’s car, I check my cell for the hundredth time hoping to miraculously see a response from Connor. Desperation begins to set in. I need to hear from him … to know he’s okay. But all I can do is stare at my phone’s screen and wait.
This is painful.
“Still nothing, huh?” asks Drea.
“Nope, nada.” I put the phone down to rest it on my thigh.
“He’ll get back to you.”
I can tell she’s trying to reassure me, but the tentative look on her face tells a different story.
“Yeah,” I reply.
I hope so.
We’re making quick work of Devil’s Horn. It’s noticeably easier than when I was on my bike, though that’s not surprising.
“Did you know this road’s apparently called Devil’s Horn?” I ask, trying to distract myself from my thoughts.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a Haddon Falls urban legend. Car accidents used to happen on this road all the time. They had to add those safety guardrails and signs,” she explains, pointing them out as we pass by. “The town thinks it’s haunted.”
“I guess every town has their scary stories. There’s this abandoned house in the neighborhood where I lived back in Mississippi that sat alone at the end of a cul-de-sac. People said it was haunted by a woman who died there. I feel like those myths are a dime a dozen though.”
“Sounds about right,” she replies as we reach the top of the hill.
“Take a right here. The tree will be a little ways on the left next the dirt path and sign.”
We make our way through the peaks and valleys in the road before the tree comes into view. Drea slows the car and pulls up in front of the large willow. The area is blanketed in shade from the canopy of trees overhead filtering out most of the sunlight.
“That’s it, all right,” Drea says, glancing back and forth between the sketch and the tree. “Hey, there’s a smudge in the middle here. It looks like something was written on the trunk in the drawing.”
She hands me the paper. “Huh. You’re right. Do you think this might be on the actual tree?”
“Only one way to find out.”
We leave the safety of the car and approach the tree. I move to stand near the road and try to recreate the perspective of the sketch. There doesn’t appear to be anything on the trunk from this angle.
“Find anything?” I ask, watching Drea inspect the opposite side.
“I think so.” She waves me over. “Look at this.”
There’s a carving at about eye level. Four letters. Two on top of two others. Like initials. A capital C and P over a T and B, with a plus sign in the middle.
Drea hovers over my shoulder. “C, P, and T, B?” she says.
I turn and look at her. She seems to be pondering it over. Then her face lights up with an ah-ha moment.
“Carrie Phillips and Trent Blakemore.” A finger snap emphasizes her words.
“Maybe Trent had a little fling with Carrie,” I say. “But something tells me whoever did this thought it was more than that.”
“Harrison did mention Trent went out with her, so that lines up with what we’ve found here.”
“It sounds like we need to speak with Trent about Carrie, huh?” I ask, and she nods.
The low hum of an engine accompanied by the crunch of leaves and gravel under tires sounds from down the path. A lone car approaches. It’s a deputy cruiser. On closer inspection, there’s actually two of them, but one is further down the trail. Through the windshield of the first vehicle, I see the silhouette of a person in the back seat as it gets closer. It rolls past and Connor’s image flashes into view when the sunlight shines in through the back windows.
“Connor!?” I cry.
He turns to look at me through the rear window. His face fills with both relief and worry.
I yank out my phone and call him. It rings twice and I hear an electronic tone spill out from the open window of the second cruiser as it comes to a crawl next to us. Deputy Owens holds up a plastic bag containing a cell phone. Not just any phone though. Connor’s.
He tilts his tinted glasses down to reveal his eyes. “What are you two doing here? And Donovan, why are you calling this cell phone?” the deputy asks with a pointed stare.
“Why did you arrest Connor?” I demand, dropping the phone to my side.
“Both of you need to leave now. This area is technically a crime scene,” he replies, completely ignoring my questions.
That only serves to infuriate me more. “What is going on?” I grind out.
He sighs. “I can’t get into specifics, but we just discovered one hell of a scene at the boat dock, and your friend was right in the middle of it.”
My stomach churns at the words from the deputy’s lips. I’m a ball of emotions. My mind and body can’t settle on just one. Confusion wracks my brain, paired with the doubt resting at the forefront of my mind.
Connor couldn’t have been involved.
“What? What happened?” Drea asks.
“All I can say is that we’re taking Mr. Easton in for questioning,” he explains. His face becomes even more serious. “I’d advise you to head home right now. The sheriff will be following shortly behind me and he won’t be as lenient with you, so get going.”
“I need to see Connor,” I fire back.
“Not gonna happen, I’m afraid. I’m not going to sugar coat this. He’s in serious trouble, Donovan. I’m really trying to give you all I can, but I think the best thing you can do is just leave. Isn’t there a dance tonight or something that you should be getting ready for anyway?”
“I don’t give a damn about some dance,” I snap. “That’s the last thing on my mind right now.”
Another sigh parts Deputy Owens’s lips. The radio on his shoulder beeps before a familiar voice comes through. “The area is secure and I’m headed back to the station. I want to see your report on my desk ASAP. Am I understood, Deputy?”
“Ten-four, Sheriff. I’m on it. Over and out,” he replies into the radio.
He glances over his shoulder at the path before turning his gaze to us. “Leave, please. Neither you nor I need to deal with him right now. He’s on quite the rampage with everything happening around here.” His eyes plead with us to comply.
