In 27 Days

by Alison Gervais

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ty said, exchanging dark looks with Hayden and Aimee. “Morales has problems, babe.”

  “Is that so?” I said dryly.

  “You do know his dad killed somebody, right?”

  Ritter’s words from the other day came rushing back. He said that Archer would end up in prison like his old man. That was what Archer’s biological father had done to end up in prison? He killed someone?

  The noisy chattering of the people around us seemed to fade away as I took a few deep breaths, digging my fingernails into my jeans as I gripped my thighs.

  “I don’t believe you,” I finally said. I might as well have just run a mile with how breathless I sounded. “You’re lying.”

  “Oh, Hadley,” Aimee said, shaking her head. “How could you have not known?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it was all over the papers and the news,” Ty said energetically. “Morales’s old man broke into their apartment one night and stabbed his stepdad twenty-seven times. Talk about overkill, right?”

  Hayden and Ty shared identical smirks, and it made my stomach turn.

  “Overkill,” Hayden repeated, still giggling. “Good one, Ty.”

  “That isn’t true,” I said, gritting my teeth. “You’re lying. This isn’t funny.”

  “We’re not lying, Hadley,” Aimee said. “Look it up on the Internet. Google never lies.”

  “He’s bad business, babe,” Ty said with a nod. “So be careful.”

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that version of the story before. I appreciate your creativity, really, but I’m not so sure that’s quite how it actually happened.”

  I looked around in horror at the sound of that voice, and my heart nearly gave out as I locked eyes with Archer. He was leaning up against the wall a few feet from the table, arms crossed, watching us with a fascinated expression.

  “Morales!” Ty smiled brightly and gave a wave. “Nice of you to finally show up, man.”

  “Oh, were you waiting for me? Sorry to disappoint.” Archer moved away from the wall and approached the table. I inadvertently drew back in my chair as he came closer, on edge because of the look of barely contained fury now on his face.

  “Well, go on, then,” he said, clapping Hayden on the shoulder, giving him a friendly shake. “Don’t let me stop you from finishing the story. You were just getting to the good bits. Or would you rather I set the record straight and tell you what really happened that night?”

  Aimee, Hayden, and Ty said nothing, exchanging looks with one another. I got the impression they weren’t sure what to do now that Archer had unexpectedly shown up.

  “Archer.” I reached out and grabbed his hand without thinking, holding on tightly. “You really shouldn’t . . .”

  “It’s all right, Hadley,” Archer said, not looking at me. “If they want to know, I’ll tell them. I don’t have a problem with it.” He slipped his hand out from mine and grabbed an empty chair, swung it around and sat down, propping his elbows up on the table.

  “So. What do you guys want to talk about first? How nice it was to see my mom with a guy who actually treated her right, or how happy she was until my abusive father found out? What it was like finding my murdered stepfather in the middle of our kitchen floor? Testifying at the trial?”

  An eerie silence followed Archer’s words, and I felt my insides beginning to chip away. Suddenly it seemed like I knew exactly why Archer had ended his life. How would he have been able to leave that all behind, especially when jerks like Ty took enjoyment in reminding him?

  Archer stared at Aimee and Hayden and Ty in turn, waiting for them to say something. They gave him wide stares instead. “Well?” Archer pressed. “I can assure you it’s not a boring story. You’re not giving it the credit it deserves.”

  Aimee shoved back from the table and stood, looking expectantly at Hayden and Ty. “Well, we should leave the happy couple alone now, you guys.”

  “But we were just—” Hayden started to say, but Aimee was quick to cut him off.

  “Seriously,” she said, glaring at the two boys. “It’s time to go.”

  Aimee practically had both of the boys by the neck as she led them away from the table, but not before she glanced back at me and mouthed sorry.

  I looked to Archer, a feeling of total helplessness washing through me. What was I supposed to say to him?

  “Archer . . .” My voice was pathetically small when I managed to speak. “I don’t . . .”

  “Get up.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Archer quickly rose to his feet, snatched his backpack off the ground, swung it over his shoulder. “Get up,” he repeated forcefully.

  I scrambled my way to my feet without hesitation. “What’s going on?”

  He gripped my forearm tightly and pulled me from the lunchroom, down the hallway. It took me a moment to realize we were heading for the library.

  “Archer, what are you doing?” I demanded, trying to pull my arm from his grasp. “The bell is going to ring in a few minutes. We’re going to get caught.”

  “So what?” Archer said, moving with purposeful strides. “Like that even matters.”

  “I’m sorry, but skipping class does matter, no matter how you feel about our fellow classmates.”

  Despite my attempts to get some kind of response from him, Archer remained silent until we reached the library. He pulled me through the rows of bookcases, toward the back of the library, to that little corner with the chair I’d found him sitting in the other week.

  “Look. If I had it my way, you never would have found out about my family’s deep, dark secret,” Archer told me, speaking quickly. “I’m sure you can understand why that’s not something I usually broadcast. But if you think I’m just going to let you walk away under the assumption that what they told you is actually the truth, you’re insane.”

  I couldn’t properly formulate any thoughts that would come out as something remotely intelligent. What was I supposed to say? Thank you?

  “Okay,” was all I could manage.

  Archer gave a short nod. “Okay.” He pointed to the armchair tucked away in the corner. “Sit.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Truth Will Out

  I scuttled over and sat down. It was impossible not to fidget while Archer just stood there, biting his lip, eyes narrowed at the ground.

  “This . . . the whole story,” he began slowly, “it’s not . . . it isn’t like what they were saying. It didn’t start that way.”

  “I didn’t think it did,” I said softly.

  He blew out a sigh. “I guess . . . Well, I guess everything started before I was even born. Back when my mom met my biological dad, Jim St. Pierre, in high school. They started dating their junior year, and then my mom ended up getting pregnant with me a few months later. And, naturally, my grandparents—being strict Catholics—really wanted them to get married. I guess things were okay after I was born, I’m not really sure. My mom doesn’t really like to talk about it, and I can’t say I blame her.”

  As Archer spoke, I watched his hands curl into fists at his sides, and there was that tick jumping in his cheek again.

  “But I’m sure you’ve already figured out by now that St. Pierre wasn’t the best of people. After a while, he started to get really screwed up with drugs and alcohol. I guess his relationship with his parents wasn’t so great, and having a kid at eighteen didn’t really do him any good. There’s no excuse for it either way. My mom, though, she loved him, you know? Despite everything he did, how much he treated her like crap. But then he started knocking her around. And the one time he laid a hand on me, she finally snapped.”

  He was pacing now, raking his fingers through his hair, and it was distracting, listening to him speak and watching his frantic movements at the same time.

  “She called the police, filed for a divorce, the whole nine yards. We moved in with my grandparents. Even though there was a restraining order taken out against him, my
dad didn’t pay much attention to it. He’d come around at all hours of the night and day, banging on the doors, shouting about how my mom wasn’t going to take me away from him. It took a while, but he finally just stopped, and we figured that was the end of it. And then my mom met Chris.”

  Chris must have been Rosie’s father, Regina’s late husband.

  “Chris was definitely a good change from my biological dad,” Archer said. The look on his face was much different now. Softer. “He came into the coffeehouse one day, and it sounds stupid to say, but I think it was love at first sight for them. I swear I’ve never seen my mom as happy as she was when she was with Chris, and they got married pretty soon after. He was one of the good guys. Ex-Army. Helped me with my homework, taught me how to do math, how to play baseball, helped out with the business whenever he could, did all these things with the rest of the family, and . . .”

  “He was your dad.”

  It was obvious by the way Archer spoke about him, and by his expression, that Chris was the man he considered to be his real father. Blood had nothing to do with it.

  Archer stopped pacing long enough to look over to me. “Yeah. He was.” He was silent for a few moments.

  “And then . . . Rosie?” I pressed when the silence stretched on.

  “Rosie.” Archer let out a small laugh. “Rosie was an unexpected surprise. I love her, don’t get me wrong, but she’s definitely a handful.” Just as quickly as that smile had appeared at the mention of Rosie, it was gone. “But before Rosie was born . . . Well, that’s when it all happened. Of course you can imagine that St. Pierre was not at all happy that my mom married another man and was having a kid with him. I don’t know how he found out about it, but he knew.”

  Judging from what I’d heard about Jim St. Pierre so far, I could definitely imagine he wouldn’t be happy Regina found another man.

  “So, one night . . . One night, St. Pierre broke into our apartment. And Chris went downstairs to . . . to see what was going on and . . . and then the next thing I knew, I heard all this yelling and shouting, lots of stuff breaking, and I ran into the kitchen, and he was . . .”

  The heart-wrenching thing was that I knew what Archer was trying to say even if he couldn’t find the words. Because I had already known from the beginning that this story did not have a happy ending.

  “Archer, you . . . you don’t have to finish. I . . .” I couldn’t even find any words to say myself.

  Archer leaned against the wall beside the armchair, letting out a small, frustrated groan as he rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm.

  My fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and comfort him somehow, but I held back. “Archer, I’m . . . I’m so . . .”

  “Do not say you’re sorry,” Archer snapped, his eyes bright as he glared at me. “And don’t you dare pity me. I hate that look people get when they hear about what happened and they want to try and make everything all better for me.”

  I’d wanted from the beginning to make everything better for him, but I could only do so much. I was thinking then that Archer was going to have to realize that he was the only person who could make everything better for himself.

  “I don’t pity you,” I said honestly. And I really didn’t. I hurt for him. “I just . . . I want to help you.”

  “I don’t want help,” Archer ground out between clenched teeth. “I don’t need your help.”

  That was a lie. I knew he needed help. And if he didn’t get it from me, that was fine. I just wanted him to get it through his thick skull that he wasn’t alone in this.

  “Look, go ahead and hate it all you want, but I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. You don’t see me running and screaming just because you told me what happened to your family, do you?” I said. “So can we just stop picking on each other? Maybe actually give being friends an honest chance?”

  “Friends,” Archer repeated, sounding skeptical. “I don’t even know what being a friend means.”

  “You know what? I don’t think I do, either,” I agreed, thinking of how much of a crappy friend I’d been to Taylor and everyone else lately, blowing them off with some halfhearted excuse about geometry tutoring with Archer. “I’d be happy to find out, though.”

  Silence fell again. I didn’t know what to say to Archer. I was sure I was pressing my luck, hoping he would share anything more with me. This was the most I’d ever heard him talk before, and even though he’d done it unwillingly, I was honored he felt the need to tell me what had happened.

  “Archer, this . . . What you said to me, it stays between us, you know,” I said, wanting to take his hand in mine again to reassure him. “Thank you. For telling me.”

  He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Yeah, whatever. Sure.”

  And there was snarky Archer again. Good to see he hadn’t completely disappeared.

  The bell rang overhead, cutting through the tense atmosphere wavering between us. It was a shock to realize we’d already missed all of fifth period.

  “We should probably get out of here,” Archer said, glancing at the nearby clock.

  “Right,” I agreed, getting to my feet. “Don’t want to miss study hall.”

  “Of course not,” Archer muttered as he swung his backpack up on his shoulder. “God forbid you miss one more class. It’s all because I’m such a terrible influence on you, right?”

  “Oh, please,” I said, fighting back a snort of laughter. “You? A bad influence on me? If that’s the case, then shouldn’t I be a good influence on you?”

  Archer stopped to ponder what I’d said, his lips twisting into a frown. “Maybe,” he said after a moment. “At any rate, my mother would agree with you, but . . . we’ll see.”

  “Right,” I said, having difficulty holding back my smile. “We’ll see.”

  It’d taken eight days, but I was finally making progress.

  CHAPTER 14

  Cautionary Words—15 Days Until

  It felt as if we’d reached a stalemate. I had actually begun to feel hopeful that I’d made headway with Archer, that we were slowly but surely inching our way toward friendship. I’d learned things about him I was pretty sure he never acknowledged unless absolutely necessary, things he said he felt like he needed to explain to me. I was positive that counted for something. But three days had passed, and the only semi-exciting things that happened were two frustratingly short tutoring sessions during rather slow shifts at Mama Rosa’s. Archer had been decidedly tight-lipped, like maybe he wished he could take back everything he’d told me.

  I couldn’t help but think that I was going about this all wrong. What if being his friend wasn’t enough? There was so much more about him underneath the surface that I couldn’t possibly uncover it all in only fifteen days. I could tell talking about what had happened to his stepfather had taken a lot out of him. What was going to happen if I kept digging the way I was?

  The church Archer’s funeral had been at was empty when I stepped inside. The only source of illumination came from the rows and rows of flickering candles lined up neatly beneath the windows and beside the main entrance, along with the occasional flash of lightning. The overall effect was rather creepy. I made the sign of the cross just to be safe.

  Saving Archer meant more to me now than ever before, especially after getting to know him and his family. But now there was a small seed of doubt always settled at the back of my mind, the possibility I would ultimately fail, and it was steadily growing. I only had fifteen days left. The constant burning of the numbers on my wrist made that impossible to forget, and I couldn’t help but shudder every time I looked down at the ghost beads on my wrist. I wasn’t convinced they were keeping all the bad things away.

  I took a few steps forward and sunk into a pew, tightly holding my hands together in my lap. “Um. Hello?” I sucked in a deep breath of air, trying to slow my erratically pounding heart. “Look, I figured I would come here since this is where it all star
ted, and I . . .” Coming to this church seemed like a better alternative than going to the Starbucks where I signed the contract. I wasn’t going to get any answers from a coffee shop.

  “Okay, the thing is, I have no idea what it is I’m supposed to be doing here. Archer is . . . Well, Archer’s not the easiest person to be around, you know? I don’t have any idea how I’m supposed to help him. I’ve honestly never felt so stupid. The only thing I really know is that I like being with him, even if he is the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. I like being with him, and his mom and his little sister and even his grumpy old grandma, and it’s just like . . . when I’m with them, I almost forget what it is I’m supposed to be doing. Is this even making any sense? It probably isn’t, is it?”

  I stopped talking. What was I supposed to do next? I’d come to the church for some kind of guidance, but I still felt lost. There were these few times in the morning when I would first open my eyes, and just for a few seconds it was easy to believe that I hadn’t signed that contract with Death, and that my life was totally and completely normal. And then I would catch sight of the numbers or the beads on my wrist, and that illusion would be shattered. I exhaled and got to my feet, pulling my coat more tightly around me.

  “You weren’t looking for me, were you?”

  I spun around on my heel and felt shock run through me as I locked eyes with Death. He was leaning up against a marble pillar beside a shelf of hymnals and a row of candles, an unsettling smirk curling at his mouth. The candles cast part of his face into shadow, giving him this sort of inhuman appearance.

  “Um,” I said, at a loss for what to say. “Were you listening this whole time?”

  He definitely heard something if he had shown up out of the blue while I was talking. I didn’t like the idea of him spying on me like that.

  “Of course,” Death said with a nod.

  “So . . . can you help me?” I asked, realizing he was probably the last person who would.