Blood on My Hands

by Todd Strasser

  “And that’s when Dakota said her mother could help you get the deferment from the medical review board?”

  “Yeah.”

  The next part is difficult for me to put into words: “After the kegger, why didn’t you turn yourself in right away?”

  He looks away. “I felt like … like it was all everyone else’s fault. Like it was Katherine’s fault for making you break up with me. And it was Dakota’s fault for lying about you having another boyfriend. And it was your fault, Cal, for doing what Katherine wanted you to do. Because that’s what started it all in the first place. Like you and them and everyone else were the reason I lost control with Katherine. Like you and them were to blame for everything that happened. And then I thought about my dad and what it would do to him. I mean, me being arrested for murder. I knew it would kill him. And then, instead of having one death on my head, I’d have two.”

  “And then you found out what Dakota meant by taking care of it?”

  “Yeah, by putting the blame on you. And then you called and told me you still loved me and it was like … like I realized we were in it together. Like, how could I blame you for what Katherine got you to do when I thought about what Dakota had gotten me to do? You know? It was like we’d both been totally manipulated. Completely outclassed. Like we were two little kids making sand castles with plastic toys and along came Katherine and Dakota with a backhoe and a bulldozer. We never stood a chance.”

  “And then you helped me because you didn’t want me to be blamed for killing Katherine any more than you wanted to take the blame yourself?” I ask.

  His head bobs up and down as he practically radiates regret.

  “But you had to know that by doing that, you’d also be forcing the police to look for someone else, and that you’d be one of the suspects,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “I thought you’d go for the self-defense thing. And that would have been the end of it right there. Case closed. And then, when you said you wouldn’t agree to that, I was hoping that maybe it would be neither of us. The cops would figure out that you couldn’t have done it and they wouldn’t know where else to look. I mean, the only other person who knew what really happened was Dakota, and I was certain she’d be the last one to tell.”

  “Guess she surprised us both,” I say.

  He nods. “I knew something was up when they impounded my truck and asked me to come down to the station for fingerprints and a DNA test. And that’s when I grabbed a bunch of clothes, got some money, and took the train to Montauk.”

  He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. “I know what you’re thinking, Cal. I left you. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved and I still took off. But I wasn’t going to stay away that long. I knew I’d eventually come back and turn myself in. There’s no way I could have lived with myself knowing what I did. I just”—a strange, sad, ironic smile appears on his lips—“I just … wanted to spend some time as a commercial fisherman first.”

  My eyes are also filled with tears. “We both made mistakes, Slade. Big ones.”

  On the other side of the window, he wipes the tears from his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Can you forgive me?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He places his hand against the glass.

  I press my hand against the other side. “I love you, Slade.”

  “I love you, Shrimp.”

  Our visit ends. Slade is taken back to his cell, and I leave the facility. It is a bright, clear October day and the sky is blue. In the distance the hillsides are covered with green and here and there a splotch of yellow or red, the first signs of fall. Once I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to wait for Slade for twelve months. Now I may have to wait for years. But I feel like I can. I have seen and experienced more terrible things in the first seventeen years of my life than most people see and experience in a lifetime. If there is anyone who has the right to give up or take the easy way out, it is me. And yet I persist. I will do whatever has to be done. I will wait as long as I must.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at the first book in Todd Strasser’s “thrill”-ogy

  Out in hardcover, paperback, and eBook now!

  Str-S-d #1

  Today at school Lucy Cunningham looked at me like I was something the cat coughed up. I don’t have to explain who Lucy is. You already know, because there’s only one kind of girl who would look at anyone that way. I’m going to be completely honest here because this is my new blog, so what’s the point of pretending? So here goes. It really hurts when Lucy looks at me that way. But here’s what hurts even more. Sometimes when people look at me that way, I feel like maybe they’re right.

  Comments

  Str-S-d #2

  I hate myself. I know I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to say that deep down I know I’m a really good person and only shallow people care about appearances. Well, I guess deep down I’m really shallow because I would give anything not to look like me. Why couldn’t I have been born pretty? Or really smart and clever? Or talented? Anything.

  2 Comments

  ApRilzDay said …

  Hello? WOW, I just read your blog. Hey, I don’t know you, but I really wish you felt better about yourself. I mean, don’t YOU believe everyone has something good about themselves? And you ARE talented. That line about deep down you’re really shallow is FUNNY.

  Str-S-d said …

  It is? I didn’t mean it that way. But thanks anyway, I guess.

  Str-S-d #3

  This girl once asked me why I didn’t at least wear nicer clothes. That’s what she said: “at least.” As if it bothered her that I didn’t even try. Not that my mom has the money. But that’s not the real answer. The real answer is: Do you know what would happen if I tried to wear nicer clothes to school? They’d say, “Oh, look at her. She’s trying to fix herself up. How hopeless is that?” Why do they have to be so mean and catty?

  3 Comments

  Realgurl4013 said …

  Cause theyre totally inseeecure and neeed 2 find someone 2 dump on so people wont dump on them.

  ApRilzDay said …

  It really isn’t about what THEY think. It’s about what YOU think. Wearing nice new things makes ME feel good. I mean, I guess I do care what other people think. But it’s really for ME. Maybe you could TRY it once and see what happens? You might be surprised.

  Str-S-d said …

  I guess I could try.

  Str-S-d #4

  I want to die. I would kill myself right now if I had the guts. Today I did something nice with my hair and wore this cute top my aunt got me for my birthday and … God, I can’t believe I did this … a padded bra? And they laughed. You know how they bunch up in the hall and stare at you, then turn to each other and laugh and keep glancing at you to make sure you know it’s you they’re laughing at? I just wanted to die, vanish, evaporate, cease to exist. And the worst thing was I was stuck there. At least until lunch. Then I went home and changed. I didn’t know how I could go back to school, but then I remembered my mom had this medicine for when she gets really upset. It’s not like it gets you high or anything. So I figured, just this once. It helped a little.

  4 comments

  Realgurl4013 said …

  Hey, hey, I say, whatever gets you through the day day, is Oh-Oh-Okay.

  4204ever said …

  Doesn’t get you high? Then what’s the point?

  ApRilzDay said …

  Seriously? I’m so sorry that happened! I mean, I feel like it’s partly MY fault for suggesting it. But at least YOU were BRAVE enough to try, right? Maybe if you keep doing it they’ll get used to it and not even notice anymore.

  Str-S-d said …

  You can’t be serious. Try again? You obviously don’t have a clue how horrible it feels.

  Str-S-d #5

  It’s taken me a long time to get to this point. I said I was being honest in this blog, but I wasn’t completely because I didn’t say what I was really thinking. I mean, wishing p
eople would die. That’s how I really feel most of the time. I just wish they would die. I didn’t write it before because I tell myself I shouldn’t feel that way. But the more I try to rid myself of these thoughts, the stronger they grow. So forget trying to be nice. Forget trying to pretend. Those people have made my life miserable. I want them to die.

  I’ll begin with Lucy. She is definitely first on the list. You can’t believe how it feels to be in the cafeteria and turn around and there she is staring at me like I’m some disgusting bug or vermin. Does she really think I WANT to be this way? I hate you, Lucy. I really hate you. You are my #1 pick. I wish you were dead.

  5 Comments

  Realgurl4013 said …

  I know just how you feel. Popular kids suuuck.

  Ru22cool? said …

  Did it ever occur to you to try and improve your looks instead of just being a crybaby complainer?

  Str-S-d said …

  Go read Str-S-d #4, Ru22.

  IaMnEmEsIs said …

  Perhaps your wish will come true.

  ApRilzDay said …

  I’m sorry, but I think this is REALLY wrong. I know they were really nasty mean to you the other day, but you have to realize that it’s just because THEY’RE the stupid and immature ones. But wishing someone would die is really wrong. Really.

  Chapter 1

  Sunday 3:09 A.M.

  THE RED TAILLIGHTS of Tyler Starling’s ugly purple car disappeared into the dark. It was just after three A.M., chilly and quiet. Lucy Cunningham stepped off her front walk and strolled down the dark tree-lined street. The last thing she needed was for her father to look through the bedroom window and see her smoking.

  Lucy hugged herself, her thin jacket not warm enough in the crisp November air. Except for a few lights above front doors, the houses on her block were dark. In the sky above, stars sparkled through the bare tree branches. It was almost eerily silent, but Lucy was too busy thinking about the fight she’d just had with Adam to notice.

  On the surface, the argument had been about the future. She wanted to apply to Stanford. But Adam was dead set on Harvard. Being both an excellent lacrosse goalie and a straight-A student with 2300 boards, he had a very good chance of being accepted. But why couldn’t he also apply to Stanford? Their lacrosse team was better than Harvard’s.

  She took a drag. The cigarette glowed red-hot as tobacco turned to ash and smoke filled her lungs in that strangely soothing way she seemed to crave more and more lately. Just as she had begun to look forward to drinking every Friday and Saturday night. Yes, she’d been warned not to drink while on her meds. Yes, she’d been told a thousand times that smoking kills. But after a fight like the one she’d just had with Adam, how could she not?

  Lucy shivered. Don’t pretend, she told herself. The real issue between Adam and her wasn’t college. It was about Adam ending their relationship. She’d been losing him for months and, distracted by school and SATs and college garbage, hadn’t even noticed. But there was no doubt in her mind that tonight he’d begun to lay the groundwork for a breakup. How? By making sure she saw what she’d failed to see before—that there was someone else.

  Lucy cursed herself for being so blind. Why hadn’t she figured it out sooner? Adam had lost interest. Even being extra sweet and attentive tonight, and touching him in all the right places hadn’t worked. So it was time to switch to damage-control mode. No boy had ever dumped her before, and it wasn’t going to happen now. She would simply have to dump him first … right now. As soon as she went inside she would post it on Facebook so that the evidence of it … the timing of it … would be there for everyone to see. And then she would apply to Stanford. She wouldn’t give in to Adam. She had always been a winner, would always be a winner. And winners did whatever it took not to lose. So good-bye, Adam Pinter.

  Lucy crushed the butt of the cigarette with her shoe. No matter what her problems, she could overcome them. It was a matter of will. If you worked hard enough, you could do anything. Whatever Lucy was, she’d willed herself to become. She’d worked for it, suffered for it, agonized, and fought for it. If it meant cheating on a test to get the highest grade, she did it. If it meant stealing someone’s boyfriend because he was the hottest guy in the class, she did that, too. And this is just the start. After all, high school was nothing more than potty training for life.

  Lost in thought, Lucy turned back through the dark silence toward her house. The tall trees cast skeletal night shadows. The quiet hung in the air around her like mist. Despite the solitude of the late hour, it never occurred to Lucy to feel nervous. This was Soundview, the best of neighborhoods, the place where she’d grown up and had always felt safe.

  As she passed a wide tree that cast a thick, spidery shadow across the street, a figure quietly stepped out. Lucy never saw or heard a thing. The presence moved up behind her, barely disturbing the still air. From out of nowhere, a damp rag smelling strongly chemical was jammed hard against her nose and mouth. Alarm instantly raced from Lucy’s core to her extremities. Her hands flew to her face and tried to tear the rag away, but that first breath of chemicals brought a fog to her brain, making her reactions sluggish. She flailed feebly at the strong gloved hands holding the rag, but her fingers seemed unable to grip. By the time she tried to scream, she’d taken a second breath, and the cry that left her throat, muffled by the rag, was so weak and faint that it sounded like the bleating of some distant forlorn animal.

  The heavy fog was like a trapdoor pressing down on her consciousness.

  Her knees gave out.

  She went limp.

  Her body would have collapsed in a heap were it not for the arms that went around her chest. Her attacker began to drag her around the corner to a parked car.

  Lucy Cunningham’s heels scraped along the dark, quiet street … and all her worries about the future became a thing of the past.

  Chapter 2

  Sunday 3:02 A.M. (7 minutes earlier)

  “RICH BITCH,” TYLER Starling muttered as he steered with one hand and turned up the music with the other. It was something he called hard-style techno, which, he claimed, was very popular in Germany and the Netherlands.

  Next to him in the dark car, I winced. The loud thumping music was raw electronic and difficult to follow. An assault on the ears, especially given the late hour, it only added to the discomfort I was already feeling. All week I’d looked forward to spending tonight with this new, interesting guy who’d suddenly shown up at Soundview High almost a month after school began. He was tall, wiry, handsome, and, I thought, seriously sexy, with a slightly crooked nose that must have been the result of being broken.

  But now, as the final moments of our night together approached, my plans were slipping away into disappointment. Tyler’s “rich bitch” comment just made it worse. If he didn’t like rich people, I was in serious trouble.

  There were other reasons to feel discomfort. By dropping Lucy Cunningham off in front of her house and driving away, we’d broken an important Safe Rides rule—making sure “the client” was safely inside before we left. But it was nearly three A.M., and Lucy was being a complete pain, standing in the street and refusing to go into her house. What were we supposed to do? Take her by the hand and lead her to the front door?

  “She’s not like that most of the time,” I said.

  “Why are you making excuses for her?” Tyler asked as he drove.

  “Because I’ve known her for a long time. In fact, in middle school, we were best friends.”

  “That doesn’t give her the right to dump on us.” Tyler craned his neck for the street signs that would lead us out of Lucy’s neighborhood.

  Twenty minutes earlier, we’d picked her up at Cassandra Quinn’s house. It was just after two thirty, and through the brightly lit windows we could see that the party was still going strong. The front door had opened and Lucy stumbled across the lawn with the unsteady gait of someone who’d been intimate with Jell-O shots. I was surprised by that, considering th
e medications she was taking. And why had she called Safe Rides instead of rolling with Adam?

  She opened the back door and got in. “Take me home,” she grumbled. “And make it snappy.”

  Tyler started to drive, the hard-style techno blaring.

  “Would you turn that crap off?” Lucy demanded.

  Tyler turned the music down, but not off. I heard a telltale rustle from the backseat. Lucy had placed a cigarette in her lips.

  “No smoking, Lucy,” I said.

  “Drop dead,” she grumbled, and searched her bag for a light.

  Tyler looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Keep smoking and you’ll beat us to it.”

  Lucy harrumphed as she pulled out a green plastic lighter and thumbed it. A flame shot up. She lit the cigarette, rolled the window halfway down, and exhaled. Cold November air rushed into the car. I tightened my red cashmere scarf around my neck.

  “Could anything be more pathetic than this?” Lucy muttered. “Why are you chauffeuring people around on a Saturday night?”

  “It’s my community-service requirement,” I said. “How was the party anyway?”

  “Beside the huge fight I had with Adam?” Lucy said. “It sucked. Same old, same old, except for some FCC creeps. I so cannot wait for high school to end.”

  We rode in silence until Lucy looked into the rearview mirror and caught Tyler’s eye. “I know you. You’re the one who wears that black trench coat and always sits by yourself at lunch. A regular social butterfly.”