The Rules of Burken

by Traci Finlay

  That’s when I lost it. My foot shot out from under my blanket and kicked him in the chest. He fell backward, and I bounded out of bed, landing on top of him. He covered his head with his hands as my fists pounded against his body over and over. I punched and screamed and kicked and cried until I had nothing left, and he let me.

  I collapsed to my knees next to him, my whole body shaking with sobs. He slowly unfolded himself from his fetal position and managed to put his arm around my heaving shoulders. “I deserved that,” he whispered hoarsely.

  I jerked away and tried punching him again, but he caught my fist and held me down. “That’s enough.”

  “It wasn’t enough for Trevor, was it? He didn’t get to decide when his beating was over. You fucking hypocrite.” I hiccupped. “What the hell were you thinking, coming in here asking me to pretend this shit never happened? You realize Trevor’s in the hospital, right? You know the cops are going to question us. The whole town will know you kicked the shit out of him for no reason, and you want me to pretend it never happened? Ian, look at me.”

  I waited until his eyes were locked into mine before saying, “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

  He let go of my fist and lifted me to my feet, then squared himself in front of me. “I deserve all this, Chuck. I just need you to listen to me. I’ve never asked anything from you. I postponed going to U of M when Mom left to stay with you, right?”

  “Yeah, a million years ago. And I don’t think Trevor—”

  “But hold on, didn’t I give it up again once Chrissy died and Dad went to prison? Didn’t I throw the entire scholarship out the window? Didn’t I get a degree from Central Michigan, and pay for the entire damn thing? So I could stay here in Cadillac and raise you? I am responsible for you, and I didn’t trust Trevor.” His index finger was pointing at me now, and I was officially being lectured.

  I pushed his hand away. “That doesn’t give you the right to assault people because you’re my guardian and you don’t trust them! You could’ve killed him, Ian. Then what? Then my brother’s in jail, too? Then I’m all by myself? No, I’ve been through too much—”

  “And what about what I’ve been through, Charlotte? Everything’s always been about you. That’s what I’m trying to say! I’m dealing with the effects of everything that’s happened to us, too. Everything that’s happened to you has happened to me, too. You think you’re so alone in all your sorrows, well guess what? Hi! I know exactly what you’ve been through.” He paused. “And it fucking sucks.” His voice cracked, and I’ll be damned if Ian didn’t start crying. “And when I saw him with you, standing right outside that barn window, and Chrissy…”

  I remembered his rant from earlier, right after he beat Trevor up, his insane rambling about it being like the night Chrissy died. I didn’t understand…

  I crossed my arms. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

  Ian froze. “What?”

  “The night she died! Tell me what happened, Ian! Tell me how her death is related in any way to Trevor, because I’m not seeing it.”

  He limped over to my bed and sat down. “It’s not a pretty story, Chuck. It’d involve having to relive Chrissy’s death all over again, do you want to do that?”

  I started crying again, pitiful and whimpering. I threw my hands up. “I’m already broken, Ian. Hit me. Let’s hear it.”

  Ian hesitated as if he weren’t expecting that answer. Then he patted the bed next to him for me to sit, and I did. He sighed, and the atmosphere in the room shifted. “As you know, Chrissy and I had been dating just a few weeks, shortly after she turned eighteen. You were finishing up your shift at Ashby’s, and we were waiting for you to come home.”

  He gazed out the window, massaging his red, swollen fists. His face tightened in anger, but he swallowed it back down. “We were lying in that pile of hay. The one on the second floor of the barn. You know the one?”

  I nodded—we used to sleep in it as kids. I remembered being able to see the stars through the slats in the roof. I wondered if Chrissy was looking at those stars the night she died, and then I couldn’t breathe.

  “We lost track of time. It was late, you should’ve been home already. Chrissy was falling asleep, and I wanted to make sure you were here. I left her there, ran up to the house, and went in your room. You were sound asleep, and I waited around, wondering if I should wake you up or not. I decided to let you sleep and went back to the barn. Ten minutes I was gone. Ten minutes. And when I got back out there … are you sure you want to hear this?”

  I nodded, because I already couldn’t breathe; the knife was already in my chest, it just needed to finish the job.

  “When I got back out there, Dad had a plastic bag over her head—you know the ones the snowmobiles were wrapped in? He’d taken one and suffocated her.”

  My bone marrow felt like it was coagulating like the blood on Trevor’s face, and breathing would never come naturally again. If I ever recovered from this, I’d have to consciously force myself to breathe in, breathe out, every second of every day for the rest of my life.

  Ian grabbed my arm and shot off the bed, marching me to the window. He stabbed his finger toward the barn and yelled, “And he dropped her body out the window right there!”

  My eyes trailed from the second story window to the ground below, the image of Chrissy’s gorgeous, feminine corpse tumbling, lifeless and empty … right where Trevor’s body lay not long ago.

  And suddenly I realized that Ian’s experience with Chrissy’s death was so much worse than mine, and he never had a chance to mourn her. Because of me.

  Ian grabbed my chin and turned my head toward him. “Our mom’s gone and our dad’s in jail. You and I, we can’t even trust our own parents! Who’s left for us to trust? It’s you and me, kid.” His hand slipped from my chin, and he gazed back at the barn, like he was staring at her ghost on the ground.

  “Charlotte, our dad did that. To your best friend. My girlfriend. I watched it happen.” He turned to me, grasping my shoulders—he’d never looked so vulnerable. “Can you imagine how I felt when I saw you out there with Trevor, standing in the same spot where Chrissy’s body landed? If our own father could do something so evil…”

  “Ian, Trevor wasn’t going to kill me—”

  “I messed up, Chuck! I’m so sorry about Trevor—I was wrong, I shouldn’t’ve done it, but I lost it. I’ve never grieved her death because I’ve been trying to be strong for you, but I see what it’s done to me. I need help. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to Trevor and his family, okay? I’ll get counseling. I’ve caused a rift between us, and … you’re all I have left. I need you. Give me a second chance. Please forget this night. You’re my baby sister and if you don’t, I’ll kill myself. No one understands…”

  I’d never seen my brother cry. Not even when Chrissy died. I beheld him standing in front of me, broken and alone. Begging. Suicidal. He needed me just as much as I needed him. And he’d never once received the comfort and care I had.

  “I understand, Ian.” And I did—we were the only two people in the universe who’d gone through the things we had. I got it then, understood how and why he went insane and attacked Trevor. No one else ever would, but I did. I knew his torture.

  He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and heaved a sob that nearly broke me in half. “I would’ve married her, Charlotte. I loved her.”

  We switched roles that night; I rocked my shattered brother in my arms and reassured him—Shh, don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay—using the same words he used to comfort me when I was a little girl who lost her mother, then her best friend, then her father.

  “Ian?” I asked after several hours.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why’d he kill her?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh.” And I wondered how many other lies he told me that night.

  “There you have it. The Night That Never Happened.” I flutter air quotes around my face.

 
; “He’s right, Charlotte. You really are dumb.” Jack rubs his forehead like he suddenly has a headache. “He killed Chrissy. Don’t you see that?”

  I shake my head. “There’s no possible way.”

  “That weird little rant of his gave it away—he said you don’t know anything about that night. That you trust people you shouldn’t. Follow along here. Who do you trust more than anyone?” Jack says slowly.

  “Ian,” I whisper.

  “He said you were dependent just like Chrissy, and look where she ended up. He hated that you two were so close. He wanted you depending on him, not her. And that’s why he didn’t want you dating anyone, either.”

  “And he said that one day you’d end up dead, too,” Nikka pipes in. “And now he’s trying to murder you, just like he did Chrissy.”

  I’ve not stopped shaking my head. “Guys, that’s impossible. It was my dad. He’s in prison.”

  “He could’ve framed your dad. He’s crazy like that,” Jack says, swirling his finger near his temple.

  “And the fact that he actually wanted you to pretend that night never happened?” Nikka scoffs. “He nearly killed your boyfriend! He knew you were beyond pissed, that he went too far trying to control your dating. So he used Chrissy’s death to play on your emotions, to make himself the victim. And wow, it worked. You were comforting him by the end of the night.”

  Now Jack. “He knew he said too much during his rant that you could’ve put it together that he was involved in her death…”

  I stop listening. I’m living the nightmare all over again, only this time, in denial about my brother as the murderer instead of my dad. Maybe I need to stop being in denial about things. I was younger when it happened, and maybe then, ignorance was bliss. But now I’m older. I’ve been through too much to keep pretending things did and didn’t happen. I deserve closure, I deserve the truth. After all, I’ve been on the receiving end of every single one of these blows.

  “Jack, we have to turn around. Now.”

  He looks around. “You want me to turn the car around?”

  “Yes. I need to know if my brother killed my best friend, and if my dad’s in prison for no reason.”

  “How are you going to find out?” Nikka asks.

  “I need to find Ian.”

  “So the dress I bought matches perfectly with those shoes we got at Macy’s. Remember? Those Steve Madden ones?”

  I listened to Dana babble as I clutched the phone between my shoulder and my ear, absently cracking an egg into the lumpy brownie batter. “Yeah, I remember. Those silver ones,” I murmured.

  “Exactly!” Dana chirped. “I’m wearing those to Gavin’s party Friday. What are you going to wear?”

  I hesitated as I rotated a wooden spoon in the mixing bowl. “Mmm. I don’t have anything to wear. Ugh. I don’t even want to go.”

  Dana sighed. “Charlotte, you can borrow something of mine. Or! Let’s go shopping!”

  I tossed a measuring cup into the sink and switched ears. “Meh.”

  “Is this because of Ian?” Dana accused. “Are you seriously grounded again? Your brother’s stricter than both my parents put together.”

  I scoffed. “I’m not grounded! He just won’t let me use his truck. I’m talking on the phone, aren’t I?”

  “What about your dad’s car?”

  “It’s broken right now. That thing’s really old.”

  “I’ll pick you up!” Dana suggested.

  I made a face. “I just don’t know if I feel like going. Gavin’s kind of weird.” I endured Dana’s shocked silence.

  “Charlotte, Gavin is expecting you there.”

  “He invited me as a courtesy. He doesn’t care if I go or not; he’d probably rather I not go to avoid any standoffs with Ian.” Once word got out that Charlotte Stahl’s brother beat the hellfire out of Trevor, I may as well have announced that I had gonorrhea. Guys wouldn’t even make eye contact with me, and as much as Ian apologized to Trevor and his family, even shoveling out cash for medical bills, the damage was already done.

  I poured the batter into a glass pan and slid it in the oven, then twirled over to the kitchen table with the batter-slobbered spoon. “And speaking of Ian, he asked me for your number yesterday.” I grinned as I licked the spoon, imagining Dana’s eye-crossingly shocked expression on the other end.

  “I thought he was dating Melissa.”

  “Naw. They broke up last night.” I pitched the spoon in the sink and drew my feet up in the chair, fingering the hem of my pajama pants.

  “Wait, if they broke up last night, why was he asking for my number yester-day?” Dana asked.

  I rolled my eyes. Dana needed to thank her lucky stars she even made it into Ian’s contact list; she was not his type, and I wasn’t sure exactly what Ian was thinking. “Only you would calculate hours. I don’t know, Dana. Maybe he was planning on breaking up with her and was just one step ahead of the game. Just relax.”

  “I am relaxed,” Dana retorted. “I can’t believe Ian wants my number.”

  I gagged. “Um, know your audience! I’m the sister!”

  “But is he being serious? Like, does he seriously want to, you know, maybe date me? Or is he just making his rounds through your friends?”

  I stood and circled the room, doing a barefoot balancing act along the tile grout. “How should I know? I’m sure since you’re one of my closer friends, he’s seriously considering it. It’s usually the fad girls he doesn’t take seriously. He just dates them because he can.” I had no idea if that was true or not, but Dana’s voice was getting squeaky and her breathing was shallow, so I figured if she was going to have a panic attack she should hurry up and get it over with.

  Dana snorted. “You mean like Melissa?”

  “Yup. And Ashley. And the likes.” A knock on the back door startled me, and I spun around. “Dana, someone’s here. I gotta go.” I tossed my phone on the counter and scampered to the door, wondering what kind of idiot would knock on our back door. I peeked out the curtain, and speak of the devil. I opened it. “Hi, Ashley. The back door? Really?”

  “Sorry,” Ashley said softly as she glanced around the kitchen. “Ian’s not home, is he?”

  “No, he’s working. What’s up?” I stepped aside and Ashley snuck in like a mafia hitman and lowered herself in a chair.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asked, pinning her hands between her knees.

  “Uh, yeah.” This was weird. Ashley was three years older than I, and never spoke a word to me before she dated Ian. I assumed that once he broke up with her, I’d never have a conversation with her again. Much like the rest of the assembly line of manufactured girlfriends Ian recycled. “Want a drink?”

  Ashley nodded.

  I filled two glasses with water and set one in front of Ashley, sitting across from her and waiting. I took a sip.

  She cleared her throat and spread her hands on the table like manicured starfish. “Charlotte, I want to talk to you about Ian.”

  “Okay…”

  “Well, from one girl to another … I mean, I know we don’t know each other that well, but we both know Ian … well, you obviously more than I do. But we’re both um, familiar with his … temper.”

  Yes, Ian’s temper. We’ve met.

  “Has he … like … does he ever hit you?”

  “What? No! Why, did he hit you?”

  Ashley lowered her head toward her shoulder, regret drawing on her face like an Etch A Sketch. “Well, no. But … he came really close. I was really scared. I’ve never had a boyfriend act like that before. I know he and Melissa broke up yesterday, and I … I talked with her a little about her experiences, and they sounded similar to mine.”

  This girl was clearly a rookie to Ian’s temper. I, on the other hand, was a longtime veteran. I chewed on my smile. “Well, did you piss him off somehow?”

  Ashley looked like I’d hit her with a spit wad. “Uh, no.”

  “Sounds like you did. He doesn’t just snap for no reason
. He has to be”—I worked a dramatic pause, drumming my fingers on the table—“provoked.”

  Ashley scrunched her nose and shook her head thoughtfully. “I can’t think of anything that would constitute ‘provoking.’ I mean, we were having an argument. But nothing out of the ordinary.”

  I winced. “Oh, no. Were you nagging? Ian doesn’t do nagging.” Come on, their arguing wasn’t out of the ordinary? Like arguing was ordinary? I was glad when Ian traded her in. Even if it was for a whinier, more materialistic one.

  Ashley straightened up with resolve. “Charlotte, we need to talk. This is on behalf of me, Melissa, and the other girls who’ve ever dealt with Ian,” she said authoritatively, and this conversation just took an interesting turn I wasn’t prepared for.

  Now it was my turn to look surprised.

  “I don’t think you realize … it seems like you’re not…” The uncertainty of her motives was breaking through her badass façade, but she recovered quickly. “What does Ian do for a living?”

  I cocked my head. She knew the answer to this. “He is the Physical Education teacher over at McBain High School. And he’s the track and field coach.”

  Ashley nodded like I had played right into her trap. “Mm-hmm, and what about you? What do you do, Charlotte?”

  “I’m taking college classes.”

  “Yeah? Where?”

  I cleared my throat. “Online. Through Michigan State.”

  She nodded and propped her chin in her hand, and this was turning into an interrogation, that little trickster. “So you stay home and take college classes. You take care of the house, I presume?”

  I looked around the kitchen, the smell of brownies just as invasive as Ashley’s questioning, and nodded.

  “So Ian makes the money, and you take care of the house. That’s cute. What else do you do? For fun? Any extracurricular activities to get you out of the house? It must get boring here after a while, you know, since you’re not working, and only taking online classes.”

  I grinned because I was about to destroy the little picture she was painting. “Actually, I’m very involved with McBain’s track and field team. I help Ian coach. I’m his … assistant…” Damn. It sounded better before I said it.