by S. E. Green
“You were standing there listening?”
“Yes.”
“What’s up with Kevin?” I ask.
“Nothing. He’s just freaked about everything. He’s okay now. We’ll show Mom and Dad the blog tonight and then let them tell Crandall about it.”
“I’m sure he already knows,” I say. “Or if he doesn’t, he will soon. For that matter the reporters will, too.”
Travis sighs. “What a mess.”
“Apparently they’re crawling all over school, too. I don’t know if this more of a media circus or a witch hunt.”
Travis shakes his head in disgust. “Unfortunately, I think it’s slowly becoming a witch hunt, especially with all those photos that popped up.”
“Graduation’s this Saturday. You think this will be over by then?”
“God, I hope so,” he says. “Otherwise, I’m not going. They can mail me my diploma for all I care.”
Our doorbell rings, and Travis goes to answer it. Wade, our neighbor, stands there, and despite everything going on, I still smile. I’ve had a crush on him since he and I were in kindergarten and shared an oversized stuffed boot to learn how to tie our shoes. Wade’s one of those guys that is charming and gorgeous and genuine. He lives down the road just a ways and diagonal to Michelle’s house. He got a full ride baseball scholarship to UT, which just happens to be the same university I’m going to when I get back from my six months abroad.
And—I try not to get too excited over this detail—we’re in the same dorm. Granted different floors, but under the same roof.
Wade shoots me his trademark half-smile as he holds up a casserole dish, and it makes my stomach knot with all things good. “Mama said to drop this off,” he says.
Travis takes it. “Thanks, man. Want to come in?”
“Sure.” Wade strolls on in, just like he’s done a million times before, and slides up onto a kitchen barstool across from me. As I always do, I look first at his perfect lips.
I saw him kiss a girl one time at a field party, their mouths just a breath apart before he nibbled her bottom lip, and I couldn’t make myself look away. I wanted so desperately to be that girl. I still do, but he’s black and my parents would crap a brick. They like Wade, but they’re old school when it comes to race dating race. I can be Wade’s friend, but I can’t date him.
“So,” he looks between us, “cop in your driveway, reporters hounding, questionable pictures floating around. Should I even ask how life is?”
“Life pretty much sucks,” Travis tells him.
“Yep,” I agree. “So you saw the blog?”
Wade nods. “Someone texted me the link this morning, and it’s going viral. It’s like everyone is scrolling their phones and computers looking for anything on your family.” Wade pulls his phone out. “I just checked it again before I knocked on your door.” He shows us the link. “A new one of Kevin in a fight when he was in Little League. One of your uncle stumbling out of a bar. There’s even a scanned note your mom wrote home to one of her students. It wasn’t the nicest of notes, but hell, I know that kid, and he’s a little shit.”
“I don’t get it.” I wave my hand toward the phone. “These pictures. There’s nothing incriminating. This is normal stuff. Granted, not at our best moments, but nothing anybody else doesn’t do. Put it all together, though, and it does make us look horrible.”
“Well, for the record,” Wade says, “I don’t think your family secretly worships Satan.”
Travis gives a humorless laugh. “Thanks.”
I jump down off the barstool, knowing exactly what I want to do, and head for the front door.
“Where are you going?” Travis asks.
“To see Bee-Bee Doughtery. I can’t stand to think she’s seen these pictures and is questioning us, too.”
I’M HALFWAY DOWN the driveway when the cop yells, “Excuse me, Miss. Where do you think you’re going?”
Travis catches up to me. “Vickie, stop. This might not be a good idea.”
I keep walking. “I don’t care. Bee-Bee needs to know we’re here for her.”
“Excuse me!” the cop yells again.
I turn around. “I’m going to see Michelle’s mother. I’m assuming that’s okay?” Even I can hear the annoyance in my tone.
“Vickie,” Travis warns in a whisper.
“What?” I throw my hands up. “It’s his job to sit there and keep watch, not follow us or tell us where we can and can’t go. We’re not under house arrest.”
I turn back and keep right on down the gravel, more than aware both Wade and the cop are watching. More than aware my mom told me to have the cop escort us. But I don’t care. It’s not like I’m wandering far.
As I round the curve in our driveway, I realize Travis is still following, but there’s something different now. He’s not so much following, he’s right here with me. Like he’s absorbed my impatience and is just as frustrated as me. It’s been like that our whole lives. I suppose it has everything to do with the fact we’re twins. We tend to take on each other’s emotions.
“You’re right,” he says, taking lead now. “We’ve done nothing wrong, and we’re sure as hell not going to hide in our house.”
Our driveway is lined with trees, and the reporters haven’t seen us yet, but they are about to. We approach our gate that is usually always open but now sits closed. I assume Dad probably did that.
Slipping through, we step onto County Line Road. To the right and down the hill sits Michelle’s yellow house. Travis doesn’t pause in step and in fact picks up his pace.
“There they are!” someone yells, and I glance over my shoulder to see several reporters hurrying toward us.
“Let’s go,” I tell Travis, and we break into a sprint.
“Can you tell us what you saw?” one reporter calls out.
“Do you know how to gut a goat?” another asks.
“Didn’t you babysit that little girl?” yet another yells.
We ignore them as we race the last few yards and push through reporters crowded in front of the Doughtery’s lawn. Their house doesn’t sit far back like ours, and the reporters gather thick on the road behind us with their cameras filming as they collectively quiet down in anticipation of whatever is about to transpire. Travis and I hop the short white fence that borders their yard, and bypassing the front porch, we go straight to the back where we’ll have some privacy from the cameras.
Travis lifts his knuckles and knocks on the wooden door. “Bee-Bee, it’s me Travis and my sister Vickie. May we have a moment to speak with you?”
Silence.
He knocks again. “Bee-Bee?”
Silence.
Though I want to, I don’t glance around the corner of the house at the news crews. I hate that they’re filming this. I hate this whole thing. All of our lives suddenly on display for the whole world to see and pick apart. God, I wish I could charge at them and yell for them to go away.
No, I don’t glance around the side of the house, but my eyes do pull to the left where—in the corner of the back yard—sits Michelle’s red and yellow Little Tikes Cozy Coupe. The ghost of her giggle floats through the air and my gut clenches as I think of all the times I pushed her around the yard in that thing.
The door cracks open just a little, and my gaze jumps to the dark slit. I don’t see Michelle’s mom, only the dimness from inside her house where the curtains and blinds are drawn.
“Go away,” she whispers in a hoarse tone.
“Bee-Bee,” I say in a hushed voice. “We’re so sorry. Can we come in?”
“Go away,” she whispers again, her voice breaking into a sob that quivers through me.
“Bee-Bee,” Travis tries this time, but she only closes and locks the door.
I turn to my brother, about to tell him it’s going to be okay, but he drops his head, and I watch as his face crumbles into tears.
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, dad arrives home angrier than I have ever seen him.
“Wh
at in the world is wrong?” Mom asks.
Dad throws his keys across the room and they bounce off the wall and clank across the wood floor. “We lost the job!”
“What?” Mom gasps.
“Because of all this!” he shouts and paces across the living room. “Reporters and cameras. They were all over the job site today, and the guy who hired us didn’t really like it. So,” Dad throws his hands up, “we got fired. The money from that job was supposed to get us through the rest of the summer!” He claws his fingers through his hair and turns away.
I glance across the room to my two brothers who look as shocked as I feel. We just don’t see Dad like this.
He whips back around, his jaw clenched tight. “That’s not all. Have you seen all those pictures of us that are popping up everywhere? My God,” he says to Mom, “they have one of you and me at a Halloween party years ago. That one where we went dressed as an Angel and a Devil. And,” he turns angry eyes on me, “pot, Vickie, really?”
“We . . .” I look helplessly at my brothers. “We were going to talk to you about all of that tonight,” I murmur.
Dad jabs his finger at Kevin. “You, young man. Gas?”
Kevin drops guilty eyes to his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Sorry?” Dad snaps. “Sorry? That’s what you have to say?”
Mom holds her hands up. “Okay. Why don’t we all—”
“Child molester,” Dad interrupts her. “Someone vandalized Jerry’s car. They spray painted CHILD MOLESTER across the hood.”
Mom sucks in a breath. “Why would someone do that?”
“Because of those pictures. Someone posted one of him looking at some high school girls. God!” Dad yells.
No one says anything for a few seconds as we watch him angrily pace back and forth across the living room.
It’s the sound of gravel crunching that draws all of our gazes out the windows where several cars are pulling up our driveway.
Dad heads across the living room and yanks open the front door. “What now?”
We file out onto the porch to watch as cop cars and vans pull to a park, and uniformed people climb out. Detective Crandall crosses our lawn and takes the steps up to where my family is standing. He hands my father an envelope and says, “We have a warrant to search your home, the garage apartment, and your father’s farm house. We’re going to need all of you to stay right here on the porch.”
He doesn’t give my parents a chance to respond, he simply waves his people in, and I watch in horror as they file into our house with bags and boxes and begin searching through and collecting our things.
THEY ARE IN our home and all over our property for hours while my family plus Uncle Jerry sit helplessly on the porch being guarded by a cop. They take garbage, personal items, books, and anything else they want. Laptops, phones, journals, files, and so much more it’s impossible to list. Though I haven’t been to PaPaw’s, I know the exact same thing is going on over there.
An investigator walks by me, carrying a box with Travis’s iPad right on top, and I turn to my dad. “How is this allowed? What exactly do they think they know? Do they think one of us did this?”
Dad just sighs. “I don’t know. As soon as they leave,” he says to Uncle Jerry and Mom, “we need to have a meeting of the minds with Pops.”
They both nod, and I glance through the early evening beyond our property and down to County Line Road. At least with the thick trees, the news crews hopefully won’t be able to get too much film. I look up at the dusky sky, half expecting a helicopter to fly by. At this point, it really wouldn’t surprise me.
Eventually the cops leave, including the one who was parked in our driveway keeping watch. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that he’s been dismissed from his duty post. Weirdly, his absence doesn’t make me feel unsafe, it makes me feel more liberated.
My parents, along with Uncle Jerry, head over to PaPaw’s, leaving me and my brothers to clean up. But none of us do. We just stand in the living room, dazed at the mess, not even sure where to start.
Michelle’s murder, the gossip, the reporters, our house being upended . . . it’s too much. I need out of here. I feel like I can’t breathe. I step through a pile of papers and walk straight out the front door.
“Where are you going?” Kevin calls.
I shrug. “Anywhere but here.”
I’m not quite sure why, but I head straight for the woods, grabbing my dad’s Winchester from the garage as I go. I haven’t even been to the murder scene, the last place Michelle was, the catalyst for all of this that has now happened to me and my family.
It’s only when I’m half way in and can see the yellow crime scene tent up ahead, that I stop, and it really hits me that I’m in the woods. Just yards from where Michelle was murdered. What am I doing in here? The killer hasn’t been found yet. These woods are big enough. He, or she, could still be hiding out in here.
No, that’s not possible. The police combed these woods. There’s nobody in here. The killer wouldn’t have come back. Yet even as I think this, the thin hairs on my arms prickle. Anyone can step into these woods at any time. There is no fence. I’ve never thought about that before. Never worried. Never needed to. But now I do.
Slowly, my hand goes down to cock the rifle, and just as slowly I turn a circle as my gaze darts from shadow to tree.
One of the shadows move, and I lift the rifle as Travis emerges. “What the hell, Vickie?”
I lower the gun. “You really should’ve called out.”
“And you really shouldn’t have taken off,” he points out.
I look beyond him. “Where’s Kevin?”
“Cleaning.” Travis moves past me, flipping on a small flashlight, even though the sun hasn’t completely gone down yet.
I follow him off the path and over a dirt mound to where the yellow crime tent sits erect, and with each step closer to the site of Michelle’s murder, my heart thuds deeper in my chest. Our feet drag a few last paces through the pine needles until we come to a side-by-side halt.
Travis shines his light down to the ground, and my eyes drift over the red stained dirt and leaves as nausea roils through me at what caused that discoloration. If it would’ve rained, that would be gone by now with the run off. But as it is, it’s dark and ugly and nothing but a grotesque reminder of what transpired here just days ago.
Michelle’s scream echoes through the trees and ricochets through my brain, and I shake my head to get rid of it. Then a low guttural sound builds next, a throaty one, very deep and haunting, and I look over at Travis, but he doesn’t seem to hear anything as he stands beside me, staring down at the ground beneath the tarp.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Travis whispers, and my head immediately clears. “It was awful. So horrible.”
I put my arm around him and squeeze. Other than the morning he came bolting from the woods, this is the first time he’s mentioned it. “Maybe you can speak with PaPaw about it all.” It would do Travis good to talk through the whole thing.
He nods. “I will. Just need a little time to process first.”
I give his shoulders another squeeze to let him know I heard him, and as we turn to head back, something rustles through the leaves, and I automatically lift the shot gun again.
Another flashlight flicks through the dusky early evening, and Bee-Bee Doughtery steps around a tree and into the small clearing. “It’s only me,” she says, her voice sounding tiny and exhausted.
She gives us both a tired look, and I wonder if she’s even slept. I watch as she slowly lowers herself to sit on the ground just outside of the tent and stares at the spot where her daughter was murdered.
Her expression doesn’t come across near as distraught or sickened as I thought it would, and I suspect she’s already been here to mourn. For all I know this could be her daily ritual, coming here to grieve.
Travis and I respectfully stand for a second, staring down at her. I want to bring up the gossi
p surrounding my family and make sure she knows it’s not true. I want to bring up earlier when we visited her home and she wouldn’t let us is. I want to tell her how sorry I am. All of these things go through my head, but in the end I decide we should probably leave and let her be alone.
Which is exactly what I’m about to do when she quietly speaks, “Mark, my ex-husband, Michelle’s father, I think he may know who did this.”
“WHAT ARE YOU talking about?” Travis asks Bee-Bee.
“What am I doing?” She shakes her head and looks away. “I shouldn’t have said that to you two.”
I take a step toward her. “Have you told Detective Crandall that?”
She closes her eyes. “Yes, but I don’t know what’s going on. No one is telling me anything.” Her eyes open and the desperation in them is so profound that all I want to do is help her. “I even went over to Mark’s trailer,” she says, “but he wasn’t there. For all I know he’s left town.”
I want to ask her more about Mark, but all I can think is that not only does she look desperate, but also infinitely sad. And so very alone. I know she doesn’t have any family. Michelle was it for her. Really, we were it for her. She doesn’t have anybody else.
“Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go find everyone.” If I can’t help her, my family sure can try.
Together the three of us walk the rest of the way through the woods to PaPaw’s where I assume my parents and Uncle Jerry still are.
Mark, the ex. His big bushy beard is the first thing that pops into my mind. He’s worked for my dad and uncle off and on over the years. More off than on, though. I’ve seen him here and there, but other than passing hellos, I haven’t really ever talked to him. He’s kind of a weird guy in that I’ve seen him talking to himself a few times. He also has this strange habit where he taps the side of his forehead with his middle and index fingers in rapid succession.
Him and Bee-Bee got divorced when Michelle was just a baby, and he never came around much when I was there babysitting. But I assume he must be a good dad because Michelle would babble on and on about them swinging together, or making cupcakes, or coloring in one of her books.
