by S. E. Green
I expect Dad to reprimand me for being disrespectful to Crandall, but he doesn’t, and I watch as Crandall narrows his eyes at me. What, is he going to arrest me for leaking stuff to the press? He can’t do that, or at least I don’t think he can.
Mom comes down the hall, her wet hair combed back, and dressed in shorts and an oversized tee. Just the sight of her helps me breathe easier.
Carefully, she takes in the room. “What’s going on?”
“Good, you’re all here,” Crandall says, looking back at me. “Questioning your family. I’m glad you brought that up, because I agree. My investigation does seem to continually cycle back to the people in this room. Alibis. Let’s talk about those. See, I know the answers to everything, and if I don’t, I’ll get them. When are you all going to figure that out?”
“Detective Crandall,” Dad says, annoyance clear in his tone. “Will you please just tell us why you’re here?”
He gives a superior nod. “I would like to know why if everyone in this room is so innocent that you continuously hide things from me?”
Though I want desperately to look at Travis, I don’t. There’s no way Crandall could know about the landfill.
Holding a file folder, he paces further into our living room. “Let’s start with Travis, the young man who found Michelle’s body. Where did you say you were that night?”
Travis looks over to our dad, and I can tell by his trapped expression that he lied. He wasn’t asleep in our house, like he said. He was somewhere else.
The detective doesn’t give Travis a chance to respond, and instead he pulls a picture out and flings it onto the coffee table. I glance down to see a hazy photo taken at night. There’s a bonfire with several naked people dancing. A few are engaged in group sex, and some have something red smeared on them.
Crandall doesn’t take his eyes off of Travis. “You and your girlfriend participated in an orgy involving chicken blood.”
I gasp.
Travis drops his head.
Dad just stares at the picture.
Uncle Jerry finally moves, taking a step closer to us all. “That doesn’t mean he killed Michelle.”
The detective nods. “Onto you then. Would you like to amend where you were the night Michelle was murdered?”
“No,” Uncle Jerry says. “I told you, I was at a bar playing pool. Tons of people saw me.”
The detective reaches inside of his folder and pulls out another photo and tosses it onto the coffee table, too. “Yes, you were at a bar but afterwards you went over to Bee-Bee’s home.”
I glance down at the picture. It’s dark out, but I can clearly see Uncle Jerry carrying Michelle out to his car.
“Want to tell me what that’s all about?” Crandall prompts.
Shaking his head, Uncle Jerry turns away. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get Bee-Bee in trouble.”
“You better tell me now,” the detective warns.
Uncle Jerry turns back. “Yes, I went over. I have a key to her place. She wasn’t there. I found Michelle asleep in her bed. I took her with me because I know sometimes Mark comes by unannounced and he would’ve erupted if he’d found Michelle alone. I left a note and brought her here to my garage apartment. I put her down on the couch and fell asleep in the recliner next to her. When I woke up Michelle was gone. Bee-Bee said she came and got her sometime during the night.”
Crandall’s brow goes up. “Does Bee-Bee normally just go off in the night and leave her four-year-old daughter alone in the house?”
Uncle Jerry answers with an emphatic, “No. She said she had a horrible headache and made a quick trip to the store to get some medication. She knew she wasn’t going to be gone but twenty minutes. She said she had a hard time getting Michelle to sleep and didn’t want to wake her.”
It all sounds plausible, but I would have never left Michelle sleeping alone. I’m surprised to hear that Bee-Bee did. That doesn’t sound like her at all.
Crandall turns to my dad next. “Your turn. Care to amend your whereabouts on the night of Michelle’s murder?”
Dad reaches up and rubs his neck. “Why don’t you just go ahead and flaunt whatever lie it is you caught me in.”
Crandall gives yet another lofty nod. “You said you spent the night at your father’s when in fact you and your father were camping in the woods. I don’t have a picture to prove that, but would you like to know how I know this?”
Dad’s fingers press even harder into his neck, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Mr. Sheeney, the man who owns the dairy farm that borders your father’s woods. He said he was out walking his property that night, saw two people in the woods and went to inspect. When he realized it was you and your father, he turned around and went home.” The detective lifts those stupid brows of his again. “Would you like to tell me why you lied?”
“Because, how would that have looked?” Dad defends himself. “Yes, my father and I went camping that night as we’ve done a million times before. Those woods are enormous. We were nowhere near where Michelle’s body was found.”
“Well, I guess we don’t know that for sure, do we?” the detective challenges. “We don’t know that about any of you.” He looks at me. “Except you and Kevin. You both said you were here in your house asleep, and as of right now, I can’t prove otherwise. So for now, I have to assume you two are telling the truth.”
“We are,” Kevin says, and everyone in the room turns toward the kitchen where my younger brother has come out of his room.
“How did you get these pictures?” Dad wants to know.
Crandall smirks. “There are cameras everywhere.” He points to the photo of Travis. “Taken from a phone.” He points to the one of Uncle Jerry. “Taken from a neighbor’s security camera.”
He pulls out one final picture, and I immediately recognize it as the one from Facebook. I look up at Uncle Jerry and he closes his eyes.
“I spy,” Crandall begins, “several faces I know. Oh, we have Jerry and Edwin and the Doughtery’s and look here, one Daniel James—the man who slaughtered all of those cats and then shot himself in the head. There are a few other faces I don’t recognize, but it’s only a matter of time before I figure it out. You all are younger, sure, but there you are.”
He slings the picture onto the coffee table, and my vision narrows in on it. Daniel James. In prison for ritualistic rape. Responsible for that horrible scene in the woods. Uncle Jerry, Bee-Bee, Mark, Edwin… they all knew him.
Dad picks the picture up. “Where was this taken?”
“Here,” Uncle Jerry says. “Listen. Yes, we all knew Daniel James back in high school, but he left as soon as he graduated and none of us have heard from him since.” He nods to the picture. “That was just a bunch of us in the woods a very long time ago, meditating.”
“Really?” Crandall scoffs. “The great thing about working in law enforcement these days is all the technology available. We can zoom in, re-image, digitize, etcetera. Imagine my surprise when we re-imaged and found your little circle here all sitting on top of a giant pentagram carved into the dirt and covered with leaves.”
“This is bullshit!” Uncle Jerry snaps. “We were just a bunch of kids screwing around and being stupid. We used to do Ouija, too, just like every other kid. Does that mean everyone who plays that board game is a Satanist? No, it does not.”
Crandall cocks his head. “Then why did you ask Edwin to take it off Facebook? If it was so innocent—”
“For this exact reason!” Uncle Jerry yells. “With everything going on, I knew this would look bad. Plus…”
“Yes?” Crandall prompts, but Uncle Jerry doesn’t go on, like he realizes what he was about to say was too much. “Why don’t we try it this way,” Crandall says. “How long did this go on?”
“For me and Bee-Bee and the others, only a few times, but Mark and Daniel, well, they really got into it, and it sort of freaked us out.” Uncle Jerry sighs. “I didn’t want to say anything becaus
e it was so long ago, and like I said, we were just kids, and frankly I haven’t thought about Daniel in years. I had no clue he was in prison.”
My head starts to buzz with all of it. The false alibis, the pictures, the lies.
“Are you making an arrest?” Dad asks.
“Oh, you’ll know when I’m making an arrest,” Crandall taunts.
AFTER DETECTIVE CRANDALL leaves, dad says he wants to speak to Travis alone, and I can only assume it has everything to do with the photo of him engaged in that bizarre scene with the chicken blood and the naked bodies. I’m trying not to be naïve here but the things him and Honey are involved in are not normal. I would categorize them more as dangerous. Experimenting with another couple is one thing, but the scene in that photo went way beyond experimentation into something much more involved.
“We didn’t kill any chickens,” Travis assures us, but still, I really don’t know what to say, what to think.
What I do know is that I don’t want to be the type of person who manipulates others and uses sex, and that’s exactly what I’ve done with Wade. I’ve used him to escape. To forget. Not that he wasn’t a willing participant, but our first time, my first time should have been different I think.
All of those thoughts are what has me knocking on Wade’s front door that evening. His parents are home. Their car is in the driveway. I don’t want to hide my relationship with him anymore. I hope he feels the same way.
As I stand and wait, I glance around the other houses sprinkled up and down County Line Road. Since the anonymous letter hit, the press have been gathered along our property and haven’t come down this way to Michelle’s house. All the focus is completely on us, and I’m glad my letter didn’t backlash on Bee-Bee.
My gaze naturally trails over to her small home. There’s a light on inside. I think of that picture of Uncle Jerry carrying Michelle out and realize with sudden clarity that it was taken from this direction. I turn and look up at the corners of Wade’s home to see a security camera attached in the top left up close to the roof. I didn’t realize his parents had a security system. So does that mean they submitted that picture of Uncle Jerry to the cops?
His door opens, and there Wade stands, smiling. “Well, hi.”
I point up to the camera. “Did you guys give the cops the film from that thing?”
Wade looks a little surprised by the question. “They requested it the day after Michelle was murdered.” He tilts his head. “Why, did they find something on it?”
“Just a picture of Uncle Jerry,” I say, but I don’t go into details because that’s not why I’m here.
“Everything okay?”
With a nod, I glance past him into his house, making it obvious I’d like an invite in. “I hope it’s not too late.”
“Nah. It’s all good. But,” he lowers his voice, “my parents are home and awake, so no funny business,” he jokes.
I laugh at that. “Okay. Was hoping we could talk?”
He steps aside and waves me in. His parents are back in the kitchen, and I follow him there. “Mom, Dad, we’re going to hang out in my room.”
“Oh, hi Vickie!” his mom says. “How are you?”
“I’m doing good,” I reply, though of course I’m not. How can I be? There’s nothing about my life right now that is “doing good”. I glance at Wade. Except for him.
“You kids want some cookies or something?” she asks and I can’t help but smile. Wade’s eighteen, I’m almost eighteen. I love that she just offered us cookies.
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
Wade nods to his bedroom. “We’ll be in there if you need us.”
His parents give us a wave and we head into his room. He leaves his door cracked, giving me a playful cringe, “It’s the rule,” but he still reaches for me and pulls me in for a quick nuzzle that I happily accept. When he pulls back he links fingers with me and leads me over to the bed, and we sit down across from each other on his silver and brown comforter.
“So, what’s up?” he asks.
I think of Travis and Honey and whatever it is they’re experimenting with. I think of my dad and his one night stand. Of Uncle Jerry’s on and off again relationship with Bee-Bee. Of Mark and Bee-Bee and their tumultuous relationship.
No, that’s not what I want, none of that, and not until the past couple of weeks did I fully understand my own needs. I know now I want one person and one person only. I want a relationship and love. I want to laugh and have fun. I want a boyfriend. I’m ready for one.
I look down at our hands and turn his over to run my index finger along the lines in his palm. I love the color contrast of our skin—mine light and freckly and his dark and beautiful. I decide to be completely honest and blunt. “Wade, I have had a crush on you since forever. What’s happened between us twice now, I’ve fantasized about for so many years. I’m so, so happy that you were my first. There’s no other person I would’ve wanted it to be with.”
I bring my eyes up to meet his dark ones, and in them I see both happiness and hesitation. I don’t know what he expects me to say, but I hate the hesitation part. “The truth is,” I go on, “I used you both times, and I’m sorry for that. I’m dealing with a lot right now, and I needed to escape, and somehow I ended up here. But that’s not how I see you. I see you as so much more, and I’m hoping you and I can go on an actual date?”
Wade’s face curves up into this awesome smile that I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before, and my heart tumbles at how gorgeous it is. “Girl,” he chuckles, “I didn’t know what you were trying to say. I thought you were breaking things off and I was getting ready to beg.”
“What?” I laugh.
He tugs me toward him and plants a quick kiss to my lips. “You’re not the only one with the long time crush.”
My face warms. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Why do you think I came over so much to ‘hang out’ with Travis?”
I give him a playful shove. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. I have had it bad for you for so long. So, YES, to the date, and yes to whatever else, and just because we had,” he lowers his voice, “sex, doesn’t mean we have to do it again. We can totally back track, date, flirt, and then move on to more,” he bounces his brows, “whenever we’re ready.”
I don’t have to look in the mirror to know I have the biggest grin of my life right now. “So you’ll wait for me? You know I leave next week for that world community service project.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely wait.”
I grin even bigger. “I want to tell my parents, is that okay?”
“Of course, but you and I both know they don’t want you dating a black guy, and to be honest, my parents don’t want me dating a white girl.”
I wince.
“So,” Wade continues, “we’ll just have to roll with it. But I’m ready for that.”
“Me, too,” I agree.
He gives me another quick kiss. “Now how about those cookies?”
I laugh. “Sure. And do you have a hoodie? Your parents have the air cranked really low.”
Wade nods to his closet before heading out, and with my smile still in place I stroll over to it and open the door. I run my fingers across his clothes and listen to the hangers catch and click on the metal rod, and then I lean in and inhale the subtleness that is Wade. I wonder if he were to walk back in right now if he’d think I was weird sniffing his things. Yes, probably, but I don’t care.
I grab a grey hoodie and slip it on and wander over to his window. Parting his blinds, I glance over to Bee-Bee’s house and there sits Mark’s car in her driveway. What the…I thought he left?
Wade comes back in. “Mom insisted we have both chocolate chip and raisin.”
I turn around. “I have to go.”
His smile slides away. “What? Why?”
Leaning up, I kiss his cheek and slide past him and into the hall. If I don’t go now, Mark might leave again, and I’ll never get to talk to him.
/>
IN THE DARK I cross the road over to Bee-Bee’s house, and as I start up the front porch, voices, hushed and low filter around from the back yard. I follow them, telling myself I’m not creeping, I’m not eavesdropping, but knowing full well that I am.
“How many times did you leave Michelle alone in the house?” Mark demands.
“Just that once,” Bee-Bee says.
“I don’t believe you.”
“And I don’t care,” Bee-Bee snaps.
“The cops asked me all about that fight we had,” he tells her, and silence falls thick in the air.
“You didn’t,” she angrily whispers many seconds later.
“I didn’t have a choice. What do you want me to do? Lie to them?”
“But that was a mistake,” she pleads. “Neither one of us was ready.”
“You aborted my baby and you didn’t even tell me! Then you have the audacity to get mad at me when I confront you about it?”
Bee-Bee doesn’t respond to that, and I hear one of them pace away.
“I showed them the scar,” his says next.
“I apologized for that.”
“It doesn’t matter, Bee-Bee. You threw a fucking brick at my head!”
“I said I was sorry,” she bites off.
“Well, don’t be surprised if the cops come knocking because I have told them everything I suspect.”
She laughs. “Please. No one believes anything you say. Everyone thinks you’re schizoid.”
He doesn’t respond to that, and several tense seconds go by.
“I should’ve never married you,” she says, her voice low and angry.
“Believe me the feeling is mutual.”
“Oh, fuck you. You were lucky to get me,” she snips.
He scoffs. “All you’ve done is lie your narcissistic ass off all over this town. Everyone thinks you’re such a good mother.”
“Get the hell off my property,” she commands.
“Gladly, and you know what? She was my daughter, and I will find a way to prove the things I suspect.”
