The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly

by Meredith Tate

  When a commercial comes on, the little girl shakes out of her trance. “Abby!”

  Something thuds in the distance. “Be right there, Cass.” A toilet flushes.

  Cassie. That’s it.

  “What time is Mommy coming home?”

  “Easy does it, I gotcha,” Abby’s voice says softly from another room. A clicking sounds in time with footsteps, and her dad comes around the corner, pushing a walker. Abby follows behind, rolling an oxygen tank. Jeez. He can’t be more than fifty, but he looks at least twenty years older. It hits me that he’s sick—maybe the same disease as Mom, maybe different, but still. He’s sick. That’s something Abby and I always had in common, and I never knew it. She’s never mentioned him, and I never talk about my mom.

  Abby smiles at her sister. “What is it, sweetie?”

  “What time is Mommy coming home?”

  “She gets off at one tonight.” Abby helps her dad into the velour armchair; he grunts when his butt hits the cushion.

  Cassie pouts. “Can I stay up to see her?”

  “Nope. In fact . . .” Abby pulls out her phone. “It’s almost eleven, and it’s a school night. Bedtime.”

  “But—”

  “Nope.” Abby shuts off the TV, which is met by a longer groan from Cassie. “Go and brush your teeth. Mom will kiss you good night when she gets home, okay?”

  “Do what your sister says,” their dad grumbles, his eyelids hanging heavy over his eyes.

  Cassie gives an exaggerated huff before slogging down the hall as slowly as humanly possible.

  “Can you put on the news?” Abby’s dad asks, his voice scratchy.

  Abby sinks onto the couch and turns the TV back on, flipping through the channels until she arrives at CNN. The reporter’s voice fills the room, but I tune it out.

  Abby’s eyes glaze over, and I’m pretty sure she’s not even paying attention to the TV. Exhaustion covers her face like a mask. Finally, she grabs the physics textbook off the coffee table, flips to the right page, and starts making notes on her phone.

  I sit beside her, reading over her shoulder. She’s studying Newton’s third law.

  I never got to this assignment. I’d been planning to read it over the weekend, and look how that turned out.

  This is so weird. Abby hardly ever does her homework, and I always assumed she just didn’t care. But by the way she’s clearly forcing her eyes to stay open, I realize: she always cared. She just cares about other things more.

  “Hey, Abby.” I touch the textbook, feeling the smooth paper beneath my fingertips. “I wish I’d gotten to know you better when I had the chance. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend.”

  She doesn’t look up. I don’t know why I never tried to get to know her better. I guess I never wanted to. The closer you get to someone, the more painful it is when they stab you in the back. If you don’t trust anyone but yourself, then there’s no one there to let you down.

  I wish I had done it anyway.

  “Take care of yourself.” A pit forms in my chest as I stand up. “Bye, Abby.”

  I think of Jaclyn.

  The room disintegrates around me.

  Soon I’m in another apartment, standing in a kitchen with cracked tile floors and various posters tacked up on the walls.

  I’ve been inside Jaclyn’s parents’ house before, once, when I picked her up. This isn’t it.

  A door at the end of the hallway is cracked open, and hushed voices drift through. I tiptoe over and peek inside.

  Jaclyn’s lying on her back on the bed in jeans and a bra, texting. Her phone casts a light glow in the otherwise dark room. She’s always had resting bitch face, but she looks especially pissy right now.

  At the other end of the room, a sleazy-looking guy in a dirty white tank top and boxers slouches in his desk chair, his face slumped against his hand. I recognize him instantly; Jaclyn left with him after we went to Liam’s on Thursday.

  “You should probably go.”

  Without a word, Jaclyn sits up and whips on her sweater. It’s a different one from the shirt she’d worn to Liam’s on Thursday.

  “I don’t get what the big deal is,” the guy continues.

  Jaclyn adjusts her shirt. “I told you I wasn’t ready.”

  “You didn’t need to lead me on like that. One second we’re making out, and the next second you’re screaming at me.”

  I already hate this guy and I don’t even know him.

  “You kept pushing my head toward your crotch,” Jaclyn snaps. “I told you no. I wouldn’t call that screaming at you.”

  “Well, then you shouldn’t have come over tonight.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” She grabs her purse off the floor. “Clearly that was a mistake.”

  “I mean, you’re all over me, climbing on top of me, what do you think that does to a guy? You can’t just stop because you change your mind halfway through—that’s so unfair to me.”

  “She’s allowed to change her mind,” I snap, even though he can’t hear me.

  “I mean, you’ve fucked half the town, but suddenly you’re not interested in me?” He snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Just because I’ve had sex before doesn’t mean I’m up for grabs for everyone that wants it.”

  The guy huffs. “Just get out.”

  Jaclyn grabs her coat from where it was balled up on the floor and shoves a lock of dyed-blond hair behind her ear. “So, what now?” There’s an unspoken plea hidden in her voice. “We still hanging out tomorrow?”

  “You wasted my night, what do you mean, ‘what now?’ Nah, I’ve got shit to do tomorrow.”

  Her face falls, and I can see his words had the effect he intended.

  Jaclyn sweeps past me and charges out the bedroom door. The guy turns his attention back to his phone.

  I wish I could rip the phone out of his dirty fingers and crush it on the ground.

  I follow Jaclyn out of the apartment; she slams the door, and the crash reverberates in the narrow hallway. Jaclyn presses her back to the door and closes her eyes, her chest heaving.

  “Oh, Jaclyn.” I crouch beside her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He’s not worth it.”

  I sit beside her for at least ten minutes while she cries into her hands. Finally, when an old guy exits the apartment across the hall and gives Jaclyn the harshest glower ever, she gets up and heads to her car. I stand beside her while she digs through her purse, looking for her keys.

  “I think you and Abby are the closest things I had to friends. I wish I’d known that at the time.” I squeeze her shoulder before she climbs into her car. “Goodbye, Jaclyn.”

  She clicks the ignition, and I feel myself slipping away.

  There are so many people I owe apologies to, but I don’t have time for all of them. So I visit the most recent one—Kaitlyn Kennedy.

  She’s home now, lying on her bed in a bedroom that looks like a fairy vomited pink shit everywhere.

  Kaitlyn’s fingers dance across her phone, and I’m not surprised to see Ivy’s name make an appearance in the nasty texts she’s sending to half a dozen people. I scowl, because really?

  “Hey, bitch, looks like you’re going to get your wish.” I cross my arms, watching her type. “I’ll be dead within a few hours.”

  Kaitlyn’s pink-socked feet tap along to the music playing softly from her iHome. Her lips mouth the song lyrics, two beats late. I can’t stand her.

  Shouts erupt in the hallway outside her closed bedroom door. An angry woman’s voice, followed by an angrier man. Kaitlyn’s mouth thins to a tight line across her face. She clicks the volume on her iHome, and the music gets louder.

  “. . . don’t know why I even stay here,” shouts the woman. “You’re nothing but a bum.”

  “So leave!” shouts the m
an. “Get the hell out.”

  “I pay the mortgage every month. Why don’t you leave, you dirty bastard?”

  Kaitlyn toggles the volume up some more, until the music pounds so loud, I can feel it in my bones. But it still doesn’t drown out the rage outside her door. I’ve done that before—I’ve blared my headphones to the precipice of obliterating my eardrums, just to escape.

  Maybe Kaitlyn and I aren’t so different.

  I grind my foot into her pink carpet. “We shouldn’t have ganged up on you last week.”

  She nods her head in time with the music, trying to lose herself in the notes.

  “It was a dick move, and I’m sorry. I deleted the picture, which I didn’t tell you, obviously, but I did. It’s gone. I’m still glad Ivy hit you, because you totally deserved it, but I’m sorry. I hope you have a nice life.” The moment I say it, it’s like a weight’s lifted off me.

  Kaitlyn’s eyes flick up, and for a moment, I swear they lock with mine. But it’s short-lived, and soon, she slides giant headphones over her ears and closes her eyes. I can still hear the music pounding through them.

  Looking back, there are lots of other people I should probably visit. But time isn’t a luxury I have right now, so I go home instead.

  A shroud of silence covers the house, but I already know everyone’s still awake. That’s how my family is. We can exist in separate rooms, our paths never crossing.

  Kathy’s sitting at the kitchen table, both hands cradling her phone. Her ringtone fills the air, one of those annoying generic iPhone ringers that everyone has. His name flashes across the screen. She stares at it for a good thirty seconds before laying it facedown on the table, unanswered.

  I pull up a chair and slump down next to her. “So, you probably realize I hate you. And I don’t forgive you.” My eyes dart to the crucifix hanging on the wall in the living room. I hope Jesus really is as forgiving as they told us in church, because I’m pretty sure he’d frown upon this, and if he exists, I’m like eight hours from meeting him.

  Kathy pinches the bridge of her nose.

  “But if you’re going to be here with Dad and Ivy, I hope you pull it together. They’re good people, and they deserve the best— especially my sister. Don’t ever hurt them, or I will haunt your ass.”

  I go into the foyer and turn my back to the wall. I’m about to head upstairs, but I stop. Slowly, I turn to face it. It’s Chris’s graduation picture, and he’s wearing that ugly crimson mortarboard. He’s got a wide smile, full of bright, shiny teeth. I think people assume monsters will always look like monsters, but they rarely actually do.

  I stand and stare at him. “You don’t control my life anymore.”

  Then I turn around and walk upstairs.

  Pumpernickel is curled in a ball at the top, his face pointed so he can see down the stairs, a direct view of the front door. No matter how many times I left, he was always waiting for me when I came home again. I reach down and scratch his ears. “Be a good boy, okay? No stealing socks. I love you.” I kiss the top of his fuzzy head, and I swear his tail gives a slight wag.

  I visit Dad next. Shocker, he’s in his room, sitting up in bed, watching Pulp Fiction on his laptop. I roll my eyes; he’s seen it a zillion times and can probably recite every line from memory. My dad always sleeps in sweatpants and a T-shirt, regardless of the temperature. I look into his brown eyes, and it’s like looking in a mirror. I used to hate that I got my dad’s eyes; I wanted pretty blue eyes like my mom and Ivy.

  I watch him for a few minutes, not really sure what to say. There are some people you can go months or years without talking to, and when you reconnect, it’s like nothing has changed. Then there are other people where regular communication with them is like watering a plant; if you don’t talk, the leaves wilt, and the relationship deteriorates until you’ve got nothing but a dead stem and a handful of dried-up petals. My dad and I are the second one.

  Dad pushes his laptop to the side. He gets out of bed and pulls an old school photo of me off his dresser. I was in fourth grade then, with long hair and horrible braces. I’m not sure why he never replaced it with an updated picture. Maybe to him, that’s when I was still young and innocent and worth loving.

  Dad holds the picture to his chest and closes his eyes. A sob ripples through his body and he buckles, collapsing back to the bed in tears. I haven’t seen my dad cry since Mom’s funeral.

  I feel like death is supposed to be a time for forgiveness. Letting things go.

  I want to tell him I forgive him. That it’s all okay.

  I try to form the words. He didn’t know what happened at the meeting, and if he had known what it was about, maybe he would’ve missed work. But the words won’t come. Sometimes I wondered how that meeting would’ve gone if Dad had shown up. There were so many times after Mom died when Dad would leave for work on a weekend or holiday, and I’d want to look him in the eyes and say “Choose me,” but I never did, so he never did, either.

  In church, they used to tell us to forgive everybody for everything, because Jesus does. Maybe it would be easier to live like that. Maybe if I were a better person, forgiveness would come easy.

  But the truth is, maybe not every sin is forgivable.

  “I wish you’d been there,” I say instead. “I wish you’d stood up for me. You weren’t the father you should’ve been.”

  The laptop keeps playing softly in the background.

  “I hate how you changed after Mom died. It’s like you stopped trying, and we needed you. I needed you.”

  “I’m sorry, Autumn.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing down, then up. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

  I close my eyes. It’s the first time he’s ever apologized to me, and technically I’m not even here.

  “I love you, Dad.” I reach out to touch him, but my hand just hovers in the air. “Goodbye.”

  * * *

  —

  Ivy’s still in her room when I get back, but she’s managed to change into her pajamas. There’s no laptop on her legs tonight. She’s just lying there on her side, alone, in the dark.

  I glance at the clock on her bedside table. Midnight.

  Today is the day I’m going to die.

  It doesn’t hit me as hard as it should. I’m not ready. But I guess no one ever is.

  I climb into bed with Ivy. I curl against her warm body and snuggle underneath her fleece blanket. “Thanks for everything,” I whisper in her ear. “I love you, Ivy.”

  Within a half hour, her light snores fill the room. I stay awake, wrapped around my sister, my eyes fixed on the window.

  I know it’s coming, but I’m still not ready for the sliver of orange to appear.

  But I don’t have a magic watch, and before I’m ready to face it, it’s nearly sunrise.

  MONDAY

  IVY

  A high-pitched beep pierces the air, and my eyelids crack open way too early. I groan and reach for my phone, which I forgot to put on silent before bed.

  4:17 a.m. A light orange glow shines at the edge of the otherwise black horizon outside my window. If Jason woke me up in the middle of the night to give me shit about yesterday, I’m going to scream.

  I click my home button, and a new message pops up, but it’s not Jason—it’s Abby.

  Abby: Hey, just wanted to know if you’d heard from Autumn yet

  I deflate slightly. Nope. Nothing.

  She responds within seconds. Oh sorry, hope I didn’t wake you up. I figured your phone would be on silent.

  Me: No worries, I was awake.

  At least, I am now.

  Abby: Well, I was up writing a paper and I had a thought. There are a few guys we hang out with sometimes. Maybe try Facebook messaging them? I don’t have their numbers but search Brendan Hernandez, Derek Foster, and Collin Jameson.

  I jump out of bed and
fire up my laptop. The thing is a fossil that usually hates loading, but it seems to sense my urgency, because Chrome pops up immediately.

  Abby told me to look on Facebook. But something inside me hesitates.

  Facebook won’t tell me where Autumn is. If she left on her own, she’s not in danger—if someone took her, they’d need a place to keep her. That’s what I need to find.

  I pull up Google Maps instead and open the white pages in another window.

  I type in Brendan Hernandez. It takes me a few minutes to find the right guy, because he lives in Goffstown, not Concord. He lives with his parents in a nice house with a tiny yard. That doesn’t feel right.

  I type in Derek Foster. He’s the only Derek Foster in Concord, and lives with someone who I assume is his mom, because they have the same last name. He lives on Warren Street, right near the high school, in a tiny apartment three floors up.

  I type in Collin Jameson. He lives alone on Mountain Road—with a giant sketchy-looking barn in his backyard.

  Holy shit. This could be the guy.

  I quickly jot down the address and rip off my pajamas, throwing on the first clothes I can find and practically flying down the stairs.

  Darkness envelops the abandoned living room. The pendulum clock cuts through the silence, ticking in time with my heart. I shoot a quick glance up the darkened stairway. No one’s up yet. I’ve never snuck out before. I gulp. I have to do this.

  I’m coming for you, Autumn.

  AUTUMN

  My heart jumps into my throat. Oh my God. A shred of hope.

  No. I can’t get ahead of myself.

  It seems a little too random. I’ve never even been to Collin’s house, and Liam hardly knows him. He’s just this loser twenty-five-year-old who grows his own weed.

  But this is our last chance. My last chance.

  “C’mon, Ivy!” I shake her shoulders, pushing her faster into the foyer. “I believe in you. You gotta find me. Let’s do this.”