Accidental Witness

by Sam Mariano

  There’s Vince, in line behind me. He’s wearing dark wash jeans and a charcoal gray shirt, and man, for a murderer, he looks good.

  Just thinking the m-word causes my stomach to sink, and I look at the cashier, wishing she’d hurry up.

  “Who are you?” Allan asks him.

  “A friend of your sister’s,” Vince answers.

  I cut a glance his way, since that’s not how I would describe him. “Why are you in line?”

  “Hm?”

  “You said you were at the store because you were shopping.” I indicate his empty hands. “You didn’t buy anything.”

  A dark brow raises, then he grabs two snack sized bags of chips from the impulse-buy rack and holds them up for my brother. “Which one should I get?”

  I roll my eyes as my brother jabs the orange bag. Vince puts the other one back and holds up the bag, shaking it. “See? I’m buying something.”

  The cashier rings up my items and gives me my total. I freeze, frowning at the computer screen. I brought exactly $4 with me—just enough to buy a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. I’m somehow fifty cents short.

  “Wasn’t the pasta on sale?”

  “Yep,” she says, glancing at the screen.

  I awkwardly draw my money out of my pocket and count it, knowing there won’t be enough. I don’t understand why. Did Allan not grab the right sauce?

  It’s humiliating, especially with Vince standing right there, but I don’t know what else to do. “Um, how much was the sauce?”

  She regards me with vague irritation and I flush.

  “It’s just—I didn’t bring my purse in,” I say, even though there’s no more money in my purse. “I thought I brought in enough, but I’m a few cents short.”

  She digs the jar of pasta out, and sure enough, it’s a size larger than the one we usually get. I hadn’t been paying attention when Allan grabbed it, because Vince threw me off.

  “Okay, I’ll just go back and grab the right one,” I say, reaching out to take the jar of sauce.

  Before I can, Vince is squeezing past the cart, coming toward the register. He drops the chips on the belt and takes the sauce out of my hand, giving it back to the cashier. “Can you just add the chips to her bill?”

  “You don’t have to do that—I can just go get the right one. I could’ve paid for it, I just…”

  He holds up a hand to stop me, handing the cashier a twenty dollar bill. She quickly adds his chips to the bag and gives him the new total.

  “Give her the change,” he says, moving past me to grab the grocery bag.

  I couldn’t be more humiliated as the cashier hands me the money—which is saying something, because I’ve been embarrassed on several occasions in this grocery store. Being poor sucks.

  “You really didn’t have to do that,” I murmur.

  Vince shrugs, like it’s nothing. I look at the $14 in my hand like it’s printed on gold.

  The difference between us couldn’t be more pronounced.

  “You could invite me to dinner to thank me,” he teases, waiting for me to wheel my sister toward the door.

  “You want to come over for dinner?” I say, my disbelief evident.

  “Well, I haven’t eaten any yet,” he says, like that makes all the sense in the world.

  “With my siblings?” I add, now really looking at him like he’s crazy.

  “Hey, I work with what I’m given,” he states.

  I automatically wheel the cart outside, but once we get to the car and I realize we’re more or less alone with Vince, my discomfort seeps back in.

  Lowering my voice, I tell him, “You don’t have to keep an eye on me, you know.”

  “Maybe I want to keep an eye on you,” he returns, meeting my gaze.

  I swallow. “Why?”

  He merely shrugs, opening my passenger door and placing the grocery bag inside. “I’ll meet you at your house.”

  I want to argue—I don’t necessarily want to be alone with the guy who broke into my house the night before, but I know it won’t do much good. If Vince wants to come over for dinner, he’ll come over for dinner—whether he’s invited or not.

  Chapter Five

  He doesn’t get there right away. I hustle my siblings inside and get them situated with drinks and activities, nervously watching the door for his arrival. I start dinner anyway, since I’m cooking the same thing even if he doesn’t show up.

  But he does. And he brings garlic bread, which makes him an instant hero to my little brother and sister. Had I known Vince was going to give me a twenty at the register, I would’ve maybe agreed to the garlic bread, but they didn’t understand that. Where possible, I try to keep our money problems from them. I haven’t always, but one day when Mom and I were trying to figure out how to pay a utility bill in front of them, I noticed my brother listening, his little face anxious.

  Since then, I don’t mention money problems until they’re in bed.

  I’m attending the pasta on the stove when I feel him come up behind me. Fear is definitely present, but I try to mask it. He’s not going to hurt me, he’s just… stalking me.

  Sure, that sounds right.

  Clearing my throat, I ask, “How’d you know they wanted garlic bread?”

  “Gotta have garlic bread with spaghetti,” he says, leaning against the counter so he can look at me. “Plus, the boy asked for it on the way to the register.”

  I don’t remember that, but I’d been pretty sidetracked by him. Automatically preheating the oven, I let my mind wander. If he’s following me to the store, that means he followed me to the preschool to pick up Casey first, then the elementary school to get Allan. He couldn’t have, right? I would have noticed.

  I hadn’t been looking though. I thought—hoped—that we resolved the matter the night before.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asks.

  I realize I’m being oddly quiet, lost in my own thoughts, but… well, it seems warranted. “You followed me?”

  He doesn’t confirm or deny, folding his arms across his chest and simply watching me.

  Even though it is what I believe, I feel arrogant having spoken the words. “I mean, you said you were just at the grocery store, but you obviously weren’t buying anything. And I didn’t even go straight there.” I stop, suddenly hit with the memory of his insinuation last night about my brother and sister’s videos, about them sleeping down the hall. My blood runs cold, realizing if he followed me when I left school, he knows where they go to school now.

  My eyes shoot to his face for verification, but his expression is carefully blank. Swallowing, feeling vaguely like I’m going to throw up, I say, “You followed me to their schools.”

  He knew I was picking them up, because he heard my conversation with my mother the night before.

  I turn and look back at Allan, who trusts him now, all because he brought a damn bag of garlic bread.

  Suddenly angry, I turn back to glare at Vince. “Stop it.”

  Still expressionless, he says, “Didn’t do anything.”

  Jabbing a finger against my chest, I say, “I am the only person involved in this. Me. My brother and sister have nothing to do with this, and if you threaten them….” I trail off, because I have nothing to threaten him with. What, I’ll go to the police? I’m not a fool. I can’t make a threat like that and expect him to trust me to keep my mouth shut. If I’m not careful, I could wind up dead.

  Suddenly overcome with the weight of this goddamn burden, I shake my head, shrinking a little. “I’m not going to say anything.”

  “So you said.”

  “And you still followed me! You followed me to their schools.” I stop, glancing back to make sure they aren’t listening. “I told you that you could trust me, and you still followed me. What am I supposed to take away from that?”

  Inclining his head slightly, he takes a moment to formulate a response. Finally, not looking at me, he says, “I am trying to trust you, but a little extra incentive neve
r hurt.”

  “Threatening my family is not how you get what you want from me,” I warn him.

  Quirking an eyebrow as if amused, he asks, “Then how do I?”

  Exasperated, I say, “You’ve already got it. I swear to God, my lips are sealed. Just… leave me alone.”

  He eyes me up, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Is that what you want?”

  My eyes bulge. “Yes!”

  For a moment, he says nothing, just stands there with his arms still crossed. Eventually he drops them, stepping away from the counter with a nod.

  I don’t know what he’s doing as he steps away, and even as he walks toward the door I don’t fully trust it. But then he opens the door, turns the lock, and slips out.

  “Where’s he going?” Allan demands, leaning over the arm of the couch and looking from me to the door.

  I don’t answer immediately, unsure myself. “I think he had to go home.”

  “Why? Did he leave the garlic bread?”

  I can’t help but scoff at the selfishness of children. I glance at the untouched loaf of garlic bread on the counter, and even though it’s absurd, I suddenly feel the crushing weight of guilt on my shoulders. I tell myself that’s stupid, incredibly stupid—he followed me when I left school, he left unspoken threats on the table again, and all this after I watched him walk out of a house fire that resulted in two deaths.

  It’s insane to feel guilty that I didn’t want him to stay for dinner.

  But somehow I still do.

  ---

  I sit in class, anxiously pulling at the creased corner of my red notebook. I’m waiting to see who drops into the seat beside me—Cody Miller, or Vince.

  Cody comes in first. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  Then he cruises right past the open desk beside me to the one he’s been sitting in for the past two days.

  Vince gets there, just before the bell. He takes a seat, not looking at me, but I can’t stop looking at him. I could barely sleep all last night, going over and over and over our interlude at dinner. During one of the rounds, I realized he hadn’t actually threatened my siblings. He hadn’t even confirmed that was why he followed me, though I couldn’t imagine why else he would.

  But he left when I said I wanted him to. If he wanted to threaten and intimidate me, why leave? It’s not like I could’ve made him leave. Even if he would have threatened me, right to my face, I would have still had to sit at the table across from him, in the company of my siblings, if that was what he wanted.

  As absurd as it is, I can’t shake the idea that maybe I hurt his feelings.

  The fact that he won’t look at me, even though he has to feel me staring a hole straight through him, is doing nothing to ease that guilt.

  The bell rings and the teacher launches into her lecture. I steal the occasional glance at Vince, but he never looks my way.

  It feels like the longest class ever. At the end, the teacher finally hands back our assignments and the bell signals our temporary freedom.

  Vince is up and out of his seat before I can shove mine in my binder. That’s not a problem, I know that rationally, but inexplicably, I launch out of my seat and hustle out to the hall to try to catch up to him.

  “Hey!”

  He slows, glancing back over his shoulder with a confused frown.

  He’s really cute when he’s semi-glaring, but that’s totally inappropriate, so I shove the thought away. My face flames anyway, not because of that, but because he does look mad at me.

  But he stops. I guess he wouldn’t ignore me though, given our little secret.

  My books slip, since I was in such a hurry to leave class. I smile a little awkwardly, shifting their weight and readjusting. He’s still watching me expectantly, and I have no idea what to say, so I settle with an inane, “What’s up?”

  Both dark brows shoot up as he stares at me. “Nothing?”

  I feel utterly ridiculous, but I decide just to spill it. It’s not like I’ve been shining my brightest around here up until now. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings yesterday. I didn’t mean to.”

  He rears back a little, clearly surprised, but doesn’t immediately respond.

  “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to put your mind at ease about me, and it makes me really nervous and fearful when I think you’re threatening me. Which, I realize, is the point, but—”

  He looks around the hall, grabbing me by the wrist and yanking me into a nearby classroom. It’s dark, closed for this period. Once inside, he backs me against a brick pillar, so people walking through the hallway won’t see us. Bracing one arm against the pillar and leaning in, he asks, “Want to say that a little louder?”

  “Sorry,” I whisper. It doesn’t feel like fear, but having him braced on the wall like this, so close to me in this dark, abandoned classroom… I’m definitely feeling something.

  I can’t read his dark brown eyes, but after a moment, still hovering near me, he says, “I didn’t follow you to intimidate you. I didn’t even consider that you’d be driving to their schools.”

  Swallowing, I ask, “Then why?”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “Just wanted to see where you were going.”

  It’s still not normal, exactly, but I get the feeling I can’t expect that from him. “Why?” I ask again, still holding his gaze.

  Another shrug, but nothing verbal this time. His eyes are so intense, his gaze unwavering, but there’s something in the depths of his warm brown eyes, something unexpectedly… sad. It hits me harder than I expect it to, that hint of vulnerability. I don’t know if he’s showing it to me on purpose or not, but he’s been far better at controlling facial cues than I am, so I have to imagine it’s intentional.

  I try to remind myself of the dark knowledge I have about him, but it doesn’t make it through. Right now, I’m not afraid of Vince.

  I’m attracted to him.

  And I think he’s attracted to me.

  He leans away from me, his arm no longer on the brick pillar behind me, and a strange jolt of disappointment shoots through me. I don’t want him to move away—that’s crazy, and there’s no reason he wouldn’t, but…

  Before I can shuffle away, he’s grabbing my books. I falter a bit, but he drops them on the desk behind him and comes right back.

  I exhale sharply, backing up against the brick pillar, but this time he moves closer, bracing his weight again, the other hand landing on my hip.

  He has me pinned against the wall. My heart hammers against my chest, and my mind races, trying to sort it all out—his hand is on my hip. He’s really close—really, really close.

  And then: “Can I kiss you?”

  It sounds like I gasp, but I think I was just trying to breathe. I should speak, but I can’t find my words. Instead, I nod.

  He leans in almost tentatively, as if giving me time to change my mind, and then his lips connect with mine. At first it’s a light brush of his lips, softer than I expect, knocking what little guard I have left away from me. His fingers tighten on my hip and I don’t know what to do with my hands so they just hang there awkwardly.

  Then he coaxes my lips open and his tongue skates across my lower lip. They open, instinctively, and his tongue sweeps inside, and oh, sweet Jesus, my brain suddenly explodes with adrenaline. My hands move to his sides, pulling him closer, and he obliges, flattening me against the wall. As our tongues find a rhythm that works, he fists a hand in my hair and a helpless sound escapes me. He kisses me like he’s going to devour me, and to be honest, I want him to.

  My hands slide up under his shirt—I don’t know how or why, but it happens. With the desire coursing through me, stoked with each caress of his tongue against mine, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to rip his shirt right off. I envision him backing me up against the teacher’s desk, climbing between my legs…

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. I break the kiss, pulling back. I feel a little dazed, but I’m confused a
nd disoriented by the level of lust I’m experiencing. I’ve never been so… caught up.

  Then again, I’ve never been kissed, not like that. Lips brushing, a couple times. Never this.

  Distantly aware of the bell ringing, I lean against the brick wall, trying to catch my breath.

  No longer swept up in whatever magic his mouth was working on my brain, I’m suddenly embarrassed—not just because I let him kiss me, and I hardly know him, but because three seconds earlier, I wanted him to do more than that.

  This isn’t me.

  God, what must he think of me?

  “We’re late,” I murmur, because I don’t know what else to say.

  “We are,” he verifies, but he doesn’t seem too worried about it.

  My eyes meet his fleetingly, but then I glance down, a little awkwardly. “I don’t usually…”

  He nods, watching me. “I figured.”

  “I mean, I never…”

  His lips curve up slightly and he nods again.

  Sliding away from the wall and off to the side, I move around him to grab my books. “I have to go.”

  He doesn’t speak and I don’t look back as I scurry out of the abandoned classroom and through the now-empty hall, hoping he doesn’t follow.

  Chapter Six

  I don’t expect to see Vince again after that kiss, so when I find him waiting by my car after school, it’s a hell of a surprise. Not exactly a welcome one, either. Given the lust-monster he turned me into earlier, I want to keep a little distance from him.

  He pushes off the car when he sees me, offering something like a smile.

  “Hey,” he greets.

  “Hey,” I say, hugging my books close.

  “You kind of ran off earlier,” he points out, by way of explanation. “I wasn’t trying to follow you.”

  “I figured.” I pause. “I mean, if you were, you probably shouldn’t wait by my car and announce yourself. It’s not very stealthy.”

  “Good note,” he acknowledges.