The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die

by Henry, April

  I’m still clutching the coat. I run my hand down the fabric, looking for the pocket. Looking for the gun.

  The murmur of voices is too vague for me to make out individual words. Just a man’s low voice, and James’s, pitched higher, answering. His voice swoops up and down. He sounds more gay than before. I wonder if he’s doing it deliberately—to make them think there would be no reason for him to give a girl shelter.

  I find the coat pocket and slip my fingers inside. The solid coolness of the gun is reassuring. I pinch the grip. Slowly, I begin to tug it free. James raises his voice. I still can’t make out the words, but I can hear the stress in it.

  “No,” Ty whispers against my ear. The word is softer than a sigh.

  I shake my head. I know what these men are capable of. I can pull the trigger if I have to.

  Ty’s arms go around me, tight, pinning my arms to my sides. Just like it did with Michael Brenner, my body automatically wants to fight back, but I repress it. I figure I still have hold of the gun. I can move fast if I have to. Maybe I’ll have a second or two to catch them by surprise.

  Ty’s arms relax but don’t fall away. His breath tickles my ear. His body, pressed up against me, is warm and strong. And so we stay, locked in our one-sided embrace, listening for the voices to come nearer, straining for the sound of footsteps on carpet. And I don’t know if we use up all the air in that small space or if it just hits me all at once, but my knees go weak. I sag forward. Ty’s arms tighten again until he’s half holding me up.

  “It’s okay.” His breath is warm against my ear.

  I realize I’m crying only when a hot tear runs off my chin and down my neck. It’s most definitely not okay.

  Ty presses his lips against my forehead. I turn my head and lean into him, into his solid warmth.

  When the footsteps come for us, we don’t hear a thing.

  CHAPTER 19

  DAY 2, 8:07 A.M.

  “It’s me,” James says softly from just outside the closet.

  Ty and I freeze. But when all we hear is silence, it’s clear he’s alone. Ty loosens his arms, then opens the door and steps out. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve before I leave the cave of the closet.

  “So who was it?” Ty whispers. “Cops?”

  James shrugs. “He flashed a badge at me but not long enough for me to really look at it. He said that Katie was wanted for questioning in connection with a murder up at Newberry Ranch, and they were asking everyone in the building if they had seen her. When I said I hadn’t, he asked if there was anyone else in the apartment. I told him I had two roommates who were asleep.”

  “Two?” Ty asks.

  “If anyone heard you guys, I didn’t want them figuring out there’s one too many people here. He wanted me to wake you up, but I said I would just ask you later. Then he asked if I minded if he took a look around, and I said I most certainly did. I told him it was police harassment because I’m gay. I said I have the ACLU on speed dial. Then he backed off.”

  “Did this guy say anything about Sagebrush? About me being mentally ill?”

  James shakes his head.

  Ty gets so excited he forgets to lower his voice. “So they must have been lying about you being a mental patient.” James and I both turn on him with stern faces, and he drops back to a whisper. “They must realize that if they keep telling everyone you’re from Sagebrush, then pretty soon someone’s going to call Sagebrush. And then they’ll learn you were never there at all.”

  I hope Ty is right. Enough crazy stuff has happened to me already. I don’t want to be crazy, too. “Then maybe they’re lying about what happened to Officer Dillow!” I feel a surge of hope.

  They just exchange looks. Finally Ty says, “It would be a lot easier to frame you for murder if they actually had a dead body.”

  “But who would do something that drastic?” My stomach hurts. “Kill a guy just because he’s the first person I ask for help?”

  Ty swallows. “They must really be covering up something bad.”

  “I’ve got to leave before anything bad happens to you two.” I slide one arm into the coat. “I just need to figure out how to get out of here without them noticing.”

  “You can bet they’ll be watching anyone leaving these apartments,” James points out.

  “I could cut the screen and go through the back window.”

  James shakes his head. “What? You don’t think they’ve thought of that? I’ll guarantee you there’s a car parked out where we can’t see it, with some guy watching. And the minute you climb through the window, he’ll know you’re the one they’re looking for.” He looks me up and down. “And no matter how you leave, they’re looking for a blond girl dressed in those clothes you’re wearing. Maybe the trick would be to make you the exact opposite.”

  “What would that be?” Ty asks. “A dark-haired dude?”

  I think he’s joking, but James says, “Exactly. And fast, before they start double-checking the apartments. See if you can find her some clothes while I take care of her hair.”

  James pulls off my coat and sets it aside, then leads me into the bathroom and takes a pair of scissors from a drawer. Before I can think whether it’s a good idea, he grabs a hank of hair and lops it off, then grabs another. He doesn’t do it with any care, and after he takes out the clippers, I see why. While he buzzes over my scalp, I close my eyes. When I open them, I look like some kid too young to grow a beard. In the mirror, I see Ty standing in the doorway, holding a pile of clothes.

  “I don’t see any cuts or bumps.” James runs his hand over what’s left of my hair. It looks like fur. “Whatever made you lose your memory, I don’t think it was that you got hit on the head.”

  He means his words to be reassuring, but I wish it were something simple. Why did my memory go away? And will it ever come back?

  “Do you have an old T-shirt of yours that she could wear?” James takes a dye kit from one of a couple dozen jumbled underneath the sink. “This stuff tends to drip, and it isn’t exactly gentle on the skin.”

  Ty sets down the clothes he was holding and digs around in the bathroom’s laundry hamper. The yellow T-shirt he finds is fraying at the neck. Since it came from the hamper, he must still wear it. It’s clear how poor he is.

  I hesitate. “Are you sure?”

  Ty waves his hand. “I should have gotten rid of this a long time ago.”

  As my head pushes through the cloth, I realize it smells like him. The same smell as his pillowcase, or when he put his arms around me in the closet. Sharp and clean, like fresh-cut wood.

  James has me put my head under the faucet. It takes only a few seconds to wet what’s left of my hair. He pulls on a pair of bright yellow gloves. I close my eyes as he squirts the cold dye onto my head, massages it around, then wipes the extra gunk off my forehead, neck, and ears with an old washcloth.

  At the sound of James’s voice, I open my eyes. He’s looking at his watch. “Okay, even though I’m not sure the color’s set, we need to get you out of here. Time to rinse you off.” He runs water over my hair until it swirls clean in the white sink.

  When I lift my head, I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. Just when I was starting to know what I looked like. Under my cap of dark hair, my eyes look huge. I don’t look like a girl or a guy. Maybe not even human. I look like some wild animal baby left orphaned in the forest.

  The kind of wild animal baby that’s going to get eaten.

  “You look younger as a boy,” Ty says. “Maybe thirteen or so.”

  “That’s good.” James strips off the rubber gloves. “They’ll be looking for a sixteen-year-old blond girl. Not a thirteen-year-old dark-haired boy.”

  Ty picks up the clothes again and hands them to me. “Hopefully they’ll fit. And I figured you could put the stuff from your coat in the backpack.” He doesn’t say gun. He doesn’t need to.

  They leave me alone to get dressed. I want to take a shower, but there’s no time. Ty’s left me a T-shirt not much
newer than the one I take off, a black hoodie, and a pair of Converses. The shoes are so big I don’t even try them on. I just put my Nikes back on. I put the things I’ve collected—the only clues as to who I really am—into the backpack: the framed photo of my family, and Brenner’s keys and disassembled cell phone. His gun goes into the waistband of my jeans, with the hoodie pouched over it.

  When I walk back out into the living room, the two of them are whispering. They stop when they see me.

  “You definitely look like a dude,” Ty says.

  “Thanks. I think.” I look at him and James, my accidental saviors. “In fact, thanks so much for everything, but I’d better be moving on.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Ty says.

  “You’ve already done enough for me. If I walk out of here acting like a thirteen-year-old boy, they won’t look at me twice.”

  Ty touches my shoulder. “They’re looking for one girl on her own. We’ll just be two guys going to school. And then we can decide what to do.”

  “I’ve already put you in too much—”

  James, who has been peering through the blinds, interrupts me. “Two guys are going through the parking lot looking at license plates.”

  “If they figure out Ty works at the mall, they’ll come back here.” My heart beats in my throat like a trapped bird. “I need to get out of here fast. Do you have a bike I can borrow?”

  James shakes his head, his eyes wide.

  “Do you know how to ride a skateboard?” Ty asks.

  I’m tired of not knowing things. “There were snowboards at the cabin. So I might know how to snowboard. No idea about skateboarding.”

  “They’re actually not that different,” Ty says.

  I think he’s probably lying, but what choice do I have? He gets two skateboards from the hall closet and holds one out to me.

  I hesitate. “I still don’t think it’s safe to come with me.”

  “And if they figure out where I was working last night, it’s probably not safe to stay here,” he says. “Let’s go someplace and figure out what you should do next and then, if you still want to, we can split up.”

  I don’t want to walk out there by myself. So even though I know in my gut that Ty is wrong, that the worst place to be is by my side, I don’t argue. Instead, I start to pull up my hood, but he stops me.

  “They might think you’re trying to hide something. Just be who you are. A thirteen-year-old dude. And your name is—hm, what sort of sounds like ‘Katie’?” He thinks for a moment. “Nate.” He turns to James. “Are they still out there?”

  James doesn’t move his head. “There’s the two by your car, one guy knocking on a door, and I think there are a couple more inside apartments.”

  “Okay,” Ty says, turning back to me. “Tuck your hand in your pocket so they don’t see the bandages on your fingers. And once we get outside, don’t look at them, but don’t not look at them either. Just keep moving. We’re just a couple of guys going to school. And once we get around the corner, we’ll see if you can ride.”

  “Be careful.” James turns, his eyes wide. “And call me.”

  “Of course,” Ty says. And then he opens the door.

  CHAPTER 20

  DAY 2, 8:40 A.M.

  We walk out the door of Ty’s apartment. For one second, I let my eyes glance to the left. My gaze slides past the men in the parking lot like I don’t care, like they’re nothing to me. Just two men in dark suits talking on cell phones, slowly walking down rows of cars. It looks like they’re reading off license plate numbers. One of them is behind Ty’s car.

  Neither of them is familiar, but what do I know? I sense more than see the one by Ty’s car turn his head in our direction, but then he looks away.

  How long until they figure out that Ty’s car belongs to someone who works at the mall? How long until they figure out which unit he lives in?

  I concentrate on walking normally. But I can’t even think of how to hold my shoulders, move my legs. Maybe I shouldn’t even be walking like I normally do. How much do they know about me? Have they seen films of me, studied the shape of my face, the way I swing my arms? Any second I expect to hear shouts, running footsteps, even the echoing pop of a gunshot. The skin between my shoulder blades itches.

  Ty is talking. At first I think he’s doing it as a cover so that we look more like two kids headed to school. Then I realize he’s giving me a quick lesson on skateboarding.

  “Okay, once we get out on the sidewalk, drop your board and put your left foot on it, right behind the front trucks. The trucks hold the wheels on.”

  I nod. A bubble expands in my chest, making it hard to breathe. What if the first thing I do is fall down spectacularly?

  “And then with your right foot you take a step forward. Just like you’re walking.” With the skateboard tucked under his left arm, Ty paws the air with his flattened right hand. “It’s not like you’re pushing the skateboard away from you. It’s more like you’re one of those guys in Venice. You know, in those narrow boats? In the canals?”

  “A gondolier?” The word swims up out of my unseen depths. In my mind’s eye, I see a guy wearing a straw hat and a striped shirt, holding a pole and standing up in a boat. Have I ever seen one in real life, or am I just remembering something on TV?

  “Right.” Ty nods. “When you’re skating, it’s like you’re a gondolier pushing a boat along. You stay in control by making fewer pushes, but you make them stronger—not a bunch of little paddles. Once you’re going the speed you want, put your right foot down over the rear trucks. But don’t worry about trying to go super fast. Just try to keep your balance. Okay?”

  For an answer, I manage a weak smile.

  We round the corner. We’re out of sight of the parking lot now. The sidewalk ahead of us is, thankfully, empty.

  “Ready?” Ty looks at me.

  “No.” I sigh. “But I don’t have much choice, do I?” Don’t act. Be, a voice whispers again in my head. I’m thirteen-year-old Nate going to school with his best friend Ty.

  Right.

  I take my bandaged hand out of my pocket, and we both drop our skateboards at the same time. Two seconds later, I’m up with both feet on the board, clacking down the sidewalk. Ty is a couple of yards ahead of me.

  Following his lead, I keep my knees and hips soft. A smile spreads across my face. Shifting my weight bends the board slightly to the left—and I go left. This is easy! And we’re going downhill, so I can just keep riding. I don’t have to push at all.

  We’re picking up speed when it occurs to me—do I know how to stop?

  CHAPTER 21

  DAY 2, 8:43 A.M.

  A few seconds later, Ty curves around a corner.

  I try to follow, but my skateboard is going too fast. I drag my back foot on the ground, but my shoe catches. Suddenly my board is sailing out into the street. I run three out-of-control steps before I fall, skidding forward on my hands and knees. At the clatter of my skateboard, Ty jumps off his board and runs back to me.

  “Are you okay?” He helps me to my feet, then turns over my hands to inspect them.

  “I think so.” My palms are scraped, but my poor nailless fingers aren’t any more damaged.

  Ty lopes across the empty road, grabs my board, and comes back. “You were doing really well there for a while.”

  “So do you think I skateboarded in a previous life?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe you’re a snowboarder like you thought or just naturally athletic.” He watches me intently. “Did being on a board help you remember anything?”

  “If it did, it was like a body memory. I don’t remember any more about me.” We’re at least ten blocks from Ty’s apartment complex, but I can’t help glancing back. “Do you think we should get off the street? Maybe we stick out too much here.” The neighborhood is a mix of small businesses and even smaller old houses, interspersed with more apartment complexes.

  “There’s a little coffee place a coup
le of blocks from here. Let’s go there and figure out what to do next.”

  “Okay.” I’m thankful when Ty starts walking without putting down his board.

  A few minutes later, he pushes open the door of a coffee shop tucked in between a 7-Eleven and a dry cleaner. Brightly colored block prints of animals—a llama, an elephant, a cat—hang on the walls. A railed shelf holds dog-eared magazines. Only a single customer is seated at one of the small, round tables, a white-haired woman reading a newspaper.

  The girl at the counter looks about twenty. Her long dark hair is pinned up in a messy bun held by a pencil. When she sees Ty, her face breaks into a smile.

  “Hey, Audrey. Can we have two sixteen-ounce house coffees?”

  “Sure.” She looks at me, and I have a feeling she doesn’t buy me being a boy. “Who’s your friend?”

  He turns to me with a smile that doesn’t look forced. “This is Nate. He just moved here. And, Nate, this is Audrey.”

  Not trusting my voice to be low enough, I nod. She gives me a brusque nod in return, then turns back to Ty. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class now?”

  He shrugs. “It’s just health class. What am I missing? Self-esteem, condoms, no cigs, no drugs, no drinking. I think that about covers it.”

  “Knowing you, I’m sure you’ve got all that covered already.” She winks, as if to underline that she and Ty are old friends. After pumping coffee into a thick white mug, she hands it to him. There’s a one-inch gap at the top. “I left room for cream.” She turns to me. “What about you? Do you need room?”

  I find I actually know. “Definitely,” I say. Audrey narrows her eyes and only then do I realize I’m grinning like an idiot. I know something about me. It’s only a little detail—that I like coffee only when it’s got enough skim milk to be pale brown—but it’s the first time I’ve known something about myself without having to guess.

  After we doctor our coffee—Ty also dumps three packets of sugar in his, which officially qualifies it as dessert—I take a seat at a table in the back corner so I can watch both the windows and the door. Ty sits to my left.