by S. R. Grey
Quickly, I end the call with the detective, and then I try to reach Jaynie.
Unfortunately, there’s no answer, which I find a little odd. Jaynie always picks up when it’s me…unless she has no service.
But where could she be that she has no cell service?
Jaynie
Okay, so traipsing around on the Lowry property all by my lonesome is kind of terrifying.
Who knows what kind of weirdos could be lurking up here in the middle of a lonely summer day?
The silence is positively deafening as I walk more briskly up the long driveway. Seems even the birds have nothing to sing about today up in this hellhole. And then, as if things weren’t creepy enough already, the wind starts to blow, making it sound as if the leaves on the trees are whispering to me: Watch Out!
“Crap,” I murmur. “Stop with the overactive imagination already.”
Still, I pick up the pace. Consequently, I’m down at the work barn in no time. Despite wearing cotton shorts and a thin tee, I am drenched in sweat.
Fanning myself with one hand and pushing the barn door open with the other, I mutter, “God, just make this fast, you fool.”
It’s unsettlingly dim in the work barn, and, of course, that’s when I realize I left my cell in the car. Not that it matters, since there’s such spotty service up here. If I find myself in a bind, I’ll be shit out of luck.
Pushing damp hair from my face, I hurry into the shadowy recesses and rush over to the area where Flynn and I hid the ‘evidence.’ Once I’m in the right place, I drop to my knees and get to work on removing the cement slab from our fake evidence hiding place.
Only problem I run into is that it takes a lot more effort than Flynn had to expend for little ‘ole me to lift the damn slab off the ground. My clammy hands don’t help matters. Seems it’s nearly impossible to keep a firm grip on the edge of the cement, leaving it to slip and slide this way and that, but not in the direction I want it to go.
Finally, after a few tries, I have enough of a steady hold to heave the slab off to the side.
“Ugh.” I fall back on my ass and suck in a few much-needed breaths.
After a couple of minutes spent recuperating, I’m back my knees and digging the loose earth with my hands.
Down, down, down I burrow, down to where Flynn buried the bloody towel.
“There it is,” I blurt out when I spy the soiled item.
Grabbing the edge gingerly, I use it to lift out the knife we also planted.
As I rise to my feet, our fake evidence in hand, I stare down at the empty hole. For a minute I consider filling it in, but then I decide to leave it as it is. This way, maybe it’ll look like a vandal or partier got to the knife and towel, leaving Detective Silver to conclude the same when he’s here tomorrow.
I release a sigh as I think about the repercussions of making this move. Removing our manufactured evidence means Allison will receive her early release. Even though it’s less than ideal, it’s still a more palatable outcome than Flynn going to prison for planting evidence.
This was all a crazy, reckless idea from the start.
Resigned that this is the way it has to be—we have too much to lose otherwise—I head toward the big barn door that I left partially open. But I falter when a shadow suddenly appears across the opening, dimming the sunlit view.
“What the hell,” I gasp.
Oh my God, what if there was someone in the house? What if it’s some derelict with plans to hurt me?
I was hurt before by a sick man, and it took Flynn and his infinite amount of patience to help me heal.
Looking for a way out, I pivot left and right.
But there’s nowhere to run.
Should I cower and hide?
No.
To hell with not fighting back. I will never again be a victim.
Scanning the barn, I search for something with which to bash in this potential assailant’s head.
But then I realize there’s no need to search for a weapon.
I already have one—the sharp knife with Debbie Canfield’s blood on it is in my hand.
Flynn
I continue to call Jaynie. And she continues to not pick up.
“Damn it! Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I kick at a stack of wooden planks that I’m supposed to be carrying, stubbing my toe in my fit of anger. “Ow, shit.”
“Get moving, O’Neill,” the supervisor on this side of the work zone yells over to me when he sees me stalling. “You can make calls and get pissed off on your own time, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” I put my cell away and return to hauling material, though I continue to have a very bad feeling.
As the hours pass, my worry reaches epic levels. Quitting time can’t arrive soon enough. But as things always go when you’re in a hurry, the final hour of my shift passes more slowly than all the rest.
Finally it’s five and time to go.
Since the bus runs late most days, I decide not to take a chance. Whipping out my cell, I call Crick and ask for a ride back to Lawrence.
“No problem, kid,” he tells me after I inform him I’m in a hurry to get home. “I was just finishing up with my own work day.”
Five minutes later, Crick picks me up in his work vehicle and we head over to Lawrence.
“I thought you bought yourself a car?” he inquires a few minutes into our ride.
“Yeah, I did.” I smooth back sweaty hair from my forehead. “But I left it for Jaynie today.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Crick’s not generally nosy, he’s just making conversation.
I then tell him, “She had an appointment this morning over at the community college. Remember how we were telling you she plans to take some classes this fall.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. She wants to help kids, right?” Crick smiles over at me. “I still think that’s a really good thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, it is,” I agree.
I’m trying to sound upbeat and in the conversation, but the truth is I’m distracted and worried. I can’t stop running my hands through my hair, pulling at the in-need-of-a-trim ends with every pass.
Crick, glancing over at my fidgety ass, asks, “What has you so worked up, man? Something other than schooling plans going on with your Jaynie?”
“Yeah, there kind of is something.” I admit. “There may be a problem.”
“Talk to me, Flynn.”
Crick is a good friend, and hell, I need to talk to someone. Otherwise, my head might explode.
“It sounds stupid,” I begin, sighing, “but I can’t get a hold of Jaynie. It’s not like her to not pick up. And last I heard from her was when she sent me a text, and that was way back around lunchtime.”
Crick, viewing the situation more sensibly than I can, says, “That doesn’t seem all that long ago. Maybe she got herself busy with some little project or whatnot. You know how women are. Always busy, busy, busy with something.”
He’s trying hard to be reassuring, but I know that’s not it.
“Nah, Jaynie’s not really like that,” I reply.
When we reach Lawrence, I give him directions to the sandwich shop. But when I see our car isn’t parked out in front of the store, I ask Crick to drive around to the back.
“There’s an alley in back where we sometimes park,” I inform him.
“No problem,” he says.
As soon as he hangs a right into the alley, though, I’m mumbling, “Aw, shit. The car’s not back here either.”
“I’m sure she’s okay,” Crick says.
But I’m insistent. “Nah, man, I got a bad, bad feeling.”
Jaynie
When my would-be assailant walks into the barn, I am ready. Hovering just inside the doorway, I grasp the handle of the knife Flynn and I planted. It’s still wrapped in the bloody towel as I raise the blade high above my head, ready to slash.
And I am willing to do more. Whatever I must do in order to survive, I will.
The stranger enters the barn, and I close my eyes.
Lunging forward, I hope and pray I make contact with my target.
But then, suddenly, my arm is grabbed.
My eyes fly open, a scream building… Till I get a good look at the man who has a hold of me.
Wait, what?
“D-D-Detective Silver, what are you doing here?” I blubber, stunned.
He lets go of my arm and the knife clatters to the ground.
With his eyes glued to the glinting metal on the cement floor, the detective shakes his head. “I believe I should be the one asking you that question, Miss Cumberland.”
“Yes.” I suddenly feel very foolish. “I suppose you should.”
Dragging his gaze from the knife to the bloody towel still in my grasp, he inquires, “And what exactly are you doing here all alone in the Lowry barn, with a knife…and a bloody towel?”
“Uh…” I shrug.
Huffing, he continues. “I have to tell you, Jaynie, this doesn’t look good. You up here on the property all alone, holding what looks an awful lot like the evidence your boyfriend claims to have discovered this past weekend.”
Shit, I am so busted.
And I have no adequate response.
What would I be doing up here all by myself? After all, I hate this place and the detective knows it. Oh, and then there’s the inconvenient fact that I just pulled a knife on him. Plus, the bloody towel is still in my hand.
“Shit,” I murmur.
“Miss Cumberland?” I venture an upward glance at the detective and he does not look happy. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“I don’t know if I have one,” I confess.
He lets out a snort. “Then we have a huge problem here, don’t we?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I whisper.
Like he’s going to buy that clueless act?
Gently, he slides the towel from my hand. “Tampering with evidence is a crime. You’re smart enough to know this, right?”
I avert my eyes. “Yes, I’d assume it’d be an unwise thing to do.”
The detective mumbles something I can’t make out, and then he says, “You know what carries an even stiffer penalty, though? More than what’s standard for simply tampering with evidence?”
Aw, crap, he’s on to us.
“What?” I squeak out.
“Actually manufacturing said evidence. That, Miss Cumberland, is a felony for which you could receive several years of prison time.”
Terrified, I blurt out a tearful, “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I—I just did what I thought I had to, sir.”
Detective Silver spends a good thirty seconds peering at me and shaking his head.
Finally, in a soft tone, he says, “Are you confessing to me that you planted that evidence?”
Willing to take the fall for Flynn, I tuck in my chin and stare down at the cement floor. “Yep, uh-huh, it was me, all me. Every part of it, besides the phone call Flynn made to you.”
“Miss Cumberland.” I glance up and the detective is giving me a yeah, right look. “I know that’s not true,” he goes on. “Do you think I didn’t see that a vial of blood went missing the day you and Flynn were in my car?”
Crap, he did notice.
Lying to protect Flynn, since I will always protect him, I meet Detective Silver’s gaze and state emphatically, “Yeah, I figured you’d eventually notice a vial was missing. But I’m the one who took it. Not Flynn, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“No, you didn’t take the blood, Jaynie.”
“Yes,” I insist, “I did. I absolutely took it. You know I’d do anything to keep Allison locked up. I have far more motivation than Flynn.”
“That may be true.” The detective sighs. “But it’s also true that Flynn loves you, very deeply from what I’ve observed.”
“He does.” My voice cracks. I’m having a hard time keeping up this farce.
“Look, I know you’re lying to protect Flynn. But there’s no need to. I’ve already pieced together what probably happened.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you think happened?”
The detective then lays his theory out for me, which is pretty spot-on.
He says, “Flynn’s coat was lying across the evidence that day in the car. I asked him to cover the blood and the files, remember?”
I nod.
“Well, when one vial went missing, I knew right away he’d grabbed it when he picked up his coat. You didn’t touch anything that day, Jaynie. So see, there’s no sense in taking the fall for your boyfriend. I’ve known the truth since day one.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I whisper, truly curious.
The detective is silent for a beat, like he’s contemplating something.
Finally, he says, “Believe it or not, kid, I’m on your side. I figured as long as Flynn didn’t do anything with the blood, I’d just let it slide. You’ve both seen enough trouble in your lives. Why add to it over a stupid move?”
I return to my original position of trying to save Flynn. Because he did do something with the blood, and this is too big to, as the detective put, let slide.
Flynn’s going to have to pay for what he did…unless I can stop it.
“You’re wrong on one thing,” I throw out.
“What’s that, Jaynie?”
“Flynn may have lifted the blood, but I planted the evidence. So you may as well go ahead and charge me, since I committed the bigger crime.” My voice cracks again. “Arrest me, Detective Silver.” I hold out my hands, wrists up. “Go ahead, I’m ready.”
Am I?
No.
But I will go down to save Flynn.
The detective, however, makes no move to cuff me. He stands there, completely quiet, and looking wary. Clearly, he’s past the point of buying my false story.
Defeated, I murmur, “I had to try.”
“I know.”
Resigned that there’s no getting out of this mess, I lower my hands and confess. “I just wanted to protect Flynn. I will always try to protect him. At any cost.”
“Even if it’s to your own detriment, Miss Cumberland?”
The detective isn’t trying to be an asshole; he seems to genuinely want to know.
So I tell him the truth. “Yes, it doesn’t matter. I’ll take the fall for Flynn any day.”
Detective Silver bends down. With the edge of the towel he took from me, he picks up the bloodied knife. A few seconds later he’s dropping both items into a plastic evidence bag, which he promptly seals.
Gesturing for me to follow, he says, “Come with me, Miss Cumberland.”
I expect the book to be thrown at me, but there are no handcuffs placed on me as we begin to walk, no rights read as we leave the Lowry property.
When we reach his car, which is pulled up tight behind mine, I finally flat-out ask, “Am I under arrest?”
“No” is the detective’s simple reply.
Our eyes meet, but he quickly turns away. I just stand there and observe as he pops open the trunk of his car and takes out a gas can.
What is he up to now?
I have no idea.
But when he tosses the bloody towel and knife, still in the plastic evidence bag, on the ground, and then starts pouring gasoline all over it, I gasp. “Wait. What are you doing?”
The detective’s reply is swift. “I’m destroying these items to protect you and your reckless boyfriend from your own damn selves.”
I am speechless. No one ever does stuff like this for us.
As he sets the evidence we planted on fire, ensuring Flynn and I remain safe from being discovered, I stand there, mouth agape.
Seems he really is on our side. We can truly trust him.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“You’re welcome,” I am told.
Though I am off the hook, I can’t deny the person I’ve become. Good or bad, the fact remains that I was willing to take the fall to protect Flynn. And it doesn’t end
there. Had the detective not shown up, I probably would have taken that evidence and moved it elsewhere on the property. Then I would’ve been the one who planted the evidence. I hadn’t reached that point yet, but I know now that that’s what I would have done.
Because what I told the detective is true—I’ll do anything to protect Flynn.
What if Allison got out and went after him, instead of me?
I couldn’t let that happen.
And better I fall than him.
It doesn’t matter now, though.
The evidence we manufactured is gone, burning up before my eyes.
Flynn
I insist Crick take off, but he wants to stay.
“No, man, I’ll be fine, Really, I will,” I reiterate when he offers for about the fourth time in as many minutes to remain with me until I know for sure that Jaynie is safe.
He finally agrees to go. “Call me if you need anything,” he says.
“You got it.”
Once he’s gone, I head up to our apartment, where I promptly begin pacing the small space we call home.
“Where are you, Jaynie?” I mutter to the still and heavy air.
I am frustrated and officially out of options. Except for the one I’ve been avoiding—call the police and report Jaynie as missing.
But just as I’m about to give in and hit 9-1-1 on my cell, I hear a car pulling up out back.
Racing over to the window, I see it’s Jaynie, returning with the car and filling me with relief.
“Christ. Thank God she’s all right.”
I’m down the stairs and out back in no time.
“Jaynie…” I wrap her in my arms the second she’s out of the car. “Where the hell were you all day, babe?” I stare into her eyes and brush back a lock of hair. “You didn’t answer any of my calls, and I must’ve made about fifty. Fuck, I was going crazy with worry, sweetheart.”
“Flynn, I am so, so sorry,” she breathes out.
I hug her again. “Babe, what happened?” I ask.
“I fucked everything up,” she chokes out against my shoulder. “I should never have gone back to the Lowry place.”
Oh, shit.
