by Tara Kelly
When he heard all those sirens, he got a bad feeling. So he left me a note, saying he loved me, and rushed home.
That was when he saw all the fire trucks in front of Jenika’s place. He picked the lock on Megan’s door, because he didn’t want to knock and risk waking Cindy up. But Megan wasn’t there. He started going through her stuff. Under her bed. Every drawer. Her closet. And then he found a notebook under her mattress.
Alex told me some of it was like a manifesto, as if she wanted to brag about all the details. Other parts were more about her feelings. Her fears. She blamed him for letting “it” happen to her. Called him selfish. A coward.
She talked about some of their plans to frame Alex. Gabi was the one who keyed Alex’s car. Even the Fourth of July, at Oswald Beach, was a setup, a way to get Alex and the cakes together. Fuel the fire. It didn’t go down quite like she expected—Alex was supposed to answer his phone.
She wrote about Amber’s murder too, details Alex couldn’t get out of his head. She bragged about how they’d tricked Amber into believing they hated me, too. They told her I’d convinced Zach to dump her, and together they came up with a plan to “get me” that night—but swore one another to secrecy. Amber met up with them later, on the trail between North and South Beach, to execute their plan. But they pulled a gun on her instead.
That was as far as Alex had gotten.
Since the cops took Megan’s notebook, we didn’t know how they got Christian or if he or they started that fire. We’d always be guessing.
Megan must’ve seen Alex through her window when she went to sneak back in, because she came in the front door. With Gabi. They were wearing hoods and masks.
Gabi held a gun on him and told him to come out to her truck. When he refused, she said they’d kill Cindy. Megan even got out their grandpa’s gun and aimed it at Cindy’s door.
So he went.
He wouldn’t say much about his time being held hostage. Only that Christian was there, that first day, and then…he wasn’t. They gave him small amounts of water and unlocked his handcuffs a few times so he could go to the bathroom. Sometimes Megan would talk to him, but he wouldn’t tell me what she said.
A few weeks ago, we were lying on my bed, listening to music, when he made this gasping sound. He sat up, grabbing the sides of his head. And he said it was his fault. All of it. I rubbed his back until his breathing went back to normal, and he didn’t say another word.
This doctor in Tillamook said we were at high risk for PTSD, that we’d all need therapy. So Mom and Eric sent me and Jenika to this therapist a couple times—it was all they could afford. But talking didn’t help me. Talking just put me back into that room, looking into the long barrel of that gun. Talking made me see Megan die, over and over again.
I still hadn’t been able to process that day. I didn’t know if I ever would, but I knew I had to try if I was ever going to be able to move forward. If I ever wanted to have a good night’s sleep again. Or laugh without feeling guilt.
I should’ve been there more for Megan. I should’ve made sure she knew how much she mattered to me, not just because she was Alex’s little sister. But because of who she was. Who the three of us were together. Those moments we spent together, playing in the woods, making each other laugh when we’d been through hell at school, were some of the best memories I had. It wouldn’t have been the same without her. Not even close.
Would it have changed anything if she knew that? I honestly didn’t know. I just knew that question was eating me alive.
It helped to know Gabi was locked up, being held without bail. The murder trial was still months away, but she was getting tried as an adult. Daddy couldn’t get her out of this—but he was trying. He pointed out again and again that Gabi hadn’t actually killed Amber and Christian, and she’d shot Megan in “self-defense.” She grew up without a mother, he said. He wasn’t around as much as he should’ve been. She was troubled. Vulnerable.
Every time I saw him on the TV, telling those lies, I wanted to smash my fist through it.
From what I heard, Gabi wasn’t saying a thing. She wouldn’t even speak to her lawyer. And the more she held out, the more attention she got. They loved flashing her doe-eyed picture on the news, trying to “unravel the mystery.” She and Megan even had a name now—the Foxglove Killers.
I didn’t know exactly why she did what she did, but I had a theory. She got off on manipulation, seeing how far she could push people. And it wasn’t just about getting Megan to kill people. Or framing Alex. It was about all of us. Seeing how far we’d all go. That was what I’d tell them when I testified. That was what we’d all tell them, including Brandon.
He was going to show that picture he’d drawn of her and talk about how she used to give him “dares.” Pull the trigger was what she said whenever she tried to get him to do something. Like drive down Highway 8, a road that curved through the Coast Mountains, while she covered his eyes. Steal something just for the hell of it. Jump into the ocean to cure his fear of water.
She told him things about the cakes, too. How they’d done things to her. Cruel things. She was always cryptic about what, never specific. She made it seem like she was afraid to tell him, which made him all the more concerned.
Then one day she told him about how Christian set fire to some guy’s car and bragged about getting away with it. “We should set his Audi on fire,” she’d told Brandon. “Can you imagine the look on his face?”
Brandon laughed it off, thinking she was kidding. It never dawned on him that she was serious, even though she got quiet afterward. It wasn’t long after that she cut him out of her life.
He said he should’ve seen this coming. He should’ve seen her for what she was. But like I told him, some people have darkness inside them that most of us can’t comprehend. Not until we’re face-to-face with it.
Megan had shown plenty of signs, but I never saw the darkness in her or how truly unhappy she was. I only saw my idea of who she was.
“Did you see that?” Alex asked, bringing me back to the here and now. His eyes were open now, watching the sky.
“What?”
“Shooting star—it was bright, too.”
“Did you make a wish?”
He shook his head, still gazing up. “I don’t have one.”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “Want some of mine?”
He looked at me then, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. “You know I’m not leaving you, right?”
“I do… Doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss you like hell.”
“Why? You’ve got Jenika to keep you company.” A playful spark flashed in his eyes. A spark I hadn’t seen since…before.
“Oh, yeah.” Jenika was staying with us until her mom was out of rehab—Eric had convinced her to go after she got out of the hospital. “I should get back soon—we’re trying to decide what to wear to school tomorrow.”
Alex’s smirk turned into a soft laugh.
The tension between Jenika and me hadn’t gone away—we still argued and pushed each other’s buttons. But there was a connection between us now, an unspoken understanding. Sometimes it was a look we’d exchange when Mom or Eric tried to get us to open up. Sometimes we had conversations about “regular” things, like how sexy Dean Winchester was and how cool it would be to spend the night in a haunted castle.
Sometimes I even liked being around her. She said things I didn’t have the guts to say. As everyone else was tiptoeing around me, saying what they thought I wanted to hear, she kept it real. Made me feel normal…
“How about you just come with me?” Alex said. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“God, I wish.” I traced the lines on his palm, willing time to slow down. “I’ll be up there every chance I get. Don’t want to lose you to some Portland girl with a better music collection.”
He closed his hand around my fingers, warming them. “Doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t be you.”
I
looked at his house one more time. At the fading sky-blue paint his grandpa had picked out just for Megan and Alex. This was probably the last time I’d be here. Cindy had moved in with a friend in Astoria, so she’d cleared everything out yesterday. It would go on the market at some point—maybe when this blew over. If it ever blew over.
Until then, it would just sit here. Empty.
Alex leaned in and pressed his lips against mine, lingering for a few seconds, before pulling away. “You’re going to be okay.” He ran a finger down my cheek. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I could say the same to you.” He was right when he said I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t make this pain go away. I couldn’t stop his nightmares. But I could have faith in him. And I did. He’d had so much thrown at him, even before this, and he’d always found a way to survive.
It may take a lot of time, and a lot of space—but he was going to find a way to be okay. And I’d be there for him, whenever he needed me.
Alex looked back up at the sky, exhaling. “I should probably get going…”
“Five more minutes?” I said.
He rested his head against mine. “Five more minutes…”
I closed my eyes, taking in the moment. Alex’s warmth. The wind rustling the leaves. I had a long road ahead of me, dealing with my guilt, my anxiety, getting through this without Alex at my side—at least in the way he’d always been at my side. I had to figure out what my life was without the two people I’d seen almost every day since fourth grade. The two people I thought would always be here, fellow outcasts, helping me face this town…this world.
But for now, I had these five minutes.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Jesse McCune, my amazing husband, for giving up his time with me and listening to me vent while I wrote and rewrote this book. You are my rock every single day. Thank you to my cat Maestro for giving me hugs when I needed them most. Thank you to my friends, family, and beta readers for being there through my ups and downs and giving me some great feedback—Stephanie, my twin in so many ways, Paula, Denise, Trish, Vivi, Kristen, Julie, Kari, the “Myke”, Mel, Stephie Oi, Luke, and Shveta (for listening and offering up a great meditation). Thank you to my fantastic editors, Alycia Tornetta and Stacy Abrams, for their insight and infinite patience with me this last year. And last but not least, thank you to my agent, Jennifer Laughran, who has always believed in my writing and just “gets” my characters and my style.
About the Author
Tara Kelly adores variety in her life. She’s an author, one-girl-band, graphic designer, editor, and photographer. She lives in Sin City with her beloved guitars, sound design master bf, and a fluffy cat named Maestro.
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