Inquest

by Gladden, DelSheree

  “Milo, what’s wrong?” I ask as I approach him.

  Up close to him, the fear I felt a second ago disappears. His face is serious, but not anxious. Whatever his worry is, it’s not for my safety. “It’s late,” he says finally. “I should go.”

  After his teasing I find this oddly funny, not to mention the fact that we never got to finish our conversation at the dance. “But I thought you practically lived here?”

  He doesn’t appreciate the joke. “It’s late, Libby. I should get home before my parents start wondering where I am.”

  “Did you tell your parents where you were going tonight?” I ask, wondering why his parents would care where he is tonight more than any other night.

  “They asked when they saw me dressed up, so I told them I was going to the dance.”

  “But not who you were going with,” I say. I don’t know why I should expect anything else, but it’s another reminder that normal will just never apply to me.

  Milo pulls me into his arms. “No. I’m sorry, Libby. I hope you know I would introduce you to them if I could, but it would only put you in more danger. It’s too bad, too, because I think they would really like you if you weren’t Cassia.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, “I understand.”

  For several moments neither of us says anything. Maybe it’s foolish to think having Milo and Celia in my life are enough. I wouldn’t know what to do without either of them, but it would be lying to say I didn’t miss having parents, or talking to other people, or being able to meet my best friend’s family. Villains are always lonely, though, aren’t they? But I don’t feel like a villain. I don’t want to be one, either. I don’t even want to be a hero. Living a normal life where people aren’t afraid to look at me is all I’m really asking for. And if I only get two more years to live, is it really that much to ask? I bury my head against Milo’s chest and will my melancholy to stay away.

  “I really should go,” Milo says.

  “I don’t want you to leave yet,” I whisper. Running into Lance twice and knowing he fought with one of his best friends because of me, not to mention getting Lance’s strange warning, has left me feeling a little hollow. I don’t want to be alone right now. I pull more tightly against Milo. Something changes in his stance. His arms wrap around me more hungrily than usual. My mind wanders back to our unfinished conversation on the dance floor. He said he didn’t want me getting back together with Lance and that he was hoping…something. I never got to hear what he was hoping would follow me staying away from Lance.

  “I don’t want to go either,” he says, stroking my hair slowly, “but I don’t think I should stay.”

  “Will your parents really worry about where you are?” I ask.

  His breathing stops for a brief second. “No, probably not.”

  “Then stay.”

  “Stay?” he questions. I can hear the question of how long in that one word. He holds his emotions hostage, but there is a tenor to his voice I’ve never heard before.

  “I’m not asking you to spend the night, Milo. I’m just asking you to stay with me a little longer. I just don’t want to be alone yet.” Every time I close my eyes I see Lance’s face, his eyes begging me to listen to him, to forgive him. Thinking of him makes me want to cry.

  “Running into Lance really got to you, didn’t it?” He sounds surprised.

  I nod, feeling childish for being affected so much by Lance, but he was my best friend since we were babies. It hurts to have a person like that turn on me. And it’s only made worse by believing Lance is still looking out for me but refuses to admit it. He looked so betrayed when he saw my curls, which means he still cares, doesn’t it? His question about my curls isn’t the only thing still bothering me. I decide to take a risk. “When you went to get the car, Lance found me again.”

  “What?” His voice attempts to keep its dull glean, but angry tension makes it hum. “What did he want?”

  “He told me I should stay away from you. He thought you were…dangerous, and he wanted me to stop hanging around with you,” I say, my voice getting quieter as I go.

  Milo’s body goes rigid. “Are you freaking kidding me? That prick has the balls to say anything about me being dangerous! He’s the one who tried to kill you! Did you actually take him seriously?” he demands.

  “No,” I say quickly. “I mean, I think he’s wrong, obviously, or I wouldn’t be asking you to stay with me, but the way he said it…I think he was really worried. He believed what he was telling me.”

  “What does it matter what Lance believes?” Milo demands. “You know he’s wrong, right? I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Then why are you telling me this? Do you want me to go after him and tell him to leave you alone? Because I will if I have to.” His eyes glance at the door, and I start to worry that he means it.

  I grab his arm and tug on him until he’s facing me. “Milo, I know you would never hurt me, I was just wondering why Lance would say something like that. I mean, I know you have things you haven’t told me, and I won’t ask you to, but what would make Lance think you were dangerous?”

  “You think I gave him some reason to be afraid of me? I haven’t done anything to him, Libby. Nothing. I’ve wanted to punch him in the face about a dozen times, but I haven’t. I have no idea what would make him say that about me,” Milo says.

  “Nothing?”

  Milo’s face darkens. “You do believe him, don’t you?”

  “No, Milo.”

  “Then why are we still talking about this?”

  My frustration over my confusion with Lance, this crappy night, everything that has gone wrong lately boils over. I don’t think before I speak. “Because Lance has always been there to protect me! My entire life. I know what he did to me, but I believed him when he said he was afraid for me. I just want to know why he would say something like that!”

  Stunned by my outburst, Milo doesn’t answer right away. His stony silence scares me. Is there really a reason behind Lance’s fear? Is there something I’ve missed this entire time? When Milo takes a deep breath before speaking, I hold my own breath as I wait for his answer.

  “He wants you to doubt me,” Milo says angrily. “He’s just trying to hurt you again by making you drive away the only person who cares about you. He wants to drive you away from me, and I won’t let him, Libby.”

  The only person who cares about me? My mind switches tracks completely, putting Lance and his warning aside for now. Does Milo really mean that? It’s kind of sad to think there is only one human being in this world who doesn’t hate me, but I do like the idea that Milo truly cares about me. He won’t let Lance drive me away from him either? I’m not convinced that’s what Lance is trying to do, but the implications of Milo words sink deep into my heart.

  He wants me, for himself apparently. An irrational brand of happiness starts building in my heart. I’m so distracted by it I don’t realize Milo is putting his jacket back on. He’s leaving, possibly going to find Lance. Or maybe he’s angry at me for doubting him. Either way, I don’t want him to leave. I panic and blurt out the first thing I can think of to make him stay.

  “Do you want to know why I wouldn’t curl my hair before tonight?”

  Milo’s hand freezes on the door knob he just grabbed. “What does that have to do with Lance?”

  “Nothing. Look, what Lance said scared me, Milo, but if you say there isn’t any reason for him to think you’re dangerous, I believe you.” I watch as Milo’s shoulders relax fractionally. “I don’t want to talk about Lance anymore, okay? Forget about what he said, and I will too.” At least I’ll try to.

  Milo takes his hands off the door and turns back around. Turmoil flashes in his eyes. He wants to go after Lance. He’s been itching to put his fist through his teeth for months now. Maybe Lance would deserve it. I’m not sure anymore. But Milo would get suspended. I don’t want him getting in trouble because of me. Walking over to hi
m, I reach my hands up to his jacket and attempt to slide it back off. His hands catch mine and hold them.

  “Please don’t go, Milo. I’m sorry I even brought Lance up. Just stay, okay?” I ask. This night has not gone like I was hoping it would at all.

  I don’t know if it’s my plea, or the fact that my hands are still on his chest, but Milo finally relents. “Are you going to tell me about the curls?” Milo asks.

  “Are you going to stay?”

  “For a little while,” he says, his expression morphing into something lighter, “but only if you go change. You look way too good in that dress for me to focus on your story. It’s distracting.”

  I reach up and touch his cropped hair. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  “Go change,” he demands, though his hands have slipped down to my hips.

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “Be right back.”

  I hurry through putting on my pajamas and brushing my teeth, only taking my time when it comes to hanging my dress back up. When I emerge from the bathroom Milo is lying on the bed with his eyes closed. I seriously doubt he is sleeping. His suit coat is draped over the sling chair, and his cuffs are rolled up with the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. The small triangle of bare chest is a tantalizing peek at the muscles Celia promised were there.

  I can’t resist running my finger along his exposed skin. He jumps and his eyes pop open in surprise. “I think you should have to change, too,” I say.

  Milo grabs my hand and pulls me onto the bed next to him. “I don’t have any clothes here.”

  “Maybe you should keep a spare sweatshirt here. But not the grey one, it’s seriously ugly.”

  Laughing, Milo says, “You've wanted to say that for a while, haven’t you?”

  “Since the first time I saw it.”

  He chuckles and slips his arm under my head. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that the grey sweatshirt is no more. The suit wasn’t the only thing I bought. I’ve decided to give up trying to be invisible, no matter what it costs me. I don’t think I could pull it off much longer being your friend anyway. You seem to attract attention for some reason. I can’t imagine why.”

  “You realize that means your parents might find out about me, right?”

  The silence seems heavy without his voice. “We’ll deal with that when we have to,” Milo says. “But for right now, you owe me an explanation. Tell me about the curls.”

  I used the first thing I could think of to get him to stop earlier. Now that I’m actually faced with telling him the truth, I can’t seem to get the words to escape my quickly constricting throat. He doesn’t pressure me. My eyes start to burn with unshed tears, pain I have held in for years trying to burst free of me. Milo’s breathing has slowed to the point that I think he might be asleep before I’m finally in control enough to speak.

  Maybe I have dodged this conversation for now. Milo squeezes my shoulder, and says, “So?”

  I sigh, but keep my promise.

  “My dad had really curly hair. I loved it. I don’t know how many times I wished mine was like his instead of my mom’s stick-straight hair. I kept thinking it would happen, but my mom finally told me when I was five that my hair was never going to be curly. I begged her to take me to the salon to get it permed, but she said no. She was too busy, I guess. My dad wasn’t.”

  I have to pause to sniff and wipe away the tears that have snuck past my control. My dad was never too busy for me. No matter what he was doing, he would put it down if I needed him. He would have done anything for me.

  “He bought me a package of pink sponge curlers, and every night after my bath he would roll them into my hair while we talked about what we’d done that day. It was my most favorite part of the day. Even when I got old enough to put the curlers in myself, he still insisted on helping me. He curled my hair every night from the time I was five until he died.”

  Milo turns onto his side, and I curl against his chest. The breath I feel like I have been holding for five years finally slips out of my body. I choke back another round of tears when Milo starts stroking my hair, twirling the curls around his fingers just like my dad used to do.

  “So, you never curled your hair even once after your dad died?” Milo asks.

  “Not until tonight.”

  “But wouldn’t curling your hair have reminded you of him, maybe made it feel like he was still with you?” he asks.

  My breathing starts coming faster. “I…I didn’t want to be reminded of him.”

  “Why not? You two were obviously really close. Why would you want to just shut him out like that?”

  “It was too painful to be reminded of him, Milo. You have no idea how much it hurt,” I say.

  Milo frowns. He’s trying to understand, but I just don’t think he can. “If I ever lost Celia, I couldn’t put her away like that, pretend she never existed. I would want to keep her alive in my heart and mind.”

  “I couldn’t th-think about h-him.” Sobbing hiccups break up my words as memories break my heart. “N-not after wh-what I did to him.”

  Pressing his forehead against mine, Milo tries to comfort me. “What did you do, Libby? It couldn’t be anything that bad.”

  “I…I killed him.”

  Chapter 19

  Holding Back

  “I…uh, you what?” Milo asks.

  “I killed him. I killed my dad,” I whisper into his shirt. His entire body has turned to marble, hard and alien. What have I done? Please don’t let go of me, I beg silently. If Milo leaves I will truly be alone. I can’t do this without him. I don’t want to do this without him. Milo is the only reason I don’t go back to Mr. Walters and take him up on his offer. What good is an extra two years if I have to spend it completely alone? Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.

  Suddenly his hands start rubbing slow circles on my back again. He leans into me and presses his cheek against mine. I can’t breathe because I’m afraid I’m imagining this. Milo can’t possibly want to stay with me now.

  “What happened?” Milo asks. “I don’t believe you meant to hurt him. You wouldn’t do that.”

  He is probably the only person in this world who actually believes that. Even with Celia, I think she’s secretly afraid of what I’ll do. The single fact that I make her brother happy is just more powerful of an idea to her. I just wish I knew whether Milo was right.

  “I don’t really know what happened,” I admit. “I was my birthday. We’d spent the day at the amusement park with my friends. Then everyone came back to my house for cake and ice cream. I was so exhausted that night that I fell asleep on the couch and my dad had to carry me up to bed.”

  It was the last time he held me in his arms and I wasn’t even awake to savor it.

  “What happened after he took you to bed?” Milo asks. His rough voice betrays dark thoughts and I shake my head quickly.

  “He didn’t hurt me, Milo. My dad would never have hurt me,” I say.

  “Then what?”

  “I remember being asleep, which is kind of strange, I guess. I thought I was dreaming at first, but then I realized it wasn’t a normal dream. It was different, real, if that makes sense. Someone was calling my name, screaming at me to wake up. Then there were even more people. They were all yelling, telling me to wake up over and over again. It scared me to death. I didn’t know what was going on, but I had learned how to wake myself up from bad dreams years before. I focused all my thoughts on my real body and starting counting. Before I got to ten, the dream started disappearing. I realized something was wrong right away.”

  “What do you mean wrong?” Milo asks.

  “I don’t know. It was just wrong.” The sensations of that night return like they do every time I think about it. “The air was pressing in on me, suffocating me. I felt nothing, no emotions, no presence of other people like I usually did, no connection with the natural world around me. All I could feel was pain. My strength was being sapped from my body to the point that I could ba
rely even force my eyes open. When I did get them open, all I could see was my dad’s outline against the window. I don’t know what he was doing, but the pain was so horrible it physically shocked my body.”

  “What did you do?”

  My chest shakes involuntarily. The terror of that night sneaks back into my heart. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I was so scared. I tried to tell him to stop, but I’m not sure I even spoke. I could barely even move. It hurt so bad to move, but I forced myself to reach for his hand. The moment I touched him, everything went away. I was so relieved I didn’t even hear him screaming at first. When I finally registered it, his face was so white. His whole body was shaking. I tore my hand away from him immediately, but I was too late. He slumped to the ground and he never got up again.”

  I dry my face and try to finish with what little dignity I can muster. “By the time my mom ran into my room, there was nothing anyone could do to save him. She saw him on the floor and started crying. Our butler, Manuel, was the one who called the paramedics. I knew my dad was already gone, though. I felt his life leave his body as he fell still. I don’t know what I did to him, but it’s my fault he’s dead. I killed him, Milo.”

  Milo buries me in his arms. “You don’t know that, Libby. It could have been something he did himself. He was obviously doing something to you when you woke up. Maybe it turned back on him.”

  “But he wasn’t trying to hurt me, Milo.”

  “You don’t know what he was doing. Maybe he didn’t mean to hurt you, but whatever it was, it definitely hurt him.” I start to object, but Milo talks right over me. “You waking up interrupted what he was doing. It could be that whatever he was in the middle of wasn’t supposed to be interrupted. But even if that’s true, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “If I would have just stayed still until he finished…”

  “No,” Milo says, “who knows what might have happened to you. Those people in your dream, they knew something was wrong. I think something bad would have happened to you if you didn’t stop your dad. I can’t explain it, I don’t have Spiritualism to give me any otherworldly insight, but I know I’m right about this.”