If You Wrong Us

by Dawn Klehr

  “Where did you bury him?” one of the officers would scream. He’s the bad cop.

  The other, older man in uniform would say, “We know you had a good reason. I’m sure he had what was coming to him. But son, you need to tell us where you buried him.” He’s the good cop.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I’d tell them. “I didn’t bury anyone. I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  My insides flicker when I say it.

  Even in my imagination, I know it’s a lie.

  I take the gun from my backpack and slide it into the waistband of my jeans.

  Becca looks around to be sure nobody else has seen what I just did. She slams the trunk shut and rushes into the car.

  I open the driver’s side door and force her to move over into the passenger seat. Then I hit the safety locks, and this time I have no trouble driving to the site.

  Once we get there, I grip Becca’s arm, pull her from the car, and drag her down the hill.

  “Hang on.” She fights me the entire way down. “Will you just listen to me?”

  “Not another fucking word, Becca.” I don’t stop moving.

  Not. Another. Word.

  “It’s not what you think,” Becca tells me as we get closer to the decrepit library.

  Her words are drowned out by the creepy music playing in my head. The kind that indicates trouble ahead. With each step we take down the hill, it gets louder. Faster. Harder.

  My heart pounds to the beat that echoes in my mind. My legs fight through the tall grass and weeds. My head prepares for what I might find in that room as one singular thought consumes me.

  Ethan.

  Once we’re on level footing, I run to the building. Becca’s on my heels.

  Her hand grabs my arm when we reach the door. She’s fast.

  “Listen.” She fights to catch her breath. “The shovel was for the clothes, Johnny. I buried his soiled clothes.”

  I can hear her above the music now, but I don’t believe her. Every fiber of my being tells me there’s danger. Serious danger.

  I look in the peep hole, but I don’t see him. The bed is empty. It’s what I was afraid of. Ethan’s gone.

  Becca took care of him.

  I drop my head and Becca looks at me, confused. “What?” she asks. “What is it?”

  “Where did you put him, Becca?” It’s hard to get the words out.

  “What do you mean? He’s here. He’s here, right?”

  She storms into the room. She stands over the empty bed.

  “This isn’t right,” she says. Her eyes scan every inch of the space. “No, this can’t be right.”

  Then there’s a horrible coughing, gagging-like sound.

  “Ethan?” Becca finally uses his name. “Johnny, come here. He’s on the floor.”

  I rush over to her, on the side of the bed, and there’s Ethan, sandwiched between the metal bedframe and the wall. I want to be relieved, but the bright yellow vomit and bile covering his sweatshirt scream that he’s anything but okay.

  “I think he’s having a reaction to the drugs.” Becca’s back to her calm, icy demeanor.

  “We need to get him to the hospital.” I say.

  “No, we don’t.” She digs in.

  “Are you crazy? Seriously? You want him to die here?”

  I really think she might.

  “I know how to handle this,” she says. “He threw up—that’s a good thing. I know you’re freaking out. I don’t blame you, I blame him. He’s hurt you, Johnny. Worse than I thought. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about it all. I won’t shut you out anymore. And when there are hard decisions to be made, we’ll make them together. I promise.”

  It takes me a second to catch it. But she’s just let me know that there’ll be more hard decisions to come. I don’t even want to know how difficult they’re going to be.

  We clean Ethan up. Change his shirt (Becca has a change of clothes ready—she went to Target to get supplies when I went to the gas station). We give him water and settle him in bed, and soon he drifts off to sleep.

  It takes a long time.

  When we’re done, I walk halfway up the hill and sit. I stare at the sky until the sun goes down. The darkness sets in—outside, inside. It’s cold and empty and evil.

  Becca doesn’t join me. I’m sure she’s doing more scheming down in the building. I’m happy for the space; I can’t be around her right now.

  “Time to get your opponent,” she says, finally showing herself. She doesn’t stop as she walks up the hill toward her car.

  Oh, he’s my opponent now?

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say my girl is fucking with me.

  Mind games. It’s what she’s good at. Pull you in, push you away. Offers her body, but keeps her heart closed off. Builds you up, only to tear you down. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

  That’s when I know, I’m stuck. She planned everything from the very beginning—maybe even including a way out if things go to shit. There’s no question that I’ll be on the losing side if that happens. There are too many things linking me to this crime.

  I have to come up with a back-up plan of my own.

  36

  Becca

  After I tricked Johnny into taking Ethan, the real competition was finally underway. Of course, the entire year was nothing but sport. Tricks and manipulations. A game of strategy where you attack and capture.

  There were so many moves—and countermoves—that I knew Johnny was having a hard time distinguishing fact from fiction. That’s just how it was supposed to be. I wove quite the complex web.

  I discovered who killed your mom and Brit. Overstatement. My sister had already told me, right before she was crushed to death.

  I’ve never had a real boyfriend. Exception: Travis. The murderer.

  We’re in this together. But I was running the show.

  We won’t hurt him. Lie. That was precisely what we were going to do.

  I love you. Verdict was still out.

  Then there were all the omissions. I mean, I wasn’t technically lying, those first few days when Johnny asked how I was coping. I simply didn’t need to tell him I’d been on lockdown after Brit died. I didn’t need to tell him about the psychiatrist. That was nobody’s business. I told him about the support group, and that was enough. If he’d known much more, there’s no way he would have trusted me. He’d act just like Brit or my parent or my teachers. He would have looked at me like I was the crazy one.

  I couldn’t have him look at me that way.

  And this was my last chance. Unfortunately, I’d just learned that morning it was back to lock-up for me. But not the cushy old fourth floor. No, my parents wanted to send me to some “center” to get my head right.

  You’re not right, they kept telling me. You’re just not right.

  It had been arranged. I would leave in two days.

  And that meant I had nothing to lose.

  37

  Johnny

  We drive to the other end of town, passing the bodega along the way. I hear Poppy’s voice in my head: Any sign of trouble, primo, you come to me.

  If he only knew.

  As Becca drives, I continue to work out the details of my back-up plan. Thankfully, I’ve always worn gloves at the ruins. Always. I know there are things that will still link me to Ethan, but nothing I can’t handle. Nothing I can’t take care of.

  My mind begins to form a list. My Get Out of this Clusterfuck list. It’s a short one.

  Shovel

  Gun

  Girl

  Actually, I may need to change the order.

  Shovel

  Girl

  Gun

  Take care of those three things and then I’m out. I’m done. I just need to tick the
m off, one at a time. To do that, I need to follow Becca a little while longer. I also have to be sure. If I use my back-up plan, it’ll destroy everything Becca and I have together. There’s no way she’ll trust me again. Can I live with that? Can I live without her? I’m afraid I’ll never be able to answer that question.

  Once we get to the accident scene, we park in the abandoned parking lot and Becca tells me to keep a lookout.

  “I’m going to get Travis,” she says.

  “Alone?” I ask.

  She nods. “Meet me in the ditch by the road, in exactly seven minutes.”

  I’m not going to argue. I have work to do, and just as soon as she’s out of the car, I get to it.

  Shovel.

  One side of the lot borders the woods. I quickly pop the trunk, grab the shovel, and head into the tree cover as deep as I can. Scanning the area, I spot an old log.

  I check my phone.

  Four minutes left.

  I roll the log over and dig.

  Three minutes.

  Placing the shovel in the hole, I roll the log back over it. I’ll have to come back later because I can’t have this thing biting me in the ass down the road, but this should hold me for now.

  One minute, thirty seconds.

  I sprint to get to Becca in time.

  When I do, she has Travis flat on his back in the ditch. The syringe is still stuck in his neck.

  “He went down fighting,” she says.

  “I can see that,” I say, looking at his body contorted into a pretzel. “So what does that Beautiful Mind have planned now? This location isn’t exactly private, Bec.”

  “Call me romantic,” she says, the ice back in her voice. “I thought it seemed appropriate.”

  “I appreciate it, I do. But how did he get here?”

  “Cab,” she answers.

  Always an answer.

  “I take it he now knows we’re behind the kidnapping?”

  “He’s getting the idea.” She smiles. “Let’s take him to his brother.”

  “Okay,” I tell her. “This is your show.”

  She seems pleased with that response.

  I wait with Travis while Becca retrieves the car and pulls over at the side of the road. I quickly get Travis inside, though the sound of him hitting the sterile plastic in the backseat has my gagging reflex going again.

  I try not to think of it and instead focus on the next two items on my list: Girl and Gun.

  Once we get back to the ruins, the sky is black. No stars; no moon. A new chill in the air has me zipping up my coat.

  Haunted by the twisted déjà vu, I scoop up Travis and follow Becca to the library.

  I drop him on the bed next to his brother, who happens to be in a very deep sleep, and lock his arms and legs in the restraints.

  Then Becca and I wait.

  The Elements of a Crime:

  #4 Causation

  In some crimes, like murder or assault, actual harm must occur. In homicide, there must be a killing. For assault, there must be bodily injury. Without the harm—causation—the crime would not exist.

  Causation can be hard to prove because there could be intervening events that occurred in between the act and the result. So the act and the result must be close together in time. Or it must be proven that the guilty party set a chain of events in motion that eventually led to a harmful result.

  In my case, the proximity of the crime and harmful result are pretty damn close.

  That’s if the right person knows where to look.

  I’m worried that Johnny and Becca know where to look.

  That’s why I went on Hush to confess. Becca hacked my computer, like I knew she would, and I had to throw her off Ethan’s scent. It’s always been about keeping my brother safe.

  If it was just me implicated, I’d have more options. I could run; I could go after Becca. I could let the cops take me—it’s not like my life hasn’t been destroyed anyway. But it’s not just me. I have Ethan to think about. I’m responsible for him. If I don’t look out for him, who will?

  Ethan’s just a kid, doing what kids do. He was trying to earn my respect when he went after Brit.

  Truthfully, I think the bitch got what she deserved.

  38

  Johnny

  My mind drifts as we wait for the Kent boys to wake up, and the story of Becca and Johnny plays in my head. Maybe because I know it’s coming to an end. I know that after tonight, there will be no more Becca and Johnny.

  I know it’s twisted, but I’m not happy about that. Not one bit.

  Becca invaded my life when I needed her. Made me laugh and cry and want to be better. She made me stand up for myself. She made me feel like a man.

  Big time.

  “Don’t you dare slut shame her, Johnny Vega,” Cassie said when I told her about my first time with Becca.

  I’d drifted away from most of my guy friends at that point, but I had to tell somebody about Becca and her, uh, appetite. I mean, I was in that comfortable sweet spot between the players and the sad saps who wouldn’t see a vagina until college. I was perfectly content that I could count the number sexual experiences I’d had with girls on two hands. Those who I’d sealed the deal with could be counted on one. Absolutely acceptable.

  But never—never—had I experienced anything like Becca.

  So I told Cassie, and even she was impressed.

  We’d been dating for four months at that point, and I planned a special night to celebrate. After our dinner and movie, things got a little heated in the car. Shirts were off and hands were exploring and soon we were reaching the point of no return. But I didn’t want it to be like this—in the car, after talking about my mom. I couldn’t switch on and off like Becca could. I couldn’t be logical about this.

  “Slow down,” I whispered to her.

  “Why?” she asked.

  When it happened, I wanted to be in bed. I wanted to take my time; I wanted to spend the night with her. I’m sure that sounds like a pathetic chick flick, but I wanted it to be special. I wanted to bring my A game. But I couldn’t tell her this. She’d probably laugh me out of the car.

  “I don’t want to do it here,” I told her.

  Becca palmed me through my jeans—she wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

  “You feel ready,” she said, tightening her grip. And a bolt of lightning struck me right there.

  “I want this to be special for you,” I told her.

  “I’m with you, Johnny. Someone who makes me feel good. It’s going to be special. I think it’ll make us feel better too. Did you know people who have regular intercourse live five years longer and have fewer health problems?”

  Who was this girl?

  “Please never say the word ‘intercourse’ again.” I shuddered. “It gives me the creeps.”

  She got a gleam in her eye. How I loved it when feisty Becca made a rare appearance.

  “Intercourse,” she said again. And again. And again.

  Until I stopped her.

  Of course Becca got her way. Not that it was a sacrifice on my part. It was just unexpected. I held her after that for a long time. One of the only times she really let me in.

  Yes, we did it. It was amazing, and I’ll never be the same.

  It’s these memories that make me question everything I’m about to do. But as I look at the two brothers on the bed, with that same pudgy face, long nose, and thin lips, I realize I don’t have a choice.

  39

  Becca

  Travis contacted me shortly after I sent the fake message about his brother’s kidnapping. As expected, he was desperate to save his brother. After spending those months together, I knew how much Ethan meant to him. He and Johnny were the same that way—dedicated to their siblings.

  It wasn’t fair, and I fel
t the disparity of that every day.

  When we were dating, I spent a lot of energy trying to convince Travis to quit gambling, especially once he started using my math skills to cheat, and to rip people off. That’s how I knew to use the pissed-off gamer as an excuse to get him where I needed him.

  It really could’ve happened. Those guys get desperate for their money.

  So I knew all the right buttons to push. And once I did, I knew Travis would come to me.

  “Bec, I’m in deep shit,” he said when he called.

  “What’s going on?” I acted concerned, which should’ve have been his first tip-off.

  He brought me up to speed on his situation and I listened, applying all the gasps and sighs in the right places.

  “I’ll meet you at the accident site tomorrow. Let me work on a few things and I’ll help.”

  Now, you’d think a normal person would’ve felt sick sending that photo to Travis. Little Ethan hurt and soiled, leaning up against the lamppost. I’m sure a normal person would have. But I wasn’t normal anymore. I was an animal at that point. Fighting for survival.

  I was consumed by revenge, retribution, justice. It was all I could focus on. Making things equal.

  Do to Travis what he did to me.

  I just wasn’t sure where that left Johnny.

  40

  Johnny

  Watching Travis wake up is about the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I watch him from my designated spot in the small room as his head shifts from side to side. His eyebrows begin lifting as his brain tells him it’s time to open his eyes. My hands are clammy and my head goes light before I realize I’m holding my breath. When I release it, I almost call out to him. But then I remember: I can’t break the rules. Yet.

  Travis lets out a soft moan and his head begins to bob.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Grunt. Groan.

  Becca is enthralled, watching the spectacle. But for her it’s more fascination than disgust.