Where One Goes

by B. N. Toler

  “We have to tell George soon,” she says, as she wipes at her face.

  “We will, but you need rest now, baby girl.”

  “Will you stay? Please don’t go,” she begs, and I move closer to her.

  “I’m here.” And even when I go, a part of me will always be here, with her.

  We lie back, side by side, and eventually she drifts off to sleep. I stare at her, her fair skin and dark hair on display, and I know I love her because letting her go will be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do, but I’ll do it gladly knowing she’s safe and happy. I hope she stays and makes a home here. This town is good for her. I pray George can convince her.

  The night lingers into the morning, the sun peeking through the curtains. Charlotte is in a sleep coma but is startled awake when someone beats on her door.

  “Who the—?”

  I morph out of the room and morph back. “It’s Sniper,” I tell her as she walks toward the door rubbing her eyes. “He looks like something is wrong.”

  “George,” she gasps as her eyes go wide with panic. Ripping the door open, she says, “What’s wrong? Is it George?”

  “No, lass. Your truck was broken into last night at the bar. George is there with the police right now.”

  “He called the police?” she shrieks as her body tenses.

  “Yeah. Someone broke into it,” Sniper says to her, as if she’s dense.

  “Shit!” she mumbles. Closing her eyes, she clenches her fists.

  “What’s wrong, Charlotte?” I ask. Why is she freaking out?

  “I’m thinking!” she snaps.

  “Is Ike here?” Sniper asks as his eyes dart around the room.

  “Yes,” she answers as she moves toward the bed, grabbing her bag. “I’ve got problems, Sniper.”

  “Okay,” he says, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

  “Have you seen those clips on the news about the Purcell girl? That missing UVA student and how they found her body?”

  His brows rise in thought. “I think I heard about it.” He shrugs.

  “Well . . . I’m the one that sent in the anonymous letter telling the detective where to find her body.” We’re all silent for a moment until she adds, “Casey showed me where her body was.”

  “You didn’t kill her, so what’s the problem?” Sniper asks.

  “How am I supposed to explain I found a corpse under a bridge? They’ll never believe I can talk to the dead.”

  He bites his lip and nods. “No, most likely they won’t. What does Ike say?”

  Charlotte looks to me, and I use both hands to scratch the back of my head roughly as I think. “Tell the truth, Charlotte,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.

  Looking back to Sniper, she asks, “Who messed up my truck?”

  “I have a pretty good guess,” I remark.

  “Probably that twat, Misty,” Sniper answers and Charlotte’s shoulders slouch.

  “I guess we better go get this over with,” she sighs and pulls her backpack on her shoulders.

  “It’ll be okay, Charlotte,” I promise her. “Don’t worry.”

  On the drive to the bar, Sniper tries to take her mind off things, mostly telling embarrassing stories about me. “You know, when we were in basic training, all the guys had to share a bathroom. There weren’t any stalls or doors or anything, so we were all out in the open in front of everyone.”

  “Is that so?” she asks dismally, her mind obviously remaining fixed on what’s ahead.

  “Yeah, so we’re men, right? Men need . . . to release, if you know what I mean,” Sniper continues and Charlotte turns her head toward him.

  “Oh, he is such an asshole,” I say, as I clench my eyes closed, knowing exactly what he’s going to tell her.

  “Ike just called you an asshole. My curiosity is officially piqued.” Charlotte grins and Sniper’s body shakes as he works to keep his laughter in control. The bastard hasn’t even finished the story, and he’s already in stitches.

  “Well, sharing a room and bathroom with sixty dudes doesn’t exactly give you the privacy to jerk it,” Sniper explains.

  “So you went six weeks without whacking off?” Charlotte asks.

  “Kill me now,” I say.

  “You’re already dead, Ike,” Charlotte points out.

  Sniper laughs, beating the side of his fist against the steering wheel. He’s enjoying this way too much. “It’ll cheer her up, Ike. Don’t be such a wanker.”

  “Keep going. I’m on the edge of my seat over here,” Charlotte encourages Sniper.

  “Well, Ike decides to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.” Sniper uses his fingers to make quotations when he says, use the bathroom. “There was this guy in our unit, Williams . . . total sod. He was really good at ragging on people about shit. Of course, when Ike made his little bathroom break, Williams went in after him and caught him spanking it. He woke us all up laughing so hard.”

  Charlotte turns to me, grinning from ear to ear. “You got caught whacking off in the middle of the night?”

  “Yes,” I admit grumpily. Not exactly a story you want a girl you’re crazy about to hear.

  “Thanks for that, Sniper,” I say, even though he can’t hear me.

  “He says thanks,” Charlotte tells him as she chuckles at my expense.

  “No problem, Spanky,” Sniper replies. “That was his nickname for the remainder of basic training.”

  “Spanky?” Charlotte asks as she smiles brightly and shakes her head. Sniper just embarrassed the fuck out of me, but it worked. He relaxed her a little bit, but now we’re pulling into Ike and George’s parking lot, and her smile fades rapidly.

  “It’ll be okay,” I assure her again.

  She nods a few times as she stares at her truck. A police officer is standing near the passenger side looking inside, but not touching anything. When George sees Sniper’s truck pull in and park, he comes straight to the passenger door where Charlotte is and opens it.

  “Hey,” he says, simply. The swelling of his lip and eye is much better, but there’s still a nasty pink and purple hue surrounding it. Reaching out his hand for Charlotte, he helps her out of the truck, and she smiles faintly in gratitude.

  “When I got here this morning the windshield and driver’s side window was busted out. I didn’t touch it, but when I looked inside, it looked like maybe they went through your glove box.” George’s hand finds the small of her back and he leads her gently toward the police officer. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I remain standing near Sniper’s truck. Sniper stands about four feet from me, unbeknownst to him.

  “Don’t worry, Ike,” he says, quietly. “I’ll help her.” Then he heads toward Charlotte’s 4Runner.

  “Are you the owner of this vehicle?” the officer asks as I stare at the shattered glass on the hood of my truck.

  “It’s in my father’s name,” I clarify, meeting his gaze.

  “Are you aware the tags are expired?” he asks, and I want to roll my eyes. I have no idea if my father paid to renew the tags and license plate after I left. I’ve been pulled over countless times for those damn tags and the expired inspection, and I’ve collected a great deal of tickets for it as well. But as I’ve been drifting state to state for the last five years, I’ve never felt the need to pay those tickets or even mind their existence.

  “I am,” I answer.

  “Randy,” George says, annoyed. “Shouldn’t we be focusing on who broke into her truck?”

  At that moment, Officer Randy’s partner approaches and pulls him aside, leaning toward him to tell him something. George steps in front of me and shakes his head at them. “Bath County doesn’t see a lot of excitement in the way of crime around here. He’s just trying to show off,” George assures me. I nod as I suck in a deep breath. I wonder if I tell the officers to leave, if they would. The longer they’re here, the more my stomach knots up. George places his hands on my arms and squeezes
gently as he leans in and kisses my forehead. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers. When I look up at him, my brows furrow. He looks pale and a light sheen of sweat covers his face. He doesn’t look well at all.

  “Are you okay?” I whisper. “Do you feel sick?”

  He swallows hard, and his mouth curves to the side. “A little,” he admits. “I threw up a few times this morning.”

  “George, you should go home and rest,” I insist as I touch the back of my hand to his forehead, which he quickly swipes away.

  “I’m fine. I’m not leaving you here to deal with this alone.”

  “Ms. Acres,” Randy calls me and I turn toward him, surprised to be addressed by my last name. Did George tell him my last name? He tugs the brim of his hat down before placing his hands on his belt. His partner stands just behind him.

  “Yes?” I answer.

  “We’re going to need you to come with us,” Randy says, and I tense as George steps farther in front of me.

  “What the fuck for, Randy?” George snaps, and I realize how horrible the timing is. George is going through withdrawals and is already on edge. The last thing he needs is to be put in a situation that upsets him.

  “That’s not your concern, George,” Randy’s partner says, as he steps forward.

  “The hell it’s not, Willard. Someone broke into her truck last night, and you’re taking her in?”

  “That’s Officer Lloyd to you, George, and if we say she needs to come with us, she needs to come with us,” Willard snaps back.

  I have to step in and calm down George. Rounding him, I face him and place my hands on his chest. “It’s okay, George. This is probably about some outstanding tickets I have.” Cutting my eyes to Sniper, I try to tell him to help me out. He gets my message loud and clear. Stepping forward, he takes George by the shoulders and pulls him back a bit.

  “It’s all right, mate. We’ll follow her to the station and get this all cleared up.”

  “This is fucking bullshit, and you know it, Randy,” George growls as he pushes Sniper off of him and steps back to me. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he bends slightly to meet my gaze. “We’ll be right behind you. My mom can come and open the restaurant, and Greg is working the kitchen today so he can handle it.” My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. Here he is being so sweet and wonderful while going through drug withdrawals, and I’m keeping things from him. It feels amazing to have someone care for me this way, but dread blooms inside of me. He’s going to hate me when he finds out the truth.

  “You really don’t have to come, George. I’m sure it’s the tickets. I’d feel bad with you coming down there. Besides, you should be resting.”

  “I’m coming with you, Charlotte,” he says, sternly, before leaning in and kissing me softly on the lips, shocking the hell out of me. When I glance to Ike, he’s staring at the ground, and when I look to Sniper, his eyebrows are touching his hairline. “Don’t worry. My dad is a lawyer, and if we need him he can help,” George assures me.

  “Let’s go,” Randy orders from behind, and I roll my eyes.

  “Can I grab my bag out of Sniper’s truck?”

  He nods in answer, and after I get my bag, I climb into the back of the brown cop car and we head toward the Bath County Sheriff’s department. Ike morphs beside me and gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s not about the tickets,” he says. I nod, letting him know I know that.

  “So what’s this about? Why are you bringing me in?” I ask Randy and Willard.

  “An APB was put out on your vehicle and you last night. You’re wanted for questioning in the Casey Purcell investigation.”

  I lean my head back against the seat and exhale loudly. This is going to be a long day.

  Once we reach the sheriff’s department, I’m placed in a small room with a table and two chairs on each side. It even has one of those mirrors like in the movies, and I know I’m being watched from the other side. Ike stays with me, even though I can’t speak with him. It’s still nice to know he’s here.

  It’s been three hours, and I’ve had four cups of strong, stale coffee when the door opens and a tall, dark-haired man enters wearing a light blue button-down shirt and khakis. He’s holding a folder in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

  “Ms. Acres.” He nods in greeting. “I’m Detective Andrews with the Charlottesville Police Department.” I don’t respond as he pulls out the steel chair across from me and sits. “Bottled water?” he asks, holding it out toward me. I shake my head no.

  Leaning his forearms on the table, he asks, “Do you know why you’ve been brought in?”

  “The officers that brought me in said there was an APB out on me that had to do with the Casey Purcell investigation.”

  Leaning back, he eyes me. “Did you know Casey Purcell?”

  “Don’t answer anything yet,” Ike warns.

  “Am I under arrest?” I ask.

  “No. But you’re a person of interest. Your vehicle was seen at the nearest gas station to where Casey’s body was found.”

  “And that makes me a person of interest? You think I had something to do with her murder?”

  “Did you?” he asks simply, and I smile with disdain.

  “Are you serious?”

  “We know, at the very least, you’re the one that reported the whereabouts of her body,” Andrews replies as he flips open the folder. “Does this look familiar?” He slides a piece of paper in a plastic sheet protector forward. I recognize it immediately. It’s the anonymous letter I wrote.

  Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath. “It’s a letter,” I state because I have no idea what to say. In an attempt to calm myself, or at least appear calm, I place my hands on the table and lace my fingers together.

  He smiles sadly at me as if to say, You’re only prolonging the inevitable. “And what about this?” he asks as he takes the sheet before me back and places a photo in front of me. My heart stops. It’s a picture of the flashlight I dropped in the water that night. I could deny recognizing it if not for the ACRES written across it in bold letters. My father always had a thing about labeling our belongings. I’m an idiot. How could I forget about the flashlight?

  “I’m working on a warrant, and I’m sure we can match the paper the anonymous letter was written on to maybe . . . a notebook in your possession.”

  Pulling my hands back in to my lap, I shake my head. This is what I get for trying to help. “I think I’d like an attorney.”

  Detective Andrews steps out and Charlotte immediately stands and starts pacing.

  “Just tell the truth,” I tell her, but she shakes her head no. “There’s no one on the other side of the mirror right now and there aren’t any cameras in here. You can speak to me.”

  “Who would believe me?”

  “Charlotte, relax. I know you’re freaking out, but they have no proof you were there the night she disappeared. Just tell them everything you know, and maybe they can find the real killer.”

  “And how do I tell them I know all of those details, Ike? Maybe they can’t charge me for murder, but it would certainly look suspicious.”

  “George will get my father and he’ll help.”

  “I’m not using your dad for this, Ike. I can’t. Not when I’ve lied to your family about us and . . . you,” she finishes.

  “Then it’s time for you to tell my father,” I state. Stepping in front of her, she stops pacing and meets my gaze. “He’ll believe you. I’ll make sure he does.”

  She hangs her head and sighs. “I’m not sure I’m ready to do this.”

  An hour later, my father strolls in the room and immediately takes Charlotte in his arms. “Are you all right, dear? George is fit to be tied out there worrying about you,” my father says.

  When Charlotte pulls away, her eyes are filled with tears. “Thank you for coming, Mr. McDermott.”

  “I told you to call me Henry. Now sit. Let’s get this mess sorted out.” He leads Charlotte to her seat before rounding the table
and taking his own seat across from her, pulling out a large, yellow paper tablet from his briefcase.

  “Did you tell George what this is about?” Charlotte winces with the question.

  “You asked me not to, and everything we discuss will be confidential. I’ve spoken to Detective Andrews briefly. Now I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

  Charlotte’s gaze flicks to me, and I nod in encouragement. “Henry, I know this is going to sound absurd, but I found Casey Purcell’s body under the Ukon Bridge and reported it.”

  “Okay. Did you have anything to do with her death?” he asks.

  “No! I swear!” she rushes to assure him.

  “Just tell him the truth. He’ll believe you,” I assure her, and she clenches her eyes closed. When she opens them, she glances at me so briefly my father wouldn’t catch it, but the look was long enough to tell me she’s already apologizing for not telling him the truth.

  “I was driving through Charlottesville and my truck felt like it was pulling funny. So I pulled over near the bridge and got out to check my tire. When I got out, I took my flashlight but it was raining that night, and I slipped and my flashlight went down the bank. So I crawled down after it, but couldn’t find it. That’s when I found Casey’s body.” Charlotte finishes her lie and avoids eye contact with me. She knows I’ll be upset she didn’t tell him the truth.

  “Why didn’t you just go to the police?”

  “Several reasons. I was scared. I didn’t want to be named as a witness or anything. I have a lot of tickets from throughout the years, and I was worried I’d get in trouble for those. I didn’t have any money to pay them.”

  “You know how stupid that sounds, don’t you?” I say, and her lips flatten as if she’s mad.

  Pushing the notepad toward her, my father says, “Write up a statement, and we’ll hand it over to the detective.”