Truth and Consequences

by Cate Dean

  Misty and I looked at each other.

  “Mom—”

  “No lies, Margaret. Either tell me the truth, or let me just fix you up.”

  “Okay.” I pushed myself to my feet, every inch of my body stiff from dive bombing the bushes. “If you really want to know, I'll tell—”

  “No.” Dad's voice had me jumping.

  “It's time for her to know. This isn't going away, Dad. I meant what I said to Sam—I'm all in.”

  “There's no reason to give her more to worry about—”

  “Raleigh.” Mom moved to him, and he took her hand. “Anything you tell me can't be worse than all the scenarios I've already imagined.”

  He looked stricken. “I'm sorry, Beth.” Kissing her forehead, he glanced over at me—and his eyes widened as he finally noticed the damage. He knelt between us, touching my cheek. “What happened?”

  “We had an argument with a car over who should be on the sidewalk.” I handed him the note.

  Cursing under his breath, he stood. I waited for him to forbid me to leave the house again. Instead, he let out a sigh. “Do you want to do the honors?”

  I nodded. “I'll be right back.” I gave Dad a weak smile. “Visual aids.”

  In my room I gathered up the printed copy of my Monster Files, the haven guide, and took the pendant out of the pocket of my jeans. Mom wouldn't be the only surprised parent.

  No one said a word when I returned to the kitchen, or when I laid out my research. Mom let out a strangled gasp at first sight of the pendant. Like she knew what it was. I wouldn't be surprised. It seems like everyone in this town is hiding something.

  “Sit down, Mom.”

  “I’m going to check you both first, in case any of those scratches need immediate attention.”

  I knew she was stalling. When she was satisfied we’d both live for the next few minutes, she stepped back, crossed her arms.

  “You need to sit down, Mom.”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Trust me; you want to be sitting down.”

  Dad gently pushed her into a chair. She studied me the whole time, like I just turned into a stranger. Misty smiled at me, though she looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath, opened my file folder. “Most of this is going to sound crazy, but let me finish before you start asking questions.”

  Mom nodded, her gaze never leaving my face.

  I told her everything. And enough about Sam for her to know he was—different now.

  Dad grabbed the small guide, reading through it as I changed our lives forever with every word.

  Once I finished, I sat back, waited for the disbelief.

  Mom let out a sigh. “I was afraid it had something to do with the old haven.”

  All three of us stared at her.

  “You—knew about it," I said. “How—”

  “Evelyn Emmett was my best friend in school. Her dad ran the haven. I've never been down there, but best friends share, and she trusted me enough to tell me about it.” Dad took her hand, and she held on like he was a lifeline. “We haven't talked since she married Drew. I never liked him—too stuck on himself. I wish now I'd kept in contact. What she must be going through, with that lovely boy, and with Jake.”

  Trust Mom to worry about everyone involved, not just her family.

  Tears stung my eyes, and all the events of the last few hours crashed in on me.

  Dad cradled the back of my head, kissed my cheek, then turned and did the same to Misty. “Let’s get you both cleaned up. We’ll call your parents, Misty, and let them know you’re spending the night.”

  “Okay.” She sniffed, and I saw tears blur her eyes. Or maybe it was my tears blurring my vision. Dad had that effect on people.

  “And Alex,” He turned back to me. “We are going to discuss just how deep your involvement in this whole affair will be.”

  I swallowed, and Misty looked at me, her eyes wide.

  I was not looking forward to that discussion.

  ~ ~ ~

  Talking about everything under the sun but the enormous pink elephant in the room, Mom thoroughly examined every inch of Misty and me, played nurse where we needed it, then helped us up the stairs, and into my bedroom. Dad had already pulled in the single bed from the guest room, pushing it under the window. My room was just big enough to accommodate both beds.

  “You two settle in, now,” Mom said. “I’ll bring up some snacks. And if you’re not feeling up to it in the morning, I’ll call in to school for you.” She leaned in, kissed Misty’s forehead, and moved to me. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. I am not happy that you got sucked into this, but I know it will all work out for the best.”

  This calm, collected person masquerading as my mom was starting to freak me out. Where was the panic? The hand wringing? The inability to cope with the stress?

  “Mom?”

  She paused in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Why aren’t you—I mean, why haven’t you—”

  “Had a meltdown?” I nodded. “I’ve had some time to prepare for this news. And when I saw the Algiz pendant on your nightstand,” I flinched. Yeah, that wasn’t so smart, in hindsight. “I knew. I was just waiting for you and your dad to let me in.”

  And that hurt. Again.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Mom crossed the room, brushed hair off my cheek. “I understand why you kept it from me. I do have a history.” Her smile eased the guilt knot in my stomach, just a little. “Now, you both relax. I’ll be right back with those snacks.”

  Misty waited until Mom’s footsteps faded down the hall before she turned on me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about that book? And the pendant! And the fact that you were being stalked—”

  “Whoa—one question at a time.” I rubbed my forehead. “I didn’t tell you, because I don’t want you to be sucked in any more than you already are.”

  “I see.” She crossed her arms, and gave me a glare worthy of Candace. “You don’t get to decide for me. And you don’t keep secrets like that from your friend.”

  “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” Was there a handbook for this whole friend thing? Because I obviously had no idea.

  “Remember what your dad said when we were underground? You’re not alone, Alex, so stop acting like you are.”

  To my surprise, tears lodged in my throat. I blinked, hard, not wanting cry in front of her. Again. And Misty surprised me more by moving over to my bed and hugging me.

  “It’s okay to cry,” she whispered. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  I let out a choked laugh. “Thanks.”

  She rubbed my back, then let me go. “Now spill. All of it.”

  I did, talking even through Mom bringing a huge tray of snacks. She listened for a few minutes—probably long enough to realize she didn’t want to hear anymore. I figured she was already on overload, and barely holding on to the calm that still shocked me.

  Once I finished, Misty just looked at me. I tried not to fidget, but I finally gave up.

  “What?”

  “Wow,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”

  I smiled. “You have no idea.”

  We looked at each other, and both started laughing. It felt so good. And knowing I wasn’t alone? That felt fabulous.

  I finally dropped back on the bed, my stomach hurting. I heard what sounded like a chip bag opening, and looked over just before Misty tossed me the salt and vinegar chips. She was busy munching on the cheesy ones.

  Cheerleaders ate potato chips? I always figured celery sticks and bottled water was their diet of choice. But she was chowing down, and going for the mini pigs in a blanket next. Yeah—my mom loves finger foods. And my dancer’s metabolism loves that she loves them.

  “So,” she said, licking her fingers between each word. “Are we squared on the whole sharing deal?”

  “Uh—yeah.” I wa
s mesmerized, watching her eat like a linebacker. “Don’t you get this kind of food at home?”

  “Are you kidding me? I am a junk food freak. And your mom now owns my junk food soul.” With a sigh, she flopped back on the single bed, the chip bag cradled in her arm. “You should see my little brother, Kenny. He can vacuum down a family size bag of chips in less than five minutes. No joke,” she said, laughing at my reaction. “I timed him.”

  “The same brother who’s a comic book fiend?”

  She grinned. “You remembered.”

  I shrugged, feeling absurdly pleased. “How could I not? An image of She-Hulk is burned in my brain.” I looked it up, and was duly impressed.

  We both ate, and the silence was comfortable—something I have never experienced. My entire school career has been filled with uncomfortable silences. This was so much better.

  “Alex?”

  “Hmm?” I hummed around a mouthful of salt and vinegar chips.

  “I know the truth about Sam.”

  I choked, grabbing the bottle of water to help wash down the chips caught in my throat.

  “What are you talking about?” I wanted to know what she meant before I said anything else.

  “I know he’s like Jake. That he changed, when we were looking for those kids.”

  “How.”

  “Candace told me.” I sat up, and I must have looked as shocked as I felt, because she backpedaled, fast. “She didn’t want me to be blindsided in case something—happened . . .” Her voice faded. “I’m so sorry, Alex.”

  I covered my face, overwhelmed by everything. The bed shifted, and I knew Misty was kneeling in front of me.

  “I'll never tell anyone, Alex. I care about Sam.”

  With a sigh, I lowered my hands. “I know you won't, I just—”

  “Feel like you fell down the rabbit hole.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I'm right there with you. Jake is living with Candace.”

  I knew he stayed because Candace was helping with a cure, but—“Is it weird?”

  “Incredibly. And he eats like a ten year old boy. I should know—I live with one.” Her eyes widened as she realized the comparison she just made. “Not that Sam—oh, shoot me for being an idiot.”

  “It's okay.” I couldn't help but smile. “I know Sam will be different.” Was different. This was so much easier when I knew Sam was thousands of miles away, and not across town.

  “You really love him, don't you?”

  “That obvious?”

  Misty took my hand. “Red blinking neon obvious.”

  “Fabulous.”

  She let out a burst of laughter. “Okay—change of subject. What is the deal with Mrs. Swiller? You knew, didn't you.”

  “That she knew about the haven, and the fire ten years ago. Not that she was unbalanced.”

  “And how did you know that much?”

  I told her what happened the day Mrs. Swiller took me to her office. Misty almost fell off the bed when I got to the part about the computer.

  “That stiff necked hypocrite!” She jumped up, started pacing what floor space was left in my room. “She embarrassed us for wanting to use the computer to type up our homework—which is mandatory—and she has one hiding in her office.” I'd only seen Misty this angry once before. Mrs. Swiller better not show her face at school anytime soon. “I really want to hit something right now.”

  “Here you go.” I held up my sturdiest pillow. And almost flew backward when she walloped it.

  “Wow. That felt great.” She waved her fist. “You mind?”

  “Let me brace myself.” I leaned against the headboard and gripped the sides of the pillow. “Okay—go for it.”

  She did. With enthusiasm.

  By the time she ran out of energy, and breath, we were both laughing.

  “Ouch.” I lowered myself to the bed, my new bruises complaining at the exertion. “Thanks for the distraction.”

  Misty groaned. “My pleasure. Bedtime?”

  “Yeah.”

  I turned off the lamp, slid under my duvet, the flannel sheets warm and soft on my abused skin. I was grateful for the time Misty gave me, but in the dark, in the silence, my mind wouldn't let go.

  Sam had changed. So much that I wasn't all that sure I really knew him anymore.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dad went to see Mrs. Swiller, and she wasn't talking.

  Actually, she wasn't doing much but staring at the far wall in her living room. She had completely shut down.

  I might have, too, if the monster I thought I destroyed appeared in front of me.

  Dad told me an announcement went out at school that Mrs. Swiller would be gone the rest of the semester, and maybe the rest of the year. My prediction? Early retirement and a sudden move.

  As for me—I stayed home from school. The bruises and scrapes from diving into the bushes turned into inflamed and stiff muscles overnight. Misty looked like she had a full night's sleep, and all but bounced out of my bedroom, promising to take notes in English. We were getting our presentation dates today, and I wanted to know how much time we had left to prepare.

  Mom helped me into the shower, where I stood under the hot water until I felt closer to human. While I was soaking, Mom put out a fresh pair of pajama bottoms, and my favorite, worn blue thermal shirt. I knew she was taking care of me—she hated that shirt. Hated it so much I had to wash it if I wanted it clean.

  I dressed, slowly. The hot water helped, but every muscle still ached, like I'd been beaten with a stick. Easing to the bed, I pushed up the overstretched cuffs, and examined the cut on my left forearm. It had become a not so pretty scar, still raw and healing. And, along with the shallow scratches on my back, it was a reminder of everything that happened in October.

  With a sigh, I let it go and lay down, letting out another sigh as my warmed muscles finally started to relax. Then I stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

  I tried for a good half hour to sleep, but it wasn't happening. Giving up, I pushed myself off the bed, and hobbled over to the desk, firing up Red. If I couldn't sleep, I was going to do some research. Starting with the fire ten years ago.

  I opened two windows, and started searches on each of them. One for newspaper archives, and one for any information that would pop up with the keywords basement+fire+Emmettsville.

  More than I expected showed up on both searches. I started printing, so I could lie down and read the information; my head had started pounding, and bruises in places not conducive to sitting were starting to throb. I pulled the pages off the printer and crawled into bed.

  Five minutes later I sat up and limped back to my desk, needing a pad to make notes.

  “This can't be true.” I had to write it down, connect the random facts, prove to myself that what I got out of the articles and off websites wasn't accurate. Couldn't be.

  Writing it down proved me right.

  This time I didn't want to be right.

  Being right meant that Sam's dad may have been the reason for the fire.

  Turning back to Red, I took a deep breath, and started typing. I didn’t hack often, but I needed information I couldn’t get through regular—legal—channels. I opened the Emmettsville Fire Department website, and started there.

  I needed reports, testimony, notes—something that would tell me exactly what fire investigators found that day. Once I finished there, I would fly under the digital radar, and hit the PD’s website.

  As I typed, and opened programs that would break passwords, I kept telling myself it was for the greater good.

  I had to believe I was breaking Federal law for a good reason.

  ~ ~ ~

  I was in the middle of trying to find another explanation when my phone buzzed on the bedside table.

  I glanced at the display, and my stomach clenched. To add more stress to my day—on top of the bruises, soreness, and lack of sleep—Sam left a text on my phone sometime during the night. A text my phone just now decided to let me know about
. I really needed to upgrade.

  Fingers shaking—because I so didn’t want to read it—I opened the text.

  Don’t investigate the fire. I know you were threatened, and I can’t protect you. Let it go, Alex. Please.

  Okay—not what I was expecting. My heart started beating normally again. My temper was another matter. It started heating up.

  “That son of a—” He was ordering me around like—

  My mind tripped over the next thought.

  Like I was his girlfriend. Like he cared what happened to me.

  I let out my breath, and the temper flamed out. I know he wanted to keep me safe. I wanted to keep me safe. But I stepped into it, and I wasn’t going to desert the people I cared about. The people who have become my friends.

  Pushing back to Red, I started another series of searches, resolved to do what I needed—not only to find the truth, but to make sure that the guilty parties could never hurt anyone else again.

  My phone buzzed halfway through an article that had me clutching the edge of the desk. I pried my fingers loose and checked the display, not recognizing the phone number. Foolish me answered anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Alex—oh, thank God!”

  “Misty? Who’s phone are you using?”

  “It doesn’t matter—you have to get—” Her voice cut out, like she walked into a dead zone. I moved into the hallway, trying to get a better signal. “Basement—Sam—”

  “Misty—I’m losing you. What about Sam?”

  “He’s in the basement at school.” Her voice burst out of the phone. “You have to come, now.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Though I knew, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

  “He changed.” The sympathy in her voice hurt more than my heart. “He’s in the basement, and Jake thinks you can talk him down.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I put Red in sleep mode, just in case Mom came home. I really didn’t want her to see what I was working on. I changed my pajama bottoms for jeans, grabbing a hoodie as I slipped on the closest pair of ballet flats.