Full Name: Sawyer Evingston.
Age: Eighteen.
Time of Death: 12:38 p.m.
Date of Death: January 17, 2014.
Cause of Death: Overdose of morphine.
My mom easily accepted this conclusion. My dad, not so much.
“That doesn’t explain why he was found in the lake,” Dad argued after the detective finished his speech.
“More than likely, he injected the drugs near the lake—either on the shore or up above on the cliffs—and either fell into the water or the waves pulled his body in,” the detective answered in a tolerant tone.
My dad loosened his tie, his face turning bright red. “This is such bullshit! He’s only been dead for a week. A week isn’t long enough to investigate a murder case.”
My mom glared at my dad. “James, do not bring that stuff up right now.”
My dad gaped at her. “Are you being serious? Our son is dead and these”—he waved his hand at the detective sitting on the other side of the desk—“yahoos are saying he killed himself without looking into all the facts. How would his body fall into the lake? Better yet, why would he choose to overdose near a lake when he hated water? And where did he even get the morphine? Plus, he had those scratches on his arms.” He shot the detective a look. “Was that even looked into?”
I wasn’t too surprised by my dad’s questions. He always had a knack for questioning everything. It’s what made him great at his job, but kind of ruined his people skills.
“I can assure you, Mr. Evingston, that the case was looked into thoroughly, and there is no evidence of foul play,” the detective said. “This isn’t one of your stories. We don’t stretch the truth here in order to please people. We stick to the facts, and we’re very good at what we do.”
“Good at what you do, huh?” My dad leaned forward in the chair. “Tell me this, then. If you guys are so great at what you do, why does half the damn town practically get away with murder?”
“That’s enough!” My mom’s outburst startled everyone. She slung her purse over her shoulder, rose to her feet, and stuck her hand out to the detective. “We appreciate everything you and everyone else has done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home and finalize the funeral arrangements.”
My dad looked like a kicked puppy as she stormed out of the room without so much as a backward glance.
He cleared his throat several times before turning back to the detective. “Close the case if you want. I’ll just start my own investigation”—he pushed to his feet and headed for the door—“because I know there’s more to this, whether you know it or not.” He signaled for me to follow him. “Come on, Mak; let’s get out of here.”
I wiped a few tears from my eyes and followed him out, his words and threats echoing in my mind. Was there really more to my brother’s death? Did he really not commit suicide like the police said?
Later, my mom took me aside and explained my dad’s irrational behavior was due to stress from my brother’s death. Maybe she was right, but that didn’t stop my dad from going into full-on detective mode for the next six months, trying to solve the mystery around my brother’s death all the way up until he vanished off the face of the earth. And now my brother’s death remains a mystery, along with my dad’s disappearance.
That’s all my life is anymore: unanswered questions, confusion, and a desperation to find out what happened.
“Mak, did you hear me?” Ev asks, yanking me out of my thoughts.
I blink dazedly at her. “What?”
“I said I just texted Embry, and she’s at Kennedy’s, so we don’t have to go this way.” Concern masks her expression. “Are you okay? It felt like you just spaced out for, like, five minutes straight.”
I probably did space out for five minutes, but I’m not about to tell her that. Ev is already afraid enough of my driving.
“I’m cool,” I lie breezily as I pull the car to the side of the road to flip a bitch. “I’m just tired. I’ve been sleeping super shitty lately.”
“You’re not having nightmares again, are you?” Her attention drifts to the screen of her phone as it buzzes.
“No. I just have a lot on my mind with midterms and this skating competition coming up,” I lie for the tenth time today.
Sure, the skating competition hangs over my head like a dark, grey, “ha, ha, you’re never going to come up with the money” cloud, but that’s not what’s been hindering my Zs. Ever since my brother passed away, a very vivid reoccurring nightmare of him drowning in the lake haunts me. Instead of jumping into the water and helping him, I just stand on the shore and watch him die. The odd part of the dream is when Sawyer’s ghost appears beside me. Sometimes, he asks me why I didn’t help him, to which I never know how to reply. Sometimes, we talk about nothing important, like the weather or how things are going with my skateboarding. Sometimes, we don’t talk at all, which is worse because it reminds me of our relationship during the last few months he was alive.
I told Kennedy, who’s really into dream interpretations, about it once, and she suggested that my dreams might represent guilt. Guilt over what, she wasn’t sure, but I have a hunch it might have to do with what happened the last time I saw Sawyer.
“I need your help, Mak,” he said, barging into my bedroom.
I was lying on my bed, working on math homework, and had barely glanced up. “What’s up?”
He shut off the music playing from my stereo and shouted, “Will you look up at me when I talk to you!” His anger startled and pissed me off.
“If you want something, you can just ask,” I snapped, irritated he was yelling at me for no good reason. He had been doing that so much lately, and his bad attitude was starting to wear on my nerves, and everyone else’s for that matter. “You don’t need to yell at me. If you want something, just ask.”
“I just …” He massaged the back of his neck tensely. “Never mind.” Then he hurried out of my room.
I moved to chase him down to apologize but froze. For the last few months, all I’d been doing was apologizing to him, so I let him go, figuring I’d give him time to cool off before trying to talk to him.
I never got the chance. That was the last time I ever saw him. To this day, I don’t know what he needed help with or what he wanted to talk to me about. And the guilt gnaws away at me every single day.
“Mak, stop!” Everleigh shrieks, her voice laced with pure terror.
I jerk back to reality and realize I’m about to fly through the fancy, schmancy stoplight. I pound my foot on the brake, and the tires skid as my car grinds to a halt.
“Holy shit,” Ev breathes, her eyes wide as she stares at the red light across from us. Taking a few measured breaths, she releases her death grip on the seat. “What the heck just happened?”
“Whoopsie.” I shrug. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
She works to compose her erratic breathing. “Maybe I should drive.”
“Nah. I can handle this.” I tap the side of my temple. “My head’s back in the game.”
“It scares me to think of how long your head’s been out of the game.”
“For, like, thirty seconds, tops.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, maybe a little longer.” I drive forward as the light turns green. “But I promise I won’t do it again.”
I make good on my promise, keeping my focus on the road as we weave around the jagged hillsides that curve around the coastline and make a right turn into Kennedy’s driveway. I ease the car up to the towering iron gate and honk my horn while Ev sends them a text to get their butts out here.
I could press the buzzer to get in then drive up to the front door, but Kennedy’s stepmom isn’t a huge fan of me, something she proves when she wanders outside to collect the mail.
She’s dressed in a white jumpsuit, her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and she’s cradling a yappy, little dog like it’s her baby. When she spots my car at the gate, she shoots me a nasty lo
ok. Whether it’s at my piece of shit car or me, I’m unsure. Probably both.
“She’s such a weirdo,” Ev remarks, her face twisting in disgust as Mrs. Wellingford lets the dog lick her lips.
“Ew, I think they just touched tongues.” I gag. “I’m so glad she’s only Kennedy’s stepmom. Could you imagine if that were her real mom, and that’s what Kennedy would turn into?”
“No way,” Ev disagrees. “Kennedy would never turn into that. She’s too much of a good person.”
“True,” I agree, sliding my square-framed shades over my eyes. “Kennedy is the best.”
We sit at the gate for another couple of minutes, getting the stink eye from Mrs. Wellingford when my car backfires.
I smile at her and secretly flip her the bird, but the movement offers zilch gratification since she can’t see it. If I did actually grow a pair of lady balls and flip her off for real, she’d probably call the cops on me. That might sound absurd, but she’s already done shit like that a handful of times. Like when we were being too loud out back, and she claimed she thought we were intruders to the police. She knew it was us, though. She freakin’ saw us go back there!
By the time Kennedy and Embry come wandering out, the wicked witch of a stepmom has glared at me half a dozen times. The second she spots Kennedy, though, she focuses her evilness on her, pulling her aside to say God knows what. When Kennedy walks away, she looks fuming mad.
Watching Kennedy and Embry hike down the paved driveway is an odd sight. The two of them are completely opposite: Kennedy with her long, blonde hair; white miniskirt; and pink tank top, and Embry with her newly dyed, blazing red hair; heavy eyeliner; black shorts; black T-shirt; and black clunky boots.
“God, she’s such a bitch,” Kennedy says as she slides into the backseat, glaring at her stepmom through the windshield.
“What’d she do now?” I ask as Embry gets in.
“Oh, you know, the usual.” Kennedy fastens her seatbelt. “Told me I look like shit, that I need to lose weight, that I need to stop spending money, that I’m too spoiled.” She rolls her eyes. “Like she has room to talk.”
“She told you to lose weight?” I ask. “You? Jesus, you’re, like, a size two.”
Kennedy dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “It’s not that big a deal. I know she’s just jealous because she can’t eat whatever she wants and stay skinny. I heard her bitching about it to my dad the other night. You should’ve heard them. Apparently, he didn’t say the right thing, and she flipped out and started screaming at him. He called his lawyer the other day.” She raises her crossed fingers. “Fingers crossed it was about a divorce. They’re hitting the two-year marker, so I bet it is.”
“Your dad’s so predictable.” Embry cracks the window, letting the warm, salt-kissed air blow into the cab. “Has he ever stayed married for more than two years?”
Kennedy nods, staring out the window. “My mom and he were married for almost nine years.”
The cab grows quiet at the mention of Kennedy’s mom. The woman ditched her and her dad for the pool boy. Kennedy was eight at the time, and we’d been friends for about a year. That day, she broke down on the playground and started crying.
“My mom ran away,” she sobbed through the tears.
I was so confused. Parents weren’t supposed to run away, were they?
“I’m sure she’ll come back,” I told her. “Parents don’t just leave.”
She dragged her hand across her face to wipe away the tears. “My dad said she’s not coming back. He said she traded us in for a hot, younger piece of ass, took half of our money, ran away to Italy, and is never coming back.” Her hands shook on her lap as she stared at the dirt beneath us. “What if she never comes back, Mak? What if I’m stuck in the big house with my dad, listening to him yell all the time?”
“He doesn’t yell all the time,” I lied. “Just most of the time.”
She gave me a really look. “He yells all the time … at me, the maids, the cook. I even heard him yell at the mailman once for leaving a package too close to the door.” Tears bubbled in her eyes. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to live alone with him.”
I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn’t sure how. My parents rarely yelled at me, and my mom and dad had been happily married for as long as I could remember, so I couldn’t relate to her situation. Still, I knew I needed to comfort her.
I reached over and took her hand. “I know it’s scary, but everything’s going to be okay. I won’t let your dad yell at you, and I won’t let you be alone in that house too much. If you have to, you can come stay with me. I’m sure my mom and dad won’t care.”
She gripped my hand tightly. “Thanks, Mak.”
I held up my end of the promise, too. Whenever Kennedy’s dad got too cranky, she would come spend the night. He never seemed to mind when she took off, and to this day, Kennedy has more freedom than most kids our age. She’s never said it aloud, but his neglectful attitude wears on her, and sometimes, she purposefully gets into trouble to get his attention.
“Hopefully, he’ll wait a few months before getting remarried this time,” Kennedy says, rolling down her window. “And find someone who’s at least ten years older than me.”
Embry slips an arm around her shoulder and gives her a side hug. “Remember what we talked about? Don’t let the man get you down. Or the bitch. Things will get better.” A Cheshire cat smile spreads across her dark red lips. “But, if they don’t, I’ll just have to make someone pay.”
Kennedy chuckles. “Thanks, Em. That really means a lot, especially coming from you.”
I know what she means. Embry is the badass of our group. And by badass, I mean, she’s skilled in all sorts of martial arts and has made people pee their pants with her death glare. Literally. Don’t believe me? Ask Sophie Burdely, the captain of the cheerleading squad. She also loves pissing her parents off, mostly because they love to ignore her unless she’s done something wrong.
Grinning, Embry opens her mouth to say something, but the words never leave her lips. Her attention darts to the left side of the street as four cop cars whiz by us. When they reach the end of the road, they veer west down a narrow dirt road, heading in the direction of the lake. For a heart faltering moment, I swear to God I see Sawyer standing at the end of the road, simply staring at me. As quickly as he appeared, he vanishes into thin air.
I swallow hard, reminding myself that Sawyer is dead. I didn’t really see him, just an old memory of him that stems from seeing the police cars.
“I wonder where they’re going,” Kennedy mutters, twisting around in her seat to gawk out the rear window.
Embry frowns, her worried gaze flicking in my direction. “It looked like they were going up to the lake.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah, it did.”
Kennedy twists around in her seat, fixing her concerned eyes on me. “They were driving so fast. It has to be bad, right? Like, an accident or something?”
I shrug, clutching the steering wheel. “Maybe.”
“It could be a routine drill,” Ev suggests, setting her phone on my console.
“They don’t usually turn on the sirens for that, do they?” Kennedy asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Ev gives me an edgy, sidelong glance. “I don’t know.”
The cab grows quiet as the three of them throw anxious glances in my direction, as if they’re afraid I’m going to break. I want to tell them I’m fine, that it was just a couple of police cars, for crying out loud, but the words get lodged in my throat as the memory of my brother’s death resurfaces.
We were driving around that day, too, and saw the police cars zooming in that direction. I made a joke about how they must have been racing and the winner won all the donuts. Kennedy laughed her ass off, and Ev corrected me that the donut/cop thing wasn’t true. When I got home an hour later, I found out the real reason the police had been in such a hurry. An anonymous caller had phoned in that there was a body near the shore.<
br />
“Wait. I thought you knew everything, Ev,” Kennedy jokes through the pitying silence, throwing a smirk at Ev.
“Not everything,” Ev quips with a grin. “Just almost everything.”
Kennedy laughs, and Ev smiles.
The two of them banter back and forth, trying to solve the mystery of whether the cops are reacting to an actual emergency. I know the answer, though.
They only turn on their sirens for an actual emergency, something I learned the day my brother died.
LOCATION: SHADOW COVE SKATE PARK
TIME: 6:03 PM
DATE: SATURDAY, MARCH 20TH
“Mak, I love you so, so much, and I love that you love skating, but I really dislike hanging out here.” Ev frowns at the ramps, grind rails, and half-pipes.
“That’s because there are guys around,” Kennedy says, opening the door to get out of the car.
“That’s not why.” Ev chews on her thumbnail as she eyes the groups of guys skating and loitering.
“That’s totally why.” Kennedy grins at Ev. “You’ve been afraid of boys for forever.”
“So what if she has?” Embry chimes in. “If you ask me, guys aren’t that fantastic.”
“Oh, they are for certain things.” Kennedy flashes the two of them a mischievous grin. “Trust me.”
Embry rolls her eyes. “You’re so all talk.”
Kennedy laughs. “Maybe. But maybe not.”
“I’m not afraid of guys,” Ev gripes, her gaze drifting to the skate park. “But would it hurt for more girls to hang around here?”
“Sometimes, they do.” I silence the engine and stuff the keys into my shorts pocket. “I wish more would. Maybe one day they’ll all realize how awesome this place is.”
“I wouldn’t go with awesome,” Kennedy says, stretching her arms above her head. “No offense, Mak, but I think this place is pretty lame.”
What Lies in the Darkness (Shadow Cove Book 1) Page 2
