by Dawn Klehr
I stop moving, stop breathing. I can’t take anymore. I just want it all to end. Marcus stands in front of me now, holding a pair of old metal shears to my throat. And that’s when the flashbacks come.
A timeline begins to develop …
Last year, Marcus was always waiting in the wings any time I went to Ms. Dunn’s classroom to talk. I can still see the strange looks he’d give me when I left her room. Angry. Possessive. Unsettling.
And during her prayer service, he was totally on edge. He was a ticking time bomb, picking fights and talking shit. Just waiting for someone to do something to justify his wrath.
How did I not see it?
I remember the way he interrupted me when I was looking at the film footage from the day of her murder. And the way he touched her statues the day Homer brought them to me.
My reverie ends when I feel the blade of the scissors touch my skin. It’s cold and heavy. Marcus tests it, running the pointy tip down from the hollow under my ear, along my neck, to my shoulder.
Dez groans.
The blade takes little bites as Marcus varies the pressure in the movement. The open skin burns when the air hits it.
My eyes stay on Dez. I try to talk to him with my eyes. He continues to struggle, continues to fight. I try to tell him it’s okay. I’m glad Marcus moved to me first. I couldn’t stand to watch him hurt Dez, no matter what’s happened between us.
Marcus pulls the scissors away and, out of the corner of my eye, I can see him change his grip. I hold my breath and I get lost in Dez’s eyes again. This is it. My mind flashes to my parents. To Ms. Dunn. To …
A person springing forward in the darkness … someone who takes a glass vase and clubs Marcus in the head.
He drops to the floor—just a few measly feet in front of me.
My eyes adjust to the surroundings while my brain tries to make sense of it all. Soon I can make out our savior.
It’s Stella.
Then it all happens so fast, I can barely keep up. There are voices and movement all around me, but all I can think about is Marcus almost killing us. Just like he did to Ms. Dunn. Beautiful, amazing Ms. Dunn.
In my mind, I see him with the scissors. Stabbing her. Watching the life drain from her.
My breath hitches and the tears flow. He was here the whole time.
I feel like I’m sinking.
Until I focus on Stella.
She doesn’t let up. As Marcus lies on the floor, Stella smashes the vase on his head again—this time so hard that it shatters everywhere. Rivers of blood flow down his face, pooling on the floor. He lies still.
I smell the rusty stench of his blood and my head goes foggy. Then there’s a cold blade at my wrist as Stella uses the scissors to cut me free.
I rub my wrists, still paralyzed in my seat.
Stella moves to release Dez, and he’s at my side in an instant.
“We’ve got to get out of here, Riley.” He’s trying to yell, but he’s hoarse. He and Stella each take one of my arms and we all run out of the house.
Then Dez is gone.
Seconds later, he’s with Bernie, running across the lawn.
“Get the girls inside, Dez,” Bernie says, rushing into my house in full PD mode.
Trudy holds open the door and we run in.
“Holy fuck, Stella.” Dez is staring at her in awe. “You’re Orange, man. You’re better than Mr. Orange.”
Dez stumbles around; he must be in shock or something. Trudy helps him sit down. He puts his head between his legs, trying to get his bearings.
Stella raises her eyebrows. She’s just as messed up as me and Dez.
“Mr. Orange is the hero in Reservoir Dogs,” I tell her. “He saved the cop—at least for a while.” I’m rambling. “It’s the highest compliment Dez could ever give.”
Trudy moves to my side and settles me on the couch as well. She strokes my hair and holds me and Dez, rocking us like she did when we were little.
I let her.
As my head finally begins to clear, I have a terrible thought.
Emma.
What if he hurt her too?
Stella looks at me and I whisper, “Emma.”
“On it.” Stella gently touches my arm and steps away, quickly hitting the keys on her phone.
I sit there on Dez’s couch, rocking back and forth. Dez takes the blanket from the arm of the sofa and wraps me in it. He’s shaking. Trudy is now at the window, both guarding us from the danger and waiting for a sign from Bernie.
Stella gets off her phone, crouches down in front of me, and puts a hand to my cheek. “She’s okay, Riley. Emma is fine.” I drop my head to her shoulder and she holds me. “You’re okay, Rye. Everything is going to be okay now.”
We sit there in silence until the sirens ring out from every direction. A man’s voice barks orders outside, and men in uniform move across the Brandts’ yard. As I get up to get a better look, Trudy shoos me away.
“Don’t even think about it,” she says, pointing back to the couch. “Sit.”
We sit for what seems like hours until Trudy whispers, “Oh, thank God.”
And I know Bernie is safe.
This time, Dez and Stella join me as I move toward the window. There must be a dozen cops swarming around. They part down the middle as two men move a gurney out my front door.
It’s Marcus.
The EMTs push him into an ambulance and two police officers jump in the back to stand guard.
He’s caught. It’s finally over.
Maybe everything will be okay now.
I wish I could feel relief, but I don’t.
All I have left are questions.
I start peppering Stella with them. “How did you know? Why did you come?”
She looks at Dez and smiles. “Dez figured it out. He saw the same footprints in the parking lot today that were in Bernie’s crime photos. Since he knew you wouldn’t take his calls, he called me on the way to your house—and when I couldn’t get ahold of you, I had a bad feeling. I came as fast as I could.”
A feeling? A feeling saved us?
“I didn’t know who the killer was, at first,” Dez says. “I just knew he goes to our school. If I knew he’d come after you, Rye, I would’ve called Bernie right away.” Dez rests his head on his fist. “I’m so sorry.”
I never heard a word sound so heavy. I meet his eyes now because I know.
I know how sorry he is.
DEZ
INT. BERNIE’S OFFICE—NIGHT
DESMOND sneaks into BERNIE’S office once again. He begins typing on BERNIE’S computer and stops when he finds MARCUS’ rap sheet. He reads it and moves on to the file that says “Notes.” These are the notes from the attack at the Frost house. Then he finds the quotes from people brought in for questioning.
DESMOND reads through the night.
Once all the questioning is done and the PD is getting ready to close the case, I hack into Bernie’s files once again, to read all about the guy who killed Ms. Dunn. The boy who wanted to kill Riley. Who almost killed me. I find out that since Marcus Flynn was eighteen when he killed Ms. Dunn and held me and Riley captive, he’ll be tried as an adult when the case goes to trial.
I discover that Marcus’ parents are divorced. I look over his school tests scores—he’s smart, really smart. I read testimony from people who called him a liar and a cheat. People who describe him as controlling and intense.
They could just as easily be describing me.
I learn that Marcus had a pattern of violence with the girls he dated. Never enough to send him away or get him in any real trouble, but a pattern that escalated.
So many of his crimes were secret for a long time.
Again, like me.
The moment is like a slap in the face, a kick in the balls. It
’s a jolt out of a dream. A shock, a surprise. A wake-up call. A realization.
I sob.
Hard, snotty cries that haven’t come from me since I was a kid. I’m afraid that because I’ve finally released them, I’ll never stop. I keep seeing Riley beaten, bound, and terrified. In some way, I feel like I put her there with Marcus.
I wonder how far I would’ve gone to control her. How many more times would I have fucked things up for her?
Am I really any better than Marcus?
I’m not sure I’m strong enough to hear the answer. I’m not sure I want to know.
RILEY
Fast-Forward: Two Weeks.
It’s weird, but having a near-death experience with someone doesn’t necessarily bring you closer together. It’s not like the movies, where you have this life-affirming moment, where nothing else matters but the two of you and a second chance at life.
It’s not for me and Dez, anyway.
It’s the opposite, really. For me, being so close to death only made me more careful … especially about who I’ll let into my life again. Me. My choice. My decision. I finally realize that I have that control.
After the attack, Marcus went to the hospital. His injuries were minor, so he was locked up the same night. He hasn’t seen the light of day since and won’t for a long time.
Mom and Dad immediately removed all evidence of that night from our home. Still, I can see him there in the living room. I can feel him in the hallway. I can hear him in the kitchen.
Over these past few weeks, my parents have stuck to me like a postage stamp. I can’t even go pee by myself. They don’t budge, no matter how I try to lighten up the whole almost-getting-murdered thing. They hover and smother me during the day and keep vigil by my bed at night.
I’m thankful.
Especially during the nights filled with nightmares—when I relive the attack over and over again. Or, when I stay up trying to make sense of it all—or worse, wondering what it was like for Ms. Dunn.
How many times did Marcus stab Ms. Dunn before she died?
Did she beg for her life?
Did she know why he did it?
Was she in terrible pain?
Now that it’s all over, all I’m left with is time. To think. Really think. It didn’t take long for the anger to simmer down. It’s not boiling over anymore at all. It’s just tepid water.
It’s now that I begin to miss my friend.
Dez.
Still, I know it’s a pain I have to endure, and one that he’ll have to face too. And I’m truly sorry for that.
As for Emma, I’m happy to report that things have finally become normal with us. She still hasn’t come out to her mom—I didn’t expect her to. But I have faith that she will. When she’s ready. Things have settled down at school, too. Most everyone has stopped gawking at me in the halls and Tori’s even started harassing me with her snide comments during gym. I almost feel at home again.
Before I know it, it’s time for the New York auditions—for both me and Dez.
The day I’m supposed to leave, I have lunch near the airport with Libby, Emma, and Stella. We talk and laugh and stuff our faces with the best pizza in Minneapolis.
When Libby and Emma head out, Stella moves closer.
“I thought they’d never leave,” she says, giving me those goose bumps again.
We stay there for another hour, until we can’t delay anymore.
“Let’s get you to the airport,” she says.
“Yep, it’s time,” I agree.
We get up and she puts her hand in mine.
DEZ
Ever since the fiasco at the film festival, I’ve done everything Mom asked and then some. Don’t get me wrong—even after my awakening, it doesn’t come easy. For a long time, I still let myself believe that I was only trying to help Rye. It’s funny, though, how clear things become when you’re alone.
After Marcus was arrested and I’d made all my apologies, I thought things would go back to the way they were.
It didn’t work out that way.
Then, right when I thought I was going to lose it, really lose it, Jonah finally came around. He invited me to one of his youth group deals. I hate that shit and he knows it, but I took the olive branch and didn’t let go. I was desperate.
I’ve been going with him for the past month. I’m not all Zen now, or perfect, or even close. But I’m better than I was.
I hope Riley is too.
I wait at the Humphrey terminal. Right after we got our invitations, Rye and I bought cheapo tickets to JFK on Sun Country Airlines. I haven’t checked in yet. Instead, I wait at Caribou Coffee and drink a dark roast loaded with cream. Despite everything that’s happened, I hold out hope that Riley’s changed her mind. Who knew I’d become an optimist?
The clock continues to click toward 2:10 p.m. Our de-parture time. I stay as long as I can.
She’s not coming.
I should’ve known. I guess this is how the story is supposed to end. Still, I don’t want to leave without her. I don’t want this to be it.
I feel like Rocky Balboa. I’m beat and battered and all I want is my girl …
“Adrian!” Rocky screams over and over at the end of the film. “Adrian!”
Adrian pushes through the crowd, trying to get to Rocky, and when she does, they lock in an embrace.
I am Rocky, and in my mind I scream, “Riley! Riley! Riley!”
People rush all around me, trying to get home, trying to leave. It’s a buzz of farewells and welcome backs.
But I never get my embrace, because Riley never shows.
RILEY
Stella and I sit in her car in the parking lot at Fort Snelling, where we can see the parade of planes coming and going. I try to predict which one Dez is on.
“Are you sure you made the right decision?” she asks. “There’s still time. You could still go to the Tisch audition and then make up your mind later. A backup, just in case.”
“That’s what this is.” I rest my head on her shoulder. “Coming out here to say goodbye to Dez was my backup plan. I needed to make sure I was doing the right thing. I wanted to give myself the option of a harried airport scene, if I wanted it.”
“And do you?” Stella asks.
I shake my head. “Not in the slightest.”
“And what about Dez?” She lowers her voice. “Any second thoughts there?”
“Hmmm,” I say, feeling the squeeze in my chest. “Yeah, tons of second thoughts. Like … did I drive him to the craziness? Could I have prevented it? Was it my fault?”
“No, no, and no.” Stella’s face is tight; she’s clenching her teeth.
“Yeah, I know you’re right. But it’s hard. He was my friend for so long, and to have it end like this … ”
“It doesn’t have to be the end, Rye. Not if you don’t want it to be.”
“It does.” I take an extra gulp of air to keep the tears from falling. “I could never trust him again, and I don’t want to live that way. Not anymore.”
“I get it. But maybe in time?”
“Maybe.”
“Well.” Stella scoots over and puts her hands on my shoulders. “There’s plenty of time for maybes, but let’s just enjoy right now. You’re going to the U of M, Riley. Your Guthrie dream is coming true.”
It’s strange to think of it as my dream. It had always been ours. Dez and I each had half—it was only together that we made a whole. I ache for him; a phantom pain of a former life. It hurts, sometimes more than I can bear. Then at other times, I’m relieved that old me—that old us—is gone.
A plane soars above now and as we watch it go overhead, I say a silent goodbye to Dez.
Stella stays close. She is one of those people who never has to be in control. She’s content to just be.
She
leans in and gives me the softest of kisses on my cheek.
My face stings from her lips.
It’s a good sting.
The best.
FINAL SCENE
It’s time. The final scene. One of the most important things in a film. A great ending can make a movie. Look at Pulp Fiction, or Silence of the Lambs, or—and I can’t believe I’m going to say this—Say Anything.
I was so hoping this story would have a Hollywood ending—all sappy and sweet, wrapped in a nice big red bow.
Just the way Riley likes ’em
But it wasn’t meant to be. I guess I jumped the shark after all.
I still think about Riley every day. Sometimes I catch myself ready to call her after I see an awesome film or learn something cool in class. Then I remember that I don’t even have her number anymore.
How’s that for a happy ending?
There are so many great last lines in the movies. So many we could use here.
I could take Scarlett O’Hara’s last line in Gone with the Wind: “I’ll go home, and I’ll think of some way to get him back! After all, tomorrow is another day!” A few word changes and it would be perfect for the end of our story.
Or we could end with a meeting between me and Riley and steal from another classic, Casablanca, where Bogart says, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Yeah, what I wouldn’t do to be friends with Rye again.
But more apropos would be a dark ending. Something like the ending in Sunset Boulevard: “You see, this is my life. It always will be! There’s nothing else. Just us, and the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dark. All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.”
Forget it.
Here’s the real shit: I no longer care about modeling my life after a film. For so long, I wished I could edit out all the bad stuff that happened. But I’m not so sure anymore. That time in my life was a big part of me—of who I was and what I was.
And Rye? Well, she’ll never be gone. Not completely. After all, she’s my childhood, my history, my home.
Yeah, my life is no movie. Who are we kidding? But just for grins, this would be my closing scene: A college freshman in an edit suite at Columbia going over the footage for a documentary.
