The First Stone

by Don Aker

  “You saw those pictures?” she said.

  Twin contrails of smoke streamed from Reef’s nostrils as he looked at the sky. “Hard not to when you’re sittin’ front row center.”

  “Jeez, man,” said Bigger. “That Subaru was shredded.”

  Jink snorted. “Sounds like some kinda cereal. Subaru Shreddies.”

  Bigger cackled and punched Jink’s shoulder. Grinning, Reef turned to see Scar’s wooden face.

  “She’s still in a coma, Reef,” she said softly. “The newspapers—”

  “Fuck the newspapers!” he hissed, then regretted it. The look on Scar’s face told him she’d noticed more than the mangled metal and shattered glass. She’d seen what was all over the inside. Not red, though, like you’d expect. Everything was covered in black, pools and streaks of it like motor oil thrown from a bad piston. From farther back in the courtroom, it probably looked like shadows. But Scar had known what it was. Who knew a person had so much of it to lose?

  Scar’s fingers brushed Reef’s arm. “They don’t know when she’ll come out of it.”

  He looked at Jink and Bigger, who were trying to one-up each other with more grisly breakfast foods. Obvious choices like Captain Crash and Ram Flakes were giving way to more gruesome names like Shredded Meat.

  “She’s our age, Reef.”

  “Which is a good thing,” he said, refusing to look at her. He watched Jink and Bigger escalate their cereal competition. “We heal fast.”

  “But what if—?”

  He wheeled on her. “Jesus, Scar, whaddya want me to do? Visit her? Hold her hand? What’s done is done, for fuck’s sake. Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it now. Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

  He turned away, but not before he saw the look in her eyes. Something between frustration and outright anger, that save-the-world shit he’d never understood about her. Strangers meeting her for the first time—hell, even people who got to know her a bit—would miss that about Scar, her need to protect the underdog, to make everything right. They’d see a cool, hard-edged teenager whose slim frame emphasized her bluntness, telegraphed her refusal to take crap off anyone. He’d certainly seen that side of her the first time they’d met.

  Two years ago, Reef and Jink and Bigger had been sitting in the school bleachers making fun of the kids trying out for the junior girls’ soccer team—a bunch of Barbie dolls trying to impress Ken, a.k.a. Glen Whidden, Reef’s phys ed teacher the previous year. He’d had more than one run-in with the athletic asshole that year over what he called Reef’s “undisciplined and unsportsmanlike behavior,” and Reef still enjoyed any opportunity to make Whidden’s life miserable. Like watching his tryouts. He and Bigger had been laughing and jeering every time someone missed a kick or fumbled a block, and Jink had been prancing back and forth along the sideline, imitating the girls’ awkward movements, his socks balled up and stuffedunder his T-shirt like adolescent breasts. Twice Whidden had called over to them to take a hike, and both times they’d ignored him.

  But it had been hard to ignore the redhead who’d appeared from nowhere and told them to shut the fuck up.

  At the sound of her voice, Reef had turned expecting to see an annoyed parent or a disgruntled preseason fan. She was neither. He’d seen her around the school a few times, usually alone. Kept to herself. He’d heard she was into some heavy shit, that her dad had done some time for dealing drugs and now she was muling for him. Oddly though, she was in the accelerated program, so they shared no classes. He looked her up and down, appreciating the curves in all the right places, grinning at the nerve of the bitch. “Hoo, baby, ain’t you a fireball,” he breathed.

  “Goes with the hair,” said Jink.

  He and Bigger began to laugh again, but Reef silenced them with a wave of his hand. He smiled broadly, but his eyes were ice. “You don’t wanna mess with me, Red,” he warned.

  She smiled back. “The last guy who called me that found his nuts up his ass.”

  Reef casually got to his feet, swung down off the bleachers and stood in front of her, his chest scant inches from her face. Staring down at her, he waited for her to flinch. She didn’t.

  It hadn’t taken long for them to become friends.

  And then lovers, although that was off more than it was on. There were things about her that made him crazy. Like that day on the soccer field, standing up for Whidden. Couldn’t she see what a jerk he was? Like they all were?

  Apparently not.

  Much later, she would tell him it was Whidden who had encouraged her to try the accelerated program. Besides teaching phys ed and coaching soccer, he administered the Canadian Mathematics Competition at the school each year, and she had entered. Not from any desire to win, or even because she liked math that much, although she was good at it. She’d nearly flunked one of her math courses, but that was because she’d missed so much time, not because she couldn’t do it. She’d told Reef there was something in her head that made problems unfold, helped her see inside them. He couldn’t understand any of it—for him, math was a puzzle with a hundred goddamn missing pieces—but he understood what drew her to Whidden’s math group. It was the opportunity to stay after school twice each week for the month prior to the competition. Scar was a loner who would never try out for a team, but extracurricular activity had its advantages. After-school practice meant two afternoons each week she wouldn’t have to make a drop for her father.

  And she’d surprised everyone when she’d placed first in the school and third in the province. Certainly Glen Whidden. who suddenly took a big interest in Scar. He told her it’d be a crime for her not to challenge the math mark that had kept her out of the accelerated program. In fact, he’d helped her do it. Reef knew the asshole just wanted to play the big hero and maybe cop a feel for his trouble, but Scar couldn’t see it. There were so many things Scar couldn’t see that were Windex-clear for Reef.

  Like this shit about the accident.

  “So what d’you think’s gonna happen?” she asked him now.

  Bigger looked over at them. “Aww, she’ll be outta the hospital in no time,” he offered. “You wait ‘n’ see.”

  Scar frowned. “No. About the sentence. What d’you think the judge will decide?”

  Reef’s face twisted. “What’s the worst she can do? Send me to Riverview? I been to that corrections center before. Put me on probation? I ain’t finished my last one yet. Move me to another foster home? Like that ain’t gonna happen anyways. I already heard the Barkers talkin’ about it. They’re just waitin’ till after the hearin’ to move me out.”

  Jink took a final drag on his cigarette, then flicked the butt into the street. It danced in the wake of a passing car, throwing off a brief shower of sparks. “No need to worry, Reef. Remember the time they got Zeus for bashin’ that guy with the baseball bat? Slap on the wrist.”

  “I ain’t worried,” Reef replied. “Just sick ‘n’ tired ‘a sittin’ in that courtroom. Not like the movies, huh?”

  Bigger snorted. “You got that right, man. How’s that judge keep from noddin’ off?”

  Scar frowned, opened her mouth as if to say something, but at that moment the door swung open and a court clerk beckoned Reef back inside. The recess was over.

  Chapter 5

  She was in the forest again, cool green reaching up on either side of her as she lay facing the white expanse of sky above. She was alone, as she had been so many times before when she’d found herself here. Off to her right, a bird called incessantly, its high-pitched chirp continually punctuating the emerald stillness. She’d heard that bird before. She turned toward it, or tried to turn, but pain sledgehammered through her body and she cried out, her exclamation a muted gasp. The bird chirped more rapidly until its call became a shrill, insistent whine that made her teeth vibrate. She cried out again, her voice breaking in a series of sobs.

  “There, there, Leeza,” came a voice beside her. A woman in white leaned over her and suddenly the chirping ceased. Everything was s
till, except the sledgehammer that continued to pummel her. “I turned off the monitor, dear. We won’t need it now that you’re awake.”

  “Where …?” It was all she could manage. There wasn’t room for both language and that sledgehammer inside her.

  “You’re in the hospital, dear. Acute Care Unit. I’m Joyce. I’ve been here nearly every day since they brought you in.”

  “When …?” Like the five Ws of a news story: Where, When …

  “Almost three weeks now. You’ve been unconscious most of that time.”

  Leeza’s voice was little more than a croak. “Why …?” The third W.

  The nurse looked at her watch and made a notation on a chart. “I’ll let the doctor tell you all you want to know. She’ll be along in a bit.” She inserted a needle into a vial and drew a colorless liquid into the syringe, checked the amount, then injected it into a clear plastic tube that hung over Leeza’s bed. “This will help. You get some rest now.”

  She could not rest. Would not possibly be able to r—

  “Leeza.” A pause. “Leeza, can you hear me?”

  She forced open her eyes to find a tall, heavyset woman standing by her bed. Graying hair pulled back in an unforgiving bun, narrow black glasses perched on the end of her nose, stethoscope jammed into the pocket of her white hospital coat like some serpentine creature caught trying to escape. On her lapel was a tag that said “Julia Mahoney, M.D.,” but she easily could have been a female bouncer in one of the downtown bars.

  “I’m Dr. Mahoney,” she said, and the musical quality of her voice erased Leeza’s severe first impression. In those few words were the softened edges of an Irish accent, and as she spoke she placed a hand gently on Leeza’s arm. “You’ve been my patient since you were admitted to the ACU. We’ve spoken before, but you weren’t completely conscious. It’s good to see you fully awake. I won’t ask you how you’re feeling. I think I know.” She smiled, and Leeza could see in her eyes that she did know. “Your parents are waiting outside. I thought it would be a good idea to have them here when I spoke to you. Is it all right if I ask them to come in?”

  The sledgehammer was still there, but it seemed less immediate, as if striking her softly from a distance. “Unh,” Leeza said. She’d meant to say yes, but her mouth seemed full of cotton and wouldn’t form the word.

  “Good.” The doctor nodded to someone behind her, and a door opened. Two people came in.

  “Leezie, honey.” It was her mother’s voice, but surely it wasn’t her mother who had spoken. Diane Morrison was much younger than the person who stood at the end of her hospital bed. Lines now carved a face that in the past had elicited many admiring comments. Your mother could have been a model, Leeza’s friends often said. Would they say that now? Her hair, once thick and richly auburn, looked thin and lifeless, pulled carelessly back in a metal clip. Her slim figure, so envied by friends and neighbors, now looked frail, almost gaunt, and her slender lingers, long accustomed to intricate work with pens and graphics software, looked like white bones that fidgeted aimlessly with the strap of her purse. “We’ve missed you so much. Welcome back.” Her voice caught and she brushed at sudden tears with the back of her hand.

  Standing behind her, Jack Morrison put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. He was a tall, athletic-looking man who kept in shape with regular visits to the gym, but he, too, seemed different—older somehow than the last time she’d seen him. Could that really have been three weeks ago? Clearing his throat, he said, “Great to see you awake at last, Leeza.”

  Don’t cry, Mom, Leeza intended to say, but her mouth wouldn’t manufacture the words properly and they came out “Donnn rrryyyy.” She frowned, moved her tongue around inside her mouth, but the words refused to form.

  “It’s the medication we’ve given you for the pain, Leeza,” said Dr. Mahoney. “You’ll get used to it after a bit.”

  “How long will she have to be on it?” Jack asked. “The morphine.” Even in her drug-fuzzy condition, Leeza heard the catch in his voice, knew what he was thinking. Jack didn’t even take Advil for headaches. The thought of his stepdaughter getting regular shots of a narcotic would be difficult for him to accept.

  “In light of her injuries, it’s likely she’ll be on it forsome time,” the doctor said. Turning to Leeza, she continued, “Do you remember what happened that brought you here?”

  Leeza thought for a moment, but the only memories that surfaced were of other hospital rooms, these ones with beds that held her sister. She tried to shake her head, but pain zithered up her neck and she could only grimace.

  “Is it necessary that she remember?” her mother asked. “What if it’s too painful …?” Her voice trailed off.

  The doctor ignored her. “You’ve been in a coma, Leeza, and it’s important to determine if you have any significant memory loss. Think back. Do you remember the last thing you were doing?”

  Leeza tried to concentrate and, for a while, her mind was as blank as the white ceiling above her. Then a memory of another hospital room floated out of her subconscious, a room that didn’t have Ellen in it. Instead, there were dishes on the floor. And an old man.

  She tried to tell them. “Ollll mannn,” she murmured.

  “Van?” asked Jack. “Did you say van, honey?”

  Her mother clutched her stepfather’s arm. “She must be remembering the accident,” she whispered.

  Accident? The memory of the old man and the dishes vanished as Leeza’s mind groped, grasped at the word. Accident? What had happened? Had she gone off theroad? Hit someone? Had someone been hurt because of her? Without knowing it, she began to moan.

  “Leeza, it’s important that you don’t upset yourself,” said Dr. Mahoney. “I’m going to give you something to calm you down.”

  She reached for the IV, but Leeza was barely aware of the doctor’s movements. Unconsciously, she clawed at the sheet beneath her right hand, caught and twisted it between her fingers. Accident?

  And then it came to her, out of nowhere, like the object that had struck her windshield. “C-c-crash,” she sobbed, her head filled with sudden sounds and images of metal colliding with metal. Not like in the movies, though, where the scene would play out in slow-motion frame after frame after frame. These were quick and final, like hitting the wall with your fist. Whump! Whump! Twice? Three times? She’d lost count as the cars had careened into her, could only watch them coming and hold on. And scream.

  Leeza sobbed again. “Cra-a-ash,” she moaned, the word slurred this time by tears.

  “So. What do you think?”

  Leeza’s eyes fluttered open long enough to see her stepfather standing by her bed, then closed again. Her eyelids were folds of lead. She would need her fingers to keep them open, but they were attached to hands heavy as houses. Useless.

  “I’d like to say the worst is over, but that wouldn’t be entirely true.” The doctor. Syllables like water tumbling over itself.

  “But she’s out of the coma now.” Her mother’s voice, high and thin. Like a guitar string wound pitch-tight. “That has to be good news.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Morrison. It is good news. But the coma hasn’t been our greatest concern. That was her body’s means of preparing itself for the healing process.”

  “So she is healing. Getting better.” Jack again.

  “All the tests indicate her brain activity is normal.”

  “Thank God.”

  Leeza forced her eyelids apart again, momentarily saw her mother dab at her eyes with a tissue, Jack’s hand on her arm. Leeza wanted to tell them she was awake, but her eyes wouldn’t let her. The dark came down again.

  “… know this has been very difficult for you,” the doctor was saying softly, “especially following the loss of your other daughter.”

  Leeza tried to open her eyes again. Could not. Had she slept?

  “You don’t know. No one can. It’s like a bad movie that won’t end.” Leeza heard her mother blow her nose. It was a sound of hospital waiting roo
ms. And funeral homes.

  Then something crept into her mother’s voice.

  Something hard. Whiplike. “And then to sit in court and watch that lawyer try to make excuses for what that boy did.” Her tone made the word boy sound as ugly as pustule or gangrene. “How can he sleep at night?”

  “I’m sure he’s just doing his job.” It was the doctor who offered this.

  “I mean the son of a bitch who did all this. How can he look himself in the mirror?”

  Someone did this? Leeza thought. To me? An image swam out of her memory. Someone waving. At her. Someone did this? The image shimmered, fragmented, dissolved.

  “That’s not for me to say,” Dr. Mahoney replied. “I’m more concerned about how all this has affected your daughter.”

  A curtain drifted over Leeza. She fought it, struggled to pull it back. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, slid in increments down the sides of her face. One hung suspended from her jaw and she willed it to fall to the sheets but it wouldn’t.

  “Is there something you haven’t told us?” Even with her eyes closed, Leeza could sense her stepfather’s distrust. Of hospitals and doctors. And drugs.

  She heard the doctor draw a long breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s not what I haven’t told you. You’ve known every detail of Leeza’s condition from the moment she was brought in here. It’s what Leeza doesn’t know that bothers me.”

  The curtain again. Drawn lazily over her mind. No, thought Leeza. Not now. But the curtain wouldn’t listen. What is it? What don’t I—

  Chapter 6

  “… you even looked at the news stories they been writ-in’ about this? Have you even thought about that girl and what’s been happenin’ to her?” Karl Barker slid the newspaper across the table toward Reef. “You’re just lucky there were no other serious injuries. Or that someone wasn’t killed, for God’s sake. You could be in a whole lot worse mess than you are right now, young man.”