That's Not What Happened

by Kody Keplinger

  There was one other time, before my failed attempt to confess to Sarah’s parents, that I could’ve set the record straight.

  It was toward the end of the summer. All the witnesses had been asked to come back to the high school to do a walk-through, helping the detectives working on the case to piece together exactly what happened in which order. They’d questioned us in the days that followed the shooting, but since we’d all been spread out—from the computer lab to the hallway to the girls’ bathroom—it was hard to fit the puzzle together without getting a better sense of the events in real time.

  It wasn’t required or anything, more of a request. Mom kept reminding me of that as she drove me to the high school. If I wanted to go home, I could. “The boy’s dead, anyway,” Mom said, referring to the shooter, as she pulled into the parking lot behind the school. “I don’t know what else there is to investigate.”

  But I saw this as an opportunity. By then the rumors had spread far and wide, the story of Sarah’s supposed final moments eclipsing the shooting itself. But Kellie would be at the walk-through. It would be the perfect time for the two of us, together, to set the official record straight on what happened in the girls’ bathroom that morning. Then people would stop talking about Sarah like she was an angel instead of my human best friend. People would leave Kellie and her family alone. And I could stop feeling guilty.

  That was my plan, anyway.

  Detective Jenner met us at the rear exit of the school. We’d been asked to park around back and come in through the door closest to the shop building. Probably because too many cars out front of the high school, which hadn’t been reopened yet, would draw attention from the local media. Back here, though, no one from the main road would see our cars or notice us entering the building.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Bauer, Leanne,” Detective Jenner said, holding open the door for us. “Follow me. We’re still waiting to see if a few of the others are going to show up. Eden Martinez and Denny Lucas are already here. They’re talking with Detective Weinberg about what happened in the computer lab. Once they’re done, we’ll be speaking with you and the others about the hallway and the bathroom. Ashley Chambers and her parents are on the way. Not sure about the others yet.”

  “Miles isn’t coming,” I told Detective Jenner. He was a young guy, maybe in his thirties, with a face that seemed even younger, though the dark circles beneath his eyes made it clear he was exhausted. “Miles lives next door to us. I asked him and he said he won’t be here today.”

  Detective Jenner nodded and sighed. “That’s disappointing, but I understand. Shame, though. I was looking forward to talking to him and Ashley at the same time about what happened in the hallway. He sounds like a real hero. But oh well. I …” He trailed off, his eyes flicking over my face. “You all right, Leanne?”

  We’d been walking through the halls, headed toward the old computer lab. It was the first time I’d been here since the shooting, and I was trying to pretend this wasn’t VCHS at all. That was easy at first. The place was empty, nearly silent aside from our voices and echoing footsteps. VCHS was never this desolate or this quiet. And I was there with my mom and a police officer, two people you almost never found yourself with in a high school.

  I kept thinking this, trying to convince myself I was somewhere else, as I scanned for Kellie or one of her parents. But I didn’t see anyone. I only heard other voices when we were just a few yards from the computer lab. Voices echoed through the hallway toward us—Eden was explaining something, though she spoke so quietly and quickly that I couldn’t make out what she was telling Detective Weinberg.

  I’m pretty sure that’s when I started feeling sick. Because I could see the open door to the girls’ bathroom. And I couldn’t pretend we weren’t here anymore.

  “Lee?” Mom asked, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You’re white as a ghost. Are you all right? Do you want to leave?”

  I shook my head. Kellie wasn’t there yet. I needed to stay. Needed to see her so we could tell the detectives what really happened. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to breathe slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s the technique, right? I couldn’t remember.

  Detective Jenner left Mom and me in the hallway as he stepped into the old computer lab. Through the open door, I could see that almost nothing remained, aside from a couple of desks, one of which I could see Denny sitting beneath. His face was turned away from me as Detectives Jenner and Weinberg talked to each other, then asked a question of Eden, who was out of eyeshot.

  I kept my eyes on Denny’s back. I didn’t dare look at anything else, especially not in the direction of the bathroom, on the other end of the hall. Denny was my friend. Denny was safe. Just keep looking at Denny, I told myself.

  He shifted slightly, a small, uneasy movement you’d only notice after staring too hard. And I wondered what he was feeling, crouched beneath that desk, the same place he’d been just a few months ago. How hard was it to just sit there for minutes at a time while people discussed the shooting, plotted it out step-by-step, like they were solving a Rubik’s Cube instead of mapping out the path of a teenage mass murderer.

  A few minutes later, the two detectives emerged from the classroom, followed by Eden and Denny. He just looked a bit tired, but Eden had clearly been crying. She glanced at me, then looked away, obviously embarrassed.

  “Thanks, kids,” Detective Jenner said. “I think that’s all we need today. We really appreciate you coming in and going over this with us.” He glanced at me then. “Give us just a second, Leanne. Detective Weinberg and I need to talk through a few things, and hopefully by the time we’re ready, Ashley will be here. I’d really like to go through everything in order.”

  I nodded, and the two detectives stepped back into the old computer lab.

  “Lee?” Denny asked.

  “Here,” I said.

  His cane tapped along the hard floor with a slight echo, until he came to stand next to me. “So,” he said, leaning against the wall. “This is weird, huh?”

  Despite myself, I laughed a little.

  “Where are your parents, Denny?” Mom asked.

  “Work,” he said. “They wanted to come, but I asked them not to. It would just freak them out to walk through every step of it like that. So Eden’s family drove me.”

  I glanced around, but I didn’t see any of Eden’s relatives. She must have noticed because she said, “They’re outside, in the car. They came in at first, but when Detective Weinberg started going through the class seating chart … mentioned where Rosi had been sitting …” She shrugged. “Detective Weinberg was having a hard time hearing me over Abuela and my aunt crying.”

  “They weren’t even crying loudly,” Denny pointed out. “You’re just really quiet. Even after they left, he had to ask you to speak up at least three times.”

  “Denny,” Mom whispered, clearly a little horrified by his teasing.

  But Eden waved a hand. “It’s okay, Ms. Bauer. He’s not wrong. And he knows poking at me keeps me from thinking too much about …” She trailed off and, after a long pause, cleared her throat. “We should go, though. My family’s waiting. Good luck, Lee.”

  I nodded and watched as she and Denny headed down the hallway, their figures growing smaller and smaller until they’d rounded a corner and were gone. Now it was just me. And Mom. And the detectives that were about to make me walk back into that bathroom.

  Relax, I told myself. It’s just a bathroom. Just a room full of sinks and toilets. Stop freaking out. You’re being stupid.

  When the detectives came back out into the hallway, Ashley and Kellie still hadn’t arrived. The men looked at each other, and Detective Weinberg sighed and tapped his clipboard.

  “Leanne,” Detective Jenner said, turning to face Mom and me. “We were really hoping to do this all in order, but we don’t want to take up too much of your time. So if it’s all right with you, we can go ahead and get started.”

  I glanced b
ehind me, back down the empty hall. Kellie still wasn’t here. How were we going to explain what had really happened if she wasn’t here yet?

  “Should we wait for Kellie, at least?” I asked, ashamed of the little quake in my voice. “Since we were both in the … in there.” I gestured toward the girls’ room.

  “Ideally,” Detective Jenner said. “But she’s late, and we can’t even be sure if she’s coming. It’s possible she changed her mind. If she does show up, we can just go over things with her separately and compare to yours.”

  “Um, okay. Sure.”

  I was just going to have to clear things up on my own. I’d tell Detective Jenner what had happened with Sarah, I’d make it clear the stories about her weren’t true. And then when Kellie did show up, they’d have to believe her. Simple.

  Or it should’ve been.

  The detectives began walking toward the bathroom and gestured for Mom and me to follow. Mom put a hand on my shoulder again, but I jerked away and glared at her. I didn’t want her to coddle me. I didn’t want her here at all. I wished she was more like Denny’s parents, wished she would stay away if I’d asked. But she wouldn’t. She wanted to “be there for me.” And I hated it.

  The closer we got to the bathroom, the more I started to lose grip on reality. Which is the best way I can think to describe it. I kept picturing the inside, the light tiles darkened with blood. Gunshots and screams. They were like sounds, but I knew I wasn’t hearing them. They were more in my mind than my ears. I could smell copper and gunpowder and the smoke from a cigarette. Every step toward that doorway pulled me further into these flashes of the past.

  And then my brain began producing these fractured, terrifying thoughts. A siren of warning as Detective Weinberg stepped into the bathroom, out of sight, and I was expected to follow him.

  pain fear death darkness nothing nothing the world will end we’ll all be gone nothing matters nothing darkness

  That’s the only description I can give of how my thoughts began spiraling. I was standing in the bathroom doorway now, staring at Detective Jenner and Detective Weinberg, who were in front of the stalls, looking back at me, expecting me to step inside.

  And for the tiniest, most fleeting second, I thought I saw Sarah, standing in front of the sink, examining the small mark on her neck the way she had been that morning, before the world crumbled around us.

  And I ran.

  I didn’t even realize I’d started moving until I heard my mother shouting behind me. By then, I was rounding the corner, nearly to the entrance we’d come in through a few minutes before. Even then, I didn’t stop. I shoved open the doors and ran to our car. I grabbed the handle on the passenger door, but it wouldn’t open. I yanked and yanked and cursed, and my face felt so hot and wet. Tears. I wasn’t even sure when I’d started crying. Was it before or after I’d bolted?

  “Lee!” Mom called again. She was outside now, too, running up behind me. Her eyes were wide and terrified. “Baby.”

  She reached for me, tried to take me into her arms, but I shoved her—actually shoved her—away from me. “Get off!” I yelled. “Get off me.”

  “Lee,” she whispered, and now she wasn’t just afraid. She was hurt. She took a breath. “Let’s go home.”

  I shook my head violently from side to side. “No! No, I just need a minute. I’ll be okay. I am okay. I just need a second and then I can go back inside and try again. I just freaked out, but I can go back. I can do it. I have to.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “You don’t have to, and we’re going home.”

  “But the walk-through—”

  “Forget it,” Mom said. “It’s fine. The detectives will understand. Come on.”

  I know I should have argued more. I should have stayed. Should’ve done what I’d come here to do. But when Mom unlocked the car door, I climbed inside. And when another car pulled into the parking lot next to us, I just slid down in my seat, filled with shame and regret.

  Detective Jenner’s office hadn’t changed much over the years. Same metal desk strewn with papers. Same photo of his family sitting next to the same outdated computer. The only thing that looked different was Detective Jenner.

  His hair was prematurely graying, and there were deep bags under his eyes. He looked as if he’d aged a decade in the span of just three years. Spending so much time investigating a case full of dead teenagers will do that to you, I guess.

  “Leanne,” he said as he walked into the office. “And Denny. Must say this is a surprise. Can I help you with something?”

  I glanced at Denny. He wasn’t looking at me, of course, but seeing him sitting there was still a comfort. I took a deep breath and turned back to Detective Jenner. “I need to talk to you about the shooting.”

  Detective Jenner’s face turned slightly ashy and the lines around his eyes deepened. “All right.” He walked around his desk and sat down in the metal chair. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s, um … it’s about Sarah McHale.”

  Detective Jenner was silent while I explained, telling him everything I’d told Denny before. It didn’t take long. It wasn’t as if there was much to tell on my end. Just that what everyone seemed to think had happened in the bathroom was wrong. When I finished, he sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Wow,” he said. “Not what I was expecting to hear.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was going to tell you at the walk-through, but then being there made me panic and the story got bigger after that and I didn’t want to hurt anyone and …” Denny’s hand groped along the armrest until it found mine. He squeezed and I took a breath. “I’m sorry, Detective Jenner.”

  “I understand,” he said. “And I appreciate you telling me but … Leanne, the investigation has been closed for a while now. And this information doesn’t really change anything. At least not on my end.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’d already ruled out any sort of hate crime or religious motivation,” he explained. “The victims were clearly random, regardless of what exchange may or may not have happened with Sarah McHale.”

  I nodded. But the pit in my stomach had opened up. I was being honest. Finally. And it didn’t matter at all.

  “Can I ask why you’re telling me this now?” His voice was gentle. The disappointment must have been plain on my face.

  “I just …” The words got stuck in my throat. I swallowed and tried again. “I just …” But again, I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t explain what I had done and why I needed it fixed. Now.

  Like always, though, Denny had the words I didn’t.

  “We’re graduating,” he explained for me. “I think Lee’s worried that when we leave, anything we haven’t said leaves with us. Is that right, Lee?”

  I nodded and managed to mumble a quiet, “Yeah.”

  “I see,” Detective Jenner said. “That’s admirable, Leanne. I can understand why this is something you’d feel the need to come clean about. But can I give you some advice? Not as a police officer, but as an adult concerned for your safety.”

  “Um, sure,” I said.

  “Keep this story to yourself.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I know it’s been a while since I’ve been in Virgil County. And maybe things are different now. I doubt it but …” He sighed. “People were passionate about that Sarah McHale story. They aren’t going to take it too well if anyone tries to take that away from them. I remember what happened with the Gaynor girl. Have you heard from her since she left town?”

  I shook my head.

  “Point is, I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you, Leanne. You’ve been through enough. If I were you, I’d just continue to keep this to myself.”

  When we left the office a few minutes later, it felt like my emotions were washing over me in waves. Disappointment, then frustration, then guilt. The only thing telling Detective Jenner had done was make me feel less certain about telling anyone else.<
br />
  Denny must’ve known what I was thinking, because once we were in my truck and headed back to town, he asked, “So, what now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Are you going to tell Sarah’s parents?”

  “Should I?”

  Denny thought about it before answering. “I don’t know. On one hand, they deserve to know the truth. Especially before they write that book. On the other … this is going to really upset them. Like … a lot.”

  “You’re so articulate,” I said.

  “Compared to you? Hell yeah I am.” He flashed a quick smile, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Lee. It’s been three years. I don’t know what you do at this point. Detective Jenner might be right. Might be better just to let it go.”

  “What about Kellie, though?”

  “She’s not here. Maybe she’s somewhere where people care less about this story. I hope so. Either way, it’s not like you can change what happened to her.”

  “But if the McHales’ book is published …”

  “Yeah. That’s going to suck no matter where she lives.” He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But whatever you decide to do, I’ve got your back. Not sure that means much, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

  “Thanks, Denny.”

  Detective Jenner was right—people in this town love their stories about Sarah. And after she died, there were a lot of other stories that popped up, too. Stories about the person she was when she was alive. How kind and generous and genuine she was.

  There are dozens of stories out there. Almost everyone wants to say they knew Sarah. Everyone wants to claim a piece of her.

  And yet, not a single one of those stories includes Richie. Because, as well as people think they knew her, almost no one knew she’d been in love with Richie McMullen since she was eleven. Or that they’d been “officially” dating (secretly) since the eighth grade.

  If you google Richie’s obituary, you’ll learn that he had just turned fifteen two weeks before the shooting, that he was survived by both parents and five siblings. That his family is Catholic.