by S. M. Soto
Gathering everything I need, I stuff the paper with the coordinates and the box with the earring into my bag before I grab my phone and laptop, leaving everything else behind in the room for now.
The car I rented was cheap. And ugly, by the looks of things. It’s a dented white Chevy Malibu. The inside reeks of cigarettes, but I couldn’t really care less. I have a nine-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of me. I don’t have any time to waste.
It’ll most likely be around tomorrow night before I get into town. I’ll do a bit of driving tonight, get some food, stop off at another cheap motel, and then drive the rest of the way tomorrow morning.
That’ll give me enough time to process and prepare. I’ve spent nine years searching for answers. And I think I’ve finally found them.
My lids flutter open, and it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m in another cheap motel room. A glance at the shitty, beat-up clock on the nightstand tells me it’s only 3:15 a.m.
I roll onto my other side, trying to get comfortable but scream when I realize who’s lying next to me.
“Christ, Maddie. What the hell is wrong with you?” I gasp, and she laughs at my expense, just like she usually does. Her hand is tucked under the pillow, propping her head up as she watches me. My eyes narrow on her. “Where have you been?”
She shoots me a condescending smirk. “Oh, you know, around. Living my best life.”
“I’m serious, Mads. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”
She suddenly grows serious, brushing my hair back. “I’m always here, Mackenzie. Always.” Madison picks up a lock of my hair, twisting it back and forth, smiling as she goes. “You really are a different person with this hair.”
“That was sort of the point.”
“I’m proud of you, Mack.”
I swallow, fighting back the sudden bout of tears. I search my sister’s face and confess how I’m really feeling about all this. “I’m scared.”
“I know. But that’s why I’m here. You need to get up. You need to get there before anyone else does.”
My brows dip. “What does that mean?”
She smiles sadly. “Go. Go now, Mackenzie.”
I wake with a start. The open curtains allow sunlight to shine into the room, blinding me. Someone in the room next to me is fighting. I can hear their angered shouts and then the sound of something crashing.
Must’ve been what woke me.
I rub at my temples, trying to shake off the odd dream. Once again, the conversation, the moment with my sister felt so real. I’m afraid I’ve officially lost my mind. I glance at the clock on the nightstand, and I shoot upright, my eyes going wide.
“No, no, no,” I mumble, tossing off the sheets and fumbling into the bathroom.
That can’t be the right time.
There’s no way.
12:15 p.m.
I slept through my alarm. I still have to get back on the road to get to Ferndale on time.
I scramble around the motel room, repacking and grabbing everything I need. I opt for a quick shower, and on the way, I stop for a coffee as my breakfast. I drive for five hours, only having to take a bathroom break and stop for gas twice.
At one point, I have to pull over and cry. All the emotions from the past few weeks barrel into me, and I sob, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. I’m afraid of what I’ll find. I’m afraid of what I might not find. I wish I had Madison here to hold my hand through this. I wish I had Baz here to hold me, but I fucked that up. He’ll never forgive me. He’ll never want anything to do with me again.
Angrily wiping the tears off my face, I grab my phone from the cup holder, glancing at the GPS coordinates. I should be there in about twenty minutes. All I really need to do is pass the city limits’ sign, and then I can find out what happened to my sister.
Past
“Remember, Mackenzie. Sit up straight and present yourself well. This is just a simple court proceeding. The prosecutor working for the boys’ families is a shark. He’s going to present this defamation case, and he’s going to do everything he can to make you look like the bad guy here, understand? Stay calm. He’s going to say things. Things that might not be true—”
“Things that aren’t true,” I snap back at Jared, Sheriff Keller’s brother, who is my lawyer for today.
Vincent and the guys weren’t kidding when they said they’d make my life a living hell. On top of the defamation suit for the slander and graffiti on their homes, they’re now trying to say I’m the one who hurt Madison. It’s fucking infuriating and absolutely ridiculous.
An inquiry was held into Vincent and the rest of the guys, but no malfeasance detected.
“Right. I’m sorry, Mackenzie. Just remember, you need to stay calm and levelheaded in there. We’re going to beat this, all right, kid? They have nothing. No evidence linking you to the crimes. Hell, we even have a statement from Mr. Bower, claiming your innocence. Everything is going to be fine,” Jared appeases with a soft pat on my back.
If it wasn’t for Mr. Bower being the weird old man who stays up all night house watching along our street, I’m not sure what would’ve happened. I’m not even sure my parents would’ve believed me on my word alone.
My eyes slam shut, and I inhale a deep, stabilizing breath. It’s now or never.
“All rise.”
Jared taps my arm inconspicuously, urging me to stand as the judge walks in from the back. He’s an old, graying white man who looks too severe for a case like this. Fear claws at my throat, taking root in my chest, as I watch his gait, his casual strut to his spot, front and center.
I lick my dry lips and glance at the rows behind me, finding my parents and grandparents. My mom looks tired and nervous as she nibbles on her thumbnail, and my dad looks lost as he stares straight ahead, avoiding my gaze. I’m just about to turn back around when I spot the tall forms seated on the opposite side.
Vincent, Trent, and Zach are sitting on the prosecutor’s side in the rows behind him. I don’t know where the rest of the guys are, and quite honestly, I don’t care. I want this bullshit over and done with. Anger unfurls in my chest when Vincent feels my gaze on him. He shoots me a wink and blows me a kiss.
Jared nudges me again, urging me to look forward, and I do so, nostrils flaring with rage at the audacity of those bastards.
How dare they?
The judge lowers himself onto the seat and moves papers around that are before him. He looks up, eyes scanning the room. They fall on me and Jared, our family, then move toward the other side of the courtroom. He seems to make himself comfortable and nods to the prosecutor for introductions.
“May it please the court, my name is Bradley Watkins, counsel for the Hawthorne family, and the participants in this action of proceeding with a defamation lawsuit.”
The judge nods, glancing at Jared, who goes next. “Jared Shein, defending counsel for Ms. Mackenzie Wright.”
“All right.” The judge pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Please proceed with your case, Mr. Watkins.”
The prosecutor stands from behind the table and picks up a paper from the stack before him. The judge looks down at his own, so it’s obvious he has a copy of everything.
“Your Honor, my clients’ names and the names of their families have been dragged through the mud after the death of Miss Wright’s twin sister, Madison Wright. As shown, there were no convictions or suspects, but still, Miss Wright took it upon herself to accuse and to harass the Hawthorne family and the young man’s friends. With a solid GPA of a 4.0 and a full ride to UCLA, I’m sure you can understand the gravity of these allegations being claimed against my client.”
“What exactly are these claims, Mr. Watkins?”
“Miss Wright believes my clients murdered her sister. There was no proof of such during the police investigation, and all the boys have alibis for the night. As shown in the pictures, Miss Wright decided to take it upon herself to vandalize the properties of Vincent Hawthorne, Marcus Whitehorn,
Zach Covington, and Trent Ainsworth. The Pierce family is out of the country on vacation and unable to give details on their son’s behalf. As shown in the photographs, in blood red paint, or what we believe is spray paint, Miss Wright wrote ‘murderer’ across these four innocent boys’ garages. They’ll be off to college in just a few more days, and as you can imagine, having such heinous crimes and slander against their names could jeopardize the scholarships they worked their entire high school career preparing for.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I listen to the prosecutor. He’s wrong. They’re fucking liars. I grind my teeth together, and I dig my nails into my thighs, trying to keep myself together. An outburst here won’t do me any good.
“I would like to point out, Your Honor, that Miss Wright could very well be trying to pass off blame onto these boys as they’re about to start a new chapter in their life just to protect herself. How do we know she wasn’t the one who hurt her own sister the night of her death? It’s common knowledge around the town that the two fought constantly.”
I choke on a breath, my entire body going stiff with dread. He can’t be serious?
I make a move to get up, to yell and say he’s lying, but Jared grips my arm tightly, keeping me in place.
“Calm down, Mackenzie,” he murmurs under his breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the judge.
By the time the prosecutor finishes his spiel, I’m fuming. I’m barely keeping it together—my anger and tears are waging a war, both threatening to explode. The judge finally looks at me between bouts of whatever he’s reading. He glances at me from the tops of his glasses and straightens in his seat. He motions to Jared, giving him a chance to speak on my behalf.
“Your Honor, the prosecution’s case is nil. They have nothing against my client. Mackenzie has been a star pupil, a young, bright teen who has just suffered a tragic loss and is now being blamed for not only a crime she did not commit, but now, the prosecution is insinuating she murdered her own twin? My client is being falsely calumniated as a suspect. I should file defamation against Mr. Watkins and his clients.” Jared glances down at me out of the corner of my eye, and it spurs me to sit up straighter.
I can do this.
I can be strong.
I can do this.
“You can do this.” I freeze at the sound of her voice. I dart my gaze around the courtroom, searching for Madison, but, of course, she’s nowhere to be found. I shake my head, feeling as though I’m on the verge of a psychotic breakdown, and I force my gaze back up to Jared and the judge.
“As shown in the statements, my client, Mackenzie Wright, couldn’t have committed either of these crimes. Mr. Rodney Bower is the Wrights’ neighbor of sixteen years. In a statement obtained by the sheriff, Mr. Bower claims Mackenzie couldn’t have hurt her own sister or destroyed the property because he was outside the entire night on both occasions. He often sleeps during the day and stays awake at night, used to working the graveyard shift at the plant. Mr. Bower claims the night of Madison’s death, he saw Madison drop off Mackenzie. He watched one sister walk inside and the other drive off. On the night of the graffiti incident, Mr. Brower says much of the same. He was up all night, doing yard work, keeping an eye out for the children he swears keep moving his yard gnomes. He never saw anyone leave or come back to the Wright residence. Thank you, Your Honor.”
Jared takes the seat beside me, and he pats my leg comfortingly.
It’s going to be okay.
“Thank you, Mr. Shein.” The judge sighs. “On behalf of the court, I am dismissing all claims and possible charges against Miss Wright. Mr. Watkins, the next time you step into my court, please don’t waste my time. Let these children move on with their lives and move on from the tragedy. You’re dismissed.”
With his gavel slamming down, the judge pushes upright and starts walking out, shaking his head at the sheer stupidity of the prosecutor. Jared pulls me into a soft hug, and the tears I was holding back spill over. I’m still trying to process what just happened.
I’m going to be fine.
Everyone knows I didn’t do it.
I walk hand in hand with my mother down the hall, out of the courthouse, and time seems to slow when I spot Vincent and his family. His parents are having a heated discussion, and he’s watching me through narrowed slits. In slow motion, I can feel his eyes run up and down my body. I can feel his hatred permeate the air surrounding us. Just as we pass him, he shoots me a smirk before he and his family disappear around the corner.
With tears streaming down my face, I pass the city limits sign into Ferndale. The second I crossed over, I lost my battle with my emotions again. Everything is just as I remembered—a shrine of what it was years ago. It hurts. God, does it hurt being back here.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, trying to get the betrayed look on Baz’s face out of my head. I try not to think about him and all those women. I try not to think about him hating me. I can’t think of that right now. This is what I did it for. This is what’s important. Justice for Mads. I wouldn’t be here with these coordinates if it weren’t for everything I’ve sacrificed up till now.
I glance toward the GPS and follow the instructions. I head toward the state park entrance, but instead of parking in the lot, I keep driving, turning on my brights. I slow down, rocking over tree branches and barely missing trees as I drive the car through the woods.
If I’m correct, the coordinates will lead to the creek. If not there, then somewhere close. I can’t risk anyone seeing me, so obviously, leaving the car parked in the parking lot was not an option.
After a while, the electronic GPS voice alerts that I’ve arrived. Stepping on the brakes, I throw the car in park and slowly climb out. I shoot a wary glance around me. There’s a chill in the air tonight. The trees whisper with the force of the wind, and the branches and leaves crunch and snap.
The cold, brisk breeze scrapes my face, and I lick my lips nervously, looking around again before I pop the trunk. Rushing around the car, I dig in the back and grunt as I gather the bag with supplies.
Warding off the chill and my paranoia, I drop the heavy bag onto the soil and start to drag it. The muscles in my arms ache, and my thighs are on fire, but I keep tugging until I find the spot I’m looking for. Letting go of the bag, I stand upright, a cool sweat already breaking out across the top of my brow. My shoes are smudged with dirt already, and I can feel the pesky bugs and poison oak already working their magic on my legs.
Guess some things never change.
Heaving a deep sigh, I unzip the bag and yank out the shovel that’s already sticking out halfway. I toss the shovel onto the ground and drop to my knees. I rub my hands across the ground, trying to feel for anything unusual in the earth. A dip in the dirt or anything that will give me an indication of where I need to start digging.
My hands pause on a small patch of dirt. As I look around me, I realize this is the only part where the weeds and poison oak haven’t been able to grow. With no other options, I push to my feet, and I slam the point of the shovel down into the solid earth and start digging. It’s a lot harder than it looks. Much harder than I expected.
The wooden handle scrapes the flesh of my palms, and with each swish, each rise, and each toss of the dirt behind me, my breathing escalates. The cut, scrape, and swoosh of the dirt and shovel fill the air, and what feels like a river of sweat rolls off my body, soaking my clothes. Pain lances through my arms and hands, and fatigue starts to slow me down.
What feels like hours go by until I notice something in the deepening hole. A sob catches in my throat, and I fall to my knees. I don’t even have to look at the whole thing. I know what it is. I recognize it.
I toss the shovel aside and start digging frantically through the dirt with my hands until I can see clearly.
“No, no, no.” I sob, lifting the material in my hands. I know this shirt. Madison and I fought over it many times. But of course, it fit her better than it did me.
“Oh, Madison.”
>
I lift the shirt that’s stained with dirt and covered in dried blood. It looks old and dingy. And the tears fall in torrents. I can’t get them to stop.
“I’m so sorry, Mads. It should’ve been me. It was supposed to be.” I clutch the material to my chest and sob, vowing to make them pay. The piece isn’t enough. I want them to suffer. All of them.
No amount of jail time will ever be enough. I want their blood. I want their pain. I want their—
The sound of a twig snapping behind me has me going rigid. Slowly, I start to turn around, and the dark chuckle grates down my spine.
“Just had to keep digging, didn’t you, Mackenzie?”
I suck in a sharp breath at the sound of his voice. Whirling around, I drop onto the ground with a thud, looking up at him. He’s the last person I expected to be here. The trees cast dark shadows across his normally handsome face.
“You … how …?”
Vincent tsks. “I knew it was you the whole time, Mackenzie. The second you walked through those club doors, I knew what you were there for. We all did.”
I shake my head, disbelief coursing through my veins. There’s no way. Baz wouldn’t have let them around me if he knew. He would’ve pushed me away sooner, wouldn’t he?
Vincent takes a threatening step closer, and I scramble away, my fingers digging into the dirt as I go.
“You’re going to pay for what you did to her,” I seethe, tears leaking down my face.
Vincent bends, a sinister grin on his face.
“That’s not happening, sweetheart.”
At the same time he lunges, I roll and scramble to my feet. I slip and slide in the dirt as I start running back toward the car. My heart is pounding so loud; all I hear is its frantic beat, and my blood roaring in my ears.
I’m almost there. I can practically taste it.
My fingertips make contact with the cold metal of the handle, but Vincent’s fist tightens in my hair, yanking the strands. He whirls me around, and I let out a blood-curdling scream, kicking at him.
