Instinct

by Mattie Dunman

  I snort, wondering where Sowers got his sense of humor. “No, I really didn’t.” Suddenly the opportunity is too perfect, the kind of moment I’ve been waiting for since the certainty of Phillip’s guilt took hold. “Officer, when I was in the trunk, I saw something in there…I think it was a journal Nicole had. She said it was Miranda’s.”

  Sowers gives me an incredulous look before an expression of deep satisfaction settles. “Notify Detective Radcliffe of our location. There may be evidence he needs to see,” he says into his radio.

  Tears leak onto my cheeks, turning frigid as the cold air hits them, but I don’t care. I’ve done it. Shockey is in the hospital with a collapsed lung, a prolonged stay in a prison infirmary in his future. Phillip will go to jail for kidnapping me. Miranda’s journal will tie him to Nicole’s death, and I have no doubt that there are fibers and other forensic things in that trunk that will tie the noose. My knees collapse under me and I sag against the car, openly sobbing, relief pumping through me faster than my blood. Sowers gives me a troubled look and then drags Phillip by his collar back to the police cruiser a few feet away. After securing Phillip in handcuffs in the back of the car, Sowers returns to me, eyes surveying me for hidden damage.

  He asks me something, but all I can do is laugh. I hear the hysteria in it, the uncontrolled note that has him worried, but the release is exquisite and I revel in it, savoring the lessening of the terrible weight that has held my head down for so long.

  I am still laughing weakly when Detective Radcliffe makes it to the scene, followed by an ambulance. Seeing it, I groan and get to my feet, determined to convince the powers that be I have no need of medical attention. The thought of another ride in the back of that tin can while my head is pounding like this sends a shudder through me. I reach up to feel the lump on my forehead where I hit the cobblestones. It’s pronounced, but there’s no bleeding, so I have hopes that I can just go home and curl up with an ice pack and a Tylenol.

  “I am scared of you,” Detective Radcliffe says in greeting, walking directly to me, his eyes taking in my bedraggled appearance. “It seems you’ve gotten yourself in another pickle.”

  “Not on purpose, Detective.”

  He snorts and nods his head. “Right. So, Officer Sowers here tells me you found something while you were hanging out in the trunk?” He gestures toward the still open trunk and I walk over with him, gaining more stability with each step. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my paramedic friend from a few days ago move toward me, but Radcliffe waves him off, clearly placing priority on evidence over my health.

  We stand in front of the open trunk and I point directly at the journal I had placed in the back. “Nicole showed me that the day she died. She said it was Miranda’s and it made her think Phillip had something to do with Miranda’s death.” I pause, remembering some of Phillip’s furious ramblings while he was choking me to death. He had said he hadn’t killed Miranda. My stomach twists uneasily. At that point, moments before he planned to kill me, there was no reason for him to lie. He confessed he murdered Nicole, so why hold back about Miranda?

  I drag myself back to the moment, deciding to worry about his culpability later. Either way, he is going to jail and everyone will know what a monster he is.

  Radcliffe uses his gloves to lift the journal out of the trunk and opens it tenderly, as though afraid to disturb any lingering traces of the girl whose thoughts lay dormant within. He flips through the book cautiously, his eyes widening and mouth turning down in distress as Miranda’s shaky mental state and evidence of Phillip’s abuse is laid out in black and white. Even though the words on the paper don’t really reflect what she felt when she wrote them, there is still enough angst to give a pretty clear picture.

  “Sowers, get the kit from my trunk,” Radcliffe barks, his eyes drifting over to me with curiosity, as though he is really seeing me for the first time. “You’re a deep one, aren’t you? What were you doing around Phillip’s car anyway?”

  I don’t even try to make something up. I have a feeling being knocked unconscious and stuffed in a trunk will outweigh my original plans. “Honestly, I was trying to get into his car. I was hoping to find some evidence that would link him to Nicole, to get something that would warrant a search.”

  Radcliffe nods and a smile quirks the edges of his mouth. “That was stupid. But I get it,” he says quietly, eyes washing over me with approval. “Quick thinking with the taillight.”

  I beam under his praise, the pain in my head growing slightly dimmer. “Thanks. I didn’t really think it would work,” I admit, still wondering what lucky stroke of fate led a police cruiser to be waiting along whatever off the beaten path Phillip had brought me on. We are on a narrow road sandwiched between a tall fence of trees and a cliff face, the sound of gently moving water tickling the edge of my hearing. I have no idea where we are.

  “It might not have if I hadn’t had every officer on the force keeping an eye on him,” Radcliffe reveals nonchalantly. I stare at him open-mouthed and he releases a reluctant chuckle.

  “You’re not the only one who thought there was something off about that kid. In questioning…he just seemed too pleased with himself. It didn’t sit right. And we knew Nicole’s wound couldn’t have been self-inflicted…” he trails off, giving me a sharp look. “Now that information is not for the general public, young lady. How do you get people to tell you these things?” he asks as Sowers returns with what looks like a plastic briefcase.

  “Just a gift, I guess,” I answer, finally allowing the paramedic to drag me to the back of the ambulance where he clucks over my injuries, reminding me that my head has taken one too many knocks in the past few days.

  A few minutes later Radcliffe strides toward me, muttering into his radio. “I’m sick at heart over the dead girl,” he says quietly, and tears prick my eyes at his unwitting honesty. I feel guilty that I suspected this big-hearted, if gruff, man of being negligent or uncaring. If I had been frustrated knowing that Phillip was walking around free because of lack of evidence, I could only imagine how Radcliffe must have felt, allowing him to leave the police station unhampered.

  “I’m sorry that you had to go through all this Miss MacKenna. I know you’ve had a tough time of it. But you being trapped in that trunk is the best thing that could’ve happened in this case,” he says, putting his big hand on my shoulder for an awkward pat. “There’s old blood in the trunk. Looks like he tried to clean it, maybe with bleach, but the Luminol picked it up. My money is on it belonging to Nicole. I owe you thanks, young lady.”

  He tips his hat to me and tells the paramedic to quit wasting time and get me to the hospital. I beg for them to let me go home, but no one listens and once again I endure the loudest, most bone-jarring ride of my life.

  I am arguing with the doctor, who has become familiar enough for me to address on a first name basis when my mother and Geoffrey Wise walk in. Mom immediately races for me, taking my bruised head into her arms and sobbing in great, unintelligible gulps. I can hear the loss of control balancing on a precipice in her voice and know she has been pushed too far. No matter how complicated our relationship, Mom loves me, and me nearly dying three times in one month has pushed her to the limit. I stroke her hair and mutter soothing words, my eyes on Geoffrey and his speculative expression.

  “I’m going make you work for me,” he says, voice full of sympathy. I bare my teeth at him.

  “I should’ve been there to save you,” Jake says, joining us in the overcrowded room, bumping up against the blood pressure monitor before shifting back to the wall. I suppress a sigh and give him a tight smile. I really want to go home and get in my own bed.

  “Jake was worried about you, so I told him he could come by. I hope you don’t mind,” Geoffrey says, watching me greedily. Pretty soon he and I are going to have a long conversation; one where I ask some leading questions and he gives me honest answers.

  “Where’s Cole?” I demand, ignoring the flash of hurt on Jake’s face.
Geoffrey’s face darkens at the mention of his other son and I wonder what it is about Cole that makes him so antagonistic.

  “He had to stay home, unfortunately. I’m sure you’ll see him when you’re feeling better,” he answers. My skin hums with the lie.

  The doctor huffs, having had enough of the bizarre family dynamic going on, and shoos everyone but my mother out of the room. He proceeds to tell her although I have collected a new set of bruises to go with my already heavily decorated body, I don’t seem too much worse for the wear. Apparently the forehead is not as bad a place to be hit as the back of the head, so my concussion is holding steady at only a seven on the agony scale.

  Small favors.

  There are raised voices in the hallway and then I hear it, the deeply compelling sound of Geoffrey Wise’s words of command. “Go home now, Cole.”

  My heart picks up its pace, making the machines I’m hooked up to screech in alarm. The weight of Geoffrey’s order pushes against me and even Mom stands up and looks as though she is about to walk out.

  The curtain parts and Cole steps in, his face red, sweat beaded along his forehead, strain and effort in every movement as he plods toward me, his legs moving slow and stiff as though trapped in sand. He is fighting his father’s compulsion.

  Fighting for me.

  I reach out my hand and take his, entwining our fingers. He takes a shuddering breath and then moves forward uninhibited, as though he has thrown off the knotted rope that was holding him back. Giving me a weary smile, he leans over and presses his lips to mine, the touch gentle and demanding all at once. When he pulls away, I am shaky and short of breath, forgetting everyone else standing around arguing, my eyes fixed on his.

  “I love you,” he whispers and I feel something wild and hopeful in my chest, a promise being born. Whatever he has really said doesn’t matter and I don’t want to know. I hold on to this moment and don’t let go.

  Chapter 19

  “What do you think we are?” I ask Cole, leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his arms surround me. He stands behind my chair, dropping his chin on my head. It has been a week since the night Phillip was arrested and he has been in custody since. Cole has been with me practically every waking moment. He hasn’t been to work all week, saying he’d rather stay with me at the store. Mom hasn’t started paying him, but I’m pretty sure she’ll cave soon. She likes having him around to carry the big stuff to clients’ cars.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, kissing the nearly faded bruise on my forehead before coming around to sit on the counter. I push back the display of thumb rings Mom has sitting by the cash register in hopes of attracting younger customers and give him a knowing look.

  “Exactly what I asked. Why are we the way we are? Why can we do the things we do? Haven’t you ever wondered?”

  Cole rolls his eyes and smiles. “Of course I’ve wondered. I asked my dad, but he just mumbled something about superior genetics. I guess it’s just never been that important to me.” He shrugs and picks up one of the rings to twirl around his finger.

  I sigh and watch the older couple across the room study a hope chest Mom picked up at an auction yesterday. The woman is busy examining the inlay on the wood, but her husband watches her, his eyes warm and affectionate, his hand resting gently on her back. She turns and glances up at him and an entire conversation takes place between them, a lifetime of exchanges that lead to the same conclusion; they will do whatever makes the other happy. It’s a beautiful sort of normalcy, made extraordinary by its consistent predictability.

  A sharp pang of jealousy slices through me and I turn to look at Cole. He smiles at me, his entire face lighting, softening his hard edges, bringing the sapphire gleam in his eyes into focus. The jealousy fades and I find myself once again wondering what on earth I’ve done to deserve that expression on his face, the sweet intensity of his gaze.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he says teasingly, brushing my cheek with his lips, breath tickling my ear.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I ask archly, leaning into him and pulling in his scent, dark citrus and spice.

  “You’re thinking you’ll never get to be normal like them. That because of your talent you’ll always be alone, on the fringes.”

  I pull away and look up at him, startled at his insight. “How did you know that?”

  “Because I was thinking it too, just for a second. But you’re wrong, Derry. We’ll get a taste of normal.” He hops off the counter as the couple approaches, their smiles bringing an answering grin to my face. “I’ll make sure of it,” Cole whispers.

  I stand at the overlook where Nicole and I had our conversation the day she died. The last time I spoke with her, laughed with her. All the snow has melted and the bare trees are desolate without their frosting. Everything around me is stark and cold, but I ignore the despondency that threatens to creep into my chest. I have come here every evening since I got out of the hospital, looking for something, thinking maybe I could get a sense of completion, a final answer.

  Nicole’s mother came to see me at the store today. The sight of her red-rimmed eyes and haggard appearance brought up a surge of guilt that nearly choked me.

  “Today is the first day I’ve gotten out of bed since the funeral,” she had said, her voice slightly wobbly.

  I glanced at Cole and he nodded at me encouragingly, so I assumed she had said something normal, like hello or can I talk to you for a moment.

  Cole had come closer to me, prepared to give support, but I sent him away, knowing whatever Beverly had to say to me, I deserved.

  Once Cole had disappeared into the back stockroom, she came behind the counter and put an awkward hand on my arm, as though she had forgotten how to touch another human being.

  “Derry, I came to tell you that I’m so sorry for the things I said. I would’ve come before, but to be honest, I was ashamed.” My skin was quiet with her sincerity and I shook my head at her, wondering how she could think even for a moment she owed me an apology.

  “Mrs. Sharp, I…”

  “No dear, don’t interrupt. This isn’t easy for me.” She sighed and then steeled her shoulders, determination finding its way into her expression. “Nicole would be furious with me over how I’ve treated you. And I was wrong. Yes, you could’ve handled things better, but you’re young, and we don’t always make the best decisions when we’re young. You did what you thought was best for Nicole, and I know losing her has been…difficult for you.”

  Tears flowed freely down my face while I just continued to shake my head at her, unable to respond. She squeezed my arm once and let me go, already pulling away.

  “I’m sorry if you got into danger with Phillip because of guilt over what I said. I never wanted you to put yourself in harm’s way. But I want to thank you for finding out the truth. You can’t know what it means to Nicole’s father and me, knowing she didn’t want to leave us.” Beverly drew in a harsh breath and bit her trembling lip, trying to stay in control. “Thank you, and take care of yourself.”

  She had hurried out the door and down the street before I could protest, leaving me alone with my tumultuous thoughts, robbed of the chance to beg for forgiveness once more.

  I look over the water and think of Nicole, of her quick laugh when no one was watching, of the ferocity of her loyalty, the glimpse of real friendship she gave me. Tears slide down my cheeks and I know I am saying goodbye to her. Somehow, I think she would understand.

  My gaze shifts and I am looking over at the defunct train bridge where Miranda took her last step. Phillip has confessed to Nicole’s murder, although of course he claims it was an accident and he was too afraid to call the police. Not sure how he’s explaining my presence in his trunk, but I feel certain he’s got a perfectly reasonable defense. I doubt it’ll do him much good; Officer Sowers told me in private there was a lot of evidence tying Phillip to Nicole’s death.

  But he swears he had nothing to do with Miranda, and so far his alibi for that nigh
t checks out. Despite Nicole’s blind certainty, despite my own disgust for his broken morality, even I must admit it seems he had nothing to do with Miranda’s fall.

  The loud rushing of the river below calls my attention again and I stare down into its swirling depths, the cold purity strangely appealing; an answer more final and absolute than any I could conceive. Miranda’s death is a question I will probably never resolve. A truth I will never grasp. I stare down at the water and wonder what she saw in it, if there had been an answer deep under the surface that called to her, or if she simply slipped and cried out for another chance as the current took her under.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull myself away from dark thoughts to see the calls I’ve missed. Cole and my mother, both within minutes of one another. Remembering Mom’s shattered expression when she saw me in the hospital bed for the third time, I know losing me would have broken her, and I shudder thinking of her wandering around angry and guilty like Nicole’s mother. Or simply packing my things away in despair the way Miranda’s mother did.

  A reluctant smile pulls at my lips and I send them both text messages promising I’m on my way home.

  Casting a final glance at the river, I whisper, “Goodbye, Nicole. Goodbye, Miranda.”

  I walk back to the store, to my home, my stride lighter with each step, the burning knot of guilt and rage in my chest only a faint ember now. I fought for them, and now there are people who will fight for me, who will keep me from stumbling off whatever bridge tempts me with long-denied answers.

  When we take that icy plunge, we are not the only ones who drown.

  About The Author

  Mattie Dunman is a lifelong resident of "Wild & Wonderful" West Virginia, and has dreamed of being a writer since she first held a pen in hand.

  A self-published author, Mattie has pursued several useless degrees to support this dream, and presently enjoys teaching the dying art of public speaking. She spends most of her free time writing, but also indulges in reading and traveling.