I feel exposed standing out on the sidewalk in front of her house. What if a neighbor sees me, some random guy stalking the house? What if a cop car comes by on patrol? I walk down the driveway and slip through the gate to the backyard.
Okay. I'm standing on the patio looking up at what I hope is Marissa's bedroom window.
I picture Garrett waiting in the car, getting more and more impatient. I can't think of anything else: I bend down and try to see if there are any pebbles lying around. As I bend down, my cell phone shifts and almost falls out of my pocket. Duh!
I take out my cell and scroll through the names, looking for Marissa's. How happy am I that her grandma finally, finally got her a cell phone! But what if her cell isn't on? What if her grandma hears the phone?
Shit.
Okay, I don't have time for this head-stuck-up-my-ass thinking. It's getting later by the second.
I punch the button for Marissa's number and wait while it rings. I can feel my heart beating in my throat.
"Hello?" comes a groggy voice, and I could faint with relief. It's Marissa.
"Mariss," I say.
"Yeah?"
It's Blake."
"Blake?" Rustling sounds. "What time is it?"
It's crazy early," I say. "Listen. I need you to wake up. Do you hear me? Marissa?"
"I hear you. What's going on?"
"I'm at your house."
"What?" Her voice is sharper now.
"I don't have time to explain. You have to trust me. I'm at your house, and I'm waiting outside. I'm in the backyard. Is your room the one in the back?"
"Yes." There's more rustling, and I look up at her window. She pulls up the shade, and her dim silhouette appears in the frame. "Blake, what are you doing?"
I can't see her expression. "Please, Marissa. You have to trust me. Get dressed and come down. Leave a note for your grandma."
"I don't understand. What time is it?"
I close my eyes and sigh. "This is never going to work," I mutter, more to myself than to her.
"What's never going to work? Why do I need to leave a note? Are we going somewhere?"
"Yes, we're going somewhere. I so don't have time to explain, Marissa. My brother is waiting in his car, and he's going to fucking freak if we don't get back to him, like, now. Get dressed and meet me out front. I promise I'll tell you everything then."
"Okay!" She hangs up and closes her shade.
I run around to the front of the house and down the street to the car. Garrett looks up at me as I lean down to his window. "She's coming," I say. Then I run back to meet her.
***
Garrett parks down the street from the medical examiner's office. "There's a surveillance camera on the parking lot," he explains.
Marissa is silent in the back seat, her eyes wide and scared. We told her what we're going to do. It took a while to make her understand. When we first started talking about going into the morgue, she must have thought she was still asleep, having a nightmare. I'm sure when she asked me how to find out who the victim was, she never imagined she'd have to look at the body herself.
Once she understood, though, she didn't refuse. She didn't cry.
She's not going to chicken out. I can see it in her face. She really wants to know if it's her mom who died.
"Here's what's going to happen," says Garrett, turning around in his seat so he can see both of us. "We're going to walk over to the back door of the morgue. You guys are going to wait outside while I go in and make sure no one is there."
Who would be there?" I ask.
He narrows his eyes. "I told you I am not playing, Blake. Get your head in the—" He stops. I can tell he was about to say "in the game." "Just use your head," he fumes. "Anyone could be there. People get killed in the middle of the night, you know what I'm saying? There could even be cops. Now, do you want to keep talking about it? Or do this?"
Do this," whispers Marissa.
Garrett glances at her, and his expression softens. "Okay. So I'm going to check things out, make sure no one else is there. If it's clear, I'll come get you. The cold room is near the back door, thank God." He runs a hand across his forehead. "Marissa."
"Yes." She answers quickly, like an attentive student.
"You will—" he says, and stops.
The three of us sit there in a moment of surreal silence.
"You will come in and look. They're just—" But the words get stuck in his throat again.
The three of us get out of the car. We're a block away from the building, and with every step I want to say, Wait. Lets not do this.
Then we're standing at the back door, and I'm still speechless.
Garrett pulls a credit card–size passkey out of his back pocket. I can see his hand trembling. He swipes it through the reader, but the little red light stays red. Locked.
"Shit," he says.
I moan.
"Wait, wait," he says, swiping it again. "Why won't it work?"
Red.
Garrett looks at me, his eyes dark with panic. Then his face relaxes. "Ohhhh," he breathes. "It's after hours! I need the alarm code." He closes his eyes for a moment. "Let's see. I think it's—"
He thinks? What if he's wrong? Is a siren going to go off and floodlights and ... and the alarm system will auto-dial the cops?
"Okay," he says after a second, and punches in four numbers. The keypad makes a mocking little beep, and the light stays red.
Our three hearts collectively sink. Full disclosure: mine does a blip of relief, too.
"Okay, wait," says Garrett."
"Damn, Garrett!" I burst out.
"Shut," he says through gritted teeth, "up." He hovers his trembling fingers over the keypad, and I wonder what will happen if he's wrong a fourth time. Will it be like a secure website that locks you out and you have to call tech support?
He punches in four numbers, and with a cheery chirp the light turns green. Garrett grabs the handle and opens the door. "Wait here," he says. He steps inside, and the door whooshes shut behind him.
I look at Marissa. She hasn't said a word this entire time. Her face is blank and white. She looks like a wax statue.
"Don't worry," I say. It's the single most stupid thing I've ever said. Ass-wipe! I rage at myself.
Garrett opens the back door, his face white, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He motions us inside. "No one's here," he whispers.
I have an urge to say, Then why are we whispering? I conquer it.
The bright lights inside are like a scream. They make us cringe and scurry.
The smell is the second thing to hit us. It's not horrible, it's just very definitely there. A raw, gassy odor.
"Over here," says Garrett, taking Marissa's elbow gently.
All of a sudden, watching my brother lead my friend across the cold tiled floor to see if her mother has ended up here dead, I feel a lump in my throat. I blink furiously and clench my fists hard. No. Goddamn it, no! Don't you dare.
Garrett pushes the big button that opens the sliding glass doors of the cold room, like some entrance to a mall in hell. The lights come on automatically. There's only one case in there.
Marissa stops walking. Garrett looks back at me desperately and I move forward to help. Then she takes another step forward and another one, approaching the covered figure.
Garrett hurries over to the gurney and starts to unzip the bag. "You can do this," he says, and his voice is ragged. "It's almost over, baby."
The kindness in his voice almost does me in again.
Garrett pulls the cover back from the head of the figure and Marissa moves closer.
I hold my breath.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Photophobia: fear of light.
Marissa leans closer to the body to take a good look. Garrett hovers nearby.
I wait, a few steps away.
Marissa's hands fly to her mouth and her face crumples. I rush over to her.
Garrett drops the cover back over the fa
ce of the—ohmygod, her mom?—and pushes Marissa into my arms.
He looks at me and says in a low voice, "Get her out of here. I need to zip up the—" He goes back to the corpse.
Marissa is crying but making a terrible effort to be quiet. I hustle her out the back door as she's whisper-sobbing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
We make it out the back door, and Garrett stops to set the alarm, then closes the door and locks it, his hands trembling. I put my arm around Marissa's shoulders to help her to the car; she's shaking like she's standing in an icy river.
I hold her tighter and walk her to the car. It seems so far away. Garrett runs ahead of us, unlocking the car. I help Marissa into the back seat and climb in after her.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cries.
"It's okay," I say automatically. What should I do?
She lies down on the back seat and curls up in a ball, shaking and shaking.
I look at Garrett, who has opened the driver's side door. "Get in!" he snaps. "Do something. Help her."
I climb in the back and perch on the edge of the bench seat, closing the door carefully.
Garrett starts the car, puts it in gear, and drives away from the scene of our nightmare come true.
Marissa is shuddering and crying. I balance on my corner of the seat, looking down at her. She is illuminated each time we pass a streetlamp; then her huddled figure is hidden in the shadows again. Light. Dark. Chiaroscuro.
I can't think of anything else to do. I lie down and curl up next to her, like spoons, and put my arm around her.
Garrett drives. I don't know where he's going, but he keeps driving for a long time. We're not going back to our house or Marissa's house. We would have been there by now.
Marissa stops crying after a while, but I stay where I am. She's holding on to my arm. "Blake," she says suddenly. "It wasn't her."
"WHAT?!"
"I'm sorry I didn't say it right away. I was so scared in there, in that horrible room, and I felt like I was going to faint, and then even though it wasn't her, I couldn't stop crying," she says. "I was so sure it was going to be her that it was almost like it was. Does that make sense?"
"Oh my God," I say.
"Did she just say that wasn't her mom?" asks Garrett.
"Yes."
"Oh my God!"
One more time she says, "I'm sorry."
We breathe.
"Okay," says Garrett. "That's good. I'm glad."
A few minutes later he stops the car and Marissa and I disentangle our arms. We sit up, not looking at each other.
We're parked outside of a Coffee Jones, which looks bright and bustling and caffeinated. People are going on with their lives ... their normal lives. I study them as they come and go. How many of them have done unimaginable things? How many of them are carrying around some horror in their hearts?
"I need something," says Garrett. "Coffee. Jack Daniels. Something. You guys coming?"
Marissa shakes her head. "I'll wait here."
I was about to get out of the car, but I sit back down again. "Man, could you get me something?" I ask. "A caramel mocha thing? Only if they don't have Jack Daniel's."
My first joke. Post-nightmare. Maybe I'll be all right.
"Sure. You, Marissa?"
That sounds good."
Garrett nods and walks into the Coffee Jones.
Marissa and I look out our respective windows. "I hate her," she whispers.
I slide over next to her. Without a word she lays her head on my chest.
"I hate her!" she says in a louder voice. Her fist punches the seat. "She was normal once. Why can't she just be normal again? When I was little, she was like any other mom. By the time Children's Services came to get us, she wasn't even feeding us. My grandma even got me a little refrigerator for my bedroom—I was always sneaking food when I came to live with her. I was afraid she would stop feeding me, too."
I listen. I stroke her hair. I want to go back in time and take care of that little girl.
When Garrett comes back, he gets into the car holding a cardboard tray with three cups.
"Garrett, man," I say. "Thank you."
"No problem," he says. He holds out a cup.
I take it from him and pass it to Marissa. "No. I mean thank you for the other thing. I know you took a huge risk do ing this."
He sighs and shakes his head, holding out the second cup. "Last night I kept thinking, What if it was my mom?" He makes a choked sound and turns away.
My throat gets tight again.
After a minute he says, "I knew it had to be this morning or never. I still can't believe—" He runs his hands over his head as if to massage some sense back into it.
"I really appreciate it," says Marissa.
"Do you?" He turns back, looking searchingly at her. "Or do you wish we'd never gotten you into this?"
I appreciate it," she says again.
We sip our drinks in silence.
After a minute Marissa says in a low voice, "And."
We wait.
"It wasn't my mom. But it might as well have been. She's dead to me now."
She starts crying again, holding her cup awkwardly. I take the cup from her, and then I hold it awkwardly. Garrett reaches for both cups in my hands, setting them in his cup holder. I move toward Marissa, patting her shoulder. But that seems lame.
I put my arms around her again, and she holds on to me. This is starting to feel natural. An image of Shannon flits through my mind and keeps going. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm comforting my friend.
Garrett turns on the car and starts driving again. Marissa and I sink down onto the seat, and eventually she falls asleep. I scrunch up next to her, watching the view through the back windshield: dark sky, trees, lit-up billboards, dark sky, telephone lines, trees...
When the tears start coming out of my eyes, they slide down my nose and into Marissa's hair.
***
"Where do you want me to take you guys?" asks Garrett.
I sit up, yawning. I must have fallen asleep, too. My arm is sore and numb. Marissa sits up, rubbing her eyes in a cute girly way.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"It's almost eight o'clock," says Garrett.
Marissa is shivering. I take off my coat and hand it to her.
"I need to go to work," says Garrett. He does not say "work at the morgue," I'm relieved to note.
Ohmygod. He's got to go back there and cut up that woman now.
"Sorry, but I have to drop you somewhere," he says. "Marissa, do you want me to take you home?"
Marissa pulls my coat over her like a blanket, still shivering.
I don't want to leave her alone.
"Mariss," I say. "Do you want to hang with me today?"
She stares at me, as if about to say something, then nods.
"Um, Garrett? Just take us to—" Where? "I don't know where."
You don't want to go home?"
"No."
"Mom and Dad won't care if Marissa is with you."
I want to go to the movies," says Marissa suddenly.
"Um, okay."
"I just want to shut off my mind. I want different pictures inside my head. Okay?" She looks fierce.
"Okay. But movies aren't open yet."
"I don't care. We can sit outside the mall until it opens." She turns her face to the window.
Garrett and I exchange a look. He drives to a coffee shop near Meriwether Mall and parks. He opens his wallet and takes out all the money he has, handing it to me. "Listen. Go have breakfast. Take your time. Get a newspaper, and you know, loiter. Like you're clueless. The mall will be open in a couple of hours. And tip the waitress big, for the loitering. Got me?"
"Yes."
Marissa and I get out of the car, and I lean down to say goodbye. "Thank you, Garrett."
"No problem, man." His face is pale. "Call me if you need me."
Good luck today," I say quietly.
Marissa stands with my jacket clutched ar
ound her. We go into Shari's Shoppe and sit down and order breakfast. We read the paper, just like Garrett suggested. We read bits out loud to each other, like my parents do sometimes.
I don't know about Marissa, but I'm finally starting to feel better. It's warm and cheery inside, full of the smell of coffee and bacon and maple syrup. There are families and truckers and little old ladies. Marissa and I talk about wishing we had a camera with us. We snag some extra paper menus and draw pictures.
At some point I realize Marissa has taken off my jacket and started smiling again. Maybe she'll be okay.
"Want some pie?" I ask.
"Pie?"
"Or cake," I add. The waitress has already put the check down on the table, but I don't care.
"We just had breakfast."
"I know. But now I want pie."
She giggles. "All right. And I want cake."
I order a piece of apple pie and Marissa orders a slice of banana cake, much to the chagrin of our waitress, who probably figures we're going to leave her a dollar tip. We devour every crumb, like we're starving.
It's finally late enough to leave the coffee shop and walk over to the mall. I buy a couple of cookies for the road and give them to Marissa. She takes the little white paper bag and slides it into her pocket.
On the way, my cell phone rings. It's the Shannon ringtone. The sound jolts me out of this pretend vacation day we're having.
"I'll wait over here," says Marissa, walking away.
I hold the ringing phone in my hand until the call goes to message. Then I turn off the phone and join Marissa.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
To avoid damage to the equipment and to prevent personal injury, never place
the camera on an unstable stand or tripod. Mount only on a stable tripod.
—Mitsu ProShot I.S. 5.3 camera guide, 2007
We pick a comedy, of course, and it's a relief that the filmmakers don't sneak in any tearjerker moments. As we're walking out of the theater, I see Dez and Aisha from school. Marissa is laughing about one of the scenes in the movie, so I just ignore the other girls and hope they don't see us.
We're hungry again, so we go to the food court and eat lunch. Marissa scarfs down a sub sandwich and I eat two corn dogs. Now what? We look at each other, and that question hangs in the air.
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