I stared at the old woman for a moment, then stepped back in my room and closed the door. I heard her shuffle away, muttering about pretty white lights.
The next morning, I woke early as the nurses were making their rounds. My mom had left a note on my bedside table saying she was having breakfast downstairs, and I should come join her if I woke up, otherwise she’d bring me something. I threw the note in the trash can and got dressed in a Joan Jett t-shirt, my
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South sweat pants, and a pair of memory foam slippers Taylor had bought me to wear in the hospital.
When I opened my door, there was a crowd of people three doors down the hallway. I walked towards them and saw the old woman from the night before. She was asleep on a gurney. As I got closer, I realized she wasn’t simply asleep: she was dead. I gasped.
“Don’t be so upset,” one of the nurses said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I stared at her. “Mrs. O’Malley died sometime in her sleep last night. She was very old, and on a lot of pain medication. I promise you, the nice old lady did not suffer.”
My gaze flickered from the old woman to the nurse a few times before I turned and went downstairs. I found my mom in the cafeteria, eating eggs Benedict with my dad and my brother Terry. She smiled when she saw me, and got up to get me some breakfast.
Terry offered me a doughnut, which I began to chew on absently. My dad asked if I was feeling any better, as he did every morning. I nodded and took a long drink of hot chocolate, the heat soothing my aching throat. When my mom came back with a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast, I realized just how hungry I was and ate with a vengeance.
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Samantha Steele
“I’m so glad I have my voice back!” I said for the millionth time. It had been three months since my injury, and I finally had full use of my vocal cords.
“I don’t think you’ve ever talked this much,” Mitch said with a laugh. “I remember when your communications were simply head nods.”
I laughed, too, because he was right. Ever since I realize I could talk without pain, I took advantage of every opportunity to do so. The scar tissue had altered my voice a little, so it was now a little raspy and much huskier. Mitch thought it was sexy, and he was a little disappointed Dr. Herman said that eventually that should go away.
Something I’d noticed about two weeks after I healed was that I could suddenly sing. My voice before had been absolutely terrible for singing, but now it had a deep, almost rusty sound, and Annika and Cami and I loved to get together and sing The Runaways songs. My favorite was Dead End Justice, because Annika and I could duet, and it reminded me of the time I got to sing with the real Joan Jett.
Zac had been arrested. He was in jail now. Mitch, Evan, and Austin went to see him every Sunday. I wanted to see him, too, to tell him how sorry I was, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t sure if it would help, or make things harder on him.
The last thing I wanted to do was cause him any more problems.
As far as I knew, Jacob had died in the hotel room. I don’t know if it’s crazy, but no part of me was remotely remorseful. Everyone else involved seemed relieved he was gone, but Cami felt like it was all her fault for dating him. We all tried our hardest to make her realize it wasn’t her fault. He was just insane.
“We are going to be huge,” Annika said. We were in her garage and had just finished performing Bad Things by Jace
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Everett for her dog, who was yipping happily. I took a deep breath and grabbed the bag of sandwiches my mom had made us out of Annika’s mini fridge. I also got out some sodas, and we all sat down to eat lunch and take a break.
“I’m glad it’s summer and we get a lot of chances to practice,” Cami said, taking a bite of her pastrami sandwich. “We should do Battle of the Bands next year. We missed it this year
‘cause Sam had to go and get stabbed and all.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for dating a lunatic,” I said, throwing my sandwich wrapper at her. She laughed a little.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I never saw it coming.” Annika burst out laughing.
“How many times did he tell you he wished Sam was dead?” she choked through tears of humor. “I’m surprised he didn’t do it sooner!”
“It’s not her fault,” I said. “Seriously, anybody could have missed it. It’s not like they generally test for serial killer attributes on the school aptitude test.”
“Yeah, and if they did, we’d all be put in padded rooms,”
Cami snorted. “Sam gets stabbed in the throat and uses it as a chance to become famous. Annika met her boyfriend at a metal show called ‘Bloodsplurge,’ and I dated a serial killer.”
“He wasn’t a serial killer,” I commented. “Yet,” I added.
“We’d get stuck in padded rooms because we think all this is funny,” Annika said seriously, taking a swig of her soda.
Cami and I nodded in agreement. “Let’s face it. We’re all psychos.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said with a laugh.
Mitch and I were walking down a dirt path alongside Campbell Creek. It was a beautiful summer day, even if it was only fifty degrees. The sky was pale blue and the creek was making a soft rushing sound I found very soothing. There were birds singing in the trees, and the occasional rustle among the bushes of a rabbit hopping away.
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Mitch and I were holding hands. Mitch was also holding a picnic basket full of sandwiches, drinks, and snacks. I had a thick red blanket draped over my arm, and we were almost to the small clearing where we intended to picnic.
When we got there, I spread the blanket on a soft patch of grass and Mitch opened the picnic basket. We talked and ate and laughed for an hour, feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries and throwing bread crumbs to the birds.
After we finished eating, Mitch laid down on his back and I cuddled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. After a minute or two, I felt my own heart begin to beat in sync with his.
We were silent for a long time, just enjoying being together, until I heard Mitch speak to me.
“Oh my God, I love you so much,” he said. I grinned and looked up at him. He was looking at me fondly.
“I love you, too, Mitch,” I said.
Confusion crossed Mitch’s face.
“What do you mean, you love me, too?” he asked, bewildered.
“You just said, ‘Oh my God, I love you so much,’” I repeated. “So I said I love you, too. How much clearer can I be?”
“Sam… I didn’t say that,” he said quietly. I stared at him confusedly.
“What do you mean, you didn’t say it? I heard you.”
“I didn’t say it out loud. I thought it.”
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Epilogue
Zachary Bell
Just After The Incident
I was sitting in the back of the police cruiser, handcuffed to the door handle. It was slightly uncomfortable, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
As I stared at the window, the fact I’d been up since seven o’clock the previous morning began to hit me. My eyelids drooped, and before I knew it, I was asleep.
Sam and I are together, but she’s wearing weird clothes. I look closer and realize she’s dressed in a white robe-like thing with a gold rope belt around the middle, like a Greek princess or something. She’s staring at me over a wine goblet ( A goblet?
Really, subconscious? ) and smiling.
My lips curl into a smile, too, and I take a step forward. I feel the cobblestones under my feet and look down to see I’m wearing leather sandals. I’m surprised to see I’m also in a toga.
Suddenly my lower half feels breezy and exposed, and I lift my head up to look at Sam, but she’s gone.
“Wake up,” the cop said, tapping the gate sep
arating us with his flashlight. “We’re almost to the station, kid.”
I reached up to rub my eyes, but my wrists stopped when I pulled the handcuff chain taut. Sighing, I blinked hard and shook my head, trying to stay awake.
The cops un-cuffed and led me into the station, a firm hand gripping each of my arms. They sat me down in a chair by a cluttered desk and cuffed me to the armrest, and then left.
I had a little more room now, so I arched my back and relaxed as it popped. I rolled and stretched my neck as much as
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possible. And just when my butt started to get sore, a large, burly man walked over and sat down in front of me.
“Hullo, Zac,” he said, dropping a file onto his desk. “I hear you’re in for murder, son.”
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly, clearing my throat. The man searched my eyes for a moment and cleared his throat, too.
“Well, why’d you do it?” he asked suddenly, as if he’d been waiting for me to tell him the whole time. I swallowed hard and my palms began to sweat.
“He stabbed one of my friends in the neck,” I said, trying desperately to avoid eye contact. The man drummed his fingers on the file.
“Sounds like a pretty damn good reason to me,” he said, to my relief and surprise. “Do you know why he did it?”
“No, sir,” I said, shaking my head. “All I know is that he didn’t like her.”
“Had he talked about killing her before?”
I hesitated before nodding my head. It was true. Mitch told me about it. Jacob had said he wanted Sam dead often. In fact, it was kind of a sick joke between the lot of us.
“Why didn’t anyone go to the police?” the cop asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“W-we didn’t think he was serious,” I stammered. “He’s so… He’s so wimpy. None of us thought he’d ever go through with it.”
“You don’t go to South, do you?” the cop asked. I shook my head. “Then how did you end up in Sam’s hotel room?”
“Macy told me about Jacob,” I said.
“And how did you find her?”
“I was driving home and I saw her car parked by the mall.
It didn’t make sense for her to park there since she lives in south Anchorage, and the mall is two blocks from any hotel. So I tapped on her window and found her in there, all taped up.”
“And who did that to her?”
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“She said Jacob did. She said Jacob told her he was going to kill Sam, and she freaked so he knocked her out and hid her under a blanket in her own car.”
“And how did he get the keys to that car?”
“He was one of the volunteer valets. Listen I don’t see how-”
“And how did you get into Macy’s car?”
“She told me where the hide-a-key was. Sir-”
“How did she do that if she was locked in the car?”
“She shouted at me! Listen to me! I really think-”
“Someone will be back to ask you further questions,” the cop said, standing up and leaving. He took the file with him.
I sighed and slumped in the chair, defeated. Nobody was going to listen to me. I was just a stupid teenager who’d recently shot someone. They really had no reason to believe me.
Half an hour later, I was staring at the ceiling and counting the ticks on the clock. My arm was starting to cramp up, but I didn’t really have a way of stretching it out.
“Are you going to bolt?” a woman asked from behind me.
I twisted my neck to look at her and was glad I was handcuffed to the chair. Otherwise I may have fallen out of it.
I shook my head as the woman walked around me to sit at the desk. She had long, wavy chestnut colored hair and electrically green eyes. She was average height but very skinny, and for a moment I thought this was what Sam would look like when she grew up. Except she’d have freaky blue eyes, not green ones.
“My name is Detective Brookheart, but you can call me Alice,” she said. “Now, if I can find your file, I can un-cuff you and we discuss this at my desk.”
“The guy took it with him,” I said. Alice’s head snapped up and she stared at me.
“What guy?” she snapped.
“The cop that was questioning me earlier,” I said. Alice’s nostrils flared in anger and an angry glint flashed in her eyes. She
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stood up abruptly and stalked away, leaving me extremely confused.
I sat in the chair for another thirty minutes. I hoped the police were making me wait because they were catching other bad guys. That hope was immediately shattered when a guy in a Hawaiian shirt came hustling through the office, offering the cops doughnuts and Danishes.
“Alright,” somebody said from behind me, making me jump. I turned my head to see Alice slowly chewing a glazed doughnut and reading a file.
“Can I be un-cuffed now?” I asked. “My hand is asleep.”
Alice looked up in surprise, but she nodded and tucked the file under her arm.
“Of course,” she said, rifling through a huge set of keys.
When she found the right one, Alice unlocked my handcuffs and I stretched my arms out. “Follow me,” she beckoned, and I followed her down the long row of desks and into another room, also full of desks.
“Brookheart!” a man shouted from across the room. “You taking the Fastner case?” Alice nodded and tilted her head towards me.
“This is the killer himself,” she said flatly. Most of the people in the room turned to look at me, and I cringed, pulling into myself.
“He was going to kill Sam,” I said quietly. “I had to do something.” Alice turned to me, a guilty look on her face.
“Oh no, honey, I know. I work in homicide.” She put her hand on my shoulder and gestured to the room. “We’re proud of you, Zac.”
I slowly pulled away from her, afraid. Proud of me? Were they insane? I killed someone!
And I don’t even feel guilty about it.
I feel no remorse whatsoever.
I’m proud, too.
“Don’t look so freaked out,” Alice laughed. I cocked my head. “I’d much rather deal with you than that psycho kid you
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killed. I looked at his file. Lots of mental problems. There were only three places that kid could’ve ended up: a padded cell, a prison cell, or a wooden cell.”
I shivered.
“Come on,” she said brightly, an arm around my shoulders. She led me over to a desk and gestured for me to sit down. “Tell me all about this mysteriously injured Sam, her boyfriend, yourself, and your murder victim. Don’t leave any details out! No matter how gruesome, I want to know!”
I told Alice everything, including how I met Sam and why I felt obligated to kill for her. From the look on her face, I could tell Alice was touched that I would kill for my best friend’s girlfriend. It irked me a little, but I figured I could use it to my advantage.
“If I didn’t respect you before,” Alice said when I finished, “I think I’m in love with you now. You’re like… you’re like Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer! I love it. We can use this. With any luck, we’ll win over the feminine side of the jury.”
“Wait, you’re my lawyer?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh, hell no,” Alice said. “In fact, I’m technically on the side against you. But just know I’m rooting for you, Mr. Bell. I’ll do everything I can to make you look good in that courtroom. It’ll be tough, considering who Mrs. Fastner hired as her lawyer.”
“She gets to choose the lawyer?”
“Well… Anchorage is very small compared to the rest of the country. Mrs. Fastner has friends in extremely high places.
Nose-bleed high places. This is going to be a difficult trial on both sides. Can I get you anything before the formal questioning?”
“This wasn’t the questioning?” I groaned. Alice shoo
k her head sadly.
“Sorry, kid. This is just preliminary. You shot and killed someone. There’s a lot of paperwork that goes with that. And with what happened at the morgue… There’s a lot more paperwork.
Fortunately for all of us, you’re cooperating. It’s much harder when we actually have to find the killer.”
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“If I could go back, I’d simply shoot him in the leg,” I said.
“Well, there’d be paperwork for that, too. Anyway, are you hungry? Thirsty? There’s a café down the street. I could pick up something for you. Burgers?”
“I would love a bacon cheeseburger right now,” I said, my mouth already beginning to water. My stomach growled angrily.
“There are some leftover doughnuts in the break room,”
Alice said with a laugh. “Why don’t I bring you one to tide you over until I get back?”
I ate the maple doughnut quickly, but it didn’t stave off my hunger much. I wiped my sticky fingers on my pants and looked around the room, taking in all the action.
A tall, burly black cop was interrogating what looked like a hooker. A strung-out guy was handcuffed to a metal folding chair. A nine-year-old girl was eating a chocolate doughnut, tears sliding down her red face. A female cop was talking to her in a soothing voice.
I seemed to be the only person in here without any problems. Well, aside from the fact I was about to go to jail for murdering someone. I wasn’t on drugs, I wasn’t getting paid to have sex with strangers in a state where it was illegal, and my parents were alive. They were dead to me, but technically still alive.
And suddenly I smiled. For once in my life, I was better than somebody. I lived a better life than these people.
I had a better chance at having a future than these people.
Well, maybe not the little girl. But the hooker was probably going to die of AIDS, and the junkie looked like he was about to die sitting in that red metal chair.
And, I was probably smarter than them. That was the real shocker.
I sat at Alice’s desk for thirty minutes, feeling better about myself every time a new criminal came in. A few cops
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