“Hell no. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She stares at the Mini, as if she’s seeing it for the first time. “Is that Melanie’s car? Did you steal it? Jesus, Butch, I trusted you.”
Trusted. The past tense hurts. “Melanie let me borrow her car. When she mentioned Pinole, I told her you might be in trouble. And I didn’t say anything about getting arrested because I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to think I’m some screw-up. That I haven’t changed. And it’s no excuse—I was wrong to miss curfew—but I had a good reason.”
“To clear your head?”
“No. Who told you that?” That lying little punk.
No answer as she walks to her car. And I stay put, rewinding, replaying my conversation with Sebastian. He’d sold me out, and the whole time he’d known. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Thanks for coming here,” she mutters, almost to herself. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…I thought maybe Cassie was…still alive. Is that crazy?”
“No.” Our eyes meet, and I look away. “What happened out there?”
Quiet again, she unlocks her door, shakes her head and sighs. “Get in,” she says, gesturing to the passenger side. “But just to be clear. This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
At least she doesn’t hate me. Not completely anyway.
I nod and climb inside, where she cranks the heat, thawing us both. “I wanted to confront him…Trey. About his tattoo. About that night when I gave him the ring and the money. About everything. But I got scared. And then Danny showed up all freaked out, and Trey sweet-talked him, telling him he’d help him get to Mexico. There was some other guy too. I didn’t get a good look at him, but Danny said the name…”
“Matthias,” I finish, not wanting to. Scared that if I say it he’ll show up, knocking at the window. Summoned like that Bloody Mary game kids play.
“Yeah. How did you—”
“He’s Trey’s half brother. I met him with Gwen. Him and Cherice, they were dating back then.”
She shivers even with the heater on blast and my jacket still draped around her. “He shot Danny. And then they drug the body somewhere. And…you know the rest.”
“Did anybody see you?”
“No. And I…I took pictures.” She checks her pockets, frowning. Then rifles through them, her face stricken.
“What is it?”
“I think I left my cell phone behind the washer.”
Butch
May 11, 1994
Two days before I killed her
“Where you been, man?” Wade asked, peering up over the top of his dime-store sunglasses.
I joined him on the lawn chairs he and Peggy had set up on the sidewalk outside their room, the door slightly ajar to let out a stream of the cool air. Wade rested his beer atop his paunch, bare and reddening in the sun. Sweat trailed from his forehead to his pecs, little rivers of heat in the sparse forest of his chest hair. The guy had no shame.
“I just had some stuff to take care of.” And by that I meant getting drunk alone at Grizzly Peak, blasting KISS till my brain went numb, and sleeping it off in the ’Cuda.
“Want one?” He pointed to the half-open cooler, stocked with Coors. “You look like you could use a little hair of the dog.”
I laughed, but damn, he was right. “Nah. I can’t. I’ve got an appointment.”
“With that shyster attorney? Is he houndin’ you again?”
I nodded and slipped off my own shirt. Because what the hell.
“C’mon, man.” Wade swatted at me. “You’re making me look bad.”
“He sure is, honeybun.” Peggy winked at me as she perched on the arm of Wade’s chair. “You drank the only six-pack you’re ever gonna have.”
“Damn. That’s cold, woman. Cold, but true.”
Peggy planted a kiss on Wade’s forehead, leaving her mark in red lipstick.
“Heard Trey got out yesterday,” she said, shaking her head. “That guy is as slippery as an eel. Them cops can’t hang on to him no matter what he does.”
“One of these days…” Wade took another long swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth. I wanted a drink so bad it scared me. So bad I lit a cigarette to distract myself. “He’s gonna mess up. And they’re gonna have themselves a real good time with his scrawny ass in the big house.”
Peggy chuckled, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Hey, Butch. Have you seen Evie? She was lookin’ for you the other day. Seemed like she was worried about ya.” Wade squirmed in his chair, wriggling like a worm, but Peggy stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all a little worried.”
I choked back the urge to snap at her, to curse Evie. That little girl had latched herself to me like a flea. I couldn’t shake her. At least somebody cares about you, Nobody. I sat up, frowned, and put out my cigarette, trying to look as pulled together I could. “About me?”
But Peggy never answered. And for a split second I thought I was dreaming. That I was still in the middle of a hard sleep in the front seat of the ’Cuda. Why else would Cherice be there?
“Hi, Butch.” If I was dreaming, she sure looked real. Brown skin shining in the sun, just like that “Boys of Summer” song. Flaunting it in short shorts and a tank top, and I couldn’t help but think about the world I’d seen beneath them. Yep, she looked real. And sexy as hell. And pissed.
“Cherice.”
Wade jumped up so fast I thought for sure he’d spill his beer. “So you’re Cherice? The Cherice?” He snickered under his breath. “Pleased to meet you.”
Cherice barely looked his way. “Can I talk to you? In private?”
“Uh-oh,” Wade said, before Peggy jabbed him with her elbow. She drug him back inside their room, but I knew they were listening.
I stood up and put on my shirt, intent on taking her somewhere private. Not my room though. I didn’t trust myself. And if I had any chance with Gwen I had to keep it in my pants.
But she launched right in. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Really, Butch?” Her voice, and the truth behind it, hit so hard I wished she would’ve just smacked me. “I wrote it on your arm. Remember?”
Of course I remembered. I’d scrubbed it off with my own spit before Gwen got back to the car. “I’m sorry, Cherice. I don’t know what to say. I’ve been kind of busy lately. Besides you’re with Matthias, right?”
She shook her head no. “Not anymore. Not after he—”
“And I’m…”
“You’re what? With Gwen? You don’t even know, do you? She told me she was done with you.”
“Yeah. Thanks to you. Why’d you tell her I let you ride with me? She was so out of it, she’d never have known.” As soon I said it out loud, I realized how bad it sounded. Like a total cretin. A pig.
“I didn’t tell her.”
“Well, who did then?”
“Matthias more than likely. They—”
“You probably told her about the other thing too.”
“The other thing. You can’t even say it? God, you’re such a child. I should’ve known better. I thought you were…”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Not what?”
“Whatever it is you thought I was.”
“I was going to say a good guy. I thought you were a good guy, Butch.”
I had this crazy urge to grab her and mash my tongue down her throat. But I just shrugged at her. Like whatever I was, it couldn’t be helped.
****
When I got back to the room that night, about as far from sober as I could get, the lawn chairs had been folded, the empty beer bottles stacked by the door. Wade and Peggy’s lights were out.
I stumbled inside. Collapsed onto the bed. The red message light blinked at me.
“Mr. Calder,
this is Simon Merriwether. We had an appointment scheduled for today at…”
I let the receiver drop. Shit.
The last thing I thought before I stopped thinking altogether: She’s not worth it. And even now, I’m not sure if I meant Gwen or Cherice.
Evie
May 12, 1994
One day until my birthday
Once I’d decided it consumed me. Isn’t it always that way?
The thought became a spark.
The spark caught fire.
And the fire burned everything clean.
Except for the thought.
And so it went. Over and over again. The whole night before, the day before I turned thirteen.
“I’ve got an idea,” I whispered to Cassie that morning. She was poised on the windowsill of the Port, halfway between it all. Between here and there. Between sleep and waking. Between girl and woman. “What if we get Trey to admit to it? To everything. On tape.”
I felt bad, lying. But I couldn’t say aloud—not to anybody—what I really had planned for Trey. How I needed her help. “And then what?” she asked, skeptical.
“I’ll take it to that detective. Macaroni. Then he’ll be out of our lives forever.” That was the truth, at least. I pictured Trey dangling over the pit of hell, clinging to a rope with all his might, clawing his way back up like only the devil would. The other end, anchored to me. And I had to cut the rope or we’d both fall forever. “We just have to figure out where to find him. Didn’t you say he had another party planned for Friday?”
She shrugged. “You make it sound so easy, but Trey…he’s…” Her eyes drifted to the ground, wary, like she saw him there, his mouth a gaping hole of fire and brimstone.
“I know, Cas. I know what he’s like. I know better than anybody.”
She swung her other leg over the sill and began the two-story climb to the ground below. Midway, she looked up at me, searching. With the sky moonless, her face was lost in the dark, her bruise hidden by shadows. “Do you?”
Scolded into silence, I watched until she disappeared over the fence at the back of the Port. I knew where she was headed. Yesterday, I’d shown her my hideout, my secret spot. An abandoned drainage tunnel, surrounded by a clump of trees. Only to be used in case of emergencies. In other words, Trey. He definitely qualified as an emergency.
As soon as the first ray of sun pierced the gauze of morning, I padded downstairs to the empty kitchen and opened the drawer to the right of the fridge, retrieving the old dishrags we used to clean the counters on chore days. I turned the faucet to hot and waited until the water steamed. Then I bit my lip and stuck the dishrag beneath it. Scalding. But perfect.
Upstairs, I climbed back in bed with the rag pressed to my forehead. I kept it there until I heard Wally tramping up the steps like an elephant. At least I wouldn’t have to lie to Cherice. She had the day off.
“Get up! Now!” he boomed, his voice rolling down the hallway, noisy as a bowling ball. And the pins scattered. I closed my eyes and hunkered down, perfecting my act.
I heard the door open as Wally looked for stragglers, that last lone pin he needed to down. “If you’re not up in one minute, Evelyn, you’ve got bathroom duty tonight.”
“I don’t feel so great, Mr. Wally.” I added a groan for dramatic effect. “I think I have a fever.”
He touched a finger to my forehead like I might bite. “You are a little warm. But your education is very important and—”
“It could be cramps. Leftover from my period. That happens sometimes, you know. It just goes on and on for the whole month and there’s blood—”
“Enough.” His face paled. “It’s fine. You can stay home.” Wally shot for the door like he’d been launched from a cannon, leaving me alone.
I peeled back the covers and snickered to myself. Cassie had been right. The older they get, the dumber they seem.
****
With the house cleared out, I made my move, creeping back down the stairs to the sofa where Wally snored in front of the television, a bowl of popcorn precariously balanced on his belly. I snagged the keys he’d left on the coffee table and headed down the long hallway, past the laundry room to the supply closet.
The Port had never been so quiet. Like the whole place held its breath. But I kept calm. I knew which key to use. It had a cluster of scratches on the bow where I’d stepped on it a few weeks ago. I’d dropped it accidentally, my foot grinding it against the concrete floor. Cherice had sent me down here to get the bleach—one of the little kids had thrown up again—and I’d been fine, totally fine. Until the door had shut behind me. Until the pitch black had become a thing of its own, slithering around me like an asp. In the scramble of my own fear, the key had fallen. But I hadn’t screamed. I’d been determined not to. It’s funny how the eyes adjust to darkness, the heart too, and I’d finally calmed a little. Enough to have found the light switch. Then, I’d heard Bobby and his little band of merry fools giggling outside the door. Do you think her eyes glow in the dark? And I’d been steeled by hate.
The key slid in without effort. It can’t be this easy. It shouldn’t be. But it was. I flicked the light first thing and scanned the shelves, finding what I needed. I wondered what it meant that I felt nothing when I slipped the box under my shirt and turned off the light. Maybe I was evil just like they said.
Footsteps shuffled behind me, and I froze in the dark, thinking it had to be Wally, nudged awake from his nap by some nagging feeling.
“Whatcha got there, Evil Evie?”
But no. Not Wally. “None of your business. And shouldn’t you be at school?”
Bobby cocked his head at me and flashed a grin—I wanted to slap it off his face. “I got to skip today. I had an audition.”
“Audition?”
“With a real family who wants to adopt me. You wouldn’t know about that though. Nobody wants you. And who can blame them?”
The words tore at my scabs, ripped them right off. And I scratched back. “Audition’s the right word for it then. Keep up the act, Bobby. You’ll blow it if you show them what an asshole you really are.”
“Well, you’re a freak. And a thief.” He pawed at my shirt, grabbed the hem and twisted until the box tumbled to the floor. Tiny pellets of rat poison scattered like rice.
Our eyes met, and for the space of a lightning bolt, I saw he really was afraid of me. Impossible as it seemed, I used what I had.
“Don’t forget murderer. You were right, Bobby. Dead right. I killed my mom.” It felt like the truth even if it wasn’t. I picked up a handful of pellets and walked toward him, looking as properly evil as I could. “What makes you think I won’t kill you too?”
Bobby skedaddled, leaving me alone to gather my poison in peace.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
Evie
January 18, 2017
Wednesday
I follow Butch’s taillights the whole way back from Pinole to the office, trying to shut off my brain. Because the things growing there are vicious and unwieldly. Like the creeper vines that choke out all other life.
Butch said we couldn’t go back for the phone. That it wasn’t worth the risk. Anyway, Trey would never find it. I’d switched it to silent. Hadn’t I?
He said he’d go with me to the police station. Tonight. And tell them what we saw.
He said he’d lied because he didn’t want me to think he was still a screwup. And I believe him—I do—because I get it. I understand the pivot point. How one day, one moment, one decision can change the course of an entire life, the way a fallen tree redirects a river. May 13, 1994. Everything I’d been since, good and bad, led back to it.
We pull into the lot just after seven. And Butch gets out, signals to me. One minute. He disappears into 23A. I don’t consider going in after him. The thought of Melanie—her lecherous smile dra
ped all over him, her questions—makes my stomach turn.
So I sit and breathe. Slowing reclaiming my sanity.
“Sorry it took so long,” Butch says, cracking the passenger door. “She’s relentless.”
I nod. “Are you sure you want to go to the station? I can drop you back at your place.”
He climbs inside, and the air shifts. Calms, tenses. Both at the same time. “I’m coming with you.”
I know he’s probably just trying to prove himself, but I’m grateful anyway. Not to have to go alone. “Before we leave, can I borrow your phone? I need to call my mother-in-law. I told her I’d be back early tonight.”
His phone is warm from his pocket. “The dinosaur is all yours. Do you need…privacy?”
“No. It’ll be quick.” I hope. I flip it open, peck at the keys. Maggie answers on the first ring, the worry darkening her voice. Like she’s expecting the worst. But not the worst. She’s already lived through that.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Maggie. It’s me.”
“Evelyn, where are you? Why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve been worried sick.” I imagine my phone lying in the grass, the screen lighting up again and again. A beacon that surely would draw Trey in as a moth to a flame.
“I’m okay, but I lost my phone. Just call me on this number if you need to reach me. I’ll be back soon.”
“But—”
I hang up on her mid-protest—there’ll be hell to pay for that later—and turn to Butch. He’s staring straight ahead, fiddling with the air vent. And I expel it all in one breath. “Trey is going to find the phone. He’ll see the pictures. He’ll know I was there.”
“Even if he does find it, the cops will be swarming his place before he can figure out what to do about it.”
You don’t know Trey. You don’t know what he’s capable of. I almost say it until I remember he does. He does.
****
We’d caught Macaroni readying to head home on his night off. His tie already gone, probably shoved into the backpack he carried, and his top button undone. Halfway out the door, he’d made an exception for me. Evil Evie.
Doctors of Darkness Boxed Set Page 61
