Chapter 18: Waiting

Emily couldn't sleep. Not without seeing his sweet face with his round cheeks just starting to hollow as he got older, his hair always needing a comb, the sparkle in his blue eyes. The shadow hovering behind him, swallowing him. How many times did she shudder into wakefulness, the light tearing open the dream, exposing the wound again and again? She lost count. Finally, Emily forced herself to get up and sit in her chair by the window and watch the sky turn navy, then gray, and softly orange.

There would be no school today, not for her. The very idea was ridiculous and almost made her laugh. If she were able to laugh. She felt pretty sure she would never be happy again.

Instead, she found herself perched on a kitchen stool, making a mess of her pancakes and syrup while her parents alternated between speaking in loud voices, as though shouting their words would make everything all right, and total silence.

Jack didn't even give her a hard time when she helped herself to a cup of coffee. It was too hot when she tried to drink it. Her tongue hurt and went dead at the tip, just a rough, detached patch of lumpy skin her teeth constantly explored.

She huddled there with them, both elbows on the granite, finally giving up even on the pretense of eating. Emily was so close to Pamela she felt the warmth of her mother's bare arm next to hers, the heat being sucked away by the cold stone counter. Jack didn't look up from his own mug, long fingers beating some unheard internal time against the handle. Emily couldn't stop staring.

The phone rang. She didn't move. None of them did, not for three long rings. Jack cleared his throat and went for it at last, hand fumbling the portable. It dropped to the tile with a clatter. He managed to get it to his ear and press the talk button before the last ring faded away.

Emily kept her eyes on her coffee, the swirls the cream made. The sheen on the surface, reflecting her face back to her, the distorted view looking like she felt, all stretched and elongated. She was sure she was pulled so thin she would come apart at any second.

She heard the soft words her father spoke, felt the disappointment he tried to hide. Knew what the soft beep of the handset meant as he shut it off and placed it carefully on the counter. Pamela's deep, deep sigh said her mother knew, too.

"Nothing yet." He didn't have to say it.

The quiet settled and held them close. Emily took a sip of her coffee and realized she hated the taste. She set it down too close to her knife, dislodging it from its precarious place on the edge of her plate. It rang against the floor when it hit.

"Nice to know I'm not the only clumsy one." Jack tried a smile, but it was so hard to look at him she barely noticed.

Still, the silence was broken, at least. Emily retreated to her room to the sound of her parents loading the dishwasher and talking in quiet voices. It didn't matter what they said. It was all just speculation and hope. And Emily was short on hope.

When had her room turned into such a prison? She changed and fled from it, out the back door before her parents could stop her. Emily felt the crush of the grass under her feet and had a moment of memory. Her hoodie! She turned toward the flowerbed. It would be a soaked mess after all the rain. But she loved it. Sam's hoodie.

It wasn't there. Or under the deck, or anywhere in the yard. Emily stroked the money belt at her waist and said a silent sorry to her friend. There was a chance Pamela found it, but Emily had a feeling. It was gone.

She started walking. Not with any destination in mind, but just to move her feet. When she was a little girl, Jack read her stories about princesses on quests and adventures in far-off fantasy worlds. Told the lies parents always tell their kids at that age, about princes on white horses and beautiful castles. A part of her wanted her feet to carry her away into one of those books, to her own adventure, one that didn't have death and pedophiles and guilt. That would be sweet, for once.

The intention was to walk, but before she knew it she was running, sneakers slapping against the sidewalk, arms swinging by her sides. She used to run, loved it, was in track and field. But running was joy and all the joy was gone from her life. She hadn't stretched her legs like this since the accident.

It felt amazing. Tears welled, streamed down her cheeks, blurred her vision, happy tears, for once. She would run and run and never look back, go so far and so fast everything would be different around her when she stopped and she could start again. In a fairy tale kingdom of her own making. Just like her father said she would have some day.

It wasn't long before she had to stop, hands on knees, to catch her breath and ease the stitch in her side. She swiped at the tears with her sleeve, panting out her frustration. Even this was lost to her, this happiness. And no magical land of make-believe. She had been a bad girl and bad girls didn't get to live happily ever after.

Emily straightened and looked around. She had run for blocks into an area she had never been before. And yet, it looked the same as her neighborhood, if a little shabbier. The house she stood in front of was smaller than her own, not as well kept, the lawn overgrown and full of kid's toys. Something about that house made her pause.

There was a motorcycle in the driveway.

The odd coincidence chilled her. She turned to leave, but found herself striding up the walk instead, climbing the three worn concrete steps to the covered porch, knocking on the door when the bell didn't work.

She wanted to leave. Couldn't. The compulsion was too strong. Someone sighed next to her as she saw movement just inside the door.

Emily didn't have to look to know Sam was with her and had been all along. Sam was the reason for the coincidence in the first place. She was getting tired of being herded.

"Okay," Emily whispered to her. "I get it."

The inside door opened, only the screen between her and Devon. He looked surprised to see her.

"Hi." She knew it was lame. Tried again. "I don't know why I'm here."

He didn't move for a long time. She felt her discomfort rising, wanted to retreat, but didn't. There was something she had to do here, and she knew if she failed at it, the girls wouldn't leave her alone until she got it right.

"They arrested someone." She wasn't sure if he had heard. He hadn't, not from the shocked look on his face and the speed at which he pushed open the screen door.

"Is it him?" A waft of air drifted out of the house and enveloped her. Cigarette smoke and whiskey. The smells were so familiar she fought tears.

"They think so." How far was she willing to go? Could she trust him?

Devon sank against the door jam, hands in his pockets. He had a tattoo of a skull on his right bicep. She hadn't noticed it before.

"But you don't." It came out of him like an accusation, what the hell do you know anyway?

"I don't." She had to tell him the truth. "He's a registered sex offender. And he has the car. So they took him in for questioning."

"What's he registered for?" Devon made no move to invite her in.

"I don't know." It was a good question. Why hadn't she thought of it?

He hesitated. Straightened. Then took a step back, holding the door open for her.

"Let's find out."

The foyer was dark and smoke-filled. Someone coughed, the deep and wet sound of a true addict. Devon waited until the sound stopped then shrugged.

"My mom." He turned and walked down the hall toward the back of the house. Emily followed on silent feet. She couldn't resist a glance to her left when the wall broke to a room. Her eyes skimmed over the dated furniture, the pulled curtains. The tiny light of the flickering television lighting the wasted face of the woman curled up on the sofa with a heavy blanket pulled to her chin. One skeletal hand hovered near her down-turned mouth, a lit cigarette floating between them. Her eyes never left the TV, didn't register Emily was there.

Then, they were past the living room, moving down the hall. The woman's choking cough chased Emily to the far end of the house and into Devon's room.

It was a mess. Typical. Much like hers. Except most of what he owned was black. She had a moment's thought, how Sam would have liked him, and why didn't they hang out? Because he was a guy and Sam wasn't into guys. Emily's heart constricted in a moment of loneliness.

Devon never noticed. He was already sitting at his computer. The screensaver flashed from a death metal band to the same group as his wallpaper. Google hid it before she could identify them.

"What's the guy's name?" His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Emily hesitated. Not because she didn't want to tell him, only because she knew what would come up on the search. And wasn't sure she could face it. She was quiet for so long he spun in his chair and looked up at her.

"I need the dude's name."

She drew a breath. Braced herself.

"Jake Hind." It was easier to say it, now she had forgiven him.

Devon spun back and typed it in. Within seconds pages and pages of references appeared, Google Images throwing back shots of the wrecks, of the train and the truck twisted together in their final dance.

"Holy shit," Devon said. "This is the guy. The same guy."

It was useless to say anything. Emily sat on the edge of his bed with her hands between her knees.

"Is this why you think he didn't do it?" Devon faced her again. As he twisted, his sleeve caught on the chair and lifted further. There was a ribbon above the skull on his arm and two names. She couldn't stop staring. He noticed, pulled down his sleeve.

"No." She managed to answer him. "I just don't think he did."

Devon went back to the computer and narrowed his search to Jake Hind + sex offender registry.

"Got him." Devon scanned the page while Emily sat back, eyes on the dirty carpet, waiting for the truth.

"Damn. You're right. Look."

She did. It was hard, but she did. There it was, on one of those local safety sites, concerned parents or some such crap. Jake Hind, sex offender.

"She was fourteen." Emily sighed out a breath.

"Probably stat rape." Devon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. She could read one of the names on the ribbon. It was his. "This guy is into girls. Not boys. Why the hell wouldn't they check that?"

"They probably did." Emily got up. She had to go home and tell her parents. Do something.

But Sam was in her way, standing between her and the door, this time staring at Devon. Emily turned to find Tara and Madison flanking him. Their black eyes never left his face.

"What?" He scowled at her, probably because she was staring too.

She couldn't tell him. Not that. Surely they didn't expect her to... and yet, there they stood, surrounding him. When Sam finally met her eyes, Emily knew what they wanted.

And couldn't give it to them. Instead, she ran. Back down the hallway of smoke and decay, past the coughing woman and her cocoon of hurt, out the squeaking screen door, tripping over the cracked steps. She was on the street before his hand caught her and spun her around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She knew that anger. It was inside her. She understood he wasn't mad at her, she had nothing to do with it. But it still scared her.

"I have to go." She pulled away, not quite succeeding. He was stronger than he looked.

"You show up at my front door to tell me they arrested the wrong guy then what, take off? We have to do something about it!" He dropped his hand on his own before she had to try to free herself again.

"I know." That's what she was trying to do. But the girls were there again, this time crowding her. They seemed so insistent, their presence as urgent as the day in the woods. They crushed in around her, brushing against her, leaving their chill behind. She shuddered over and over again, arms wrapping around herself. She couldn't tell him. Couldn't. Bad enough she was a freak. She wouldn't have someone else know it too.

Sam broke her at last. The beloved face nearly pressed to hers, the bottomless black eyes eating her soul, mouth shaping words Emily couldn't understand. She turned and ran home as fast as she could, not caring no one followed her.

***