She Lied She Died Page 7

  I can still taste that minty Chapstick you were wearing on your lips last Saturday. I miss you. I told you to call me. Why haven’t you? I know you said I’m not you’re type, but guess what? You’re not my type either. Maybe that’s why we are perfect together. Like that couple, Romeo and Juliet. Please come this weekend. I want to be alone with you.

  * * *

  Love always,

  * * *

  John

  The second note was folded more tightly. The paper felt dusty and thin between my fingers, as though it might fall away at any moment, evaporating into dust. Taking its precious words with it…

  This one was written in sloppy cursive.

  CHRISSY,

  * * *

  Come on. Sneak out and meet me tonight. Let’s have our own party, beautiful. —J

  Carefully, I plucked up the last letter and untucked the folded edges. The handwriting in this one was neater … and strangely, more feminine.

  Blinking sleep from my eyes, I read through the lines several times then placed all three letters neatly back in the box. There was more inside … an Austin Elementary School yearbook, some more loose photos…

  I’ll look at it all more thoroughly tomorrow, I decided. My eyes were heavy with sleep and I closed the lid on the box and carried it back to my room. Giving it one last rueful glance, I placed it beside my bed on the nightstand.

  My bed still unmade from this morning, I nudged the covers aside and lay down on top of the sheets. The house was still chilly, the robe strangely constricting … yet I was too tired to take it off.

  Eyes closed, my mind swirled with thoughts … mostly, they were stuck on the contents of that third letter. Something about those words had chilled me to the bone. Was Jenny the one who sent it?

  Chrissy—

  * * *

  I heard about what happened and please let me say: I’m not angry with you. It’s not your fault and I don’t blame you. The person at fault is John. Thank you for telling me the truth and being honest. I’m going to confront him about it tomorrow.

  * * *

  JJ

  Chapter Ten

  When I opened my eyes, my body was shaking. At first, I presumed it was from the cold … the heater still barely putting off any heat. But then I realized … I was sweating. Remnants of a dream slivered through my mind, snaking their way back out … too fast. Always too fast to hold onto…

  I glanced over at the closed blinds, surprised to find darkness seeping through the cracks. Although I liked to get up early, I rarely rose before the sun.

  Blinking, I rolled over onto my side and reached for my phone. I usually kept it on the nightstand, but now there was only the crumbling shoe box that Chrissy had given me last night.

  I groaned. Untwisted myself from the sheets.

  As I stumbled through the hallway and toward the kitchen, in search of my cell phone, it dawned on me that it wasn’t morning. When I reached the kitchen, the angry red numbers on the stove told me it wasn’t even 4am.

  Great. I slept for less than three hours. What the hell?

  Reaching the table, I pressed the home button on my iPhone. I stared at the home screen—a generic beach scene with sand and white caps—it was indeed only 4am. So what woke me?

  A deep sleeper, I rarely rose without an alarm. But, lately, my body had been on edge—always ready to leap up and bounce at every single shadow and sound.

  Acting on a hunch, I moved to the living room window and peeked through the blinds. I don’t know what I was expecting—the press on my doorstep at four in the morning? Chrissy Cornwall on the front porch?

  But there was nothing in the driveway besides my car, parked crooked from when I’d driven home from Chrissy’s only a few hours earlier.

  But something about it wasn’t right. A yellowish reflection of the moon on my windshield … no, that’s not it. Something’s out there … something’s not right, I realized.

  I unlatched the bolt and, nervously, pushed the front door open a crack. I listened for the sounds of the countryside—coyotes rummaging through the field, raccoons tearing through the garbage cans … but heard nothing.

  Then there it was … the tinkling sound of a bell, or a wind chime. Maybe even a young child’s laughter…

  I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the porch. I was in my robe and I wasn’t wearing shoes, but I had to see for myself. Had to chase away the boogeyman …

  “Hello?” I called out cautiously, looking left toward the country road and then right toward the field.

  I couldn’t see the moon anymore, the night sky star-free and full of sickle-shaped angry clouds. Where did the yellow light I saw come from? I wondered.

  But that’s when I heard it: the unmistakable sound of laughter, but it was so far away … carried from afar on the wind. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Who’s out there? This is private property,” I bellowed.

  I could have sworn I heard the sharp sound of a gasp in the distance and then the yellow flash of a handheld light poking through the trees …

  There was someone running through the field, the quiet thump of their shoes … and then the rustling of trees in the distance. What the hell?

  “Who’s out there?” I bellowed.

  Impulsively, I stepped off the porch, my bare feet instantly met with the sharp, unforgiving gravel. I winced, but took a few more steps anyway and flipped on my flashlight app.

  Holding it out in front of me like a spotlight, I moved it left to right, shining it all along the tree line, looking for trespassers. When I didn’t see anyone, I swept my light over the field…

  I stopped when my light hit a lumpy shadow that didn’t belong there.

  My feet forgotten, I walked over the gravel and stepped onto the marshy grass of the field. Now that I was closer, I held the light up again.

  Slowly, the weak beam illuminated what appeared to be a torso, a neck … until finally reaching the eerie white glow of a face.

  Chapter Eleven

  I inched my way through the grass, toes sloshing in the ice-cold mud, too-tall grass nipping at my ankles.

  There’s another body in the field. In the exact same spot as Jenny…

  My body burned with adrenaline, stomach doing somersaults in my throat, and the fear … the fear. I should have felt it, but the same thing that compelled me to look all those years ago was driving me forward now. Why can’t I be one of those people who run?! Who look the other way…?

  I stopped ten feet from the body, eyes narrowing at the blank face, the mirrorless black eyes staring back at me…

  It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

  So many years ago, I had wished—prayed—that the body in the field wasn’t real. Then, my wish hadn’t come true.

  But this time … this time the outcome is different.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I stepped forward, moving faster now and knelt beside the mannequin on the ground.

  The face was blank, the head hairless, mouth in a strange O position. And there weren’t even any arms or legs … how did I miss that at first glance?

  I’d seen these stupid dolls before … during a CPR course I took as a teen when, once upon a time, I dreamed of working as a lifeguard at the local pool. The dolls were used to emulate choking or lifeless persons, and as I touched the cold plastic face, I remembered another version of me, down on my knees, trying to administer rescue breaths to my brother.

  It’s so easy to remember the number of breaths and chest compressions when you’re sitting in a class getting drilled … but in that moment of panic, faced with my brother dead on the floor … my mind had drawn a blank.

  I’d pounded on his chest, then pinched his nose and tried to breathe … breathe, Jack. Dammit, BREATHE.

  But Jack was beyond breathing … even to the most untrained eye, there was no saving my brother.

  Grimacing, I reached for the note. It was pinned to the front of the mannequin’s chest:

  If y
ou help her, this will be you soon.

  Stunned, I leapt to my feet, once again shining my light through the desolate field and illuminating the trees beyond.

  That’s when I saw them: two young girls, peeping out from either side of a fat oak tree. My breath froze in my chest. Because for a few seconds, I thought … I thought they were Jenny and Chrissy, two ghosts watching me from the safety of the tree’s shadowy embrace …

  “Hey!” I shouted into the darkness, my voice ricocheting through the trees.

  What happened next wasn’t planned … I have no memory of making the choice to chase them. But the next thing I knew, I was moving. Slipping and sliding through the thick brown mud, running after the girls…

  “Get back here, you little brats!” I screamed. I darted through the trees, branches whipping across my face, catching in my hair … and my robe flying behind me like a madman’s cape.

  I slammed into the backside of one of the girls, knocking her to the ground and toppling headlong with her.

  Dizzily, I used my scratched-up palms to lift myself off the girl. She was on her back now looking up at me, crab-crawling backwards away from me. Her eyes wide as saucers.

  She’s looking at me like I’m the boogeyman…

  “Don’t hurt us. It was only a joke!” whined the girl, her voice nasal and scared. Looking at her close up, it became apparent that she was only twelve or thirteen. Just a baby.

  Another girl stepped out from between two trees. Her hair was long and dark brown, all the way to her waist. She had both hands on her hips. Unlike the other girl, she looked closer to being a woman than a child.

  “Don’t try anything,” she warned. “The cops are already on their way.”

  She held up her cell phone triumphantly.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Their parents are on their way to get them. What were you thinking … chasing two young girls in the dark?”

  I stared at Nash Winslow’s face, still shaken by its familiarity.

  I’d never had any run-ins with Officer Winslow before, but I felt like I’d seen him a thousand times … over and over again in my memory. But it wasn’t him in my memories—it was his father, working the case out there in the field.

  “You look just like your dad,” I said, softly. It was a strange response to his question, but I was still out of breath and shaken up. Seeing the spitting image of his father in my field had brought back so many memories, and not particularly good ones.

  “Did you meet him when he worked the case?” Nash squinted his eyes at me.

  I nodded, circling back to memories of his father. Hands on his hips like a cowboy from the Wild West, as he broke the news to my parents that the lumpy mass in the field was indeed a real human girl.

  “You’re lucky their parents don’t want to press charges.”

  I was sitting on the front porch step of the farmhouse, ratty old robe wrapped tightly around me as I shivered and shook. I glanced over at the girls. They were huddled together at the edge of the field, tennis shoes slapping the edge of the gravel drive, as they waited for their parents to get here. The older one had given her jacket to the younger. They were shivering, the youngest girl’s face snotty with tears. She had a few scrapes and bruises from our tussle, but nothing major.

  “What about me, huh? They were trespassing. And they left that stupid note and dummy in … in the same place Jenny was… What was I supposed to think when I followed them? I didn’t realize they were only kids. The note was threatening … did you read it?”

  Nash sighed, then nodded. His hair was scruffy and brown like his father’s, those same deep-set hazel eyes … and as much as I hated to admit it, as a young girl, I’d been attracted to the rough and tough policeman who visited our property dozens of times that year… What would Nash think if he knew I’d had a crush on his late father?

  Looking into his son’s face, my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  “You’re right. They shouldn’t have been here. What they did was wrong and I’m sure their parents will deal with them accordingly. Do you want to press charges?”

  I glanced over at the girls, then shook my head.

  “Who are they anyway? I’ve been back here for ten years and I’ve never seen them. Of course, I don’t know many kids around here anymore…”

  Nash’s eyes settled back on me. “Amanda Butler and Cally Kells. Middle school students at Austin Junior. My guess is that this was some sort of dare, but they’re not talking. I’m certain that they stole the dummy from a supply closet in the nursing station at school.”

  Cally looked young and frail, wispy white strands of hair stuck like glue to the corners of her mouth. Her eyes and nose were red—from the crying or the cold, I wasn’t sure.

  “I didn’t mean to scare the girl, but I didn’t know who was out there.”

  As though she had heard, the older girl—Amanda—raised her eyes to meet mine. There was something familiar about them—dark, determined, challenging…

  If looks could kill, I thought drably.

  “Dammit.” Nash lifted his head to the wind, listening. There was a crow in the distance; it fluttered from one tree to the next with a warning caw.

  “What?” I said, standing up. Still cinching closed my embarrassingly dirty robe.

  The whir of engines in the distance.

  “The parents?” I asked, leerily.

  “Nah, the press. I’d bet money on it.”

  “Fuck me…” I looked over at the girls. Cally’s weepy eyes were now wide and glistening. Amanda flashed a triumphant smile at me. Once again, I felt like I knew that face … those eyes, that smile…

  “Who called—” But before I could finish my question, news vans were whipping into the gravel lot. The girls were on their feet now, both wearing innocent, wimpy expressions.

  I rolled my eyes. “Do I have to stay out here?”

  Nash’s hands were on his hips as he glared at the reporters.

  “Nah. Go on in.”

  But a young red-haired reporter was already out of the van, trying to flag me down as I pushed my way through the door.

  I looked her straight in the face, my hair and face crazed I’m sure, and said, “They trespassed.”

  Back inside, I shivered from head to toe as I changed out of my robe and put on jeans and a heavy gray sweatshirt. A chill had settled over me; I couldn’t warm up no matter how hard I tried, as though there were a block of ice settling over my bones.

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table, still shell-shocked, when there was a gentle knock at the door.

  Tentatively, I crept to it and peeked out, making sure the press was gone.

  They were, and so were the girls. Nash was standing on my front porch, looking weary.

  “May I come in?” he asked, as I opened the door.

  What choice do I have?

  Sighing, I held the door open for him, eyes drifting down to the gun on his hip I hadn’t noticed earlier. It wasn’t strange—seeing a cop with a gun—but still… the sight of the weapon brought another surge… of what? Fear?

  It felt like a symbol of violence to me, instead of a measure of protection. Nothing feels safe in this town anymore, not that it ever did.

  I led him through the arched doorway of the living room and motioned for him to take a seat in the kitchen.

  It was still early, barely 5am, but there was no going back to sleep now. I turned on my Keurig machine and popped a coffee pod inside.

  “It’s one cup at a time. Sorry,” I said, sitting down across from him as the coffee maker gargled and hissed.

  “I ran the press off. And the girls were picked up by their parents with no incident,” Nash assured me. He looked around the kitchen and I could see it—curiosity.

  “They were trespassing. I did nothing wrong.” Images floated up of me running wildly through the woods, knocking down a child in the dark… I grimaced.

  “You’re right. They were in the wrong. And they h
ad more to say when the parents showed. I was right. Just a prank. The school nurse will be happy to have her dummy returned. Those things are expensive.”

  “Hilarious prank.” I stood up and went to the coffee maker. I removed the cup and started another.

  I didn’t have any children of my own—a decision I thought I might live to regret but never did—but if I had… they might be around Amanda or Cally’s ages by now…

  I sat the cup down in front of Nash, then offered him sugar and cream. He shook his head and blew steam off the top of the cup.

  “Who are the parents? Anyone I know?” I asked.

  “Amanda is Chuck and Adrianna Butler’s daughter. Cally lives with her grandfather, Sal Newton. Know them?”

  I groaned. “I don’t know Sal. But Adrianna. Might that be Adrianna Montgomery, the columnist?”

  But she was more than “the columnist” to me. She’d been my best friend, before she and her family decided to treat me and mine like lepers.

  That line between friend and enemy stretched too thin between us…

  “Yeah, the one and the only. I think she still uses her maiden name Montgomery in the papers.”

  “She sure does.” I sighed, adding sugars and creamer to my cup. Then I took a long, hot sip, burning my tongue. “What did they have to say about what their daughters were doing?” Part of me wondered if Adrianna had put Amanda up to it, but no… that was too low, even for her.

  “Honestly, they were embarrassed. I don’t think they even realized the girls had snuck out. And they were furious with Amanda for taking the other girl. Cally is a few years younger, but they’re neighbors and friends, you see…”

  “Who called the press?”

  Nash shrugged. “My guess is Amanda. Don’t be surprised if your face pops up on Facebook after this. She told my dispatcher that you attacked them in the woods and she ‘had proof’. She might have been filming or Facebook living for all we know…”