Anywhere But Here (37 page)

I opened my mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say.  I examined my swirling feelings and decided that I needed to talk to Fin.  I didn’t want to push him away again.  I wanted him to understand.  I let my legs slide to the floor so I could dig my cell phone out of my pocket.

“I’ll call him,” I said.  She smiled weakly and returned to the kitchen to give me some privacy.

I dialed his number, my fingers clumsy, and when he answered, what was left of my heart flipped.

“Hey, Rena,” he said, his voice oozing with warmth.  “I’m so sorry, really, I am.  How are you?  Do you need something?”

“Could…” I swallowed, hoping to clear the scratchiness out of my throat.  “Could you and Damon, um, get my car? It’s still at school.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said.  “Are you, um, going home?”

I nodded then realized he couldn’t see me.  “Yeah, I guess.  Um, maybe you could come get the keys or something?  I think we’re leaving right away so, um, I’ll just leave them in the mailbox, I guess.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Hey, listen to me, Rena.  If you need anything, anything at all, no matter what it is, you call me.”

“I…thanks,” I said, choking up again.  I heard Aunt Franki rattling impatiently around in the kitchen, eager to get on the road.  A sudden urge to see my family swept through me. “Um, I have to go.  Thanks.”

“Take care of yourself,” Fin said, his voice heavy.  “And remember that we care about you.”

“Thanks,” I croaked, the tears dripping from my eyes.  I hung up and wiped my face, struggling to gain control.  I wanted to be strong, had to be, to face what was coming.  The next few days were going to be difficult, to say the least, and I had to be able to handle it.  I couldn’t fall apart again and cause my family more pain. 

I sucked in a deep, cleansing breath as my head fell to the back of the chair.  I closed my eyes as I let the oxygen glide between my lips.  I thought of Camille – that pesky, Jonas Brother loving little sister who had followed me around, mimicking everything about me from my clothes to the way I laughed.  Oh, she’d annoyed me, true, but I’d always been secretly flattered that she thought that much of me.  I’d always been touched that I’d been her favorite.

But I’d let her down.  I’d been selfish.  I’d caused this.  She was gone, forever, because of me.  I pushed out of the chair and stood near the door, waiting for Aunt Franki.

Yes, it was all my fault and now it was time for me to fess up and pay for what I’d done.

I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever experience the drive from Aunt Franki’s to my parents’ house without extreme anxiety or severe depression.  Maybe someday I’d find a new route - if I ever felt like driving again.

My mind wandered back to Camille.  Where was she now?

I bolted upright as a thought occurred to me.  “Um, Aunt Franki?  Have they found her?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, not taking her eyes from the road.

“Well,” I said as I tugged on the seatbelt to stop it from cutting into the side of my neck.  “I mean, this guy said he … took her and all, but do we know for sure that he did?  Is there any proof?  Have they…you know…located…her?”

Aunt Franki switched lanes then massaged her forehead.  I could see moisture collecting in her eyes and took that as a bad sign.  “According to your father, this man gave the police specific details.”

Sitting forward, I twisted to face her.  “That’s all fine for the police,” I persisted.  “But have they found her…um…her …body?”

The muscles around her mouth tightened as did her one-handed grip on the wheel.  She continued to rub furiously at her forehead, but I refused to be put off.  “He agreed to take the police to the…um…sites.”

“So, he could be lying,” I mused aloud.  “Or, maybe none of these girls are Camille.  I mean, maybe he saw her name on the news and just assumed she was one of his victims.”

Aunt Franki shook her head.  “I don’t think so, honey.  Yes, it would be wonderful if he didn’t have anything to do with Camille’s disappearance, but he apparently gave the police enough information to make them confident that she was one of his…victims.”

I decided that I wasn’t going to believe it until the proof was laid out neatly in front of me.  I still held out hope that Camille was alive.  I didn’t care if we had to endure weeks, months, even years of more torture of not knowing – I just didn’t want to lose her.

I settled back into my seat, my chest still wound tight
ly.  Maybe that’s why my mother was the way she was.  She was still holding on to Camille, trying to keep her alive.  Sympathy and understanding flooded me as I thought back on how horribly I’d treated my mother.  I’d only looked at things from my point of view.  I didn’t know how it felt for a mother to lose a child but I imagined it must be the most painful thing in the world.

When we arrived at the house, the driveway, as well as the curb, was full of strange cars.  Aunt Franki was forced to park down the street.  I leapt from the car and jogged through the slush to the porch.  I ripped the door open and was blindsided by the funeral feel that seemingly permeated throughout the house.  No hope was left, including the hope that I’d held on to during the last few miles of my trip.  It was over, finally.

Bracing myself, I tiptoed into the living room where neighbors and police officers congregated around my family.  My mother lifted her head and peeked through the crowd to offer me a sad smile.  Her pale face was drained of all emotion and her eyes were weary as though she’d fought a raging war – and lost.

Then it hit me – struck me like a bat to a ball – and I stumbled, collapsing into the nearest chair.  Jared pushed through the people to kneel before me, his face nearly identical to Mom’s.  He clasped my hands in his and I rested my forehead on his shoulder.

“No, Jared.  Just…no.”

“I’m afraid so,” he whispered, dropping one of my hands to stroke my hair.  “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

A huge fist squeezed, crushing my ribs and making the intake of air impossible.  I clutched my brother’s shirt as I fought the raging misery clawing its way up my throat.  “This…can’t…happen,” I croaked, angry.  “She’s just a kid!”

“Rena,” Dad whispered as he led my mother by the hand to my chair.  They huddled around me, everyone’s arms around someone else.  My tears fell fast and furious, mixing with those of my family.  My sad, pitiful, broken family.

We remained that way until a uniformed officer interrupted us in order to whisper to my father that she’d been found and was on her way to the morgue.  Dad nodded, unable to speak, and embraced us all harder.

“Sir,” the uncomfortable officer continued.  “Sir, we need someone to identify her.”

“I know,” Dad said, making no indication that he intended to move.  “I’ll do it.”

“Okay.  I’ll take you when you’re ready,” he said as he shuffled toward the doorway.

“I’ll go with you,” Jared said as he extricated himself.  He scrubbed his face and stood, his knees cracking in the process.

Dad stood, too, and clapped Jared on the back.  “Okay, son.  Thanks.”  He pecked my che
ek, cupped my mother’s chin, and then disappeared with the officer.

Mom remained beside me, her arms wrapped around me as if she was afraid I’d disappear, too.  Maybe that did worry her.  Maybe she was afraid if it
had happened once, it could happen again.  I had no idea how to reassure her.

“So, he had just dumped poor Robin’s body when he snatched Camille,” Mom said as if commenting on the weather.

“Mom, you don’t need to talk about this,” I protested.

She squeezed my shoulders and fixed her gaze on a spot on the carpet.  “I do.  She’s your sister, you deserve to know.”

I did want to know – I wanted to know every grisly detail of what that monster had done to my sister.  But I didn’t want my mother to be the one to tell me.

“He took her to an empty cabin in a deserted campground.”  Mom’s monotone voice chilled me to the core. It reminded me of a narrator’s voice, droning on about a senseless tragedy – someone totally detached.  “He kept her for a couple of days but you see, she’d tried to escape and he panicked.  He was afraid she’d identify him.  He killed her.”

A fresh wave of pain washed over my body as my rage fought for control over my despair.  My anger-demon made a sudden reappearance and was as desperate as I to get a hold of that monster and rip him into pieces.  My body shook with pent up anger and the need to do something.  I shook off Mom’s arms and raced up the stairs to my room.  I slammed the door and leaned against it, my chest heaving.  I eyed my possessions as the anger swelled.  What right did I have to own anything?  What right did I have to be alive?

Running to my bookshelf, I
swept the books to the floor with my arm.  Most of my books were back at Franki’s and I wished fervently that they were here, in my old room, so I could destroy them, too.

I snatched the cheer trophies I’d earned at cheer camp and heaved them at the posters of happy people on my walls.  I marched to my desk and picked up pens, pencils, paperweights, anything I could get my hands on, and threw them aimlessly, working up a sweat.

When I ran out of things to throw I began ripping posters off my walls, grinning maniacally at the shreds floating to the floor.  Once that task was complete, I sank to the ground, breathless, and sobbed.

The door opened and Roberta waded through the debris to plop down next to me.  She didn’t touch me or even speak as I continued to cry.  She sat stoically, surveying the mess.  When the tears stopped, she patted my knee.

“Better?” she asked.

“No,” I snorted.  “I’ll never feel better.  Never.”

“Feels like that now,” she said as she picked up a scrap of poster.  “But the pain will fade with time.  It’ll never go away completely, but it will fade.”

“I hate him, Roberta.  I hate that man.  I want to kill him.  I want to make him die a slow, painful death,” I said, clenching my teeth.  “And even that’s not good enough.  I want to kill him over and over again.”

She nodded, her lips pursed.  “Of course you do.  I don’t blame you.  I’d like to see him punished, too, and I’ve never met Camille.  But men like that, who are not only capable of such heinous things but actually do them, they deserve the most severe punishment.”

“He’ll just go to jail,” I said.  “That’s all.  That’s not good enough.”

“It’s going to have to be for now,” she said, wrapping a cautious arm around my shoulders.  “Do you believe in God?”

I shrugged, studying
my balled up fists resting in my lap.  I’d never attended church faithfully but I still believed there was a God and that He did keep an eye on things.  “I suppose, but I’m a little confused on how He could let something like this happen.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on religion or God, and I don’t know why things like this happen, but I personally believe that God will punish Ted Pinther in a more effective way than we can in our courts.”

“I’d like the satisfaction of hurting him with my own hands,” I said, deflating.  The fire that had raged inside of me had been doused, though not completely: A few embers still burned.  “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” she said.  “I came up here to see you as soon as I arrived but I’d like to go check on your mother.  Are you all right?”

I nodded and tilted my head to give her an appreciative smile.  She returned it, patted me again, then heaved her body up and exited quietly.  I crawled over to my bed, climbed onto the mattress, and curled into a tight ball.  I’d worn myself out with my little tantrum but I wasn’t ready to sleep.  I still craved answers.

***

“Hey, Rena,” Jared whispered.  When my eyes snapped open, I was shocked at how low the sun had set.  It took me a few minutes to realize that I was in my old room and must have fallen asleep.

“Jared?” I said around a yawn.  I fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand and winced when the light hit my eyes.

“You look like you could sleep longer,” he said, his face grave, his dull eyes rimmed in red.  My heart ached for him but I was so emotionally drained that I couldn’t bring myself to offer him any comfort.

“I’m fine,” I lied.  “What’s going on downstairs?”

He lifted a shoulder.  “Some neighbors brought food and are trying to convince people to eat.  Mom’s locked in her bedroom with your counselor.  Dad and Aunt Franki have been talking to the cops and the funeral home and things like that.”

I felt like a fraud, sleeping away the afternoon while the rest of my family went through the hell that came with losing a loved one. 
Scooting off the bed, I stood, stretching.  “I need to get down there and help.”

“Nothing for you to do, kid,” he said with an awkward smile.  “Dad said to let you rest but I was afraid that you hadn’t eaten in
a while.”

“Was it her?” I whispered.  I had to know – had to be absolutely sure.

“Yeah,” he said, ducking his head.  “It’s her.”

I choked on a tiny sob.  “How…how bad?”

“You don’t want to know,” he said as he got up and turned his back on me.  “Just remember her how she was, okay?”  He disappeared through the door.  Horrified, I followed him downstairs, loathing the helplessness that seemed to fill the vacancy that my shattered heart had left.