Chasing Allie (Breaking Away Series #2) (12 page)

Morty looks at me and just nods. It’s an acknowledgement. It’s also an encouragement, and it makes me feel better.

As he pulls out down the long dusty driveway, Marissa and I turn and look at the front of the house. It looks the same, to me at least. She hasn’t been here for two years.  

When Mom died, she called and said she was coming home. To help, to be here, to mourn. And then suddenly the next day she called back, her voice tight with tension and something else unnamed. She couldn’t make it. She told me how sorry she was.

Before we even walk in the door, I turn to her. I have so many questions. Most of them are about Chase. Some of them are about Jeff. But there’s one that’s about Marissa.

I grab her arm, the memory of that second phone call after Mom died suddenly flooding my mind. “After Mom died, you never came back,” I say, trying hard to keep the judgment out of my voice.

She looks terrified and stares at the doorbell button. She licks her lips and then looks at me, her hand squeezing mine “You’re sure he’s dead?” she says.

My eyes fly wide open. “Jeff? Well, yeah, that’s kind of the whole reason we’re back here. The police say he is. I tend to believe the police when they call me and tell me a member of my family is dead.” Now the sarcasm comes out. I don’t want it there, but it’s an uninvited guest. 

She swallows and takes deep breaths until she’s almost panting. And then her grip on my hand lessens. “I didn’t come back because of Jeff.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. And then I add, “Did he ever do something to you?”

She shakes her head. “No, but if I came back, he would.”

I peer at her, completely confused. We’re standing in front of the door, and a thin breeze lifts my hair a little, but not enough. “Did he threaten you?”

She nods. “And you.”

“Me? What did he say about me?”

Her face pales.

“He’s dead, Marissa. He can’t hurt you,” I remind her. 

She blinks suddenly, rapidly, like she’s clearing a memory. “Yeah,” she says, breathless. “I know, but I’m still scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared of what Jeff can do.”

“He’s
dead
.” I say the words with firm finality. “He can’t
do
anything.”  

She shakes her head slightly. “Okay, yeah, but what he
could
do. What he said he’d do if I came back.”

“I don’t understand.” I sit down on the front stoop. Suddenly I’m a rag doll. My bones have disappeared. “I don’t understand, Marissa.”

Marissa flops down next to me. I guess her bones have disappeared too. “Allie,” she says, her voice cracking. “Right after Mom died, I wanted to come back and get you. I wanted to bring you back to LA.”

I jerk my head up. “You did?”

She nods. “Jeff told me I couldn’t do it. I said I was an adult, and that I was your next of kin, and that I could petition a court to give me custody of you. That he wasn’t a blood relative of yours, and I’d have a strong chance.”

My face flushes. “You said all that? You tried to do that?”

Tears fill her eyes. “Yeah.” Her chest moves like she’s choking back a sob. “I looked into it. There’s this legal aid place in LA where I got a free consult, and they told me everything I needed to do.”

So why didn’t you
, I think. I get the feeling I’m about to find out. 

“I called Jeff,” she says, “and told him. I wasn’t confrontational or negative. I just figured he’d be happy to not have the burden of you.”

I snort. “Yeah. I heard about what a burden I was, every frickin’ day of my life from him after Mom died.”

She winces. “Yeah. I tried to use words that I thought would make it easier for him to just let you go. But that’s not what happened.”

I can tell she feels guilty. I can tell she’s struggling with whatever memory she has. I want to make it okay for her to talk. I put my hand on her knee and squeeze lightly. “I’m not judging you. Whatever happened back then, it’s all water under the bridge.”

She gives me a thin smile. “Thanks. I don’t feel guilty. But I do. It’s just—there was no way out.” She looks at me. “There was no way to save you.”

“Save me? What do you mean, Marissa?”

She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and inhales again. “Jeff told me that if I tried to get you, he would make it so I could never see you again.”

“What, like a custody battle?” I ask. “I don’t understand.”

“No, Allie.” Her fingers are getting colder and colder against my hand. “He said he would make you disappear.”

All this time I was fine, but as her words hit me my knees buckle. I crumple down, like a piece of wet spaghetti. I land on my butt, half on the small landing in front of the door, and half on the ground.

“El Brujo,” I whisper. “Jeff’s been planning this for years.”

Her hands fly to her mouth and she bends down, sitting next to me. “When you and Chase told me that story it was the first thing I thought.”

“I figured you’d think we were out of our minds!” I shout, my voice high and freaked out.

I’m staring out across the dull, dry land that I know so well. I can’t even cry. A voice screams in my head, and all it keeps shouting is
No, no, no!
 

Marissa tried to save me? She tried to get custody of me, and let me move in with her in LA? For years I had hoped that she would take me. For years, I had assumed that she hadn’t tried. When she didn’t come back home after Mom died, I had to make up my own story in my head that made sense. Because otherwise, all I was left with was the thought that Marissa didn’t care. Didn’t care enough to try.

“Jeff said he would make you disappear,” Marissa explains with a deep sigh. “He also said that he’d make it so that I would wish I had disappeared, too.”

I jerk my head up and look at her. “What the hell does that mean?” I gasp.

She swallows hard and shrugs, but her face goes pale. “I never asked him. I was afraid to ask him.” She shakes her head slowly and closes her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Allie. I really am.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

“
You’re
sorry?” I exclaim. A bitter laugh escapes through my mouth. “Jeff’s the one who should be sorry. Jeff... he... I...” The words all fade away, turning to dust. I wish a big wind would come along and blow them all away.

“You know,” Marissa says. “I always thought he killed Mom.”

I don’t even have any shock left in me. I just say back, “Yeah, me too.”

“So he killed Mom,” Marissa continues, “and he threatened me if I tried to take you away. And now we know he was planning to give you to a drug lord to pay off a debt.” A hysterical giggle rises up inside her and comes out. “This is too much, Allie! I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to think!”

I run a hand through my hair. And then I run both hands, sliding my fingers deep into my scalp until my palms are resting on my forehead. I start to laugh with her. None of this is funny. But it’s the only way to let some of the emotion out.

“Hell if I know either, Marissa,” I say.

She puts a hand on my shoulder. “You must be one fine piece of meat!”

“What?” I say, looking at her like she’s crazy.

“You’re worth six figures of debt to a drug lord, Allie!” She pretends to comb my body with her eyes. It’s eerie. She looks a little too much like Frenchie.

All of the blood suddenly runs out of my body. Chase, Frenchie, the drug lord. I look at her. “Just because Jeff’s dead doesn’t mean the debt’s been paid.”

She gives me a wistful smile. “I think a lot of what happens next depends on you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“That drug lord is looking for a virgin. You said you’re still one, right?”

I nod slowly. “You know,” I admit, “Chase brought it up last night.”

She snorts. “How romantic!”

I just shake
my
head now. “Yeah, I know. He said out of the goodness of his heart, he’d be willing to help me with this little obstacle.” Now we really
are
laughing. “But seriously, I don’t think virginity is going to stop someone who thinks that he owns me!” My eyes lock with my sister’s. “And the only person who can help me is Chase.”  

“If Chase is the only person who can help you,” she says, standing slowly, brushing the dirt off her legs, “then you’re in big trouble. Because somebody who’s not here can’t do anything to help you.” 

I stand and follow her as she reaches for the doorknob. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

She turns the knob. It’s locked. I fish around in the pocket of my pants and find the key. Once we’re inside, the reality starts to sink in. There is no Jeff sitting in the living room, watching some stupid sports show. There is no Jeff in the kitchen, bitching about how I ate all the bacon. There is no Jeff, sneaking Heather in so they can bang each other in his bedroom. There is no Jeff. Anywhere, ever again. 

There is, however, a big mess. The police were thorough. Drawers are left opened, stuff is hanging out, papers have been rifled through. Magazines are tossed on the floor. All the pictures are crooked. It’s not like Jeff and I had a lot of stuff, but what we do have—I mean, what
I
do have—is in chaos.

“Holy hell!” Marissa says. “They really did search the place!”

My eyes feel like I’m an owl. “No kidding.” Even the little drawer in the coffee table is hanging open.

“I called the police department,” Marissa says.

“When? Why?” I ask.

“You fell asleep in the car when we were on our way back. I talked to that Detective Knowles guy. He says that the police have already been here, checked everything out, and we’re free to do whatever we need to do.”

Clearly they’ve been here. I frown. “What does he mean?”

She looks at me, serious. “Well, with Mom dead and Jeff dead, someone has to take care of the house, the belongings...”

“But we rented.” And then it sinks in. It hits me. “We have to clear all this stuff out! We don’t own anything except...”

“Yeah,” Marissa says. “Except your stuff and Jeff’s stuff, and whatever’s left over of Mom’s.”

We sigh in unison. She walks into the kitchen and looks around, searching.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“The coffee maker.”

“Oh, Jeff moved it. It’s here in the cabinet.” I point to it and show her. For whatever reason, the cops closed the kitchen cabinet doors. 

She starts making coffee, the activity comforting. Once the machine is bubbling, she reaches under the sink and pulls out the cleaning caddy.

“You’re going to clean the house?”

“I might,” she says. “It depends on what we find. But I figure we could at least have it out on the counter.”

“What are we supposed to do, Marissa?” I’m confused. I’m missing Chase. I’m overwhelmed, and then I realize, I’m supposed to be at the police department right now, aren’t I?

She looks at me, and it’s as if she read my mind. “You’re supposed to be with that detective. Remember how he said to come straight to the department?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. I feel antsy inside, like my blood is filled with bubbles. I don’t want to be here. I certainly don’t want to go to the bar if that’s where Jeff was killed. But I
really
don’t want to go to the police department. 

Marissa and I realize that we have no way of getting back into town. Morty dropped us off, and Jeff’s car isn’t here. It must be back at the bar.

We go out to the garage and find a couple of bikes that we haven’t seen in years. Mine is still broken and mangled back at Chase’s shack. Jeff’s bike is buried under an old kiddie pool and a big tarp. It’s dusty and rusty, but Marissa finds some WD-40 and pretty soon she’s making circles in the dirt around the front of the house.

I’m not so lucky. All we can find is an old banana bike from when I was seven.

“Come on,” I say to Marissa. “I can’t show up at the police department riding a little kid’s bike. They’ll think I’m nuts. They’ll... they’ll arrest me for... stupidity!”  

She laughs. “We’ll trade off, and I’ll take that dinky little thing right before we get into town.”

I honk the horn. It sounds like a dead duck. “We need Jeff’s tool kit.” 

The garage has been gone over by the cops, too. A big blue metal toolbox is tipped on its side, the tools scattered around it. An old Big Wheel plastic bike is next to it and I have to move it first. When I pick it up and hand it to Marissa, she frowns.

“What’s in here?”

“Nothing. It’s a toy.”

“No, Allie,” she says, pulling it out into the sunlight. “There’s something here.”

I’m impatient. The cops are waiting for me. “I don’t care. I just need the tools to fix the bike.” Why is she fixated on the stupid riding toy?

Marissa hands me a wrench and some pliers. She gives the plastic ride-on toy the hairy eyeball, but she sets it aside. In ten minutes, I fix the bike. But it’s still a little kid’s banana bike.

“All right,” I say. It’s only three miles into town, so I’m not that worried. My body still aches from my bike accident just last week, but I’ll survive. “Let’s go.” 

We sling our purses over our shoulders and climb on the bikes. I’m glad Marissa’s helping me. She plans to go to the courthouse and the town hall, to find out exactly what we need to do next. Technically we’re Jeff’s next of kin and yet technically we’re not. He told us a long time ago that his parents were dead and he had no siblings. Marissa’s going to find out what that all means for us.  

We get to the edge of town. As promised, Marissa gives me the better bike. I ride it up to the police station. The building is brick and boring, and about as comforting as a dead armadillo on the road.  

I slide the front tire of the bike into the bike rack and brush myself off. Sweat covers my hairline, my chest, my back. Pretty much every part of my body. I don’t care.

A motorcycle engine revs in the distance, and I turn quickly, hoping to see Chase. No. It’s Chuck Jorgensen, riding down the middle of the road. His bike has no muffler. The sound, as he passes by me, forces me to cover my ears. I can feel the vibration even when he’s gone so far away that I can’t see him.