Damage Done (20 page)

I let him kiss me. He tasted salty, and that was when I realized I was crying.

I lay awake for what felt like hours and hours before I got up to call Miranda. I glanced at the time on my phone before I started dialing. Somehow it was only ten o’clock.

Miranda picked up on the second ring. “Officer Miranda Weiler.” She sounded brusque, businesslike. Quite respectable for 10:00 p.m.

“Hi, Officer Weiler?” I said hesitantly. “This is Julia Vann. You gave me your card earlier?”

“Yes, Julia.” Her voice warmed. “Glad to hear from you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say after that. It had been a long time since any cop had been glad to hear from Julia Vann. “Yeah,” I said. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t sure exactly why. “Before you said I could call you. If I remembered anything.”

I half expected her to hang up right there, but instead she said, “Of course, Julia. What did you want to talk about?”

On the phone she was just a faraway voice. Remote. She could be anyone. “Could we talk in person?”

“Sure,” she said. I could picture her all dressed to go: crisp black suit, tight bun. “I’m happy to come by your house?”

I couldn’t stop a laugh from exploding against the mouthpiece.

“Bless you,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. I could just imagine how my parents would react should another cop show up at the door. My mom might have a nervous breakdown. “Can I meet you somewhere? There’s this twenty-four-hour coffee place, kind of a diner, near my school. I can walk there. It’s called Crazy Elliot’s?”

“I know Crazy Elliot’s,” she said. “Nice place. Meet you there in half an hour?”

It took me longer than I thought it would to walk to Crazy’s. Ten minutes in, I was wishing I’d worn a sweatshirt. Twenty minutes in, there were more goose bumps on my arms than there was skin. Thirty minutes in, I was cursing the glowing headlights of the cars that whizzed by for the sure warmth of their interiors.

So I was relieved to see, finally, the neon
CRAZY ELLIOT’S
sign. I went inside and stomped my feet like I was stomping away the cold. “Julia!” I heard, and looked up. Miranda was already there, sitting in a back booth, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. I sighed internally. I’d kind of wanted to beat her there.

Still, I waved and joined her on the cracked red vinyl. To my surprise, I didn’t smell coffee. “You got hot chocolate,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Miranda smiled and took a sip. When she lowered her mug a trace of whipped cream decorated her upper lip, like she was a kid or something. “I sense judgment.”

“Not at all,” I said. I felt the tears again, pushing on the backs of my eyeballs, but I managed to hold them in this time. “I’ll have one, too.”

Crazy Elliot’s made the second-best hot chocolate in town (after Michael’s, naturally). I told Miranda all about it. “A little bit of vanilla is the secret, I think,” I confided. “But Michael is convinced there’s nutmeg in there, too.”

Miranda shook her head and took another sip. “I think Michael wins this one,” she said. “There’s definitely a hint of nutmeg in here.”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been much of a cook. That was my brother.”

“I see,” Miranda said. I expected her to punctuate her words with another sip, but she left her mug on the table. “You wanted to talk about your brother tonight, right?”

“Ryan,” I said. It felt weird to hear her refer to him as my brother. That was how
I
thought of him. “Yeah. I…I know he did horrible things, and he deserves to be locked away, but still…I…”

“You care about him,” Miranda said.

I stared at the table. My mug had left a sticky brown ring on the surface. “Yeah.”

“And you feel guilty for it.” Her voice was gentle. “You shouldn’t. He’s still your brother.”

I shook my head. “It’s so weird,” I said. “I feel relieved because he’s scary, and I’m happy that he can’t hurt me or the people I love anymore, but I also miss him, and I feel guilty about missing him. I’m so confused.”

She laid her hand on the table, like she wanted to reach out and grab mine. I almost wished she would. “That’s normal,” she said.

“There are enough people in my situation for you to say what normal is?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said. “I just meant that…you know…” She took a slurp of her hot chocolate in what I could only guess was a stalling tactic, draining her mug down to the bottom. “That was so good.”

I leapt up. “Let me get you another one.”

“No, no.” Miranda went to stand, but I grabbed her mug. “Julia, I—”

“You came out here at ten at night to listen to me talk about my feelings,” I said. I was already walking backward toward the counter, moving much more deftly than I had the last time I was in this room. “The least I can do is buy you a hot chocolate.”

I paid for her refill, then walked slowly back to our table, cupping my hand over the top to keep it as warm as possible. I set it down in front of her, and she peered down into it like she was gazing into a mirror. “Ooh, did you ask for powdered sugar on top this time?”

I smiled. “It’s a Crazy Elliot’s secret.”

She stirred. “Thanks. That was so nice of you.” She took a sip and smacked her lips. “Extra sweet.”

“So my brother,” I said. “He
is
securely locked away, right?”

“He is,” Miranda said. “You don’t have to worry. And I mean it: don’t feel guilty.”

“How securely?” I asked. “He escaped once already and came for me and my friends.” All the moisture fled from my mouth and took shelter in my eyes. “He could escape again.”

She reached out and, this time, patted my arm. Her fingers were warm. “He won’t. Julia, Ryan is locked away in the basement of the Sunny Vale police station, behind two locked doors. There’s only one exit from that basement, and it goes through the main office, where there are always officers present. You don’t have to worry about him getting away again.”

“Two locked doors?” My voice wavered. “My brother is smart. He could get the keys.”

“He can’t,” Miranda said soothingly. She patted my arm again, and I jerked away. “The key is in a locked box. Don’t worry—they keep a close eye on everything.”

I breathed out, but it sounded like a sob. “What if he has someone helping him? He’s charming, my brother, and he got someone to break him out of the hospital that first time. He could…” I paused and licked my lips.

“He can’t,” Miranda said. Her words had a blurry sort of edge to them, like she was having trouble moving her tongue. “You can’t even get into the police station without a valid police ID. They have security at the entrance. I’m telling you, Julia.” Her hand shook, and she sloshed a few drops of hot chocolate onto the table. “You are safe.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“I’ll check on him tomorrow morning and let you know he’s still there, if that would make you feel better. My shift starts at nine. Now,” she said, and her hand trembled again, “was there something else you wanted to tell me about your brother?”

That was right. I’d gotten her here by telling her I had something to tell her. I looked down at the table. The drops she’d spilled made a shape almost like a dog. That made me think of Fluffy. Poor little inside-out Fluffy. “I wanted to tell you I was worried he might escape,” I said. “But it sounds like you guys have it under control.”

I walked Miranda to her car, and when I told her I had a forty-minute walk in the dark ahead of me, she insisted on driving me home. “If it bothers you, I’ll drop you off down the block so your parents won’t see you getting out of a cop’s car,” she said through thick lips. “Come on. Get in.”

I smiled at her, and this time it was genuine. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I didn’t get in the car.

I awoke at 7:35 a.m. to the cry of my alarm. Miranda’s shift began at nine. I had set my alarm for 7:50. Why was it going off now?

It wasn’t my alarm, I realized. It was my phone. Alane. I peeked out my window to see her car idling in the driveway. Shoot. I’d forgotten to tell her not to pick me up.

The shrill of my phone stopped. She was getting out of the car. She was striding up the walk, her hands on her hips. She was ringing the doorbell.

I hurried down the steps, realizing how terrible I looked only after I’d swung open the front door. “I’m sick,” I said as my heart lurched in my chest like a dying fish. “Sorry. I forgot to text you.”

Her eyes raked me from top to bottom, and for a moment I imagined myself through her eyes. Still wearing the same clothes I’d worn yesterday, though now they were crusty with dirt and sweat; even I could smell them. Sallow cheeks and haunted eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously.

I let out a laugh that sounded more like a scream. “Just peachy,” I said.

“You look like death warmed over,” she said. “Actually, not even warmed over. You look like ice-cold death that’s just clawed itself out of the grave using only its fingernails.”

I couldn’t muster up the energy to joke back. “I’m sick,” I said. “I’m not going to school today. See you tomorrow.” Hopefully.

I went to close the door, but she blocked it with her foot. I tried to close it anyway, and she flinched, but she didn’t budge. “You’re hurting me,” she said.

“I don’t want to get you sick.”

She shouldered her way into the crack, yawning it open a bit more. I leaned forward, but I was completely drained. Even standing required burning too much energy. I needed to down, like, eight espressos, and then I might be able to hold fast. That, or one perfume bottle full of neon-pink essence of Alane. I was willing to bet Alane never got sick.

“You’re not sick,” she said. “Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

I grunted as I pushed back against the door. “You’re going to be late to school.” And she was going to make me late for my shift. Well, for Miranda’s shift. I had to make sure to get there before her and before she discovered her stuff was missing. The dying fish in my chest flopped and jolted my stomach, making me feel seasick, making me feel like I wanted to throw up. I could feel it beginning, a burning in my nose, a tingling in my cheeks.

This was my own fault. I’d wanted the loyalest of loyal friends, and when I’d pulled Alane away from her lonely lunch table and installed her on the social ladder, I’d gotten that. She owed everything to me. If I was going to push her away, I’d have to be cruel. I didn’t want to be cruel to Alane. I loved her, I think.

Alane leaned in further, slowly but surely pushing me back into the foyer. I finally gave up, stumbling back into the wall and sliding downward. The tile floor was cool through my jeans, and I leaned my cheek against the wall, breathing deeply, staring intently at the ceiling and the floor and the wall and anything else that wasn’t Alane. Which was difficult, as she was hovering over me, dipping and ducking her head, desperately trying to catch my eye.

“Something’s wrong, Julia,” she said. “Tell me. I can help you. Does it have to do with your brother?”

“It’s over, Julia. We’re safe now. They can’t tell.” The smell of blood was heavy, metallic, sticky against the inside of my nose. It rose in clouds toward my brain, choking it and suffocating me.

I let my brother pull me to my feet. “But eleven people are dead,” I said. “It’s not like we can just walk out of here. Like we can disappear.”

“Of course not,” my brother said, holding me tight against him. I breathed in deeply and let the smell of him—smoky, spicy, sweaty—block the smell of blood. “I have a plan for that. You’ll just have to trust me.”

The sob that escaped my throat surprised even me. “Everything has to do with my brother,” I said. “Everything. And I’ll never get away. I can never get away.”

She settled to my side with a thump. Distantly, I could hear her truck rumbling. She’d left it on. “I can help you,” she said. “I’m your friend.” She linked her elbow with mine. “I love you, remember?”

Cruel. Whether I wanted to or not, I had to be cruel now. For Alane’s own safety.

I stood up so quickly I knocked her aside; she went reeling and cried out as her elbow smacked into the wall with a thud. “You don’t love me,” I said coldly. “I don’t know what love is, but I know I don’t love you. I had a best friend, and she’s dead.”