In the Blood (9 page)

Read In the Blood Online

Authors: Sara Hantz

Tags: #Teen & Young Adult, #Literature & Fiction, #Social & Family Issues, #Physical & Emotional Abuse, #Violence, #teen, #Ember, #Sara Hantz, #entangled publishing

BOOK: In the Blood
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Chapter Twenty-nine

“Where have you been?” Mom asks as I sneak into the kitchen through the garage, hoping to get cleaned up before bumping into anyone. She’s leaning against the counter, staring right at me; it’s almost as if she knew the very moment I’d be back. Either that or she’s been standing there for a long time waiting, which I doubt.

“Out,” I say.

“I know you’ve been out, but where have you been all night?” Her voice tremors, and my eyes widen. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d been worrying about me.

“Sorry. I was at Troy’s. I meant to call but forgot.”

“Well, everyone’s looking for you.”

I knew as soon as I stepped off the bus something was wrong. For a start, loads of people were hanging around talking, which they don’t normally do because they’re supposedly too busy with their own lives. Plus there were two police cars parked across from our house.

Initially I panicked, thinking that something had happened to Amy, or that it was something to do with Dad again, but I told myself I was overreacting, especially as the police cars weren’t outside our house. I had no idea
I
was the problem.

“Why? I’ve only been gone a night. Nothing happened, I’m fine.” Okay, so that’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know. There’s plenty of time for her to find out the truth.

I fold my arms in front of my chest, hoping that Mom won’t see the mess on the front of my shirt. Though she’s gonna find out soon enough when she does the laundry, unless I can soak it off in the bathroom.

“You?” Mom says, a frown etching itself across her face. “It’s not about
you
, it’s Dawson.”

“Dawson? Why?”

This doesn’t make sense. She says they’re all worried about Dawson and yet everyone’s searching for me.

“He’s missing. You were the last person to see him.”

A shiver runs down my spine. This isn’t what I think it is. That Dawson’s missing and in my drunken stupor I did something to him. No. It can’t be. I’m jumping to conclusions. For a start, after Dawson left the garage, I went downtown and we definitely weren’t together. Unless he followed me. He could’ve. But wouldn’t I have noticed? I think back to yesterday. There were quite a few people getting on the bus when I did, but I don’t remember what they looked like, I was too wrapped up in myself. But even so, if Dawson was there, surely I’d have noticed. Though he could’ve hidden behind someone so I wouldn’t see him, because he knew that I’d have sent him back home.

“And they don’t know where he is,” I state, the absolute horror of the situation striking me.

It doesn’t make sense. How can he disappear off the face of the earth without anyone seeing him? And why? Where would he go? He could have been abducted. Jesus, I hope not.

“No. And now the police want to speak to you because you saw him last when he was over here yesterday.”

“How do they know he was here?”

Shit, this is bad. But it’s not like I did anything to him while he was here.

“I heard you talking to him in the garage yesterday, which is what I told the police when they called.”

This changes everything. I’ve got to remember what I did last night.

What if I took Dawson? Just the thought that it could have been me is making me want to vomit all over again. Jesus, this is crazy. I could’ve already turned into my father and I don’t even know it.

Or what if I spent my time checking out children? Or worse, what if I befriended a child and took him somewhere, say to the movies or something? Or what if I abducted a child and then took him to a park? And then did stuff to him.

And if the cops ask all I can say is
I don’t remember.

“Oh,” I mutter, looking down at the floor and wondering how quickly I can get away from here to do some digging of my own to find out where I went and whether Dawson was with me.

“The police are at Dawson’s house, and they want to see you. I don’t know what you and Troy got up to last night, but you don’t smell good, so clean yourself up first.”

She turns and heads out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there, my mind whirring with crazy thoughts.

I clench my fist and thump the wall. Pain rockets through my arm, but it fails to eradicate the feeling of utter despair from my mind. The feeling that I could’ve done something so awful to Dawson. But the thing is, I don’t have any awful thoughts toward him. God, no. I’ve only known him a few months, but already he’s like the younger brother I always wanted. Oh fuck, scrap that. Because who knows what that could lead to. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Chapter Thirty

To avoid speaking to Mom again or seeing Amy, I decide to change in the garage, and, as I pull off my shirt, several buttons go flying across the floor. Screwing it up in my hand, I throw it as hard as possible into the trash can, where it belongs. I don’t want to see or hear anything that reminds me of last night.

Except I do. I have to find out what happened to Dawson. Where is he? Is he lost? Is he hiding somewhere? Has someone taken him? Have
I
taken him?

But first the police, so they can get on with the search. I know from my research the first twenty-four hours are crucial in any missing child investigation.

I pull on an old green tee that’s hanging on the hook by the door leading to the kitchen, pop some gum in my mouth to try and get rid of the dry, disgusting vomit taste, and head for the yard. On the way out, I glance at my shirt in the trash and stop as suddenly it hits me.

Evidence.

It’s evidence.

I can’t throw it out, because when they discover about me being out all night and not remembering anything, the police will likely want to test it for Dawson’s DNA, especially knowing who my dad is.

Then again, am I just being melodramatic? Fuck if I know.

I take the shirt from the trash, fold it, put it in a plastic bag and then place it under the bench. Not to hide it, just to keep it from getting lost and also to contain the vomit smell, which is really strong. Then I turn off the light and head out the garage, down the driveway and onto the street.

Just as I get to the other side, I hear someone shouting.

“That’s him. That’s Jed Franklin, over there.”

I stop dead in my tracks and stare at Mrs. Williams who’s pointing at me. She looks awful. Her hair’s messy, and there are black makeup stains under her eyes. I doubt she slept all night.

A police officer in uniform strides past her and heads toward me. A little voice inside tells me to run in the opposite direction, then common sense takes over and I stay put, even though I start to sweat profusely.

“Jed Franklin?” the officer asks when he reaches me.

“Yes, sir,” I say, nodding my head.

“I’m Officer Halstead. We’d like to ask you some questions about Dawson Williams. At your house?”

“Sure,” I say, turning back.

“I’ll get my colleague, and we’ll meet you over there.”

I shrug and then walk away. How weird is it that he’s letting me go on my own? Though why wouldn’t he? It’s not like I’m under arrest or anything.

Walking through the garage, I toss a glance in the direction of the shirt and wonder whether I should give it to them. Then I decide against it. It would be like admitting my involvement when in fact I’ve no idea whether I was or not.

“Mom,” I say, when finding her sitting in the living room reading a magazine. “Where’s Amy?”

“Try the den,” she says, not looking up.

“The police are coming over to question me. If I bring them in here, will you go and sit with Amy and make sure she doesn’t try to find me? I don’t want her to get upset by the police being here.”

Mom frowns. “Worrying about Amy isn’t important right now.”

Yeah, maybe from her perspective it isn’t.

“You’re wrong. It is. And finding out what’s happened to Dawson, obviously. So will you stay with her?”

“Okay,” she finally replies.

That’s good, because I don’t want her overhearing the police accuse me of being like Dad. Though why would they? All they know is I was the last person to see Dawson. They don’t know about my drinking or my blackout. But it won’t take them long to take the same leap I did and focus their attention on me once they do find out.

Crap. I could be in a lot of trouble. If only I could remember what happened. I’m so desperate not to have hurt Dawson. And I’m desperate for him to be found.

A ring at the door interrupts my thoughts.

“It’s them,” I say to Mom. “I’ll let them in and you go to Amy.”

We both head out of the living room, Mom in the direction of the den and me to the front door, my heart pounding in anticipation of what’s gonna happen.

Chapter Thirty-one

I pause for a moment before opening the front door, to think. Am I guilty? Am I innocent?

As much as it would destroy me, being guilty would prove my theory correct. And then I’d be locked up, and it would stop anything bad from happening to other boys. I keep saying “boys” but, for all I know, it could be girls, too. There’s nothing to say my predilections are going to be the same as Dad’s. Except I don’t want it to be Dawson that I harmed. Christ, no. It really would be too awful to bear if I destroyed his life. And let’s not even think about Amy.

The bell rings again, and this time I do open the door. There’s a far different expression on these guys’ faces than there was on the detectives who came to ask me to visit Dad. The officers in front of me look like they mean business. Especially the one I haven’t met before, whose arms are folded across his huge barrel chest. His face is marked by a deep frown and narrow, piercing eyes.

“Come in,” I say, holding the door open. “We can talk in the living room, through the door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Officer Halstead says as they both walk into the house and head toward the living room.

I don’t know if they do it intentionally, but they manage to sit on either side of me. Halstead on the couch, me on one of the matching easy chairs, and the other officer only a couple of feet from me on an upright chair he dragged over from where it usually stands by the wall. If their aim is to intimidate me, then they’re succeeding. I feel really freaked by it all, and I can barely stop myself from shaking. Which is a pathetic look for a seventeen-year-old with a hangover and the hugest guilty conscience ever, whether or not it’s justified.

“Jed, this is Officer Strong,” Halstead says, nodding at Strong. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Dawson Williams.”

“Sure,” I say, trying to hide the trepidation in my voice.

Hey, how come they can question me on my own, yet Spalding, the other detective, insisted on speaking to Mom first? Then again, at the time Spalding said it was a matter of courtesy because I live at home. Plus Halstead did speak to Mom earlier, so she probably gave her permission then. But really, does it matter? I don’t know why I’m getting so caught up in worrying about it.

“We understand Dawson came to see you yesterday in your garage,” Halstead states in a very matter-of-fact tone.

“Yep. At around three.” I’m finding it really hard to sit still; a body language expert would have a field day with me.

“Why?” Halstead asks.

“Why what?” I reply, frowning, unsure of what he’s getting at.

“Why did he come to see you?” Strong says, a slight edge to his voice.

It’s like they’re playing a good cop/bad cop routine. I bet they didn’t speak to Mom like this.

“He’s visits me all the time. He likes to talk about cars and trucks and—”

“So why tell his mom you hadn’t seen him?” Strong interrupts.

“He didn’t want his mom to know.” I shift awkwardly in my seat, waiting for them to freak about that.

“Why not?” Strong leans in and fixes me with an icy stare from his pale gray eyes.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. Strong arches an eyebrow in disbelief. “Okay, because of my dad and the court case and all the media interest. She didn’t want him to come here.”

Why are they acting like it’s such a crime to help Dawson out? I didn’t know yesterday was going to turn out as it did. If I had, I wouldn’t have hidden him. I wouldn’t have had a drink, and I wouldn’t have gone out. Then none of us would be sitting here worrying ourselves to death about where he is and whether he’s okay or not.

“So you were looking out for him?” Halstead asks.

I turn to look at him. “Yes. Which is why I said he wasn’t here when she came by.”

The two of them exchange a glance, and then both stare at me. I look from one to the other. What the fuck have I said now?

“So, you’re saying that Dawson was still with you when his mom came over? That you told her you hadn’t seen him, when really he was with you in your garage all the time?” Strong asks.

“Yes. He was hiding.”

Am I dumb, or what? I don’t get why it matters whether he was with me or not when I told his mom I hadn’t seen him. But, clearly, they think it’s bad.

“May we see where exactly?”

“Sure.” I stand and they immediately do the same. “This way.”

They follow in silence as we go into the kitchen and through the door leading to the garage.

“You work in here?” Halstead asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Now what? I look around and it seems perfectly okay to me.

“It’s nothing like mine. It’s too clean and tidy.” He scans the garage, goes over to my toolbox, opens the top drawer, and stares in. Is he allowed to go through my things without a warrant? Like I’m gonna ask.

“I like things tidy,” I say, an edge to my voice. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, we’re just trying to get a picture of Dawson’s last known movements,” Halstead replies.

Strong looks as if he’s just about to say something else, when Halstead begins to speak.

“Where did Dawson hide?”

I point to under the bench. “Under there.”

“Of his own free will?” Strong asks, going over to the bench and peering under it.

“Of course
of his
own free will
. What do you think I did, tie him up and shove him under there?” I snap.

I didn’t mean to lose it. I know they’re only doing their job. And it’s hard because I want to tell them all about me, how my life could be in the future. But I can’t because it will make a huge impact on everything. And I can’t risk them changing the direction of their inquiries without proof that I’m to blame.

“And what time was this?” Halstead asks, ignoring my little outburst.

“Three-fifteen, maybe. I didn’t check.”

“And when did you let him go?” Strong asks, standing up and moving toward the other bench, which has my shirt underneath.

I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t see it. This probably isn’t a good moment for my shirt to be found.

“He left shortly after his mom.” I can feel the tension brewing in the pit of my stomach, and I clench and unclench my fists at my side.

“Where did he go?” Halstead asks.

“I don’t know. He just left.” I run my hand through my hair, and my fingers get stuck in some knots. I feel really dirty not having had the chance to clean myself up since last night. And I’m guessing I don’t smell too great, either.

“And what did you do then?”

Here it comes, the question that’s gonna incriminate me.

“I went out.”

“Where?” Strong asks.

“Why? I thought it was Dawson you’re looking for, not checking up on me.”

They do suspect, I can see. It’s written all over their faces, even if they don’t have anything to base it on.

“Relax, son. We’re only trying to piece together Dawson’s whereabouts. For all we know, he might have followed you. Now, where did you go?” Halstead’s tone is softer than Strong’s, but it’s still exacting.

“Roseland’s Mall.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Strong asks.

Why do they need someone to verify where I’ve been if the only reason they want to know is to try and find out about Dawson?

“Not exactly.” I pace up and down the garage.

“What do you mean?” Strong replies.

I don’t want to tell them about the security guard. He’d verify it all right. Then get me charged with assault.

“There were people on the bus who might have seen me get off at the mall, and I saw a security guard in the guys’ bathroom, but he might not remember me, and I don’t know his name.”

I stand still and lean against the Buick, bracing myself for the next question.

“And after the mall?” Halstead asks, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” I mutter.

“How can you not know?” Strong retorts, his eyes flashing. It’s like he thinks he’s caught me out or something.

“I’d been drinking and don’t remember anything until I woke up on a bench in St. John’s Park this morning.”

Can they do anything to me for drinking underage? They can’t do anything to the liquor store, because I’ve no idea where the JD came from. Though I guess they’ve got other more important things to worry about at the moment.

“And then you came home?” Strong lets out a long sigh.

“And then I came home, yes.”

Could I feel any guiltier? There’s no way I’m gonna drink again. The way it numbs my feelings might help, but I can’t afford to lose control of my memories like this.

“And you don’t remember anything after being at the mall?” Halstead asks.

“I’ve already told you,” I shout, waving my arms around like a mad man. “I don’t remember a fucking thing. Dawson left, I went to the mall, and that’s it. That’s all I remember! I didn’t keep him captive, and I didn’t do anything to him!”
That you know of
, taunts a little voice in the back of my head. “Why don’t you leave me alone and go hunt for Dawson? You’re wasting valuable time here… It’s...” I pause as suddenly I remember something. “Monster trucks. Could he be at the monster trucks?”

Halstead’s radio mic crackles and he holds up a hand to stop me from talking. He heads back into the kitchen, with Strong following.

“Stay here,” Strong says, as I go after them.

I pace the garage floor while waiting for them, thinking back to how upset Dawson was that he couldn’t go to Prescott today. After only a minute or two, the officers return.

“What about the monster truck racing in Prescott today?” I ask, hoping that could be the answer, which would mean that I didn’t take him after all.

“What about it?” Halstead asks.

“Dawson asked me to take him because his mom wouldn’t. He might have gone there.”

It seems doubtful, though. How would he get there? Would he be able to travel on a bus on his own without being stopped? Whatever. I have to mention it, just in case.

“We’ve checked, and he’s not there. Dawson’s mom found he’d been looking at it on the computer, and she told us.” Halstead says, as he attaches his mic to his jacket.

“Oh. I thought she didn’t know. It was something he used to do with his father and his mom didn’t like it.”

That’s blown that theory out of the water. Fuck.

“Take this and call if you remember anything else.” He hands me his business card, which I place on the workbench.

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find Dawson. We’ve gotta go, we’ve just heard there’s been a sighting of a young boy answering Dawson’s description, so we’re heading downtown.”

Chapter Thirty-two

I stand by the door and watch Halstead and Strong stride across the road and head toward their vehicle, then I go to the kitchen for some water. I can’t believe that, during the whole interview, they didn’t even wonder if I’d had anything to do with Dawson’s disappearance. It’s like they totally didn’t get the fact of who my father is and what that could mean for me in the future. Then again, why should they? It’s not like they’ve looked into it like I have, and they don’t know me and my family and the likeness between me, Dad, and Granddad.

Unless the reason they didn’t make the connection is because it doesn’t exist and I’ve been deluding myself into thinking I’m mixed up in Dawson’s disappearance.

Or am I clutching at straws because I don’t want to face reality? The reality being that I’m a monster and that, in all likelihood, Dawson followed me to the mall, and after leaving the bathroom I saw him and took him to somewhere secluded, where no one could see us, and then I pounced.

Showing him never to trust those closest to you because they’ll let you down.

I lean against the wall and groan. I’d give anything to turn the clock back a year, before any of this happened. Before I became aware of everything. Even if I couldn’t totally change the future, I’d make the most of what time I had. I’d ask Summer out. Somewhere nice. On a real date, instead of spending my time dreaming about how it would be between us. We’d be two normal teenagers doing normal stuff. And I’d try to do something to stop some of the horrendous things happening. Like stop Dad somehow. Or tell the police about him and at least save some of those poor boys’ lives. I just want to do something. Anything.

Fuck it. It’s pointless daydreaming when I can’t change anything. I need to concentrate on finding out if I’m part of what’s happened to Dawson and if so try and do something about it. Except I can’t remember shit.

Why
has my memory gone from the moment I left the bathroom?

Why
can’t I remember?

Why?

Maybe it’s because what I did was so awful my brain’s refusing to let me remember. Maybe my memory might never come back, unless they take me to a therapist to see if they can retrieve it.

“Have the pol… I mean, have
they
gone?” Mom asks, cutting across my thoughts, as she comes into the kitchen, Amy scampering close behind.

I glare at her. Why did she almost mention police in front of Amy after I’ve tried so hard to keep her out of it? Amy will only get upset if she finds out that Dawson’s missing.

“Yep,” I say tersely. “Amy, go find your boots, and I’ll take you to the park after I take a shower.” I’ve never felt so filthy in my whole life.

“Yayyyy,” she says excitedly. “Can I have ice cream? Will the puppies be there? I’ll bring Rolo Bear so he can see them too. Can Dawson come with us? Can we take our bikes?” She hops from foot to foot, a huge smile lighting up her face.

“Okay, okay,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Get Rolo and your boots, and then we’ll go. Dawson’s busy. It will just be the two of us.” She runs out of the kitchen, and I turn to face Mom. “Why did you ask about the police in front of Amy? We agreed.”

A sort of guilty look crosses her face. “Sorry. Were you able to help them?”

“Not really.”

“Oh. Well, let’s hope they find him soon.” She pours herself a mug of coffee then helps herself to a biscuit and sits down at the table, looking worried.

“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask.

“What?” She looks up at me and frowns. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.”

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