Playing with Fire (23 page)

Eric sort of laughs. “Leave that to the law. By the way, the room is wired so we can listen. Zach knows all about this and has signed a waiver, but he's so tired he may have forgotten. And that's okay. We need him to relax and loosen up. Remember, the most important thing is to get him to talk about Tate. But you probably shouldn't start there.”

Til do what I can.”

We stand in front of a door next to a big window that I suspect is one-way glass since Zach is sitting there on the other side just staring at it with the blankest look on his face. He's wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, which makes his pale, unshaven face look ghostly. He's got dark shadows beneath his eyes, and I notice he has several red spots, which I suspect are lesions from meth. So much for his “I'm clean” claims. But I don't want to go there right now. My brother looks like he's been to hell and back. He has a bruise on his cheek, and his hair is dirty and messy. But it's the expression, in his eyes that worries me. It's the look of complete and utter hopelessness. Like he thinks he's going to rot in jail. Maybe he is.

“How long do I have with him?” I ask.

“As long as you need.”

“Okay.” I nod toward the door. “I'm ready.” Of course, that's ridiculous. How can I possibly be ready? But I am
praying silently as I walk in. Zach looks up and seems a tiny bit relieved that it's me. But then he scowls like he's not.

“What're you doing here?” he growls at me.

“I just came to talk, Zach.”

“Everyone wants to talk.”

“Actually, I'm hoping I can help you. But I can only help you if you're willing to tell me the truth. Anything else and I'm outta here, okay?”

He holds up his hands, which are cuffed together. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“You're not a liar, Zach. But drugs make people lie. And they make people do strange things they might not do otherwise.”

He sort of nods.

“You've put Mom and me through a lot lately. You have no idea.”

“Well, I've been through a lot too, Sis. You think this is fun?”

“No, but your choices got you here. Mom and I get dragged along because we're your family…because we still love you, Zach.”

“Yeah, well, I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to see me like this.”

“The only reason I'm here is because I really care about you, and I want you to get a fair shake. Most of all, I want to see the truth come to light.” I pause, wondering where to go next. Then it hits me. “You know, I saw a friend of mine last night. A girl I cared about and had been trying to help. I saw Felicity on…on Tate's couch.” My voice cracks. “That was a really hard thing to see.”

“I already told them that I didn't know she was dead. Honest. The last time I saw her, she was fine.”

“I heard that you told them she was ‘sleeping it off.’ Just what does that mean? She was fine, but she was unconscious?”

“She had been fine, Sam. Then she fell asleep.”

I remember the syringe. “Had she been shooting up?”

“I don't know…”

“Come on, Zach. You do too know.”

“A bunch of people were there the night before. Everyone was doing something to get high.” Then he stops. “Well, everyone but Tate. He doesn't do the hard stuff.”

I narrow my eyes. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Then don't. But you asked for the truth.”

“Okay, explain it to me, Zach. Why would Tate have that stuff if he's not using?”

“‘Cause he's smarter than me?”

“You mean because he sells that crud to make money?”

“I never really saw him sell it, Samantha. That's the truth.”

“So he just gives it away?”

“Yeah. He's given it to me.”

I suppress the urge to scream. Is my brother so stupid that he thinks free meth is a
gift?
“So did you ever see Tate pick anything up? Deliver anything? Were you ever with him on these runs? And you might as well know that I've seen you with him at Chuck's store.”

“I thought he worked there.”

“Apparently he
did
work there. He was his uncle's delivery boy. You were his helper. But you guys weren't delivering nuts and bolts and carburetors. You really didn't know that?”

“Look, Sam, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Sure, now I can see that Tate was probably grooming me to be his helper. I'm not totally stupid. People don't give you meth for free. They want something in return.”

“What did Tate get in return from Felicity?”

“What do you think?”

“Sex?”

Zach nods, but his gaze is downward.

“How about you, Zach? Did you get to participate in that too?” Okay, I totally hate asking him this, but I'm certain the ME has taken DNA samples that could incriminate Zach if he was involved with Felicity like that. Might as well get it out in the open.

He glares at me now. “Not that it's any of your business, but no. I'm not like that. Besides, she was Tate's girl.” Suddenly he gets this look in his eye, like he's just remembered something.

“What is it?” I ask. “Something about Felicity? You should know that she told me a few things too.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Come to think of it, she was telling Tate about how you and she had been talking. She was asking him how you knew about his red couch. She thought you'd been to the apartment. And for some reason this made Tate really mad. He already didn't trust you. But after Felicity said that, he was pretty mad at her. He told her not to talk to you, said you were a narc.”

“When?” I ask. “When did he say those things?”

Zach runs his fingers through his matted hair with a confused expression. “I don't know. Friday morning, I think. Was it just yesterday?”

“Before Felicity took her little nap?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I really wasn't paying much attention. And then I took a long shower. When I got out, she was asleep on the couch.”

“Asleep or OD'd?”

“I don't know.”

“But you think it's possible, don't you?”

He doesn't say anything, just looks'down at the table.

“Look, Zach,” I say firmly. “I'm only here to help
you.
I think Tate's done some really bad things…and you're being dragged into them. You have to speak up, you have to tell the truth, or you may get blamed right along with him.”

“I know…but I was high, Sam. I wasn't thinking straight. My head is still pretty fuzzy.”

“Okay, then think back to last night. You guys were going snowboarding, right? Did you ever actually make it to Uncle Chuck's cabin?”

He slowly nods.

“Was there anyone with you?”

He doesn't answer.

“You know who I mean—the guy who got shot last night. Who was he, Zach?”

He still doesn't answer. Okay, this worries me. It convinces me that Zach really was involved. He seems to know something, something he won't say. I shoot up a silent prayer, and that's when I know I should tell him about my dream. I take him through the whole thing, complete with explicit details. He just listens, and I'm not sure whether he believes me or not.

“And if you think I'm making it up, I can prove it,” I say finally. “I made notes of it last-week, and Ebony knew about it before the shooting ever occurred.”

“You really dreamed that?”
He looks fairly stunned, and I think I have his attention.

“Yes. I honestly thought the guy in the dream was you. I was so worried that you were going to die, Zach. I mean, I could've sworn that was your denim Gap jacket and your white Adidas.”

“They were. “

“What do you mean, ‘they were’?”

“The guy was wearing my jacket and my'shoes.”

“Why?”

“He was at the cabin when we got there. Waiting outside and shivering in the cold. He'd hiked in, just like we did. I had no idea who he was, but Tate seemed to be expecting him. I think his name was something Hispanic like Fernando or Hernando. I'm not sure. But he didn't have on weatherproof things, and he hadn't brought any extra clothes or boots with him. It was freezing cold up there, and his flimsy shoes were soaking wet, and he didn't even have a jacket. So I loaned him some of my stuff-. The Gap jacket wasn't that warm, but-1 wasn't about to give him my parka. And my Adidas were too big, but he didn't seem to mind since they were dry.”

“Really?” I lean over, fascinated. “Then what?”

“I thought we were going to get something to eat. But then Tate and this dude started getting into this big argument. I don't even know what it was about. I'd been trying to make a fire ‘cause it was freezing in there, but the wood was wet, and it wasn't working. Anyway, I was starving and cranky and just wanted to go find some food. I'd been high all day, and it makes you hungry.”

“Tell me about the fight. What happened next?”

They started really going at each other. I thought someone was going to get seriously hurt.” He shakes his head like he wishes he could shake the memory away. “Naturally, I jump in and try to help Tate, my buddy. So now all three of us are going at it, and we crash around the cabin until we knock over a table with a kerosene lantern going…'cause there's no electricity up there.”

“A fire Just like in my dream.”

“Yeah…” Zach stares at me funny again. “So the next thing I know, the whole place is on fire. I run outside and tell them to get out too, but they're still in there fighting like they both want to go up in flames.”

“And?”

“My memory is kind of fuzzy. I think I was sort of shocked by everything. I mean, I thought we went up there to have a good time, and now there's a fight, and the cabin is going up in flames. So I'm standing outside yelling at them to get outta there, and pretty soon they both come walking out, just as calm as you please. The fire's going pretty good, and I see flames leaping behind them, and I'm relieved they're out. I thought for sure they were both gonna be toast. So Tate's walking behind this other dude, and they get a ways from the house, and then—
kabam!
I hear this loud blast, and the Hispanic dude falls facedown in the snow.”

“He'd been shot?”

Zach nods with wide eyes. “Man, I just couldn't believe it, Sam. Tate had a gun, and he actually shot that guy. In the back!”

“Why wouldn't you tell the police this?” I ask.

“Tate swore he'd kill me if I did. He also said I'd be
partially to blame. He said I was an accessory to the crime, and we'd both go down.”

“What happened next?”

“We hiked back to his car, threw our stuff in the trunk, and drove back'to town. Neither one of us hardly spoke.”

“But
you
got picked up, Zach. He didn't.”

“Well, I had time to think about everything as we drove back. I knew it was crazy to stay with this guy, He was nuts. So we were barely in town, and he stopped to get gas. I said I had to use the John and then took off. I hid in a ditch for a long time. I think I actually fell asleep. I guess it was about four in the morning when I went back to the road and hitched.”

“And got a ride with a cop?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, that cop was an angel in disguise.”

His head is hanging now. “I'm in deep—”

“Not as deep asTate.”

“They'll never find him.”

“How can you know that?”

“He's smart, Sam. He's always got a plan. And he's got money. Man, has he got money.”

“Still, he could slip up.”

Zach lays his head on the table now. “I am so sleepy, Sam. I just need a little nap. Okay?”

I reach over and put my hand on his messy hair. “Yeah. I understand. I'll be back later.”

I turn and look toward the mirrored window and wave, curious as to whether anyone is really there. Within seconds the door opens, a uniformed officer comes in, and I go out.

“Way to go, Samantha,” says Eric. That was awesome.” “But we have to find Tate,” I say urgently. “Yeah. Maybe Zach can help us with that too.” “Maybe,” I say. “Right now I think he just needs a nap.”

I blink and suppress a yawn. “I think I do too.”

“Why don't you and your mom head for home?” he says. “Catch some z's. We'll let Zach get some rest too and some lunch. Then come back this afternoon and finish your interrogation.”

I feel slightly indignant. “It's
not
an interrogation.” He smiles. “I know. But it's bringing the truth to light.”

O
kay, just when a girl could really use some rest, I have another dream. And it turns out to be a rerun. I sit up in bed and try to recover from the horror of feeling like I'm about to burn to death, and then I realize—it's the exact same dream. The one I had several weeks ago with the windows that had canvas cloth nailed over them. Where could that place possibly be? And why am I having the dream again? It must be linked to Tate.

Mom's still asleep. I speak to her, but she's really out of it. So I write a note, set it on her pillow, and head back to the police station. I call Ebony as I wait for a stoplight.

“I had a dream,” I say urgently. “I'm on my way back to the station now, and I need to talk to Zach.”

“We'll have him ready.”

Then I hang up, and as I drive, I pray. “God, I think You gave me that dream again for a reason. And I think it has to do with Tate. Maybe he's the guy who's trapped in the burning building. But the truth is, I don't really care if it is him. Part of me would like to see that monster go up in flames. But I know You are merciful, and maybe You have a reason to spare him. Please help us figure this out. Help Zach remember anything that could be useful. Amen.”