Splintered (6 page)

“I wanted to apologize—” Maddy stopped talking as a melodic beep came from the cell phone in Sabrina’s hand.

Sabrina motioned for Maddy to follow her inside, all the while continuing to read the screen. She chuckled and replied to the sender at lightning speed.

Sabrina was everything Maddy wasn’t but wanted to be. She had thick, raven-black hair that had a subtle wave to it, so her locks bounced when she moved. Even now, Sabrina looked like she’d stepped off the set of a shampoo commercial. No matter how much product Maddy used in her own hair, it always hung limp and lifeless. And she hated her color. There was just enough red in it to make it look like a muddied strawberry blonde.

Strolling into the kitchen, Sabrina paused long enough to gulp down some orange juice. She absently asked if Maddy wanted some, then kept texting. Maddy said no. Her nerves were already so frayed, she’d thought she’d probably drop the glass. The speech she’d practiced this morning seemed stuck in her throat. The last time the two of them had spent together hadn’t gone too well.

Maddy stared at Sabrina’s iPhone—the latest model in gold. Sabrina was the only one in the group who had it, causing quite the ripples of jealousy. Everything Sabrina owned was nicer than Maddy’s. Her friend had explained once that even though they didn’t live in the best neighborhood, her parents refused to move. They’d paid off the house, so staying allowed them the luxuries they wanted. This was clearly evident by the family’s indulgences—new furniture, the latest electronics, even a swimming pool in the backyard.

Sabrina laid down her phone. “What were you saying?”

Maddy forced herself to stop biting her nails. “Nothing. Nothing important.” They’d get to the uncomfortable topic soon enough. Maddy didn’t see the need to speed it along. “So, you snowed your mom with that cough. Good thinking.”

“It wasn’t as easy as it sounds. The Mom almost didn’t let me stay home after what happened around here yesterday. Did you see the paper this morning?”

“Why would I? Boring.”

In truth, a newspaper subscription was an extravagance the Eastins couldn’t afford.

“Yeah, I think so too, but The Mom wouldn’t stop talking about it. So I had to read the story.” Sabrina grabbed the newspaper off the kitchen table and tossed it over to Maddy. “I can’t believe two sickos tried to nab a girl at
my
bus stop. It could have been me!”

“Right. Lucky break,” Maddy mumbled.

She bent over to look at the headline:
GIRL FIGHTS OFF ATTACKER AT BUS STOP
.

Sabrina’s eyes grew wide. She looked down at the paper, then back up at Maddy. “Wait a minute. This fifteen-year-old girl—are you the one they’re talking about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you have to tell me.” Sabrina walked around the table and grabbed Maddy’s hand. “We’re best friends, right? And best friends tell each other everything.”

Maddy was surprised to hear the label. She wanted to ask Sabrina to say the words again.

Sabrina pulled Maddy in close and hugged her tightly. “I can’t believe someone attacked you. Are you okay?”

Maddy felt blown away by the display of affection. The touch caused little shocks of electricity to course through her body. Her nerves were raw, and the attention Sabrina lathered on was like a salve, soothing them. Maddy leaned in to the hug and started sobbing.

After a few minutes, she finally forced herself to pull away, worried what Sabrina would think if she lingered too long. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to blubber. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“I can only imagine. Come sit down.”

Maddy took a chair next to Sabrina, and the girl pulled out two black cigarettes from the pack of Djarum Blacks sitting on the table. With a shaky hand, Maddy lit one, remembering the first time she’d tried them shortly after meeting Sabrina. Maddy had been surprised by the sweet smell of the smoke. The brand her grandfather smoked when she was a girl had smelled like old, musty socks. Sabrina said her dad had gotten hooked on kretek cigarettes while living in Indonesia, but that these Djarums were just knockoffs. They had flavor crystals inside the filter, not real cloves.

Maddy pulled the smoke deep into her lungs, then exhaled.

Sabrina looked at her with a mix of scientific interest and awe. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“If you don’t want to talk about what happened, I totally understand. I just think it would be good for you to vent to someone. The whole situation must have been super scary. But I get it, if you don’t feel comfortable confiding in me. It’s not like we ended things on a good note last time we were together.”

That’s the understatement of the year.

When Maddy first moved into the neighborhood, everything had started off so well, but somewhere along the way it’d gone all wrong. She’d met Sabrina Marquez at the bus stop the first day of their sophomore year. She remembered walking to the corner and quietly standing behind Sabrina as she bounced to the loud music streaming from her phone. When Maddy became uncomfortable simply standing there, half-illuminated by the dim streetlight, she began shuffling her feet and accidentally stepped on a twig. Sabrina had jumped at the sound, and turned around with a hand to her throat. Her shocked expression quickly transformed into a bright smile, seemingly happy to have someone share her bus stop. Instantly, she bombarded Maddy with questions on where she’d moved from and what school she’d attended. Sabrina had been surprised that she’d never noticed Maddy in the halls at King High School even though they had both attended the year before. Their conversation continued on the bus, where Sabrina invited Maddy to sit with her group of friends.

They had all become tight for a while. The girls had accepted Maddy as one of their own. Then the wrong boy asked Maddy out, and a firestorm had erupted because he was the ex-boyfriend of one of the girls in Sabrina’s gaggle. The spurned girl made it her mission to ruin Maddy’s life and to poison Sabrina against her. She started rumors that Maddy slept around and had started talking about Sabrina behind her back.

“Well?” Sabrina’s smile faltered. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maddy coughed and set her cigarette in the ashtray. The smoke seemed stuck in her lungs.

When Maddy didn’t immediately respond to Sabrina’s impassioned olive branch, she scooted out her chair and stood. Maddy grabbed her hand, stopping Sabrina from walking away.

“Please don’t go. We’re best friends, right?” Maddy added a hesitant smile.

Sabrina flashed her own megawatt smile. “That’s right, we are. And best friends tell each other everything.”

“Will you promise not to tell anyone? I’d be absolutely mortified if the kids at school knew the story in the paper was about me.”

“Not a soul. I promise.”

Detective Wallace knew a light hand would be needed when it came to dealing with Juanita Alvarez, George Lumpkin’s housekeeper. If she were an illegal, talking to a cop would be the last thing she’d willingly do. He’d have to blindside her at Lumpkin’s house.

Wallace knocked on the man’s front door. A loud shout echoed from inside. A minute later, a woman opened the door. George must have been watching the Military History Channel again and couldn’t be bothered to answer the door himself. No matter. Alavarez was the one he wanted.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

“Are you Juanita Alvarez?”

“Yes. Let me get Señor—. Wait a minute. How you know my name?”

Wallace showed her his badge and introduced himself. Juanita’s eyes began scanning the road behind him like she expected a line of cars from Homeland Security Investigation to show up and drag her away. He planned to play off that fear.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Alvarez, I’m not here to get you in any trouble. I just want to talk. May I come in?”

Juanita looked hesitant. She was probably deciding what would happen if she slammed the door in his face. She finally stepped aside, though she continued standing in the entryway, obviously not willing to let Wallace get too comfortable.

Juanita smoothed a few stray black hairs against her head. A tight bun kept most of them in place, but a few strands had escaped—her moist brow revealed that she had been engaged in obvious physical exertion.

“I finished my work here,” Juanita said. “No time to talk. I go to my next house.” She untied her apron and blotted her forehead with it. Then she nervously crossed her arms.

“I only need a minute, Mrs. Alvarez. I promise. Did you hear about the attempted kidnapping that took place right across the street from this house yesterday?”

“Yesterday? I no work here on Mondays.” Juanita looked relieved, like she believed the conversation would end now that her potential witness status had been downgraded.

“I understand, but I’d like to know if you’ve ever seen an old white van parked at the corner outside or driving slowly around the neighborhood. Anything?”

“I see nothing.”

“A young girl was nearly taken. She barely got away. It’s important we try to find the bad man who did this.”

From behind Wallace, a horn blasted in two long successions.

“This has nothing to do with me. I can’t help you.” Juanita pushed past him. “My brother is waiting for me. I have to go now.” She hurried across the street toward the idling vehicle—a light-gray van.

Wallace stared at the man sitting behind the wheel. The driver’s window was rolled down. The guy sat with his head back against the seat, taking a drag off a cigarette. As the beat-up van pulled away, the driver smiled at Wallace. The guy didn’t match Maddy Eastin’s description, but he was certainly in dire need of some serious dental work. Wallace noted the license plate—XHL279.

“Thanks for catching a ride home this evening,” Hank told his brother.

“No problemo.” Daniel stood in the kitchen unpacking groceries at the counter—a package of Oreos, a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew, a frozen pizza, and two bags of chips. “We needed some snackaroos for the big game tonight. Look at all this. Didn’t I do good being all self-sufficy?”

“You mean self-sufficient. Yes. You did a good job, Small Fry.” Hank didn’t have the heart to scold Daniel for buying so much junk food. Once a week Daniel purchased groceries at the store where he worked as a bagger. It helped with his decision-making skills. Daniel usually worked from a shopping list, but with all the trouble yesterday, Hank had forgotten to make one.

“Your arm been bothering you today?” Daniel asked.

Hank stopped rubbing his left forearm and looked down at the scar stretching across it. He could still see faint markings from the twelve stitches he’d gotten when he was only fifteen. “Nah, it’s just reminding me the weather’s about to turn bad. My arm’s more accurate than the five o’clock news.”

Daniel gave Hank a knowing smile and shuffled over to give him a big hug. Hank patted Daniel on the back. He could still smell the boy’s watermelon shampoo. While Daniel gathered up the plastic sacks off the counter, Hank studied the imperfection marring his arm.

He could still picture Daniel’s face the day he’d rushed into their dad’s bedroom to find the old man’s prized guitar lying in pieces on the carpet. Daniel was on his hands and knees, cradling the wood and strings in his hands. The terror in his eyes had made Hank’s legs weak.

Earl Fry must have heard the commotion from the living room. His heavy footfalls thudded on the stairs like a sledgehammer you hoped wouldn’t pound you into the ground.

“What in the holy hell did you do, you little shit?” Earl had towered over Daniel, flexing his fists at his sides.

“It was an accident . . . wanted . . . to strum it . . . just once . . . but tripped.”

Daniel could barely get the words out, panic had such a firm grip on his vocal cords. Both brothers knew what the guitar meant to Earl. How he’d saved up for over a year to buy it, then stood in line for three hours to have his idol—the same country and western singer he’d named Hank after—sign the instrument.

The boys weren’t supposed to be in their parents’ bedroom, and under no circumstance were they allowed to touch the guitar, but Hank knew no threat of violence could have been severe enough to keep Daniel away from it. The longing in his brother’s eyes was too obvious as he watched Earl play each night. Like their dad, Daniel was drawn to music.

When Earl saw the guitar in pieces, he bent down and pulled Daniel up off the floor by his shirt collar. Hank had tried to push his dad away, but it would’ve been easier to shove a freight train down the tracks. Earl backhanded Hank across the room. Daniel’s wiry body slipped out of his shirt. He lunged under the two meat hooks that grabbed at him, then scampered toward the door on his hands and knees. He almost made it to freedom. Then Earl caught him by the ankle.

Pain had shot through Hank’s jaw as he tried to clear the stars from his eyes. He had propped himself up halfway against a chest of drawers and watched their dad pull Daniel back toward him—first by his ankles, then by his jeans. Hank leaped forward, grabbing at Earl’s fists, trying to break his grip. Earl let go of one of Daniel’s legs, but only to use his free hand to grab a piece of broken guitar and slash at Hank’s arm. He had followed that up with an elbow to the ribs.

Hank writhed on the floor, crying out in pain. He remembered clutching his side with his bloody arm while holding his other hand over the bleeding wound. Through the haze of pain, Hank had watched as Earl picked Daniel up by the shoulders, like he weighed no more than a rag doll. A flash of yellow rushed by the open door—his mother’s dress. She was taking cover. Hank would be the only one bearing witness that day—the day Earl Fry pounded his youngest son’s head into the wall so many times it caused brain damage.

Hank shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The kitchen gradually came back into focus. Daniel was staring at him, an odd look on his face. Hank tried to divert his brother’s attention, so he grabbed a beer from the fridge and asked, “Who’d you hitch a ride home with?”

Daniel blushed.

“Was it Natalie?”