The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (11 page)

BOOK: The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die
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Unlike most forms of amnesia, dissociative fugue has no known physical or medical cause. Rather, it is thought to be precipitated by an emotionally traumatic event, an event so painful the mind seems to shut down and erase everything, like a failed computer hard drive.

During the fugue state, memories that occurred before the event cannot be retrieved. But unlike a computer whose unsaved information is lost forever, most patients suffering from dissociative fugue eventually recover their “lost” memories. Typically this happens just as suddenly as the memories disappeared.

Ty turns to me. “Maybe that's what you have.”

It's already clear that something bad happened to me. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to push restart on my brain. Does that mean it has to have been even worse than the things that have happened since? I pulled a gun on Officer Dillow. I left Brenner to die in the quiet woods. But I remember those things.

Ty is still waiting, watching me with his dark eyes. I give a small nod.

“So something bad happened that you had to forget,” Ty says. “It must have been them pulling out your fingernails.”

I look down at my bandaged hand. I'm glad I can't remember the pliers. But would that have been enough to make me forget everything? Would that have been enough for my mind to build a barrier, walling me off from everything that happened beforehand?

It's like I can feel the wall in my mind. Do I really want to know what's behind it? Is something knocking on the other side? I shiver.

Ty seems to think we've solved one mystery. My fingernails got pulled out and I forgot who I was. But what if it was something worse?

“That's only part of it,” I whisper to him. “What kind of men would pull out a teenage girl's fingernails? What did they think I knew?”

“Let's see if there's any more in the news,” Ty says, typing in the web address of a TV station. It's not hard to find the latest version of what happened to Officer Dillow; it's the lead story.

GIRL SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING IN MURDER OF NEWBERRY RANCH SECURITY GUARD

Newberry Ranch, Ore. (AP) — A 16-year-old girl is being sought in connection with the homicide of a security officer who was found shot to death in his vehicle at the Newberry Ranch and Resort near Bend, Oregon, late last night.

The girl has been identified as Cadence (Cady) Scott of Portland, Oregon. When asked whether Scott was a suspect, a Bend police spokeswoman would only characterize her as a missing person whose safety was in question. “We have reasons to be concerned about her and we want her found,” she said.

However, a source says that security camera footage from Newberry Ranch shows Scott standing outside Dillow's security vehicle and pointing a gun at him. The actual shooting itself was not captured, as the security camera pans the area and had already moved past the location. The source said that a gunshot can be heard on the tape.

A motive for the murder has not been established, but it appeared that Dillow may have been attempting to take the teen into custody.

Scott is thought to be a runaway. On Tuesday, she did not show up for classes at Portland's Wilson High. That morning, her parents left a message for their daughter on the school's answering machine. According to another source, the message said they had discovered that she had sold the family's Datsun on Craigslist, and that she shouldn't come home until they had cooled off. The rest of the family has not been seen since. Reportedly, the Scotts' Portland home showed signs of a struggle.

Anyone with information related to the shooting or the whereabouts of any of the Scotts is asked to call Crime Stoppers at 541-555-8588.

I shiver. The library is all blond wood, white walls, and high ceilings. The tall windows let in shafts of sunlight. It's hard to believe we are in such a light-filled place and reading about such dark, dark things.

Below the article is the photo of me that Ty talked about earlier. My raised fists are clenched in triumph, and a grin I don't think I could make anymore splits my face.

I shift my focus until I can see my reflection in the computer monitor. With my dyed, shorn hair, I don't look anything like that girl on the website.

At least I hope I don't. Because this article tells people that I'm probably armed and definitely dangerous.

 

CHAPTER 23

DAY 2, 10:33 A.M.

 

Ty turns to me. “Are you okay?” he whispers. Before I answer, I scan the room without turning my head. Most of the computers are now in use. I'm probably the top story on every local news site. How many people are looking at my picture right at this moment? The changes in my hair and clothes suddenly feel like a mistake. Will my androgynous appearance make people stare at me longer, trying to figure out whether I'm a guy or a girl?

I answer Ty's question with a question. “You know I didn't kill him, right?”

He blows air through pursed lips. “Awfully convenient, a camera that panned away at just the right moment.”

“What do you mean?” My mind whirls. “Do you think they planned the whole thing in advance?”

“I don't see how they could do that.” His brow furrows as he turns it over. “They couldn't have known which way you would drive after you left the cabin. But they had—what?—at least a couple of hours before Dillow's body was found. They must have altered the footage. Taken out the part that showed you running away.”

“Why didn't they just add the sound of the gunshot when I was pointing the gun at him?”

“Because it would have needed to be more than just the sound. The gun would have kicked, there would have been a puff of smoke.”

I realize Ty is saying these things because he knows. He sees the way I'm looking at him and shrugs. “My mom's boyfriend used to take me out in the forest to shoot handguns. He made fun of me because they scared me.”

I'm starting to get an idea about why Ty ended up living on the street.

I look at the article again. “I've spent the last day thinking my name's Katie when it's really”—I lower my voice further—“Cady. Cadence.”

“Cadence,” Ty repeats softly. “I like it. It's different. I wonder why your parents chose it. Was it because they liked music or poetry or…”

Right now, I wouldn't care if they had named me after their favorite brand of paper towels. Just as long as I could find them. “And where are they anyway?” I interrupt him. “This article is hinting I did something to them.”

“‘Signs of a struggle' covers a lot of ground.”

“None of it any good.” My stomach churns.

“If something really bad happened to your family, it seems like they would have found them by now.” He pats my hand. “The fact that they weren't there is a good sign.”

“Yeah, but if they're not at our house, and they weren't in the cabin, where are they? They're probably dead.”

“Don't go there,” he says. “Not when you don't have to.” His eyes are kind. Kind and sad. He sits back and thinks for a moment. “At least Cady isn't as common as Katie. Let's see if you have a Facebook page.” He types in my name. Cadence Scott. There are a half dozen results, but only one with a picture of me.

He clicks.

“I'm female,” I joke, looking at the screen. “That's a relief.” The profile picture Facebook has is the same one the TV station used. Maybe that's where they got it.

Then Ty scrolls down to look at my timeline. He sucks in his breath. I lean forward to look at my status updates for the past few weeks—my messages to the world.

TUESDAY

Please don't hate me. It was all a mistake. I didn't mean to.

OCTOBER 11

I've made so many mistakes in my excuse for a life that I'm not sure I can make up for them.

OCTOBER 8

I feel buried alive.

OCTOBER 4

Would anybody care if I died?

SEPTEMBER 30

I'm sick of trying.

SEPTEMBER 17

I can't ever make anyone happy!! What's the point of even trying anymore??

SEPTEMBER 2

Nothing to gain, hollow and alone, and the fault is my own.

AUGUST 20

I feel like I'm stuck in a hole and can't dig out.

My stomach rises and presses against the bottom of my throat as I reread the time on the most recent entry. It was posted less than an hour after Officer Dillow was shot.

I must really have done it.

Even if I don't remember doing it.

 

CHAPTER 24

DAY 2, 10:39 A.M.

 

My nose burns. The inside of my head fills with liquid, tears ready to fall at a single blink. But crying won't help me.

“I did it,” I whisper. “I really did it.”

Ty's eyes go wide. “You remember doing it?”

“No. But look at the time I wrote that. That's right after he was shot.” I start hitting the top of my head with open hands. “My memory must be all full of holes. Or making up things that aren't true.”

He grabs my wrists. “Stop that,” he hisses, then lets go when he sees an old woman with hair as brown and fake as a doll's looking at us. “Anything that happens with me you know is true because I was there, too. I was there when the men came to McDonald's last night. I was there when the men came to my apartment this morning. For some reason, people are looking for you. And they were looking for you before that security guard's body was even found.”

“What about all those things I put up on Facebook?” I look at my posts again, each one more crazy than the one before. “I sound like I belong in Sagebrush. I sound like the kind of girl who would do something as messed up as pulling out her own fingernails.”

But Ty isn't really listening. Instead he's clicking back and forth on my profile. His eyes narrow. “Why do you have so much visible?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at anybody else's profile. Like, let's find a Katie Scott like I thought your name was.” With a few quick clicks, we're on the main page for some girl with pink hair and black plugs in her earlobes. Where my page is filled with stuff, hers just says, “Katie only shares some information publicly. If you know Katie, send her a friend request.”

“See,” Ty says. “With most people, you have to be friends with them to get access to more than a few things.” He clicks the back button to get to my page. “Everything here”—he sweeps his hand past the screen—“anyone can see. There are zero privacy settings.”

“Maybe I wanted the world to see.” A guy with a bushy black beard looks over at me, and I lower my voice. Right now, the last thing I need to do is attract attention. “Maybe it was like a cry for help.”

“Or maybe someone else wanted to make sure it got seen.” Ty clicks around. “You don't have any photo albums. Your profile picture is the same one all those men were using. All the music you like, the TV shows you watch—they're the most popular. The most common.”

“Maybe it's because I'm average.” I sniff back my tears. “Maybe it's because I'm like everyone else.”

Ty rolls his eyes. “I may not know you very well, but I'll tell you one thing: You aren't like anyone else.”

For a minute, he is quiet, just clicking on my posts, one after another. There are dozens of comments under each one, plus a lot of “like”s. It's hard to imagine that anyone would “like” these sad little sentence fragments that sound nearly suicidal.

It turns out he's not looking at the words in the comments, just the times they were posted. He taps on the screen. “It's the same for all of these. See, this one you supposedly wrote two months ago. But the comments—the comments are all from today. From when your name started being out in the news.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying someone went to the trouble to make you look crazy. I'll bet you have a real, normal Facebook page, but someone deleted it or altered it. Then they put up fake posts that make people think you've been having trouble for months. But I think that no matter what date they have on them, they haven't been there long. They might have been able to manipulate the contents of your page, but not the dates on other people's comments.” His mouth tightens. “Somebody's trying to frame you.”

 

CHAPTER 25

DAY 2, 10:51 A.M.

 

“Whatever we do, we need wheels,” Ty says. “Once we leave we can't count on being able to outrun the cops and the bad guys on skateboards.”

Sitting in this sunlit library, I should feel safe, but instead I feel exposed. Like an animal that wants to crawl into a dark cave. The sad thing is, I can't think of any place that would feel safe.

Ty pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and fingers one. “I still think I could just go back and see if the coast is clear. And if it is, I could grab my car and come back here.” He must see the way I'm looking at him. “After making sure I'm not followed, of course.”

When I think of him leaving me here alone, it's like there's not enough air in the room. “It's too risky, Ty. Even if you don't see anyone, they still could have put some kind of GPS tracker on your car.”

But being followed isn't the thing I'm most afraid of. It's being on my own again, with no one to talk to, no one to help me think things through, no one to calm me down. Standing in that trashed cabin or driving on those darkened roads—everything was so much worse when it was just me. Under the table, I grab Ty's wrist, making his keys jangle. “Besides, what if you went back there and they kidnapped you or even killed you? These people won't stop at anything.”

What if Ty leaves and I never see him again? I need him so much. I have to look away from his dark eyes before I find the strength to say the right thing. “But I really think you should take off, Ty. It may not be safe to go back to your apartment, but it's definitely not safe to keep hanging out with me. You should go to a friend's place and hang out for a day or two.” This guy whom I've known less than twenty-four hours might be murdered because of me.

BOOK: The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die
8.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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