The Space Between Heartbeats (10 page)

Dale nods slowly.

“He wanted to . . . You know . . . and I didn’t feel like it and then we argued and he . . . he just took off,” I mumble.

Creases form in Dale’s forehead and his lips turn down.

My nostrils flare. “Maybe I should’ve just done it. At least I’d be alive.”

“Okay, first off, no. You should never feel pressured to do anything you’re not comfortable with. And you’re not dead yet.” Dale slams the door and pockets my phone. “Do you remember where you were?”

“No. It was really dark and there were a ton of trees. I’m not sure if I fell there or if I was walking home and it happened farther down the road.”

Dale shakes his head and glares at Trent’s Jeep. “I can’t believe that shithead left you in the middle of nowhere!”

Before I can respond, I spot an irate Trent thundering toward us, his sharp features brittle with rage.

“Oh, this is bad.”

THURSDAY, 8:43 AM

Trent approaches with long, angry strides, weaving through the parked cars until he’s towering over Dale. “What the hell are you doing by my car?”

My heart thunders as Dale steps away from Trent.

Trent shoves his shoulder. “I asked you a question.”

Dale looks into Trent’s eyes with a hard glare, but his stubborn lips remain sealed.

“Whatever the hell you’re looking for, you won’t find it in my car.” A red hue is crawling up Trent’s neck, and when it reaches his face he’s going to explode in anger.

“Dale, let’s go.” I grab at his arm, but my fingers sail straight through him. Dale flinches, but doesn’t move, still glaring at Trent.

The silence is clearly unnerving Trent. He shifts on his feet and blinks several times. Then, as if coming to a decision, he lurches forward and grabs Dale’s collar, spittle flying from his mouth as he snaps, “You think I did something to Nicole? Huh? You think I hurt her or something?”

He shoves Dale’s chest, causing him to stumble back. “I didn’t touch her, man. She got out of my car. I asked her to get back in, but she wouldn’t. None of this is my fault! I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Bullshit,” I yell straight in Trent’s face, wishing he could hear me. “If you’d taken two seconds to listen and control yourself none of this would have happened!”

A small smile plays on Dale’s lips, and he nods, like he approves of my words. But Trent has had enough of the silent treatment. His cheeks flare red and a split second later he fires his fist straight into Dale’s face.

I scream as Dale tumbles backward. His hands fly out of his pockets just before he hits the ground. He lands on his hip and elbow, his mass of curls covering his face as he rolls away.

“You asshole!” I try to push Trent away from Dale, but my hands go through his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he bends over Dale’s fallen form and points a finger at him.

“I didn’t touch her. She wouldn’t let me, so I went back to the party to get some, but Lauren had already left. I decided to go home. You want proof? Ask my fucking parents. They were watching
The Late Show
when I walked in the door.”

I glare at Trent, hating the fact he’s probably telling the truth. His parents watch
The Late Show
all the time.

“Leave it alone, Scarface. Nicole’s gone and no one gives a shit.”

The words should slice me in half but I ignore them and drop to my knees beside Dale. Trent stalks away, shaking out his hand as he weaves back through the parking lot.

“Are you okay?” I reach for Dale.

“Don’t touch me.” He slowly sits up, tucking his hair behind his ear. A grotesque stream of blood runs from his nose into his mouth. I grimace as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Red smears his skin.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I can’t believe he punched you. Well, I can . . .” I amend. “But I’m still sorry.”

Dale winces as he rises to his feet. “I can’t believe you dated him.”

A drop of blood splatters on the ground. Rummaging in his bag, Dale pulls out a shirt and uses it to wipe up the blood. His nose is throbbing red and there’s still a smear of blood under his chin.

“When I think about his hands all over you . . .” Dale shakes his head as he trails off. “It makes me sick.”

Anger and shame flares through me at his judgmental tone. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Mr. Pious.”

“I’m not being pious here.” Dale looks straight at me, his face somber. “Nicky, the only person who should be touching you like that is someone who loves you, and that asshole doesn’t.”

His words hurt like hell, opening up a chasm that rips through my center. I have to look away from him, my lips trembling as I mutter, “If that’s the criteria, no one would ever touch me.”

Dale’s voice is barely audible as he says, “You know, it’s scum like Trent that make you believe that bullshit.”

His words continue to sink into me like hot knives and my defenses go up before I can stop them.

“No, it’s idiots like you who think every relationship has to mean something.” I turn to him. “I’m sixteen. I’m supposed to be out having fun, not just hanging out with my dog in my bedroom every Friday night.”

He glares at me, his brown eyes dark and stormy. “I don’t have to be doing this, you know. If I walk away, you’ve got no one.”

I step back and raise my chin, refusing to acknowledge the burning tears in my eyes. “That’s not true.”

“No one gives a shit about you. You just heard him say it!” Dale points to where Trent was standing. “Do you honestly think if anyone else could see you, they’d take the time to help? I’m the only person at this school willing to do anything.”

“That is SO not true!” I stamp my foot and lean toward him.

“Isn’t it?” Dale’s eyes bore into me with a look that strips me bare. I shrink away from it, but he doesn’t let up. “You know why people don’t like you? Because you say awful things and you treat them like total shit. That’s why no one’s mourning you right now, Nicole. That’s why they’re making up polls on Twitter and laughing about it, because you are getting exactly what you deserve.”

He steps toward me, his stare shrinking me to the size of an ant. My throat burns, the tears desperate to break free. “Why are you saying this to me? I said sorry for calling you Scarface.”

“It’s not about that.” He closes his eyes, his body jerking as he looks to the heavens. “It’s about your attitude toward everything.” He points to his nose. “It’s about being punched in the face by your asshole boyfriend who you’ve let treat you like shit for months!”

I point a shaking finger at him as he turns away from me. “Don’t you dare judge me. You have no idea the hell I’ve been through. I was there, Dale, when Jody fell. I heard her screams . . .” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “You have no idea what that’s like. All I’ve been doing is trying to survive this.”

He spins around, pulling back his hair and running a finger down his scar. “You don’t think I understand? I spent five hours trapped in a car listening to my friends die around me and just praying that I’d make it out alive.”

A cold emptiness sweeps through me. My arms drop to my sides and I only just manage to swallow down the lump in my throat.

He runs a hand through his curls, fisting a bunch before letting them fall back over his beat-up face. “I know what it’s like to live with ghosts. To wake up in a cold sweat every morning. To wonder why I’m here and they’re not.” His voice drops to a broken whisper. “I’m trying to help you, Nicky. But your screwed-up life keeps getting in the way.”

The snippet from his past makes me feel desolate and worthless. He’d risen from the ashes, and all I’d done is jump into a sinkhole. “Fine. You’re better than I am. Congratulations.”

“I didn’t mean—” Dale glances up, registering my broken expression for the first time. He softens instantly, but I can’t stand his pity.

I stumble away from him. “Don’t talk to me again.” My back glides straight through a side view mirror and I jump away from the car, hugging my purse to my side. “I don’t want you to waste your time looking for me, Dale.”

“Nicole . . .” He moves toward me.

I keep walking.

“I still want to help you,” he calls after me. “Nicole!”

I make it to the main footpath and head toward the road. Two kids brush past me and stop to glance at Dale. He’s still standing by Trent’s car, his arms spread wide as he calls my name again.

“Who is he talking to?” the tall one mutters.

“Hell if I know, the guy’s weird.” They both shrug and continue toward school. Wrapping my arms around myself, I turn down Maple Lane and head for home.

I have nowhere else to go.

Dale’s words run through my head, like some sick film reel on repeat. They spin around in my mind, whipping me and making me flinch. With each new blow, all I can think is . . . he’s right.

My sins are finally catching up with me.

No one will ever find my body, because I deserve to die.

THURSDAY, 10:01 AM

The house is empty when I arrive, and I have no choice but to walk through the solid door. Stopping in the living room, I stand and gaze at the tall pine tree in the backyard. I can see Jody’s tiny body falling as she screams my name.

The day comes back to me with crystal clarity. The sharp blue of the sky, the bright purple of Jody’s sweater as she danced around my feet trying to annoy me.

“Jody, seriously! Go away. I want to finish this.” I glare at her as she stands by my desk chair, fidgeting. “Get out of my room.”

“Oh, come on, Nicky.” Jody pouts, her large blue eyes and stuck-out lip making her look extra adorable. “You’re supposed to be looking after me.”

“I didn’t ask Mom and Dad to go on some spontaneous date and force me to spend my Saturday afternoon babysitting you. Go find something else to do.”

Jody frowns. “I want to play with you. Let’s finish making up the dance we were working on last night. Please.”

“No.” I turn back to my computer screen, desperate for her to leave. I’m working on one of my secret projects. I like to design fan-art book covers in my spare time. Jody nudges my elbow.

“Jody!” I spin to face her, anger sparking inside of me. “Sor-ry,” she singsongs with an impish grin.

“No, you’re not, you little toad.” I snatch her arm and yank her down the stairs.

“So are we going to play now?” Her voice is bright and hopeful.

I let out a frustrated groan and slide the living room door open. “No, you are going to play outside until I’m done.” I shove her out onto the back deck and tug the door closed, locking it with a triumphant smirk. Jody’s mouth drops open.

She pounds the glass with her fists “Let me in!”

“I don’t think so.” With a triumphant smirk, I wave the key in her face. Back in my room, I get lost in my work until I hear her calling me again.

“Nicky, help me. I need you.”

“Yeah, right, Jo,” I mutter.

“Come here, please!”

I shake my head and lean toward my computer screen.

“I really need you.” Her voice sounds panicked, but I know what a good little actress she is.

“NICKY!” Her feral scream makes me jump. Heart pounding, I race out the door, nearly tripping down the stairs as I stumble into the living room. The air in my lungs evaporates as I spot Jody dangling from the high branch of the pine tree. The one we weren’t allowed to climb. The one I’d secretly taught my innocent little sister to climb.

“Shit.” I scramble for the key in my pocket and shove it into the lock. My fingers are shaking so badly, I struggle to turn it.

“Nicky,” Jody cries.

“Hang on,” I scream, still wrestling with the jammed key.

“I can’t,” she wails back.

The lock finally turns. That’s when everything decelerates, moving in horrific slow motion. I gaze up at my sister, catching her eye for one last second before her little fingers give out and she falls. All I can do is watch.

“Nicky!” She screams my name one final time, and then comes the crunching thud—a sick, tormenting sound that will live with me forever.

I cover my ears and run up to my room. Flinging myself onto the bed, I bury my head in my arms and let the sobs take me. They’re loud and monstrous, puncturing the air with over two years’ worth of buried misery.

The silence that follows is depressing, but I can’t move away from it. I lie there in numb solitude for the rest of the day. I can’t sleep, I can’t disappear, all I can do is stare at the ceiling and hear my friends’ nasty words swirl in my head. The only thing to break the rhythm is Jody’s scream. A dull thought flickers through my mind—
if Trent didn’t hurt me, what happened to me?—
but I brush it away. I don’t care anymore.

I let my sister die.

I’m simply getting everything I deserve.

At four o’clock, the front door clicks open. I recognize my mother’s clipped steps. I want to go down and see her, but I don’t have the energy to move. An hour later I hear Dad walking into the house.

“Get up,” I tell myself. I repeat the words until my brain starts functioning. Slowly, I rise from the bed and make my way downstairs.

They’re both in the kitchen. Mom chops up chicken for dinner as Dad grabs a beer from the refrigerator.

They walk around each other in silence, not saying a word. My family is disintegrating before my eyes and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I glance at the dining room table, where we used to play board games after dinner. Dad would pull funny faces at Jody to get her giggling, and then Mom would start laughing at Jody’s hysterical snorting. Jody’s blue eyes would pop wide with surprise at the sound and she’d slap her hand over her mouth and dissolve into a second round of uncontrolled laughter. This always set Mom off. She’d laugh and shake her head at her adorable little replica. And Dad would sit there gazing at Mom with all the love a man could possess for a woman.

I look at Dad’s eyes now and they’re blank, lifeless . . . numb, just like mine have been since that awful day.

“I would do anything to change the past, you guys.”

They don’t hear me and it doesn’t really matter. I can’t change what happened.

I turn and head back to my room. I’ve been wandering aimlessly for the last few years, but I feel more lost than ever as I take a seat in my quiet room. Time ticks by in slow, painful minutes. I start to ache with the cold. I wrap my arms around myself and curl into a ball. My head is throbbing again and I wonder if I’m about to return to my body when I hear the doorbell ring.

I strain to recognize the voices and it’s not until they’re all stepping into my room that I see Sheriff Hutton appear behind my mother. She flicks on the light.

“So, here it is.” Mom spreads her hands as if walking him through a show home, though her eyes are lacking that fake, plastic luster. Right now she looks scared, like a vulnerable little kid trying to steel herself for bad news.

The sheriff nods, surveying my room. He’s in his uniform, looking official in his dark green slacks and beige shirt. “She certainly has a lot of books.”

“Yes.” Mom smiles. “She used to love reading. I’d always find her up here with her nose buried in a book.” Her smile falters and she starts blinking really fast.

“Huh, I thought she gave that up when she started high school.” I throw the man a dirty look.

“Well, she kind of did.” My father clears his throat. “She’s not at home as much anymore. You know how it is, busy teenagers.” Dad tries to joke, but the sheriff ignores him. He walks over to my desk and riffles through some papers, reading bits and pieces. “It’s just my homework,” I mutter.

The sheriff’s eyebrows rise as he notices the A- on the top of my latest assignment.

“So, where do you think they’ll start the search?” Dad looks hopeful.

Sheriff Hutton turns to face them with a frown. “That’s not really why I’m here, Mitchell. I’ve been on the phone for a large portion of the day, I’ve chatted with her friends and asked around. We don’t have much to go on.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “I want to get a search up and running, but we have no starting point and it’s going to take a few more days and a lot more organization. I’m trying to get some help from the LAPD and other local authorities. See if we can work together. For now, I need a full statement from you both.”

“A few more days?” My father steps forward, anger and grief warring on his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can.” The sheriff flashes them a grim smile. “At this stage, the runaway story seems the most likely.”

My father crosses his arms and tries to stand tall. “But what if it’s not? What if she didn’t run away?”

“Mitchell, come on. Do you honestly think she hasn’t?” Sheriff Hutton squeezes his shoulder sympathetically. I can’t believe he’s doing this. I can’t believe he’s giving up on me before even trying.

My parents glance at each other, their faces stricken, but they both shake their heads.

Sheriff Hutton lets out a heavy sigh. “The LAPD already has a recent photo of her and flyers will be going up tomorrow. Is there anything else you can give me, or tell me? Any clues as to where she might have gone?”

My mother wipes at her tears. “Um . . . I’m not sure.” Guilt hangs heavy from her words. “Maybe she has some contacts on her computer or . . . let me look in her drawers. Just give me a minute.”

Dad steps over to my computer and brings the screen to life. He opens up my email and starts scanning messages.

My mother pulls open the drawer of my bedside table and starts rummaging through it.

“Mom, don’t,” I beg.

Her face drops with disbelief and disgust.

I look over her shoulder and wince. She runs her finger over a condom packet before nudging it aside and spotting the pair of black fluffy handcuffs resting beneath them.

Mom picks up the cuffs, her face pale with revulsion.

“It’s not what you think, Mom. I—” Matty bought me the cuffs as a joke. They slip off her finger and clatter back into the drawer.

The sheriff turns at the sound and raises his pale eyebrows. “Find anything?”

Mom slides the drawer closed and shakes her head. “No, nothing.”

“I think I’ve got something.” Dad enlarges the picture on screen. It’s my Instagram photo.

“Yeah, we’ve already seen that.” The sheriff leans over Dad’s shoulder. “You said you’ve checked your credit card statement, right?”

Dad’s cheeks tinge red as he nods.

“Okay.” Sheriff Hutton pats Dad’s shoulder again and stands tall. “Well, she’s a smart girl, so she’s probably avoiding using it for now, knowing we’ll find her if she does. Keep checking. Something might pop over the next couple of days. Have you gone through your wallets? She hasn’t stolen any cash, has she?”

Mom’s chin trembles as she shakes her head and closes her eyes, obviously hating the idea of me stealing and then trying to hide from them. If only I hadn’t given her reason to buy into that lie so easily.

“I only have a few more questions for now. I just want to clarify some facts here.” Sheriff Hutton pulls a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “What was she wearing the last time you saw her?”

Dad catches Mom’s eye. She blinks a few times before shaking her head.

“I—I didn’t see her leave on Tuesday, and Mitchell wasn’t home.” The room is silent in response and I can feel tension rocketing through Mom. Both Dad and Sheriff Hutton are judging her and she knows it. “She just called out a good-bye like she always does. I . . . she’s sixteen! It’s not like I need to wave her off every time she leaves the house. I didn’t think it was the last time I’d be seeing her.” Mom’s voice breaks.

The sheriff gives her a sympathetic smile before asking a few more softly spoken questions. Mom and Dad stumble through their answers, obviously knowing very little about my social life.

Finally, in a small show of mercy, the sheriff slides his pen and notepad back into his jacket. “Mitchell, Trudy, I’m so sorry you have to face this. I really am.”

Mom crosses her arms as if holding herself together.

Sheriff Hutton pats Dad’s shoulder again before saying good-bye. I hear the front door close downstairs.

Mom’s hands drop to her side and she walks out of the room. “I’ll go finish dinner.”

Dad shuts down my computer. There is finality to the action that hurts my heart. I’m obviously not the only one giving up.

Dad runs his finger along my bookshelf, a fleeting smile touching his lips. He bought me half those books. We’d read them together and discussed each one, our own private book club.

Mom reappears in the doorway with a cup of tea and Dad looks up at her. “Do you think the sheriff’s right?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Mom says.

Dad’s mouth is set in a tight line. “Ignoring the issues doesn’t make them go away, Tru.”

Mom’s expression starts to fracture, but she takes a deep breath and pulls it together.

Dad sits down on the bed. “I don’t know which is worse . . . her struggling out there on her own . . . or her dea—”

“
Don’t
say it, Mitchell.” Mom’s sudden outburst makes me jerk. Her blue eyes are wild, her breath shaky and loud. “I can’t lose them both. I can’t do it.”

“We already have,” Dad whispers. “Like you said, we don’t know her anymore. She could be anywhere.” Dad draws in a ragged breath. “We abandoned her, Trudy.” His cheeks look sunken, his mouth too big for his weary face. “I was supposed to look after her.”

Tears stream down Mom’s face as she gazes at her tormented husband.

“I love her.” Dad falls to his knees, a shaky sob stealing his voice for a second. “She’s my little girl. I love her so much and I might never get to tell her.”

He buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Mom kneels beside him, running a hand over his back. They weep against each other, a sorrowful tune that fuels my own tears.

“I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Falling to the floor behind them, I squeeze my eyes shut, murmuring, “I love you, too,” over and over again. It’s then I realize that I can’t die, even if I think I deserve it. I have to live . . . for them.