The Telling (18 page)

Josh's flashlight is a pendulum swinging as he paces nearby. “Hey,” I whisper. The beam blinds me.

“Sorry,” he mutters, working his way carefully over the boulders separating us.

He's tucked up to his earlobes in a scarf looped around his neck. It's crimson like those corduroys. “It's rained since we were here last.”

He's quiet, staring intently at an unexceptional slice of matted fern. I worry he doesn't understand. I inch closer—the kind of close that allows me to identify the stitch his grandma used to knit the scarf. I don't want to start a panic. “Shoe prints and any evidence left by Maggie's killer would have washed away in the rain.”

“We're screwed,” he says loudly, lurching away. “We're totally fucked.” Josh swings the light, flash-illuminating open mouths and alarmed eyes. “The evidence washed away with the rain. That's why the cops aren't here.” He curses under his breath and hurls the flashlight at the rocks. I shrink from the hopelessness rolling off Josh. The reality of what we'll face if there is no evidence to recover has sunk in. Josh is used to things working out.

“I'm telling you, man, we say it was Skitzy-Fitzy,” Duncan calls from the opposite bank of the spring. He tips his skipper hat, taking
credit for what he believes is a brilliant contribution. “Who the hell knows, maybe it was him?”

Josh is motionless for a moment, and then he's scrambling over the shore. Rusty rushes to block him as Becca begins to cry in hopeless little huffs, sinking to her knees. Carolynn doesn't move from the edge of the water. She isn't deer-in-headlights still. She's hugging herself for warmth, staring at the spring, contemplative, steady. I pick my way to her. “Maggie was attached to something down there,” I say. My light bounces off the black-and-blue water.

Carolynn's gaze clicks from the water to my face. Josh is shoving Rusty away and Duncan's howling about not wanting to be a
bitch
in prison and Skitzy-Fitzy probably having killed other homeless
dudes
in the past, so why can't he take the heat for Maggie this one time?

I point to the wall of the ridge. It juts up at a ninety-degree angle from the water's surface. “I found her over there. At the bottom.”

Carolynn nods. “The water's higher than it was the other day.”

I shrug. “The rain and the underground source that drains—” I stop short and swivel to face her. “Ben and I used to come here to look for the underground stream that fills the spring. We'd spend hours searching the bottom and the rocky walls.”

She pulls her vest to her chin and nuzzles the fur. “Enough with the walk down your pathetic memory lane,” she says. She isn't wearing lip gloss, and she's paler than usual without bronzer.

“It's not stagnant water,” I say, “so there must be an opening. What if Maggie drowned upstream where the water runs on the surface? Or even in the sound? It's a mile away, but if she was sucked underground, she could have ended up here.”

Carolynn chews her bottom lip for a spell. “That isn't totally stupid,” she says reluctantly.

“We have to go under,” I say. She looks skeptically from the spring to me, then waves me forward with a smirk. I roll my eyes. She crouches to unlace her furry boots. She jabs a finger at my sneakers. “You aren't going to swim in those abominations, are you?”

We're peeling off layers, teeth chattering at the air's bite, when Becca notices. “Car . . . Lan? It's too cold to swim,” she says. “You'll turn to Popsicles.”

At the hint of bare skin, all three boys spin in our direction. Rusty's arms pin Josh's at his sides. Duncan's blinking his left eye furiously, where Josh apparently punched him, a blow I wish I'd witnessed.

Josh shakes Rusty off and trips forward. “What are you guys doing?”

Carolynn glowers at them, continuing to slide her jeans off her hips. “While you guys are man-grappling, we're saving your asses.”

“How? Suicide by hypothermia?” Becca cries. She's trying to make it over the rocks to meet us, heeled boots wobbling slowly, ankles teetering.

There are objections as we explain. We've stripped down to our underwear and bras, and I have this terrible moment where my insecurity starts screaming that I'm practically naked in front of Josh and that I'm wearing pink cotton briefs—
full butt briefs
. And then my sane self puts it into perspective.

“I'm not letting you guys go alone,” Josh says, unwinding the scarf from his neck. For a split second he has the look of a boy trying to hang himself with a makeshift noose. Josh continues unraveling his clothing with the force and precision of a hurricane.

Carolynn grabs the rising hem of his fleece and yanks it down. “I used to be on swim team in middle school, remember?” She jerks her thumb at me. “Lana's already proven she can hold her breath longer than any of you ass-chaps.”

Josh blinks bewildered at her. “You don't even swim anymore, Car.”

“Because I don't like getting my hair wet, not because I forgot how.” She secures the pins in her tresses.

The ribbon of gold on the horizon is expanding, its molten edges bleeding over the tallest trees. “It's better with only two of us,” I explain. “It'll be dark below, and with more people there's more chance that someone will get hurt.”

Carolynn smiles at Josh and says, “Translation: you'll kick us in the tits with your giant legs and feet.” She and I are at the rim.

“I think my flashlight is waterproof. Yours?” I ask.

She sniffs under her breath. “We're about to find out.”

“Maybe we should count to three and then jump?”

She stretches her arms above her head. “Whatever.”

I say, “One,” and she dives. Carolynn disappears under the surface. The sun's rays fracture through the fringe of trees and the water turns an unnaturally vivid violet.
Toxic water.
It must be because it's the same water that was in dead Maggie's mouth, ears, and nose. This used to be
our
place, and now it's become a killer's dumping ground. And it's because Maggie is dead that she will never be able to admit to the police what she did to Ben and who sank a knife into him.

Carolynn's kicks send ripples through the water. There's the suggestion of bodies crowded below the surface, and then the ripples fade and the water is smooth again, bodiless. I'm going mad. I give
my head a defiant shake.

This is our place, and Ben would expect me to be brave. I am a shark and I can hear that hungry, daring voice, mine or Ben's, urging me on. I lunge forward. I am alive, alive,
alive
.

I
pop up with the slippery wall of the ridge at my chest. Carolynn's heart-shaped mouth smirks at me. A single drop clings to the tip of her upturned nose. “It's not so fun when you're not showing off for Josh, is it?”

Wet hair plasters my face, and I unceremoniously swipe it away. Carolynn's elaborate twist survived the swim. Her pins are dotted with little crystals, and they're nestled in her locks with the look of fallen stars. “I don't show off for Josh,” I say.

“Please.” She flicks water in my face. Her pink nails are chipped, newly neglected. “It's obvious you go for nice guys, and Josh is the nicest.”

I look to the sky and sigh, exasperated, like I have no clue what she means. “You work the flashlights and I'll search the wall,” I say, teeth already beginning to chatter. She shrugs, smiling like she's pegged me.

We swim in a zigzag as my fingers crawl over the rock and Carolynn sweeps our flashlights as lanterns illuminating a stormy night. Our movements and pace synchronize.

During our fourth break on the surface, Becca shouts, “You've been diving for ages. Your nips are going to fall off if you stay in longer.”

Becca has a point. My skin is tight and shivering over my bones. I'm losing control of trembling muscles. Staying afloat is as exhausting as flying, and I start thinking of us as two desperate little birds trying to avoid crashing to the ground in an ice storm. We're not treading water; we're flapping our frozen wings.

Carolynn's eyes are blue rimmed, the right one twitching with cold. The only makeup she was wearing, mascara, has washed away. Without her foundation, I see she has a band of freckles on her nose like me. Her sharp jaw is set, refusing to chatter.

I lift my stubborn chin in the air. There is no quitting; no crashing to the ground. “Again?”

“Don't worry about me,” Carolynn says, nimbly tucking a rogue lock into its jeweled pin. “You're the one who looks worse than an eighty-year-old stripper in Tacoma.”

A gasped chuckle from me. Then we're under. My fingers skate over the rock's face as if on ice. Carolynn flashes the light, our signal for surfacing, and I shake my head. I hold up a finger. She can wait. It hasn't been long.

I kick hard and squirm lower, almost to the bottom, where a crevice forms a dark triangle. I toe the space. My foot slips into the dark. The beams crisscross and I give in, shooting up to the surface after Carolynn.

“What . . . the . . . hell . . . was . . . that?” she pants.

I try to rest my arms by floating on my back, but I keep sinking under. The dead man's float was always easier for me. “Found it,” I say while exhaling.

There comes a volley of shouts from the shore. Josh's warm tone separates from the others. “Too long. You've been in too loooong.”

The anxious four wave their arms vigorously. Becca brandishes the thermos, trying to coax us over with the promise of hot cocoa.

“Let's do this,” I say.

Carolynn takes a deep breath and we plunge under. I fall as a rock to the bottom. The dull craving for air builds until I shove the need away and focus on more important things.
There are things more important than breathing.
The opening in the rock is knee height and no wider than my hips.

I swim lower. Carolynn angles a beam into the narrow tunnel to reveal a lone shoe. It's pink canvas with
Maggie
in Sharpie stacked alongside the lace holes. The sneaker's rubber sole is trapped in a crevice between rocks, as if Maggie was kicking, attempting to push off when she wedged it there.

A current of adrenaline sends electricity into my limbs. I take one of the flashlights from Carolynn. As my head and shoulders enter the passage, it occurs to me that what I'm doing might be the most reckless thing I've ever done. If Willa were here rather than Carolynn, she would catch a disappearing leg and drag me back. Not Carolynn. She's likely waving a middle finger at my retreating figure.

The passage is just wide enough for me. I crawl more than I swim, reaching ahead, hooking my fingers and pulling. I use the fear to move faster. I can hear Ben's voice, echoing through time to me.
Exercise your nerve and mischief, Lana.

A shimmering, sea-green full moon takes shape. I flick the flashlight off and there's enough light to see by. The water warms the farther I wriggle. Another few feet and all the walls fall away. I
push off from the floor, traveling to the surface, to the source of the jade light. Light means air. Up, up, and up. There are sharp-nailed hands in my chest, tearing at the pith of my lungs until I gag into the water.

I begin to thrash. My head breaks the surface and I gasp, legs churning, hands pressed on the rock ceiling a foot above my head. I draw mouthfuls of air from the pocket. I'm dizzy and wheezing for a minute before my surroundings stop tilting.

The ceiling is fractured and light seeps from the surface, giving it the look of a starry night sky. I must be below the ridge, under the rocky trail I've walked a thousand times. The water is still and bathwater warm. A fire-ant sting races over me as the feeling returns to my arms and legs. I tread water.

A bubbling rush surges to my right, and Carolynn hits the surface. For a minute the only noise is the roar of her catching her breath, hacking up lungs, sputtering as she searches for a place to rest. The cave is barely wider than my bedroom, and the walls are smooth and steep without a ledge to hold on to.

The water's a churning sea by the time she whirls toward me. “Jesus-effing-Christ, you stupid-ass witch,” she yells. “I thought you were stuck and I was going to have to tell your sappy-eyed dad that you drowned.” The water slaps our collarbones and chins. Her eyes are livid blue, and I have a feeling that if we were on land, she'd strangle me.

“I didn't think you'd follow,” I say.

Her mouth twists. “You thought I'd leave you for dead?”

“Carolynn, I—I'm sorry.” I paddle closer. “I saw the light and didn't think you'd worry.” I try to catch her eyes. They're wild and
scared, darting around, taking in the confined space. Fleetingly, her face is young and soft.

She regains her icy stare. “Stop sniveling. We're not bests, but I wouldn't let you drown.”

A surprised laugh from me. Her lids are hooded, glaring. I'm delirious from the close call, from the absurdity of Carolynn following me through a tunnel that could have led to hell for all she knew, and from the pressure of Maggie's death weighing down on us. I laugh because the only alternative is to cry. I sink, submerging my mouth; chortling sends up bubbles.

“I'm going to slap you,” she says. The corners of her eyes are creasing; a twitch of her jaw, as if she's fighting a smile. “Maggie could have been in here the whole day,” she adds. I stop laughing. “We were here for six hours, and she only drowned in the last hour. She spent at least five here.” She reaches up and pats the ceiling bearing down on us.

“Why?” I ask. “And how did she even know about this place?”

Carolynn smiles seductively and bats her lashes. “She and your bro probably had the hottest sex in here.”

I stop paddling a beat and slip under before starting up again. “Why would you say that?”