Ask Me (27 page)

That was why the Chevy was running. Carbon monoxide. Oh, God. I got to my feet and yanked on the door with the tube. Locked. I went to the driver’s door to try it, and that’s when I saw that Alex was in there, too, behind the wheel.

“Alex!” I screamed, but he didn’t move, either. I wanted to curse him.

That door was locked as well, so I ran back to the tube and pulled as hard as I could but other than a slight ripping sound, it didn’t budge. He must have used an entire roll of duct tape. Where had I dropped my knife?

I ran back to Delilah’s side, my feet skidding in the gravel. I dropped down on my hands and knees with the flashlight to find Granddad’s knife. I was cursing that it had that dull black handle when the beam of the flashlight finally caught a glimmer of the edge of the steel blade. It had fallen behind the tire. I grabbed it. Was I too late? How long had they been in there? How long did it take before the fumes killed you? Why was Delilah there at all? Did Alex know that she was my friend? Was it my fault she was there?

Granddad’s knife was solid, heavy. An old Army man’s knife. He’d had it since basic training. I remembered the stories he’d told me about it when I was little, the action it had seen. Instead of wasting time running back around the car and trying to hack at the web of duct tape covering the window, I bashed the solid end of the knife into Delilah’s window. The glass cracked immediately, but didn’t shatter. I hit it again and again until the glass gave way in a glittery diamond shower. I fumbled finding the door lock and finally found it. I flung the door open, stepping back as the shards of glass spilled out around my feet. I dropped the knife into my pocket where it clinked against my car keys. I wasn’t going to lose it again.

“Delilah!” I screamed again.

I yanked at her arm, only to be drawn up short as she hit the limit of the seat belt. She was as floppy as a rag doll. I let her go, trying to breathe through my mouth as the
sickly sweet smell of the exhaust fumes wafted out of the Chevy and filled my nose. The dome light had come on with the opening of the door. Alex was slumped low over and across the seat. I leaned to the side and took a deep breath, then bent over Delilah, trying to find the seat belt buckle. I pressed the button and muttered a brief prayer of thanks as it came loose. That was a mistake, as the fumes wrapped their cloying fingers around me.

I coughed violently, grabbing Delilah again under the arms and tugging at her.

This time she moved. I hauled her out of the vehicle, ignoring the stabbing pain as a piece of the broken glass embedded itself in my instep and laid her on her back by the edge of the woods a few feet away, propping her head up on a blunt cypress knee.

Was she breathing? I put my head to her chest, but for a moment all I could hear was the roaring in my own ears. I held my breath again, trying to calm down and listen. Was that a faint heartbeat? Or the echo of my own sounding in my ears?

“Delilah, wake up, wake up,” I begged.

Her closed lids didn’t flutter. I didn’t want to shake her. What if I hurt her? What were you supposed to do? I’d gotten her out, but I had to get her to a doctor. I checked her pockets for her cell phone, but they were empty.

I hobbled back to the open door, hoping her cell phone would magically appear where she had been sitting.

Oh, God.
Alex
. He was still in there. For the briefest of seconds I considered slamming the door and leaving him to his fate. He had done this to her. I didn’t know why, but
he had set this whole thing up. Guilt, who knows? But I wasn’t a killer, not like him.

I reached in across the length of the Chevy and shut off the engine, but the inside still reeked of the foul gas. He was too heavy to pull all the way through. I’d have to get him out through the driver’s side. I took another deep breath and clambered over him to unlock the door and then ran around the other side to open it. He didn’t even grunt when my knee accidentally crushed his hand.

This time I checked for the seat belt first, but he wasn’t buckled in. He listed to the side, his forehead pressed against a vent where I’d pushed him to get him out of the way. I grabbed an arm and pulled, but he barely moved an inch. He was over six feet of solid dead weight. The air inside was getting better, but I still had to get him out, somehow. If he was alive at all.

I put my fingertips to his neck, trying to locate a pulse. At first, nothing, but then I found it. Thump, thump, a dull but steady beat. I nearly cried in relief.

“Alex,” I screamed in his ear. “Wake up! Wake up!”

I shook him, his head lolling. His upper body collapsed toward me, and I put my hands under his arms, still yelling his name. I locked my arms around his barrel chest and tugged as hard as I could, managing to get his head and shoulders out the door, when gravity started to help me out. I gave one more huge heave, and he slid onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

I left him there and limped back to check again on Delilah. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed like she was breathing a little easier, but she was still
unresponsive. I crouched there for a minute, breathing hard. I needed to find one of their cell phones. I’d gotten Alex out of his truck, but I didn’t think I’d be able to get him into mine without gravity to help me out. Of course, I could leave Alex here and take only Delilah, but what if he woke up and escaped? Could I even leave long enough to go get my car?

Now that I had a minute, I limped over to open the back doors of his Chevy and look inside for a backpack or Delilah’s purse. I didn’t dare look at my feet. I winced with each step. There was a ton of junk in the cavernous back of Alex’s Suburban, including a lawn mower, but nothing that would help me get them to the hospital or the police.

Alex would have to help me himself.

I poked him with a bloody toe. He didn’t move, but his breathing was steady and loud. I had no choice. I’d have to check his pockets too. If I were lucky there would be a cell phone. If not? I didn’t know what I was going to do. I prodded him again. I didn’t really like the thought of reaching into his jeans pockets, but I didn’t have time to be squeamish. I tried the left pocket first and found only lint. Then I wiggled my fingers into his right pocket and came out with his phone and a sheet of folded paper. I was about to throw it down and use the phone when I glanced at it.
I
’
M SORRY
was scrawled across the top in large block letters.

I opened it all the way and smoothed it out across his chest. Holding my breath, I read it by the pale light of the flashlight.

I let out a shaky exhale. Snuck a look at Delilah who still lay as if resting peacefully. Sleeping Beauty in the woods. It couldn’t be true. Could it? I kept reading.

“No!” I said, not even realizing I was saying it out loud until my shout echoed back to me from the dark chamber of the Chevy. I beat my fist against Alex’s chest, crumpling the paper. He didn’t move at first, then he twitched, and I scuttled backward. He coughed a few times and then half-rolled over onto his side, retching into the gravel.

I was numb. I hugged my knees to my chest and watched him be sick. So useless, so useless. Jade and Shelley dead for no good reason, no good reason at all. And Delilah! I’d thought she was my friend, and all this time, she knew. She
knew
. Even when I’d told her my secret, she’d known. She’d played me for a fool. Warning me against Alex! I felt like I should be crying, but I was dry as a desert. A reverse oasis.

The quiet was filled with the sound of Alex heaving one last hacking cough that rocked his entire body. He groaned and tried to push himself up. The letter drifted to the ground as the sour smell of Alex’s lost dinner surrounded me.

“I should have left you in there,” I said. Until now I really hadn’t truly believed he was the one, but there it was in black and white.

He twitched like my words had shot him and swung around until his eyes found me.

“Aria,” he said, my name as raspy and rough as sandpaper. “What—?”

“I said I should have left you in there.” I straightened my back and lifted my head up. His almost-question swirled inside me and then dissipated. “I can’t believe you actually did it. I know I thought you did it before, but I didn’t believe it, not really.”

“I don’t—” Another wracking cough doubled him over. I sat and watched, growing more and more angry. He used his strong arms to pull himself back against the Chevy and slumped against it, holding his head in both hands, the very picture of defeat.

“Where is that bastard?” he choked out. “Where did he go?”

“Near,” I answered, even though I didn’t want to. “At the gas station.” I dragged myself to my feet. “I won’t let you hurt him,” I said. I darted forward and grabbed the letter for evidence, then kept a wide berth around him. I had his phone, and I knew the woods. He couldn’t stop me. “Or anyone else. It’s over. I’m going to call the police. It’s time for justice.” It
was
going to end tonight.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, lifting his head from his hands. “But fine, call the police. Maybe they can figure out what’s going on. I don’t even know what the hell happened. I can barely feel my damn legs.” He strained and his right knee barely lifted and then fell again. “And I thought you were dead.”

I stopped. “What are you talking about?” I shook my head at myself. Why was I even asking? I couldn’t trust anything he said. He was an admitted killer.

He didn’t answer me. “I don’t know how you’re mixed up in all this,” he said. “I thought—” He coughed again and leaned over to the side to spit out a mouthful of something foul. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned back again, closing his eyes. “He said he was going to hurt you. That’s why I came. But it was Delilah lying there, not you …”

“What are you talking about
?
”
I repeated. For once, would someone answer
my
questions?

He opened his eyes, and that was when he noticed Delilah’s prone form a few yards away. She still hadn’t moved. “Is she okay? I thought she was you.” He tried to get up and failed miserably, instead listing heavily to the side and barely catching himself with an outstretched hand. He lowered himself back down.

“Better now than before, but danger still lurks,” I answered.
“Alex
. Tell me what’s going on. What are you talking about?” I wanted to kick him. To scream, to shout. I went back and knelt in front of him and took his shoulders in my hands and shook him as hard as I could.

I had his attention now. “I told you,” he growled.
“I
don’t know
. Will called me and threatened you. He said to meet him here. I got here and found Delilah lying on the ground by Will’s car. Then … I don’t know. It’s all fuzzy.”

“But—” I started. I looked at the letter still crumpled in my hand. It could be anyone’s handwriting. I shook my head. This didn’t make sense. Was
this
what Will had meant about taking care of things? But it made no sense. Nothing made sense anymore. Why would Delilah be here? Will had no reason to hurt Delilah but then, neither did Alex. How was I supposed to know what was true, and what wasn’t? What good was being the voice of truth when I was surrounded by lies?

“Ask me … ask me how you and Delilah got in the truck,” I said.

“What are you—”

“Ask me!” I didn’t need any unnecessary questions.
“Just ask me.”

He snapped his mouth shut and glared at me. “Fine. How did we get in my truck?”

I took a deep breath and opened up to the answer. “Water is like life. It arrives madly, then recedes away faster, faster … leaving everything silent,” I said. “Dammit!” I punched the side of the truck. I had hoped to never hear those words again.

He cringed away from me. “What the hell is that supposed to be?”

“An acrostic,” I answered. What? “Ask me what an acrostic is!” I grabbed his shoulders again. “Ask me!”

He looked at me blankly, the pupils of his eyes large and dilated. “I don’t have to ask you,” he said. “You already
told me, remember? In art class. We had it in English, like, two weeks ago. It’s those poems where the first letter of each line spells something. Like that poem by Poe about some woman named Elizabeth.”

Two weeks felt like a lifetime ago. Yesterday felt like a lifetime ago. “Will,” I said softly. Then I said the phrase, emphasizing the first letter. “Water Is Like Life.” I knew the rest by heart, ticking off each letter mentally as I came to it.
Water is like life; it arrives madly, then recedes away faster, faster … leaving everything silent
. “William T. Raffles.” It had been there all the time, the answer. And Alex had pointed the way. I just hadn’t seen it. Couldn’t see it. Still couldn’t see it. It couldn’t be Will. Not my Will.

My mind whirled back to the gibberish I’d first uttered when Granddad had asked about the hit-and-run victim’s wife:
“Guts and blood—red is everywhere. Love lost. Anger fills her. Useless … except rage takes away …”

Gabriella F. Huerta. How many others were there? How many times had I been too blind to see the answer hidden in the nonsense?

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Alex demanded.

“Not yet,” I said, despite myself. “Time has flown.” I knew, even though he hadn’t asked and I hadn’t said, that Will must be on his way back. Alex’s Chevy had run out of gas and where had I said Will was? The gas station.