Cuts Run Deep (9 page)

When I opened my eyes, light streamed in from my bedroom window. Rolling over, I glanced at the alarm clock sitting on top of my nightstand. I was surprised to find that it was morning. That meant that I must have actually fallen asleep. Last night I didn’t think it was possible. I had been tossing and turning for hours, my mind stuck on the image of Jackson the last time I saw him. With a yawn, I threw my arms up for a stretch. As I did, my leg bumped something hard, and it scratched my skin through my comforter. Craning my neck, I searched for the culprit.

Jackson’s journal.

I had been reading it before I fell asleep. It was open to the entry when Piper told Jackson about being raped. Picking it up, my eyes connected with Jackson’s penmanship. I never realized that you could evoke emotion with the slant of your writing. But that’s what Jackson had done. In this entry his words were slanted to the right, scrawled angrily on the page. I could almost feel his anger. It pounded audibly in the room like a racing pulse. Not that I blamed him. It was awful what happened to Piper. I felt bad that I never knew.

And even worse that I knew now. Clearly this was meant to stay private, something Piper assumed would stay between the two of them. And yet I knew. A knock on my bedroom door startled me. Heart pounding, I shoved the notebook under my covers.

“Yes?” I called out.

“Courtney?” Dad’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

“Uh-huh?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

The door opened, and Dad’s head poked in. His brown hair was styled, and he wore a collared shirt and black pants. How could he look so put together when our family was falling apart? I was fairly certain Mom was in bed looking worse than I suspected I did.

“A detective is here,” he said. “He wants to ask you a few questions.”

Wow. Way to get right to the point.
My breath hitched in my throat. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Dad’s face softened, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “We’ll be downstairs waiting.”

I nodded as he drew his head back and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, I flung my covers off my legs. The journal sat on top of my sheet. I stared at it a minute before snatching it up and carrying it to my dresser. Opening my underwear drawer, I dropped it inside. Then I covered it up with my bras and underwear. The pastel colors obscured it, and I knew no one would ever look for it in here. After closing the drawer, I had the sick feeling that I was doing the wrong thing.

I had information about my brother. Wasn’t that what the detective was here for? Wasn’t it my responsibility to show him? Maybe, but I wasn’t ready to share it yet. I needed it a little longer. And maybe I never would show anyone. Besides, it didn’t have answers about his death. I’d read through the entire thing last night and there were no clues about his murder. It was just Jackson’s private thoughts. That wouldn’t help the case at all. It would just taint the way my parents and everyone else saw him.

One night I caught Jackson sneaking out of the house. I was pretty sure he was going to meet Piper somewhere. He was wearing a lot of cologne, and his hair was styled neatly. I remembered teasing him about it at the time. He made me promise not to tell anyone. As I lie in bed that night I prayed that nothing bad would happen to him. If it did I knew I would feel bad for not telling my parents that he was gone. Thankfully the next morning he came skipping to the breakfast table in his pajamas, giving everyone the impression he’d been here all night.

A few weeks later I drank at a party with some of my friends. It was stupid and, believe me, I learned my lesson when I had the hangover from hell the next morning. I ended up needing a ride home because all of my friends had been drinking. So I called Jackson, and he picked me up with no questions asked.

That’s how things were with us. We had each other’s backs. And even though he was gone, I still had his back. I always would.

Quickly I changed into a t-shirt and jeans. Then I ran a brush through my hair and headed across the hall to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I was done, I scurried down the stairs, my feet slipping on the soft carpet with each step. Trepidation filled me when my parents came into view sitting on the couch. Across from them a detective sat in the recliner. I paused, holding on to the wall for support. As I sucked in a few breaths in an effort to calm myself, Mom lifted her head, and her gaze met mine. The sadness in her eyes almost knocked me over. In all my life I’d never seen that kind of pain. As I continued to stare at her it was like I was drowning in a sea of agony. Dear god, I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

A memory crashed over me like a powerful ocean wave. It was Jackson’s first day of first grade. Mom dressed him in jeans and a shirt with red and blue trucks all over it. He had a Superman backpack. I remembered that because he had begged for it at the store. When Mom bought it for him I was jealous because I had wanted a princess backpack. However, since I was only four, Mom said no. I wasn’t in school after all. Still it made me mad. At four I could sure throw a temper tantrum.

That morning, Mom strapped me in my car seat while Jackson jumped into the seat beside me. He smiled the whole way to school, kicking his feet against the seat. When we arrived, he barely waited for Mom to turn off the car before hopping out. Mom hollered at him to wait while she unbuckled me. Then she scurried behind him, holding me tightly in her arms. Mom forced Jackson to give her a hug when we reached the classroom. But he gave her a half-hearted one. It was clear that he was anxious to get inside and start hanging out with his friends.

What Jackson never knew was that Mom stood outside the window and watched him for several minutes. And while she did, tears streamed down her face. I couldn’t remember exactly what she said, but she muttered something about how she would miss him now that he would spend all day at school.

I couldn’t imagine how much she missed him now. How would it feel to know you’d never see your son again?

I’d been feeling so sorry for myself I hadn’t stopped to think about Mom.

The woman who gave birth to Jackson, changed his diapers, made his lunches every day for years, helped him pick out a tux for prom, worried when he came home late. The woman who taught Jackson to dance right here in our family room before his first school dance. I remembered that night so clearly because I sat here in the stairway and watched them as they glided around the room in each other’s arms. Mom and Jackson had always had a special connection. Mom and I were close, but it was different with them. They had a unique mother/son connection.

My lips began to quiver, moisture filling my eyes, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was about to race back upstairs when Mom nodded subtly, curling her fingers, encouraging me forward. If Mom could be brave enough to do this after losing her son, then I could too. So I coerced my legs to move forward. As I walked into the family room, the detective glanced up at me. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. Staring hard at my feet, I took a deep breath. My hands trembled at my sides, nervousness settling into my gut. I lowered down on to the couch next to Mom, and her hand rested on my thigh. Then I sat up straight and looked right into the eyes of the detective, trying to appear braver than I felt. I had no idea what he would ask me or if I would even have answers for him. But I had to do this.

For Jackson.

This morning I was able to keep down my breakfast so I had been released. I wanted to be excited, but I wasn’t sure I was capable of that emotion right now. Nothing seemed exciting without Jackson. In fact, being home was downright terrifying. Not because I would have to face the police and my lawyer and everything, but mostly because I would have to face the memories.

Jackson and I spent so much time together here that I wasn’t sure there was any room where memories of him didn’t linger. My heart already felt shattered, split into tiny pieces. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to breathe again without it hurting. Now having to be reminded of him at every corner was breaking me apart.

Jackson was everywhere. He lounged on the couch, his legs propped up on the armrest. He was in the kitchen, his head buried in the fridge. He stood in the hallway, his arms outstretched toward me. With a lump in my throat and tears blurring my vision, I slumped into my room.

Normally my room was where I found solitude. It was my safe place, my haven. But the minute I walked into it I almost doubled over from the intense sorrow that enveloped me. Images of Jackson filled my mind, sitting on the edge of my bed, wearing that cocky smile of his; standing against the window, muscular arms crossed over his chest; lying on top of my comforter, staring up at the ceiling; hunched over my desk tirelessly reading lines from
Romeo and Juliet.

Closing my door, I sank to my knees in the carpet. I didn’t think I could cry any more, but I was wrong. Sobs racked my body, and tears spilled down my cheeks. Keening, I rocked back and forth, hugging myself. Ironically, the one person who knew how to comfort me was the one person that couldn’t be here.

“Piper, what’s wrong?” Jackson curved his hand around my face. We were sitting on a patch of grass in the quad during our lunch. Empty ziplock bags, sandwich crumbs, and a half eaten bag of potato chips sat between us.

“Nothing.” I yawned. “I’m just tired.”

“Why? Up all night thinking about me?” He winked.

I chuckled. “I wish.”

The teasing look vanished from his face, replaced by concern. “Hey, what’s going on?” He brushed a stray hair from my cheek.

I shrugged. “I have nightmares. They’ve been worse lately.”

“Nightmares?”

Embarrassment filled me. “Yeah, I know. Stupid, right? I’m not a five year old.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s because of that asshole, huh? You dream about him?”

“I wouldn’t call them dreams.” I smiled. “Dreams would be about you.”

This elicited a tiny grin from Jackson. Still, the hard set of his jaw was a dead giveaway that he was still angry. “God, I can’t stand to think of what that sick son of a bitch did to you.”

“Jackson.” I touched his arm gently, and he flinched.

“It just pisses me off so bad.” He moved back, fisting his hands at his sides.

I dropped my arm. “C’mon. Don’t be like him. You’re not an angry, violent guy like he was. You’re kind and gentle. That’s what I like about you.”

Jackson’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I won’t turn into him. I promise.”

“I know you won’t.”

That night as I crawled into my bed, a rapping on my window caught my attention. Fear spiked as I turned in the direction of it. But then I caught Jackson’s face in the moonlight, his chiseled features and pale skin. My heart skipping a beat, I leapt up and scurried across the room to open the window.

“What are you doing here, Jackson?” I whispered as a gust of cold wind smacked me in the face.

He placed both hands on his hips. “I’m not Jackson. You can call me Nightmare Avenger.” As he spoke he used a deep voice.

I glanced back at my closed door hoping Mom couldn’t hear us talking. The sound of the television playing slipped into the room.  “Okay, Nightmare Avenger. What are you doing here?”

“My mission tonight is to chase your bad dreams away.” He reached for me, his palm caressing my face.

I leaned into it, my eyelids fluttering. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“Let me in, and I’ll show you.”

I pushed the window open further and then stepped away from it in order to let Jackson climb inside. He smelled like cologne, and his hair was styled and gelled like he’d just taken a shower. Once he was inside, I closed the window firmly, trapping the heat inside.

“C’mere.” He snatched up my hand and guided me to my bed. “Lay down.” He was still using the gruff, superhero-like voice.

I stiffened, a flashback of Bentley saying something similar surfacing.

“Ah, shit.” He sounded like Jackson again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just keeping up with the act.”

“You’re a very good actor,” I said with a smile.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Piper. I promise that I’ll never hurt you.”

“I know,” I answered gently. Then I nodded and crawled up on my bed. “I’ll lay down. I trust you.”

The look he flashed me made it all worth it. It was a mixture of gratefulness and awe. “You won’t regret it.”

Grinning, I rested my head on my pillow. “Do you have a magic spell to make my nightmares go away?” I was curious about his plan.

“No.” He kicked off his shoes and then got on the bed with me. His socks were so white they gleamed in the darkness. Wrapping his arms around me, he curved his body around mine and drew me close. “I’m going to hold you.”

I bit my lip to keep from crying. No one had ever been this tender toward me before.

His fingers lowered onto my eyelids. “Close your eyes, baby. Get some rest, and I’ll be right here to keep you safe.”

My back nestled against his chest and his arms tightened around me. With a sigh, I allowed myself to drift to sleep. And it was the first night in over a year that I didn’t have a nightmare. Instead I dreamt of a boy with dark hair and eyes who held my heart in his hands.

“Piper.” The door swung open behind my back. Mom fell on to the floor in front of me, sweeping me into her arms. “Oh, Piper, honey.” She pulled me close. I cried onto her shoulder, salty tears matting her hair and wetting her shirt.

“I didn’t kill him, Mom,” I said between sobs.

“I know that, honey.” She stroked my hair. “But what did happen? Why did he have our gun?”

Wiping my face, I squinted, trying desperately to remember. But my mind was like a blank canvas. “I don’t know.”

“But you were with him. Don’t you remember anything about that night?”

I shook my head. “God, it’s so frustrating.”

“Your lawyer will be here soon. So will the detective. Piper, if you remember anything, you need to tell them. It’s the only way to help yourself.”

Biting my lip, I searched my brain. “I do remember some things about that night. I know I saw Jackson. In fact, he was here.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I focused. “We had a fight.”

“What about?” Her tone was wary, and rightfully so.

“I don’t know.” The truth was that I didn’t remember what that specific fight was about. But I knew the reason Jackson and I had been fighting lately. I couldn’t share it with Mom though. I couldn’t share it with anyone.

“Were you drinking or using drugs?”

“No,” I responded harshly. “Just because I dress like this doesn’t mean I’m a druggie. We’ve had this conversation before.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I breathed out deeply. What was wrong with me? “I must not be able to remember because of my head injury. The last thing I remember is that we’d had a fight.” Everything was hazy after that. I groaned. “That’s it.” As Mom continued to hold me, a memory surfaced. After our fight he left, but then I’d gotten a text from him.
What the hell did it say?
I wished I could remember.

Hot flashes ripped up my spine. I stiffened in Mom’s arms.
Oh, god.
My phone. Where was it?

“Piper?” Mom responded to my rigidness.

“Did the hospital give you my stuff?”

Mom’s eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. “The police confiscated it. I’m sorry.”

Panic seized me. If the cops had my phone, then they knew more than I wanted them to.
Shit.
What was I going to do?