Forever Blue (21 page)

I patted him awkwardly on the back. "I'm so sorry for your loss." I was thankful for the rote reply. It gave me something to say when the words I wanted to use couldn't be said.

Cara's dad clung to me. His body shook as tears overwhelmed him. I looked over his shoulder and caught the eye of Cara's mother sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. The sun shone through the window behind her and turned her hair golden and her skin translucent. She looked at me blankly, eyes dry, as though she didn't know who I was. Mr Armistead sucked in a breath of air and extracted himself. "She needs you." He nodded down the hall to Cara's bedroom.

Even though I had walked down the hallway of the Armisteads' house a thousand times, it had never seemed this long. It took an eternity to reach her door. I stood and stared. Last year Cara had etched 'piss off' into the wood. It screamed at me. I didn't know what I would find on the other side of the door and I tried to pluck up the courage to knock, but my hand froze in the air.

"Just come in," Cara's muffled voice said.

The door swung open silently just as Cara sat on her bed and pulled her knees to her chest, eyes wide and dry. "I can't cry." She looked over at me defiantly, as though she were challenging me to scold her. "My sister is dead and I can't fucking cry."

I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Cara crawled over the space between us and rested her head on my lap. I pushed away the strands of hair that clung to her face. She had no idea of the truth. How could she?

"What's wrong with me?" she asked. "Why can't I cry?"

I knew she didn't expect an answer. She just needed to vent, let everything out to someone who wouldn't judge her, wouldn't try to fix her or change her, or try to make things better. Someone to just let her be.

"Do you know what my last words to her were?" she asked hoarsely.

Even though she wasn't looking at me, my only response was to shake my head.

"Neither do I. I've been trying to remember, but for the life of me, I don't know what I said. It would have been something horrible, like, 'fuck you'. I didn't even offer to walk home with her. Can you believe that? I made my sister, my little sister who was drunk, walk home in the rain because I was too concerned about missing out. I'm a horrible sister." She got up from the bed and started pacing the floor. "What kind of a person am I, Judah? Who would do that to their little sister?"

"It's not your fault," I said, hoping to reassure her.

"Not my fault? I know it's not my fault! It's that coward of an asshole who hit her, that's whose fault it is. She wasn't even dead after he hit her. Did you know that?"

All I could do was swallow the knot of guilt in my throat. "What do you mean?"

Cara paced the floor, eyes frantic and unsettled. "She was left to die on the side of the road like some animal, like some sort of road kill. How difficult would it have been for them to stop and check on her? They could have taken her to the hospital, not left her there to die. I overheard them talking to Dad and do you know what they said?" She stopped and glared at me for a moment but she didn't expect a response. She started pacing again, hands flailing as she spoke. "They said that when the car hit her, it injured her enough so she couldn't move. They found her with her head hanging over the edge of the ditch. It rained that night. Hard. Lots. And the rain filled up that ditch slowly. She would have known it was coming." Cara's eyes were cold steel. "She would have lain there, watching the water rise, feeling it as it lapped against the side of her mouth, her nose, until there was nothing left other than to breathe it in and die." She spat out the words violently. "Those were the last moments of her life, filled with terror and hopelessness. And she was alone."

I felt ill, as though I could actually vomit. If we had stopped and looked properly, if I had gotten out of the car, then maybe Lana would still be alive. 

Cara stopped pacing. For a moment she stood still, looking out the window, jaw and fists clenched, and then she crumpled to the ground, twisted into the foetal position and clutched her throat like she was trying to strangle herself. I moved over and lifted her head into my lap, brushing her hair back. But I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything.

"She lay there, hurt, injured and scared while I downed another beer and felt sorry for myself because Ruben was annoyed with me," she whimpered. "She's dead, Judah. Lana's dead."

And then she did the very thing she said she couldn't. She covered her face and cried. Her tears soaked my jeans as the dull thud of her sister's body under the car replayed through my mind.

Chapter Thirty Three

Ruben - the previous year

It only took a few days for the rumours to start circulating, whispered in huddled groups, gossip shared over cups of coffee. I wasn't sure who started them or what they said, but Judah's life became the nightmare that mine should have. At first, it was just at school. People whispered in the shadows when he passed, obscene words were scrawled across his locker, someone even spat on him, but Judah took it all in his stride. He kept his head down, walked through the words of abuse hurled his way, and wiped the spit off his cheek without turning to see who delivered it.

My own nightmares weren't as easy to ignore. Each night, I lay in bed, terrified to close my eyes. I knew she would be waiting for me in the darkness. It started with just her hand stretched towards me, the nail chipped and broken and a vivid trail of blood running down her pale skin. But soon the visions showed more. Her arm, broken, crushed and bleeding. Her jawbone caved in. I never saw her face, though. Terror woke me before I could. I started to fight sleep rather than live through the agony of seeing her each night.

The morning after one of those sleepless nights, Judah and I walked outside to find the Fairlane spray painted with the word 'killer' across the doors. The letters were black and bold and someone had tipped red paint over the bonnet, making it appear as though it were covered in blood.

Judah stopped in his tracks. His face showed no signs of anger or frustration, although he ripped open the door and sat in the driver's seat, one foot in the car, the other resting on the gravel, staring blankly.

"Dad!" I yelled at the house. "You need to come see this."

Dad appeared in the doorway, only his face didn't hold the same blank expression that Judah's did. It turned a violent shade of red. "What sort of an asshole would do this?"

I shrugged. I had a suspicion. Ross was the most vocal in his accusations towards Judah. Only the day before, he asked me point blank if Judah did it. He remembered me giving Judah the keys at the bonfire. My response was to tell him I wasn't allowed to talk about it. Coward.

"I'm calling the police," Dad said, turning to walk back inside. "This witch-hunt can't be allowed."

The police had already been over and talked with our parents. They knew the police had interviewed us both. They also knew that there was no evidence to place us at the scene, only a witness who thought they may have seen Judah's car pulling away from nearby the spot Lana was found. But it was dark and it was raining and the witness wasn't sure, Sergeant Dickson had told Dad in confidence when Anderson was out of earshot.

"Leave it," Judah said, removing himself from the car. "Just leave it."

"So you're okay with all this?" Dad yelled, waving his hand over the car. "You're okay with them accusing you of running over that girl?"

"I didn't," Judah said quietly but firmly.

"I'm not saying you did. But this sort of vigilante action can't be left to fester. If these people think you are guilty, their actions will only get worse, not better. This is something I could do without. I'm calling the police." He turned again to walk inside, but Judah's shout stopped him in his tracks.

"No!" he yelled. His shoulders heaved and the threads of his neck strained. "No," he said again, regaining control. "Just leave it." Judah picked up a rag discarded on the garage floor and started wiping the red paint off the bonnet. It was still wet and did nothing but smear further.

"Son," Dad said, sighing and moving over to him. He stopped Judah's hand. It was the most affection I remember Dad ever showing him. "Son, if you're innocent there is nothing to be—"

Judah ripped his hand away from Dad's and stood to face him. "If, I'm innocent? If?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Dad assured him.

"Well, it's what you said, 'if I'm innocent.' You think that I hit that girl and left her to die? You think I'm lying?" Judah snorted. "Of course you do. My car was seen driving down that road. It had to be me, right? It couldn't have been Ruben. Ruben would never do anything wrong."

I froze at the mention of my name, but Dad didn't even glance my way. Judah was right. No one suspected me. But he kept going. "A girl turns up dead in a ditch and the whole town automatically assumes it was me."

"No one is saying that," Dad said.

"Everyone is saying it!" Judah yelled, and threw the rag to the ground. We all stared at it lying in the gravel. The smudged red paint looked like blood.

"Calm yourself!" Dad hissed. "Keep up behaviour like this and I wouldn't blame people for thinking you are guilty. But I know that if the police had any evidence that suggested that, you would have been arrested by now."

"And that's how you know I'm innocent? Because the police haven't arrested me yet? Nothing to do with the fact that I didn't do it, that I've told you I wasn't even driving."

Mum appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame. "Maybe you should stay home from school today, Judah."

Some of the anger left Judah's stance at her appearance. "It's Cara's first day back. I want to be there for her. Despite what everyone else thinks, despite what my own father thinks, she will know I didn't do it. She will believe me."

"I believe you, Judah," Mum cried out. She ran towards him but he moved away from her embrace.

"I just can't right now, Mum. I just can't." He threw himself into the Fairlane, slammed the door, and turned the key.

"He's not driving it to school, is he?" Mum said, her voice heightened with panic.

"I don't care what he said," Dad called over his shoulder as he started walking inside. "I'm calling the police."

The car spluttered into life and the engine roared as he drove away, the gravel spitting over the manicured grass in his wake. The Fairlane disappeared down the tree lined drive until we could see nothing but the scrawled letters of the word 'killer' framed in dust.

Judah's car wasn't at school when I arrived and neither was Judah. I considered calling Dad or Mum to let them know, but my guess was that he just needed some time alone, and who was I to deny him that when it was all my fault. He would realise soon that this would all blow over in a few days. The police had nothing, and after a while the gossip mill would die down and people would forget that they ever thought that Judah was involved.

Cara leaned against the school gates, waiting for me, arms crossed and expression like steel. A knot of guilt twisted in my gut as I approached. I wanted to turn away, act as though I hadn't seen her, but Cara's eyes were already fixed on me. I just hoped I didn't melt under their glare. I hadn't seen her since that night, even though I had numerous missed calls from her on my phone.

"Is it true?" she demanded.

Even though my heart was racing, my words came out calm and controlled. "Cara, I'm so sorry—"

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Was it him? Was it Judah?"

A wave of guilt must have flashed across my face because Cara breathed in deeply. She wanted to hear me say it wasn't, but with that one look I had convinced her otherwise.  "It wasn't him," I assured her quickly, but it was too late. Cara saw the guilt on my face, she just interpreted it the wrong way. "It wasn't him," I repeated lamely.

"They're waiting for my statement," she said, though the words were muffled with her head resting on her knees. "I wasn't going to say anything, but now—" Her words trailed off.

My mouth was dry and I swallowed slowly. "Say what?"

"Up until now, I had avoided giving the police a statement. I guess I felt guilty, like it was my fault. I refused to believe it at first, but when Sienna told me that someone had seen his car drive away from the scene, it kept replaying through my mind and I couldn't get it out. I tried to ignore it. I couldn't believe it, or I didn't want to believe it, but that look on your face said it all. How could you stay silent? How could you not say something?"

I sat on the ground beside her, hoping she wouldn't hear the pounding of my heart. Cara reached over and placed her hand on my knee. Her pale hand. Her skinny hand. A hand with chipped and broken nails. I shook my head violently to clear the trail of blood that began to drip down her arm, and instead, covered it with my own.

"He didn't do anything," I said. But it sounded lame, even to me.

"But you gave him the keys," she said, the words choking her. "I saw him. I saw him ask you for the keys. I saw you hand them over. But you wouldn't let him drive, would you? He doesn't have a license. He had been drinking.  Just tell me, Ruben. Just tell me and then I'll know. When we talked later on, Judah had already gone, hadn't he? He had already driven off. If it's not true, just tell me. Tell me he didn't drive home that night, that the rumours of his car at the scene aren't true, and I'll believe you."

I shook my head but couldn't make the words come out of my mouth.

Cara looked at me, her eyes bloodshot and swollen and her voice tight. "Tell me the truth, Ruben. Before I give my statement, before I talk to the police, just tell me."

I shook my head again and looked at the ground. I couldn't meet her eyes. I couldn't see the pain and the sadness and lie, but I had already lied to the police and she was the last person I could tell the truth.

"Look at me, Ruben," she said.

I lifted my eyes slowly.

"Did he drive home that night?"

I closed my eyes and lied. "Yes."