On the Fringe (21 page)

You should have drowned the first time.

Next time, I’ll make sure you do.

“Claire, honey,” said Mom.

I didn’t answer. I had nothing to say.

“Claire,” she repeated, now beside me, rubbing my back while sitting on the edge of the bed.

I wondered where Addie had gone, but let it go and turned over to look up at Mom. She looked a little fuzzy, thanks to my tears, but I could tell she was secretly freaking out behind those calm eyes, futilely hiding concern behind her soft voice. She stared at me as I lifted a weak hand up to my puffy eyes. Long past trying to keep up a brave front, I released my hand to my side in surrender.

“The police will be here soon,” she said. “I know you’re upset, but you have to talk to them. I can’t do it. It needs to be you, Hon, as soon as possible, so they can find this guy.”

I knew she was right, but still didn’t know what to say. Instead, I bit my lip and nodded in agreement as she rested her hand on my arm.

Unable to focus on her anymore, I stared at the ceiling, trying to lose myself in my misery. But it wasn’t just misery. I felt so violated, so outraged. Yes. O
utraged.
That was more like it. Who were these people, these sick voyeurs and psychotic ghosts, who felt they had a right to interfere in my life? Didn’t they have more important things to worry about—like eternity, hell and brim fire, or something like that? Seriously.

I thought I could feel the subtle sting of something like fire igniting inside me, barely flickering to life, shooting out sparks of emotion that initially fizzled out beneath a wad of self-pity. But the more I thought about that stupid note, the more my pity seemed to morph into anger. I was beginning to feel the urge to punch someone, or at least yell at them like Addie would’ve done.

“Where’s Addie?” I asked Mom, who seemed to jump when I spoke. Addie had mysteriously disappeared without even saying goodbye. That seemed a bit odd.

Mom shook her head. “I don’t know. She said she needed to fix a few things, and told me to tell you she’d be back in a little while.”

“Fix a few things? Like with a hammer?” I asked, laughing a little, feeling a bit of the heaviness in my chest lifting.

Mom’s face gave way to a hesitant smile, her teeth finally emerging from hiding inside a frown. “I don’t know. That’s just what she said before she left.”

“Hmmm,” I mumbled, opening up my laptop, thinking Addie was probably up to something, thinking maybe
I
should be up to something, too. Anything but feeling sorry for myself.

“What are you doing?” Mom asked as she massaged my shoulders, sending tingles up my neck. I was glad she was here with me.

“I don’t know yet. Just trying to make sense of everything.”

“On your computer?”

“I guess.”
Long story.
Change of subject. “I’m starving, Mom. Is there anything to eat?” I tried to give her something else to do other than stress about me. She was always worrying…but now I was a little worried about her.

“Sure,” she said in an upbeat tone. “I’ll start dinner.”

When she left, I started Googling every possible word that I thought could have something to do with a car accident at the park I’d just returned from:
Daniel Holland, Larkey Park, boy, dog, motorcycle accident.

Nothing. Not a thing.

Aghhhhh.

I let my pulsing forehead fall into my lap, and massaged my scalp while trying to think… think… think… until I heard a car pulling into the driveway. I wasn’t excited about seeing the police again. They’d come last night, sometime between my fainting spell and the morning, and all I could remember about it now was trying to stay awake while being asked way too many questions.

Two car doors slammed shut, followed by a trail of heavy footsteps scuffling up the walkway. Hoping to find something before I was summoned to my interrogation, I clicked on another website, a local news archive. A soft murmur of voices passed by my window, followed by a heavy knock at the front door as I waited, impatiently begging the glowing computer to give me something to make sense of my nightmare.

There it was.

Some local community newspaper, the kind that comes free in the mail. It had a small article dated from over twelve years ago, about a tragic accident at a neighborhood park involving a little boy and a motorcycle.

MOTORCYCLIST KILLED AFTER BOY SAVES DOG

Posted by the East Bay Gazette

From staff reports

A Hidden Lake teen died Monday after he was thrown from his motorcycle while swerving to avoid colliding with a child on a bike. The accident occurred at the northwest corner of Larkey Lane and Oakdale Drive, just north of Larkey Park, said officer Sadie Covington, a spokeswoman for Hidden Lake Police. The teenager, identified as Aden Sawyer, 18, of 665 Keely Drive, died at the scene.

Sawyer was travelling well over the posted speed limit of 25 mph, witnesses say, as he took the turn onto Oakdale Drive. He lost control of his motorcycle when a young child on a two-wheeler entered the intersection to save his dog from the oncoming traffic. The unnamed child and his dog were not harmed.

An investigation of the crash revealed that the rider, who was not wearing a helmet, had a blood alcohol limit above the .08 legal limit, and had a previous arrest for drug use.

My heart pounded as I read the article.
Aden Sawyer.
Did knowing his full name make him more of a person, less of a monster? Not really. Not when I pictured him coming at me in the dark. I Googled his name, but nothing else came up. Not a single thing. He was as much a faceless name back then as he was now.

“Claire.”

I jumped.

Mom was peeking her head beyond my bedroom door.

“The police are here. So, whenever you’re ready,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

I stalled at my desk a second longer, trying to decide what to do next, digesting this new information. I wanted to tell Daniel what had really happened—what his memory never told him about Aden’s death but didn’t know when, or if, Daniel was going to show up again.

The image of Aden’s face and the sound of Peeping Tom’s voice were still mulling through my mind when I walked into the hallway and smacked right into Dad, who must’ve gotten home the same time the cops arrived. I jumped. Again.

What was wrong with me?
I’d become a walking bundle of nerves.Dad’s eyes seemed to smile as he hugged me. “How’re you holding up?”

“Barely.” I didn’t want to leave the safety of his arms. “Dad, will you
please
come talk to the cops with me? I
hate
this.”

“Sure,” he said, leading me into the living room, where the same pair of cops from last night waited for me—one with a dark, tight ponytail and wad of gum in her mouth, and the other with a scowl and dark shadows underlining his eyes.

Mom and Dad sat on either side of me as I detailed last night’s drama all over again, plus the added bonus of what happened at the park this morning. The cops took turns eyeing me while taking notes on little pads of yellow paper.

“Are you positive it was the same man as before, Miss James?” the lady cop asked, snapping on her gum. I looked at them both, suspecting they doubted my credibility because I was so young.

“Yes,” I answered, this time fixing my eyes on the other cop, until he looked away with a frown and scribbled something onto his paper.

“I understand you opened the letter?” he accused.

“Well, it really isn’t a letter. It was just a folded piece of paper–”

“Which you opened?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did your friend touch the letter?” he leaned toward me.

I looked over at the lady, but her smile had been replaced by a scrutinizing stare. She seemed disappointed in me, like I’d deliberately done something wrong. I shifted around in my seat, staring at my fidgeting fingers. “No, but I–”

“Claire is tired and understandably shaken,” Dad said, putting his arm around me. “We appreciate your compassion as you continue questioning her.”

“She’s only sixteen,” Mom mumbled under her breath, reaching for my hand. I squeezed it right away.

“Listen,” the cranky cop started to say, but then his buzzing walkie-talkie cut in, and he stood and clomped into the kitchen, ignoring us.

“Why don’t you show me the paper?” the lady cop said politely. I really wanted to tell her to spit out the gum. It was driving me crazy.

While Officer Grumpy mumbled back and forth into his radio, the rest of us went down the hall to my room. With gloved hands, Officer Gum-Chewer carefully placed the paper into a plastic bag, like it might explode any second. The reality of it all came back to me, so I excused myself to the bathroom to calm myself while keeping my fingers crossed that Daniel might show up. I stayed in there as long as possible without raising suspicion of drug abuse or another fainting spell, and returned to find the two cops and my parents standing together at the front door. Quietly, I snuck up behind Mom. She turned and put her arm around me.

Officer Grumpy’s heavy lidded eyes stared down at me before turning towards Dad. “As I said before. We’ll do our best with this evidence, but we may not be able to find anything conclusive.”

“Thank you,” Dad said graciously as he opened the door for them. He seemed particularly adept at dealing with ignoramuses (probably a lawyer thing).

“Miss James,” the lady cop said, her voice sounding a little less severe. “We’ve already talked to your parents about various precautions you should be taking right now, but I just need to reiterate how careful you need to be. Report anything that seems suspicious, and call us immediately if you see him again, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Mom flipped on the porch light as the cops walked to their car.

“Did you see the way he
looked
at me?” I asked after Dad closed the door.

“He’s just trying to do his job.” Dad put his hands on my shoulders and led me down the hall.

“I agree with Claire. He
was
a jerk,” Mom said. I squeezed her hand, feeling more and more glad she was on my side. “Claire, I’m sure you’re starving. Let’s eat.”

Smells of something homemade and delicious called us into the kitchen, where Dad ladled steaming chicken soup into our bowls. I loved it when Mom was in a domestic mood.

“Being a jerk may be the only thing that can catch a bad guy,” Dad said, removing his tie and loosening his collar as we carried our bowls to the table. I rolled my eyes and slurped the soothing liquid while holding my face over the bowl. The steamy mist fogged up my glasses and warmed me from the inside out.

“Or perhaps he’s a jerk
because
of the bad guys,” Dad added with a smile, but Mom and I just looked at him like he was nuts. “You never know,” he said, smiling again.

We slurped our meal for a while in silence, when the faint electronic humming sound of the garage door broke into the quiet.

Mom dropped her spoon with a clink. “That sounds like the garage door.”

My heart thudded to a stop, as if the blood had been sucked out of me. Despite my earlier bout of confidence, the rush of fear easily found me again. I stared wide-eyed at my parents, imagining all the horrible possibilities that sound could mean.

“Stay here,” Dad ordered, scooting his chair out and heading for the garage door. He stood poised at the door, his eyes focused on the knob. My hands clenched into fists on top of the table, and I felt my muscles tightening. Mom and I stared at each other, then at Dad, waiting for the worst.

Where was Daniel?

I guess it didn’t matter, because right then the knob turned and my stomach dove to the floor. When the door swung open, Dad attacked.

Daniel

He was studying me like some sort of science experiment. I looked past him to Felix, who was still mumbling to himself in the kitchen as he kicked through empty aluminum cans and piles of faded newspapers. He made his way over to the filthy countertop, pulling open drawers and cupboards, searching for who knows what.

I turned back to Aden, whose dark eyes seemed to follow mine. He looked pale under the fluorescent lights, even sickly—contradicting his broad shoulders and jet-black mane that made him look something like a rock star.

“Do you like my friend here?” he spoke, almost politely. “Felix is a real piece of work.”

I didn’t answer, not sure yet whether he’d drawn me here purposely, or if Felix had unknowingly led me. It really didn’t matter; I was here, but had absolutely no idea what to do next.

Aden drifted further into the grimy apartment, past Felix, who was now hunched over the stove, holding a small, filmy glass pipe in his hands.

“He’s been pretty efficient, you know,” Aden said, eyeing Felix.

“You got a crack head to do your bidding?”

He laughed. “Isn’t that the best kind?”

I gaped at him.

“
What?
You think you’re the only one with special access to the living?” he said, lingering by a barred window off the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s just say he’s had one too many overdoses. There are lots of ways to die, you know.”

I drifted away from him toward a dark hallway, trying to register the meaning in his words. “Felix isn’t dead.”

“Neither is Claire. But she was, wasn’t she?”

I glanced at Felix, who was stretched across the counter with his eyes closed, like he was off in some other place. “What kind of game are you playing?” I asked.

“Game?” Aden said. “I’d hardly call this a game anymore. Not with what I have planned for your girlfriend.”