Payton Hidden Away (28 page)

Kristie’s still crying, but
there’s not much I can do. It’s not like there’s anything I can say that will be
of any consolation, and there’s nothing I can say to make any of it any better.
It’s a shitty end to a terrible nightmare that I spent twenty years trying to
forget, and it was one lousy phone call five days ago that started the bleeding
all over again. All those years of counseling, all those years of running—all
those years trying to convince myself that I’m not a bad person, and all I can
do is sit and stare at the rag-wrapped body that has been rotting in this
basement for two decades.

“How could you!”
she cries.

I just sit
there.

“How could you…”

I don’t have
answer.

“How did it
happen?” Kristie asks. “How did your little party with your good buddy Ritchie
go down?”

“I kissed her,”
I say. “That’s all.”

“Oh, so you…”
Kristie snarls with sarcasm until she suddenly stops and looks up. “What? You
did what?”

I shift
nervously. “I kissed her.”

“You kissed her?
Why?”

“I think I might
have been in love with her. I don’t know. I mean, we had a…we had this moment.”

“You think you
might have been in love with her?”

“Maybe. I’m not
sure. I don’t know. I might have been. But when Ritchie saw—”

“I thought you
loved me?”

“I was just a
kid. I didn’t know what I was doing, or what I was feeling.”

“And Ritchie saw
you?”

“He saw
us
.”

Kristie tries to
regroup, but I can tell she’s struggling.

“Joanne tried
to…
pretend
that nothing had happened.”

Kristie wipes
her eyes and gets to her feet. Makeup streaks her face, smeared like hell. She
looks awful, and I feel awful. Coming clean is supposed to be liberating, but
it feels sciatic. “Did you kill my sister, Tony?”

I stand up and
turn my back. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to
me.”

“I buried her.”

“Did you kill
her?”

“What difference
does it make? I’m responsible!”

“How are you
responsible? Did you kill my sister?”

“I was
responsible.”

“Did you kill my
sister!?”

“No!” I shout.
“I didn’t kill your sister. But I
am
responsible.”

The room falls
silent as we square off, standing opposed, the fight fleeing my body, the tears
welling in my eyes. It’s not just me, the tears are slipping over her cheeks
too. We’re both in pretty deep, and it feels awful.

“And then you
left town?”

I nod.

“Why? Why didn’t
you say something? Why didn’t you stay?”

“You don’t know
him. And by that time, I didn’t either. Besides, I was already set to go. My
bags were packed. I had a ticket and an alibi. It was the perfect murder, and I
was the perfect witness.”

“Why didn’t you
say anything?”

“Because he told
me to leave town and never come back.”

“Or what?”

“Or he’d bury me
right there with her.”

I can hear her
step closer, but she pauses. Then she takes another hesitant step before
pausing again.

“Don’t forgive
me,” I say, tears welling in my eyes.

“But…”

“What I did is
unforgivable. This whole thing is my fault.”

“Even if you
didn’t kill her?”

“I didn’t kill
her, but I couldn’t stop him either. And I never told anyone, and your sister’s
been down here for twenty years, because I was too big of a coward to say
anything. I buried her, and then I left her here, and I swear to God I forgot
about her and you and everything else.”

“But you didn’t
kill her,” she whispers, and I guess this is some kind of precious moment where
we’re supposed to bond as the floodgates of truth open up and embrace us within
the arms of angels. But it’s not precious. It’s prickly and painful, and I hate
myself. I did this. Her sister is wrapped in rags, having spent two decades in
a basement because of my cowardice.

“You didn’t kill
her,” Kristie repeats.

“If I hadn’t
kissed her,” I say defiantly. I shake my head. “If I had just let her go...”

Kristie wraps
her arms around me from behind despite my opposition. “You said you loved her.”

I shrug. “I was
a kid.”

“Did you love
her more than me?”

“What difference
does it make? Really?”

“It matters,
because no one else loved her.”

“Oh, come on.
You loved her.”

 “Sure, I loved
her, but my Dad looked at her like she was defective, and my mom always wanted
boys. And all the kids at school made fun of her.” She looks at me. “I treated
her awful, because I was jealous. She was so much smarter than me. But, yes, I
loved her, because she was my sister.”

“She knew you
loved her.”

“She knew I
loved her, and I knew she loved you, and that’s why I went after you.”

I clam up.
Joanne had mentioned something just like that, but to hear Kristie say it...

“If you loved
her,” Kristie continues, “and if she knew it, then at least she had that. At
least once. At least for a little while.”

“Ritchie loved her.”

“Ritchie
possessed her.”

I turn to her.
“He also killed her.”

Kristie’s face
wrinkles, and she starts crying again.

“I’m sorry,” I
say. “I didn’t mean for it to come off so harsh like that.”

“I knew she was
dead. I knew it from the very first moment. She had taken off, and you followed
her.” She smiles. “You said you were going to see Ritchie, but I
knew
,
and I was confused and frantic, and it was something like two hours later when
this weird wave of calm settled over me. And I
knew
.” She sniffs. “I just
knew
. I knew she was gone. I couldn’t feel her anymore. I couldn’t…it’s
like she wasn’t there…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I want him to
burn for this.”

“He will. I
promise.”

“You could go to
prison.”

“I’m every bit
as guilty as he is.”

She steps up,
burying her face against my chest and begins to sob. Again. I wrap my arms
around her, rocking her ever so gently, my nose buried in her hair, her breath
hot against my neck. When I open my eyes and look up, I suppose I should be
surprised by what I see hulking in the shadows blocking the stairs going up,
but given my luck over the last week or so, I figure it’s just par for the
course.

“Why did you
come back?” she asks through her tears, her face pressed against my shirt. “I
mean, you didn’t have to come. You could have said no. And you didn’t have to
bring me back here.” She’s sniffing and ruining my shirt. “So, why’d you do
it?”

But I’m not
really paying attention. Instead, I’m staring destiny in the eye, and destiny’s
staring back, filling the doorway with that massive frame of his.

“To finish it,”
I answer.

Kristie looks
up, but I’m not looking at her. I’m looking over her shoulder into the eyes of
the devil himself. He’s covered in shadow, but his features are distinct. I’d
know that form anywhere. The broad shoulders, the lazy gut, the fists clenched at
his side.

She turns, sees
him, and backs away. Twenty years later, and it’s a big ol’ class reunion. The
four of us are in the same room for the first time in nearly two decades. For
better or for worse, the loose ends of the perfect homicide will be buried
where it began, all the pieces quickly falling into place. This is the showdown
I was terrified of, but now that it’s here, I feel surprisingly little. I
should be terrified. I think Ritchie could kill both me and her without losing
sleep. The thing is, at this point I think I could do the same to him.

Ritchie looks at me the way I
expect he would look at a little brother. His eyes offer comfort and protection
along with a careful warning. Everything will be okay so long as I do what I’m
told, and so far I’ve done what I’ve been told. “You done good,” he says in
that way he often does when he’s feeling proud. It’s almost like we’re friends
again even though I hate him more than I have ever hated anyone ever before.

I look down at
the sandy floor. It’s hard to tell anyone’s buried here. Jo’s gone. She’s gone unless
anyone ever suspects a reason to dig, and there’s no reason to suspect anyone
ever will, so she’s gone.

“Now we can be
friends again,” Ritchie continues. “You wanna go for ice cream?”

“Ice cream. You
want to go for ice cream? Seriously?”

“When it comes
to ice cream, I’m always serious.” He grins. “I got me a hankering for moose
tracks.”

“You’re
unbelievable.”

“Think of it as
a celebratory parting gift now that you’re leavin’ town and all.”

“I’m not going
to squeal.”

“Oh, I know you
ain’t gonna squeal,” he answers with a smile. “Turns out that you leavin’ town
tonight is a lucky coincidence, ‘cause the only thing savin’ yer skinny ass is
the fact that you’re already packed and ready to go.”

“Are you
threatening me?”

“Depends. I was
plannin’ to—” but he locks up, suddenly pinching one eye shut. He leans over
and repeatedly smacks the side of his head with the palm of his hand before crouching
down, grinding his teeth.

“How are the
headaches, Rich?”

He slaps at his
head, a bit of spittle dripping from his lower lip.

“Does it hurt?”
I ask. “How’s it feel? Does it feel like it’s ripping your fucking head apart?”

“It’s…fine…” he
manages.

“It’s fine? That
feels good? You mean you’re not worried?”

He slaps at the
side of his head, over and over, crouching over, spit running from his mouth.
Settling down on one knee, he continues to rap the side of his head.

“It’s gonna kill
you,” I sneer.

“I’ll kill you
first.”

“You’re not
going to kill me,” I murmur.

“You don’t think
so?” he asks through gritted teeth, looking up.

“I
know
so.”

“And what makes
you so sure?”

“Because I’m the
only friend you’ve got.”

He stares at me
for a long moment, and I can see the conflict between the left and right
hemispheres battling each other, both winning and both losing. One of his eyes
even twitches. He clears his throat, hacks up a loogie and spits. “You killed
her,” he murmurs. “I seen you do it.”

“Keep telling
yourself that.”

“I’ll tell
whoever I gotta tell if you don’t shut your pie hole and leave the way yer
supposed to.” He winces once or twice, the seizure or headache nearly gone.

“I still have to
stop by the house.” I say, stalling.

“What for?”

“To pick up my
stuff.”

“You want cash?
I got cash. I got enough cash so you can buy a whole new wardrobe. You don’t
need to stop by the house.”

“It’s not about
cash. You want my mom asking questions?”

He wavers.

“Because she
will. She’s expecting me before I go.”

He huffs and he
puffs, but he finally frowns and agrees with a half-hearted nod.

“Why are you
doing this?” I ask.

“Doin’ what? I
ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

“What about Joanne?”

He grins, and it’s
that simple, stupid, toothless grin that I learned to trust and later learned
to hate. He’s grinning at me as if this is just a conversation like any
other—maybe an argument over baseball cards. “Joanne’s dead,” he says. “And if
you ever talk, I’ll bury Kristie too.”

I could say
something in retort, but that’s Ritchie. He’s already said his peace. His mind
is made up. He’s black and white—like a cartoon robber. There is no in between.
Love him or hate him, Ritchie is Ritchie. For better or worse.

Mostly worse.

Ritchie follows me home, trailing
a few paces behind so we won’t have to talk. But he’s still back there. He’s
got those awkward, familiar steps. His left leg is a half-inch short, which
makes him drag the right foot, leaving a scraping sound like fingernails on a
chalkboard. I keep hoping he’ll eventually get bored and wander off, but the
closer we get to my house, the closer those dragging steps creep. He wants me
gone, and he’s going to see it through.

We reach my
house, and I leave Ritchie standing in the driveway as I crawl through my
bedroom window like it’s any other night. Mom’s left my window open a crack the
way she always does so I can sneak in one last time. She’s waiting for me out
in the living room, her feet in her bunny-slippers, her tattered nightgown. I
know this because I can hear the TV laughing like this is funny. She knows
tonight is the night I’m leaving, and she’s playing ‘mom’ one last time,
pretending I’m not actually going—pretending her ‘baby boy’ hasn’t grown up and
isn’t flying the coop.

I wash the blood
from my face, not that it helps much. I still look a mess. I also look scared,
and I feel sick to my stomach. Joanne is dead. She’s really dead, and I really
buried her, and now I’m really going to leave town without saying goodbye.

I dry off my
face and turn out the light.

This is it.

Almost made it. Almost. I was
hoping I’d be able to play it out as I’d originally planned. A suitcase, a hug,
a few tears and a heartfelt goodbye with a promise to call. I almost made it,
but I guess Ritchie doesn’t trust me, because the doorbell rings, which is
followed by the sound of her recliner snapping shut and our squeaky front door
opening up. Then I hear his voice and his charm followed by Mom’s laughter.

“Tony?” she
calls. “Ritchie’s here!”

I bite my
tongue, wishing I was stronger than I feel. “I’ll be right there,” I answer
while camouflaging my voice behind good humor. Not that it matters much. She’s
not even listening to me. She’s talking to
him
.

“I can’t believe
he’s leaving,” Ritchie says politely. “He’s actually leavin’.”

Our walls are
paper thin.

“I’m proud of
him,” she says, and I hear her broken recliner squeak as she sits back down. “You
should be too. He’s worked awfully hard to get where he is. He’s earned it.”

“Oh, he done
good all right. It just hurts to let him go,” Ritchie says, “He’s my best
friend.”

“You’re such a
sweetheart.”

“Yeah, he’s a
real peach,” I mutter under my breath as I close the suitcase and turn out the
light in my bedroom. The room goes dark, and I stand there like a lump, looking
around for what will likely be the last time. Finally, I turn my back, make my
way along the narrow hall and cross through the living room.

“What happened
to your face?” Mom snaps, sitting up.

“Don’t worry
about it,” I say. “It was a scrimmage.”

“A scrimmage?
What’s that mean, a scrimmage?”

“It means don’t
worry about it.”

“It means he
saved
my
butt for once,” Ritchie says with a smile.

“It means I have
to go,” I say. “The bus is thirty minutes out.”

She cranks down
the recliner again and stands up in her bunny slippers and worn nightgown. She
extends her arms, two tears slipping from her eyes over her cheeks. “I can’t
believe my baby boy is already moving out.”

“It’s not like I
won’t be back, ma.”

“It’ll be so
lonely here without you.”

“You’ll still
have your friends.”

She waves me
off. “My friends.”

“I’ll stop by,”
Ritchie says. “If you need anything, I’ll be you surrnigate son.”

“Surrogate,” I
mutter under my breath.

Mom smiles. “I’d
like that. Thank you, Ritchie.”

Ritchie smiles
that broken-tooth smile. “My pleasure.”

Mom holds her
arms out to me, the folds hanging like swinging water balloons. “You’ll call
me?” she asks.

“Every week.”

She kisses my
neck and pats me on the back before pulling away and wiping her eyes. My mom. I
didn’t think letting go was going to be so hard. She and I have had only each
other for so long that I barely remember my life when Dad was a part of it. I’m
going to miss her. I’m going to miss this house. I’m going to miss the things
I’ve taken for granted for so long. Her, Kristie, my school—all of it.

Except Ritchie.

Ritchie stands
at my side with that dumb grin on his face. By now he’s probably convinced himself
that I did it. He’s probably convinced that he’s innocent. After all, he loved Joanne,
and I took her from him. He’s probably itching to finish me off too as if to avenge
the hole in his heart, and yet I have to stand at his side, my own stupid smile
on my own stupid face while I tearlessly say goodbye to my mother.

“Call me when
you get there,” she finally says with a smile.

“I will.”

“Let’s go,”
Ritchie says, slapping me on the back. “It’s a long walk.”

I stop in the
doorway and turn back. “Lock the door after us,” I say. “And don’t stay up too
late.”

She waves me
off. “You’re always worryin’ after you’re old ma. I’ll be fine.” She’s tearing up,
and as a consequence, I’m tearing up too. I’m going to miss her—her and her
weird, overburdening, overly concerned, overly messy, overly motherly ways. I
want to say something, maybe drop some kind of subtle hint that would break
things open and expose what happened, but I don’t, because that would put her
in danger too, and I already have enough to worry about. After all, if Ritchie
is willing to kill me, then he won’t stop until he feels threat-free.

“I’ll call,” I
say with a smile.

“I love you.”

I swear she’s
said it a million times, but this is the first time I think I’ve ever actually
heard it. My eyes well as Mom heads back to her chair where she’ll kick back,
pull the footrest and go back to watching her program. I wonder how long it’ll
take before she begins to worry. Tomorrow? The next day? Certainly once the
news starts reporting on the disappearance of the twin sister of the girlfriend
I’m leaving behind.

I say nothing. I
just stand there looking at her, wanting to scream.

“We gotta go,”
Ritchie says, patting me on the back.

Instead of
screaming, I pick up my suitcase and head out the door. Ritchie follows,
pulling the door shut behind him.

“We’d better get
movin’,” he murmurs, jarring me from my nostalgic little moment. “Missing that
bus would be a bad idea.” I don’t answer, and we don’t talk as we walk through
town—so-called best friends. Once we arrive at the bus station, he hangs
around, apparently determined to see me off. We don’t have much to say, so we
just stand there like two strangers, wishing we could get on with it already.
Eventually, the headlights of the Greyhound appear over the top of the hill as
it heads toward town.

“I’m gonna miss
you, bud,” Ritchie says, actual sadness in his voice.

“Fuck you,
Ritchie.”

“It’s a nice
offer, but I prefer chicks.”

“Do I look like
I’m joking?” I snap.

“No. But you do
look scared.”

Ignoring him, I
take a step closer, lowering my voice. “I’ll keep my end of the bargain. I’ll
stay away, and I won’t talk.”

“Good. That’ll
make things easy for both of us.”

“But I swear to
God, if you so much as touch Kristie…”

He snickers. “You’ll
what?”

I stare at him a
long moment. “Not even you can dodge bullets.”

Ritchie smiles.
“Now yer talkin’. My little buddy is finally becoming a man.”

“That’s a
promise.”

“Relax. You ain’t
got nothin’ to worry about. I’ll keep my word. After all, a man’s only as good
as his word.” He cocks his head. “You believe that, right?”

The bus pulls
up, and I look at my ‘friend’ for the last time. “God saw you do it,” I say as
the doors open, inviting me to board. “And He’s got a long memory. Your day
will
come.”

He smiles. “You
tryin’ to scare me with religion?”

“You’re the one
always getting on my case for my language.”

“Yeah, well, I
say a lot of things,” Ritchie says. “I talk a lot of shit, but this is still Payton
County. It ain’t a church. Here I don’t gotta be afraid of nothin’.”

“How do you
figure?”

“Look around. It’s
my town.
My
town. Here I
am
God.”

I say nothing.
All I can do is glare at him while wishing the bus would suddenly explode,
killing us both.

“I know you hate
me,” he says. “But I don’t hate you, and despite all this, I think I’m actually
gonna miss you.”

Turning my back,
I climb aboard the bus, make my way down the aisle and choose a seat near the
back. As the finality sets in, I’ve never felt so scared and so alone in my
whole life. This is it. This is how it ends. I’m actually leaving. With
everything that’s happened, I’m tucking tail and leaving it all behind. The bus
moves forward, and outside, Ritchie lifts his middle finger, that big dumb grin
of his on his puffy face.

I just look
away.