Silverlighters (9 page)

It had all happened so quickly. It was only later that my shattered brain realized the impact I had felt was him, scooping me up in his arms.

I ran toward the road, and the world seemed to catch up, as though I had passed through a barrier of some sort.

Sound returned, slow and drawn out at first, so that I wasn’t sure what I was hearing.

The black car finished its assault on Mick’s car, time returning with a vengeance as metal screeched against metal.

I caught a glimpse of a figure in a hood through the window – then the black car took off, tires spilling burning rubber into the air.

Melissa was screaming as she scrambled out of Mick’s car.

The indicator light was still flashing.

“You killed her. You killed my best friend–”

“I didn’t see her. I couldn’t see anything – that car – it came out of nowhere.”

“How could you not see her,” Melissa screamed as Beck stood up.
 

Did I mention Melissa was prone to exaggeration?

She was also worried about the wrong person.

“I’m fine,” Beck said. “Honestly. Chris saved me – he pushed me out of the way. Where is he, anyway? Chris? Chris?”

A horrible weight settled over us as we turned. Saw the broken body that was wearing Chris’s blue sweatshirt hanging over the window ledge of the Pizza parlor.

The lights suddenly came back on.

Neon colors flashing on and off. On and off. Lighting up his twisted and contorted body.

“
Nooooooo
,” Melissa’s scream filled the night as she fell to her knees.

And in the distance I saw them, walking away without a backward glance.

As though they’d seen what they came for.

They moved slowly and surely, like they had all the time in the world. And in a way I guess they did.

It was Chris’s time that had come to an abrupt, earth shattering end.

The rest of that night melded together.

The sudden onslaught of rain as the skies opened up. The flashing lights of an ambulance that wasn’t needed. The lights of Chief Gordon’s car. The colors mingling, swirling, so that we couldn’t escape them. Blue and red reflected all around us. In the puddles on the ground. The shop windows.

Forever reminding us it was too late.

Until Melissa started screaming, unable to stop. Telling them to turn the lights off. Turn them off.

I still remember the fear on the faces of the men crammed into the police cruiser as it screeched to a halt.

They were piled one on top of the other, their faces pale as they scrambled over each other in their hurry to get out.

Fear on faces that only moments ago had been laughing and joking and acting all tough and manly as they played poker.

I had never seen such fear before. Such raw, naked fear. Such vulnerability.

But mostly, I remember the relief. The relief on my father’s face when he saw me. The relief on Chief Gordon’s face as Beck threw herself at him, and he folded her into his arms, holding onto her like he would never let go. The relief on the faces of people who lived in a town so small that everyone knew everyone else.

But the reason I remember it so well was because of that other face. A round, shiny face so like Chris’s.

It was painful to watch as he searched hopefully for a child he’d never again speak to.

It made my heart and my throat ache as all the men turned toward him. As his moans of denial filled the night air.

As they held him back when all he wanted to do was reach his son.

10

There is no way to explain what followed, or how we got through it. I’d known Chris for less than a week and never expected the devastating impact his death would have on me.

Especially as I learned more about that night. As I tried to piece it together and make sense of it.

The way
they
seemed to know what was about to happen.

And then there was the boy who saved me. A boy no one else had seen.

His silver eyes haunted me every waking hour, and followed me into my dreams.

The night it happened I pulled out the diary my mother never got to give me.

Chris’s tragic death had caused painful memories of her to resurface.

I traced my finger over the pink cloth cover, circling around the deep, crimson patch in the bottom corner. Unable to sleep, I flicked through the blank pages.

Then I started to fill them. I was still scrawling frantically when the sun came up, but I couldn’t stop.

It was like I was possessed. As though my words would help me find the answers, or had some hidden meaning I couldn’t yet see.

In those early days it felt like we were wading through thick, murky waters as we tried to find our bearings. Tried to accept the unbelievable, a weight pressing down on us, reminding us how final death was. How it could strike anywhere, anytime.

At first, my father wouldn’t let me out of his sight, and refused to let me return to school. I knew what he was planning.

I could see it in his eyes before he even told me we would be leaving.

And of course he wouldn’t talk to me – wouldn’t tell me why he was so worried. Or what Chris’s death could possibly have to do with us.

But for the first time he seemed reluctant to speak the words out loud.

I thought it was death he was afraid of.

I was wrong.

I refused to talk to him about that night. I was so frustrated with him and his damned secrets. And I was sick to death of moving.

I told myself it had nothing to do with Jonathon or the feelings he stirred in me. That it was because I wanted answers. I wanted to know what they knew.

Then Mr. Allen’s wife came forward, and told the police her husband had been missing since the night Chris was killed. That she hadn’t come forward because she’d been hoping it was a coincidence.

The fact he’d been seen drinking earlier that night, and that he owned a black car, meant it was far more than a coincidence.

My father relaxed his grip on me, allowing me to return to school in time for the memorial service.

I would have gone anyway.

Beck latched onto me the moment she saw me, but Melissa didn’t want to know about any of it. She refused to talk about it, as though she could just make it all go away.

Death does funny things to us, that way. It twists our perceptions, and distorts our view of the world.

I was in unchartered territory as a gaping gulf separated the two of them.

Beck clung to me, blaming herself as she relived that night over and over again.

She blamed herself. But I blamed them. They knew. Somehow they knew, and they did nothing to stop it.

I knew I had to confront them. But at the time I had no idea it would bring me and Jonathon closer together.

That I would see a side to him that betrayed the cold, uncaring gazes on their faces at the memorial service. That I would soon find myself falling for him.

Too hard.

Too quickly.

I’ve heard it said that death makes us cling more fiercely to life, that it makes us more passionate. That we do things we wouldn’t normally do. And in the same way Beck clung to me, I would find myself clinging to Jonathon, confused by the strength of the emotions I felt for him.

When he finally let me in, finally showed me he wasn’t like
them
, everything changed.

The memorial service was held at the school.

The day was clear, the air cold and crisp.

We walked in silence, accompanied by the soft tread of feet whispering through the grass, and the low murmur of voices that came from behind us. We wore sky-blue armbands. It was Chris’s favorite color. It was also the color he’d been wearing the day he died.

We slowed as we approached the gap in the trees that served as the entrance to the area where the memorial would take place.

On each side stood a junior holding a basket. A boy with sandy-brown hair, wearing a sky-blue sweatshirt, and a girl with long blonde hair. Her light blue cashmere sweater brought out the color of her eyes.

Inside each basket was a sea of armbands.

A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I knew they meant well, but it just made it harder.

Melissa glared at them as we walked past, but Beck offered them a watery smile.

All the blue just made images of Chris’s broken body flash through my head. There was no escaping it. Even the sky was blue.

We passed through the trees. Dozens of rows of seats had been laid out. The first few rows on the left were already filled with Chris’s family and their friends. They stared straight ahead, their backs to us.

At the front was a lectern that had blue material covering it. Attached to the material was a large photograph of Chris smiling, his large blue eyes shining at us as we made our way down the grass aisle.

It was an eerie feeling to have him watching us like that.

Beside the lectern was a large board that was obscured by a small group of girls who were staring at the photographs displayed on it.

As I watched, a girl with long auburn hair that shone in the sun pinned something to it, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Beck squeezed my hand, tears pouring down her cheeks. I put my arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into me, crying harder.

Beck’s feelings were there for all to see. She was so simple and uncomplicated that way. With Beck, what you saw was what you got.

Me – my feelings were much more complicated. With all the emotion surrounding me I felt tears sting the bridge of
 
my nose. But it felt wrong somehow, selfish even, to give in to them when I hardly knew Chris.

When their pain was so much more, and Melissa walked straight and stiff ahead of us, her eyes dry and hard and angry.

Melissa stopped when she saw Chris’s parents and his younger brother sitting at the front.

Knowing what I knew made it hard to look at his family.

I glanced behind me, and was glad to see there was no sign of
them
.

I thought Melissa would sit with Chris’s family, but her shoulders suddenly dropped, and she moved into an empty row in the middle, sitting on the third seat.

Beck sat next to her, and I sat on the aisle.

The seat beside Melissa remained glaringly empty, most likely out of respect for Chris than the scathing stares she gave anyone who tried to move into our row.

I thought it was silent until a deeper hush fell, and the air felt suddenly heavier.

My heart thudded in my throat as I turned.

They stood at the back, just in front of the trees we had come through, their bland emotionless faces staring ahead.

It made me so angry.

They were surrounded by an ocean of grief. Of bowed heads and inconsolable, heartbreaking tears.

I didn’t understand how they could be so cold. So unaffected.

Or why they hadn’t stopped it. They knew something was about to happen.

My anger grew as Mr. Jones addressed us, talking about Chris and his achievements in his deep, solemn voice.

I hardly heard a word he said, or the people that followed. The blood was rushing through my ears as I felt
them –
real or imagined – staring at me.

Looking down at my hands, I twisted my fingers together as Beck sobbed loudly beside me, and Melissa glared straight ahead at the sports field.

I was doing my best to contain my rising anger.

Beck grabbed my hand, pulling it onto her lap, both of her warm hands wrapping around my clenched fist. This only made me feel worse. I was the one who should be comforting her.

Breathing deeply, I tried to listen. Tried to focus on what was being said. It was the only way I knew how to pay my respects to Chris.

I heard enough to think about the enormous impact one single person could have on others as people talked about Chris’s open, friendly nature, and the way he was so quick to encourage others. To jump in and help when it was needed.

A life cut dramatically short.

Then an elderly man with short, fuzzy gray hair spoke.

“Chris was – is – my grandson,” he said in a soft, crackly voice infused with emotion. “He was such a good boy. He came to visit me every Sunday, even though I’m sure there were other things he would have preferred to be doing.” He glanced up, his chest hitching as he drew in a deep breath.

“I was a teenager once.” He paused as he looked over us, the corners of his warm blue eyes wrinkling. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye as he waggled a finger at us, and said, “I know exactly what you lot get up to. Things haven’t changed
that
much.”

A low chuckle swept through in a wave, and some of the tension eased.

Chris’s grandfather moved in front of the lectern, a soft smile on his face as he twisted his large,
knobbly
hands together.

When it was silent again, he waved his hand at the photograph of Chris, his blue eyes – so like Chris’s – penetrating each and every one of us.

There was a heavy silence as we waited for him to continue.

“You never know what is around the corner,” he said. “You are young. You have your whole lives ahead of you.”

His shoulders sagged, and he looked down at his hands, still wringing them together as he shuffled back to his family.

He glanced up before he sat down, his voice soft in the hush that had fallen over us. “Don’t waste a moment of it. Chris never did.”

Chris’s grandfather would never know how deeply his words affected me.

Because Chris didn’t have to die.
They
could have stopped it. They knew exactly what was around the corner when they stood there watching us outside the Pizza Parlor.

I was sure of it.

I just didn’t know how they knew.

My stomach churned, and a horrid sick feeling grew inside of me, born out of helplessness and frustration.

By the time the service was over my anger and fear and confusion had turned to rage.

Without thinking, I got to my feet, knocking Beck’s arm aside as she made a grab at me.

I marched toward
them
, my anger so palpable I didn’t realize the scene I was causing.

Beck told me later that she called out to me, tried to stop me. But I don’t remember it.

It was like something inside me had snapped. All the years of living a lie ... not knowing why. I wasn’t going to just stand by any more. I wasn’t wasting another minute treading softly.

As soon as they saw me coming they turned, their backs facing me as they tried to escape my anger.

The blood was rushing through my veins, and roaring past my ears.

“Stop,” I said softly, my voice hard.

They turned as one, all of them. Their horrid eyes meeting mine.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I said.

“Why not?” Madison arched a brow.

I had no idea my fist was already swinging toward that beautiful face, wanting to make it as ugly as her soul. Not until Jonathon caught my arm.

He led me away, through the gap in the trees, growling at them with a savage intensity. “Go. Now.”

Jonathon turned me, so that I was facing him. Heat rushed through me at his touch, and his brow creased as though he’d felt it too.