The Space Between Heartbeats (12 page)

FRIDAY, 6:27 AM

I come to on Dale’s bed, the green cover wrinkled beneath me. The room is empty, his bag gone.

“No.”

I jump off the bed and rush into the hall. I can hear his mother humming to herself in the kitchen downstairs. A chair squeaks against the tile floor.

“Okay, Mom. I’m off to school.” Dale’s voice is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard and I stumble down the stairs toward it.

“That’s a little early, isn’t it?”

Dale’s lie comes quickly. “I didn’t get through all my homework last night and I want to finish it off in the library before first period.”

“Don’t forget your lunch,” she calls.

“Thanks, Mom. Got it.”

Racing down the rest of the stairs, I follow the sound of his voice and nearly collide with him.

“Dale.” I reach for him.

He tumbles backward and lands on his book bag, rattling the side cabinet against the wall. There are dark bags under his worried eyes.

“Sweetie?” His mother comes out of the kitchen, wrapped in a pale pink robe, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says as he gets to his feet and brushes off his jeans. “I just slipped.”

Mrs. Finnigan studies him “You get smacked in the face with a ball in PE yesterday and now you’re tripping on your way out the door? Are you sure you’re all right?”

Dale nods sheepishly. “Totally fine, Mom. I swear.”

He leans down so his mother can peck his cheek.

“Love you,” he murmurs. The soft words make my eyes smart. I sniff and look away, but don’t miss the glowing pride and affection in Mrs. Finnigan’s eyes.

She shuffles past him and up the stairs. Dale waits until the bathroom door clicks and we can hear the shower running.

“You had me worried sick.” His deep brown gaze drinks me in. “I was pacing my room half the night. You look—” Dale cuts off.

“What?” I scrub my cheeks.

He swallows. “You’re a lot easier to see than you were yesterday.”

I look at the burgundy carpet, not wanting to think about what that might mean. I exhale loudly, then fling my arms in the air. “They’re trying to find me, Dale. They’re going to look for me today and bury my body so no one will ever know the truth.” My voice pitches high on the last few words. Saying it aloud somehow makes it more real and ominous. I cover my mouth and stare at Dale’s confused expression.

“Nicole,” he says softly. “Slow down. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You need to start from the beginning. What happened when you disappeared last night?”

I close my eyes and suck in a shaky breath. “I went back to my body.”

His face drains of color, his angular features looking that much sharper as he swallows. “How are you doing?”

“We’re running out of time. And that’s not all. I remember everything.”

He reaches for me, his hand hovering near my shoulder, and leans forward. “You do? What happened?”

“I was hit by a car,” I say, the memory of the headlights fresh and terrifying. “It slammed into me and I flew over the barrier.”

“You were hit by a car and they just drove off and left you?” Dale’s brows knit, his harsh tone belying his outrage.

I nod. “It was swerving all over the road. I think the driver was drunk.”

Dale’s head snaps toward me. “Did you recognize the car? Was it Trent?”

“Trent drives a Jeep. These lights were low to the ground, so it couldn’t have been him.”

Dale gives a sharp nod. “So a sports car or sedan or something.”

I rub my forehead. “Whoever did it came back last night. Two guys this time, with flashlights.”

“Did you call out to them?”

“Of course not!” My face bunches. “They were looking for me, to
bury
me.”

Dale’s eyes swirl with a dark agony and rage.

“One of them pointed out where he’d hit me,” I murmur. “I think they were looking at the guardrail.”

Dale’s expression is hard, his voice strained. “Which means he must have hit it after clipping you.”

“I think so,” I say.

“Okay.” He sighs, running a shaking hand through his curls. “You know what, that’s actually good.”

“Good?”

He yanks his phone out of his back pocket and punches in his security code. “Yeah. We can call the auto shops in the area and see if someone’s brought in a car with a dented bumper over the last two days. If he’s coming back to bury your body, then he’s obviously trying to hide the evidence as fast as he can.”

I stay quiet while Dale searches for a list of shops in the area and calls them right away. I chew my lower lip as I listen to Dale finish up the first call.

“Okay, thank you, sir.” He hangs up and immediately dials the next number.

“No luck?”

Dale keeps his eyes on the phone and mumbles. “They haven’t had anything new come in this week.” He lifts the phone to his ear again. “Yeah, hi. I was just wondering if you’ve had any cars come in this week for work around the front bumper area? . . . Are you sure?” Dale’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah, yeah, okay. No, that’s cool. Thanks for your help.”

Dale hangs up.

“I take it they haven’t had anything new, either,” I say.

Dale presses his forehead against his hand and mumbles, “Not unless you were hit by a Chevy G20 van.”

I shake my head. “It was definitely a car.”

I can’t even watch Dale as he tries calling car shop after car shop with no luck. After the sixth try, my nose tingles with the threat of new tears. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

Dale stares at me with more intensity than I’ve ever seen from him.

“I am going to find you.” I almost believe him. “Nicky, you just have to
stay alive
.”

My swallow sounds loud in the quiet room. “Okay.”

He mirrors my nod, pulling himself together and tapping the phone with his thumb. “Did you hear anything else?”

“Nothing helpful.” My shoulders droop. “The older guy was adamant this couldn’t get out, though. He sounded mean, but also kind of scared.” I look up, scrambling for more of the conversation. “He was worried about it making him look bad and he said there would be jail time. He was talking about repercussions and losing everything.” I suck in a quick breath, my eyes bulging. “No graduation. No chance of a scholarship. That’s what he said.”

“Scholarship . . .” Dale hums. “It’s got to be a high school student.”

My head bobs frenetically. “And there’s only one high school around here.”

“We gotta go.” Dale spins for the door and yanks it open. I slip past him and hear the click of the door behind me as I scamper down the path. Dale jiggles the keys in his hands and then unlocks the passenger door of his yellow beater, swinging it open for me. I slip inside with murmured thanks and wait for him to slam the driver’s door closed before speaking again.

“So what do we do?”

“We’ll head to Barrington.” Dale starts the car. Twisting slightly, he throws his arm over the back of my seat and reverses out of the driveway. “We need to search the student parking lot.”

“Really? You honestly think they’re dumb enough to drive to school with a banged-up car?” I frown.

“Look, it’s a long shot, but if the car isn’t at a shop, it’s either in someone’s garage, or there wasn’t enough visible damage for them to worry about still driving it around. If we look carefully, we might be able to spot something, even if it’s just a nick.” He drums his hands on the steering wheel. “Besides, we can’t just sit around all morning when we know there are two guys coming for you.”

A deep foreboding settles around us as we race to school. Neither of us can speak. Dale’s jaw clenches and unclenches, his fingers gripping the wheel. This really is a long shot, but it’s the only move we have left.

FRIDAY, 7:32 AM

Dale swerves into the parking lot, jerking to a stop in the first empty spot he finds. As he cuts the engine, we both look out at the milling crowds. The school is steadily filling with students. A cluster of freshmen tosses a Frisbee on the front lawn. A girl struggles to carry a cello into the music wing. Across the parking lot, Matt is leaning against the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette. Everything looks familiar, innocuous. But someone here hit me and is planning to bury my body deep in the woods.

Dale and I get out of the car as a yellow school bus pulls up to the curb, its brakes squeaking loudly before the door clunks open. Students file out in a lazy, unenthusiastic line. I scan faces as they go. Dale raises his hand in greeting as Adam steps off. Adam lifts his chin in acknowledgement and makes his way toward the school.

“So, how do you want to do this?” I ask.

Dale continues scanning the crowd, as if looking for someone wearing a sign that says: drunk driver and would-be murderer! “Let’s just wait until everyone’s inside, then we can do a little investigating. Do you remember anything else other than the low-sitting headlights? Maybe we can narrow down our search.”

I close my eyes and scour my memory of that night, but all I find is the image of the car’s headlights careening toward me, and the feeling of being hit. “I can’t remember anything specific, but if the driver was drunk, is it possible he was at study group?”

Dale snaps his fingers. “So, think back. Who was there?”

“Um . . .” I rub my forehead as I think. “It was a big group this time, but all the usuals were there. Amber, Penny, Lauren, Matty, Drue, Trent.”

“Well, we know it’s not Trent.” Dale kicks the heel of his Converse into the hard asphalt, almost looking disappointed.

“And it can’t have been Penny. She’s still trying to pass Driver’s Ed with Coach Gellar.”

Dale raises his brows. “You did say they were driving erratically.”

I narrow my eyes and make a face at him. “It wasn’t Penny. Trust me. She would have folded the second you started talking to her.”

With a screech, another car pulls into the parking lot and parks haphazardly. It’s Amber. She takes her time getting out of the car. Drue slinks out the passenger’s door, bleary-eyed as he closes the door with his butt.

I stare at them across the lot, thinking. “Amber was a little drunk on Tuesday night. It could have been her, but I’m positive it was two male voices up on the road last night.” I lift my arm to indicate Matt, who is stamping out his cigarette and ambling over to Amber’s car. “It was at Matty’s house, so why would he go anywhere?”

Dale rubs his lower lip with his knuckle. “Which I guess leaves that guy.” He tips his head toward Drue. “You did say they were worried about it looking bad. Something like this could seriously damage Mayor Stratham’s career. We all know how much he prides himself on being a family man.”

I cross my arms and stare at Drue as he shuffles up the stairs. It’s a strong possibility, although Drue would have gotten a ride to the party, unless his older sister was in a generous mood. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what her car looks like and picturing it parked in Matty’s driveway.

But the only clear memory I have is pulling up in Amber’s car and swooning over a midnight blue Mustang.

The air in my lungs evaporates.

“So, who else—”

My expression makes Dale freeze. I spin to gape at the bus.

“Adam,” I whisper.

“Huh?”

I slowly turn back, studying Dale’s face as I ask, “Why was Adam taking the bus today?”

Dale gives me a weird look and shrugs.

“His mom always drops him off in the morning on her way to work. That’s her routine, she’s been doing it since freshman year,” I say.

Dale jerks back, his jaw locking as he shakes his head.

“He was there on Tuesday. He pulled up in his
mom’s
Mustang. I remember because Penny was drooling over that thing and we were joking that she should try to catch a ride to school one day. I haven’t seen it since.” I step forward eagerly. “You gave him a ride home from school on Wednesday. Do you remember seeing it in his driveway?”

“Shit,” Dale mutters, running a hand through his hair. “But it can’t be him.”

“Is he applying for a scholarship?” I ask.

“He’s not like your friends. He’s not the kind of guy to—” Dale’s face crumbles. “Shit!”

Dale winces and scans the lot. “They’re probably hiding it in their old garage behind the house.”

He pulls out his keys and unlocks his car. I jump inside, struggling to find the right words. Having what feels like a solid lead is great, I just wish the lead wasn’t one of Dale’s only friends. We rumble out of the school parking lot just as the last few stragglers enter the school grounds.

We don’t say anything as we make our way to Adam’s house, but Dale eases off the gas pedal the closer we get to the Hutton home.

“I might park a block or so away,” he says. “We can sneak in around the back.”

I nod as he parks his car on the edge of a wooded road around the corner from Adam’s house.

He shuts the door quietly and looks into the forest like he’s steeling himself. “Let’s get this over with.”

I follow him down the narrow track that winds through the trees. The dappled sunlight makes patterns on Dale’s curls and I can hear the trickle of water down the hill. Crossing my arms, I glance around the thick tree trunks.

I focus all my attention on the sound of Dale’s shoes crunching over the dried pine needles. We weave our way through the woods, following a small track that eventually leads back up the hill toward a flat patch of grass at the back of Adam’s house.

The Hutton’s garage is a plain white wooden structure smudged with dirt and moss. It’s detached from their house, which is mostly hidden behind a crop of trees. Dale walks over the yellowing grass to the structure. Placing his hands on the high window ledge, he pulls himself up to look in the window, his biceps bulging as he hangs on to the narrow frame.

“Anything?”

He drops down, the dry leaves crunching beneath his feet. “There’s a sheet blocking the window.” He brushes off his hands.

We creep around to the back door, which he tries to yank open. It bangs back and forth. “There must be a bolt across it.”

Returning to the front, he tries lifting the garage door, but it does the same thing, rattling and refusing to move.

“We’ve got to get in.”

I lick my bottom lip, eyeing the solid wooden structure. My mind is trying to tell me that walking through walls is impossible, but I know better. “I’m a ghost now.” I point at the whitewashed wood. “And I’m walking straight through you.”

Dale’s gaze flicks to mine, and his eyes shine with an affection I’m not quite brave enough to buy into.

“What?” I ask quietly.

He scratches the back of his neck and flicks his thumb at the wall. “Go on, then. Do your thing, vapor girl.”

I smile at him and approach the wall. I clench my teeth and start walking forward. My fingers go straight through the wood, but with a little weight, I push myself forward all the way.

“Are you in?” Dale calls from outside.

I open my eyes and look around the room. “Yeah.” The light is bleak, the covered windows casting a blue, somber tone over the dusty space. The old workbench beside me is covered with tools, cut wires, and pulled-apart mechanics; someone likes to tinker. I look up and there it is—a car covered with a huge cloth.

This is it. The moment of truth.

I approach the car and try to wrap my fingers around the calico cloth, but they glide straight through it.

“Come on,” I mutter, glaring at the material. Gritting my teeth, I place my hand on top of it, and try to slide it off, but it’s too heavy. I barely make a wrinkle.

“Nicole? How’s it going in there?” Dale’s voice is muffled.

I spin and yell at the wall, “I’ve found a car, but it’s covered with a big cloth. I can’t pull it off.”

“Okay, well, let me in and I’ll come help you.”

“How?” I raise my hands, exasperated.

“Unbolt the door.”

I gaze through the dim light at the back door of the garage. A thick, metal bolt is latching it shut. It looks heavy and unmovable. “I can’t—”

“You can do it, Nicky. I’ve seen you turn pages.”

“Pages,” I mumble to myself, racing across the musty garage. “Thin pages that weigh nothing.”

“Come on, hurry.”

Dale’s voice makes me jump. I check out the lock. Thankfully, the bolt isn’t padlocked. I reach to pull it open, but my air fingers are useless.

“Shit, it’s not working.”

“Keep trying. You’re not allowed to give up on me.”

I step back from the door and reassess the lock. It’s a long metal bolt. I just have to slide the barrel to the right until it springs free from the latch.

“Okay, give me a minute and don’t talk.” I lift my chin and roll my shoulders. “I need to concentrate.”

It takes a hell of an effort, but bit by bit, I manage to move the bolt until finally it comes free. I stand back from the door, a proud smile taking over my face.

“Okay, it’s unlocked.”

Dale turns the latch and pushes it open with his shoulder. Light floods into the room, highlighting the dust particles floating in the air.

Dale grins at me. “Not bad, Air Fingers.”

“Thanks.”

Dale’s smile vanishes as soon he notices the car behind me. I let him move past, worry eating at my insides. He doesn’t say anything as he stares down at the covering. Pulling in a breath, he reaches for the sheet, then stops, his shaky fingers hovering over the material.

I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking: If this isn’t the car, we’re going to have to follow the Drue Stratham lead. And every minute that ticks by, the chances of Dale finding me before they do grow that much slimmer.

“Do it,” I whisper.

With a heavy sigh, he curls his fingers into the fabric and drags it off the car. His frown lines grow deeper and deeper as he slowly removes the sheet. My lips part in horror as I stand behind Dale and take in the damage. The right bumper is completely scratched and warped, the metal severally dented. The front light is smashed and the edge of the hood is chipped and bent. Dale squats down by the right bumper, running his fingers into the gnarly indent. He stops and looks up at me, grim triumph on his face.

“Well, we’ve got our guy.”

I move down next to him, feeling a mix of relief and utter desolation.

“What do you want to do now?”

Dale jerks to look at me, like the answer is completely obvious.

I shake my head. “It’s not like we can go to the police”—the sickening realization dawns on us—“his dad
is
the police.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dale mutters. “He knows and he’s trying to cover it up.” He jerks to his feet, letting out a string of foul curses before slapping the roof of the midnight blue Mustang.

Dale’s nostrils flare as he tries to rein in his anger. “Come on, let’s head back to school and kick Adam’s ass. We’ve got to find you before the sheriff does.” He heads for the door, but freezes at the sound of someone whistling. “Do you hear that?”

“Whistling?”

The melodic sound dances through the air again, growing louder as if it’s moving toward us. That’s when I recognize it. My eyes bulge out.

“Ringtone.” Fear clips the word. “The same one I heard last night.”

Dale immediately crouches down behind the car.

The whistle cuts off. “Sheriff Hutton speaking.”

“Shit,” I whisper, crouching down beside Dale. “How the hell do we get out of here without him seeing you?”

“Let’s just sit tight and see if he leaves.” Dale speaks so softly I can barely hear him.

“Yeah. Can it wait?” The sheriff’s tone is gruff, irritation slicing through every word. “Look, just give me ten minutes and I’ll be there . . . Yep . . . Okay, bye.” He lets out a short curse, then I hear him dialing another number.

Dale presses his fingers into the back of the car, his jaw muscles working overtime as we listen to the sheriff’s stern bark.

“Where are you? I told you to meet me this morning.” Footsteps draw toward the garage, his voice getting louder with each step. “This is your mess, Adam. And I’m helping you out of it. I have to head into the station, but as soon as I’m done, you better be outside school waiting for me.”

The call ends with a definitive
beep
.

Dale holds his breath, peeking his head around the side of the car as we anxiously wait for the footsteps to move away from the garage. Unfortunately, they stop. I freeze and glance at Dale’s nervous expression.

“Wait a second,” the sheriff says under his breath.

Footsteps quickly approach the back of the garage and then we hear an explosive curse. “What the hell?”

Dale shrinks back against the car, frantically looking for a better place to hide, but he has no chance. The sheriff barrels around the car with lightning-quick steps and is soon towering over him. His dark glare is ominous—a frightening blend of outrage and desperate fear.

“What are you doing in here?” His deep voice booms around us. He grabs Dale by the collar and yanks him up. “You’re trespassing!”

“Let him go.” I run after them as he marches Dale out to his squad car and throws him against it with a bang.

“Turn around.” He forces Dale’s chest against the vehicle while he pulls out his cuffs.

“What are you doing?” I scream, trying to slap the sheriff’s arms away. My fingers fly straight through him and he doesn’t even shiver.

Dale doesn’t say anything as his wrists are bound with the shiny metal, but he has this really dark look on his face. He stares at the corner of the Hutton’s home, his expression rigid, like somehow he’s transporting himself to another place.

Opening the back door of the squad car, Sheriff Hutton shoves Dale inside.

Dale slumps back in his seat and closes his eyes. His scar burns red and he’s clenching his jaw so tight I’m worried his teeth will crack.

The car starts to pull away from me and I do the only thing I can think of. I run straight into the back door and land in Dale’s lap. I shuffle to sit beside him. His expression is grim as he looks away from me, training his eyes out the window.