The Escape. Part 8

"You're very brave," she said finally. "What happened to Adam was tragic, but bless G.o.d, you escaped. Very frightening that something like that could happen in a little town like ours."

Fletcher didn't know how he was supposed to respond. Say thank you? Agree? He said nothing but turned onto his side and stared at the wall, waiting until he heard the squeak of Nurse Katie's shoes on the linoleum.

He was tired but he couldn't rest. He had barely slept last night, his eyes opening every hour or so as foggy dreams turned into lucid ones, ones where he was in the forest and rage was consuming him as he struck out, bone thwacking against bone. Sometimes he saw Adam in his dream; other times his father towered over him. Each time he awoke, he was sweating and the sheets were twisted around his legs. Each time he could faintly smell the trailing scent of pine intermixed with the acrid smell of blood.

Then the murmurings would start again.

Hushed. Wordless. Like a staticky chorus. Fletcher was motionless in the darkness, straining to decipher the whispers over the beating of his heart. Then he heard footsteps. Breathing.

The man who killed Adam is back. Fletcher could feel him hiding in the shadows of his bedroom. Or maybe he was waiting outside the door. Fletcher started to pace his house, searching, daring to sneak glances through the windows, both sure and not sure of what he would see. Would he look into the eyes of a killer lurking there or his own reflection?

He had never found any intruders.

A triangle of fluorescent light cut into the darkened nurse's office, and Fletcher could hear low voices. Both were female. He recognized one as Nurse Katie's.

"You just go on in there and lie down, hon. And keep that ice pack over your nose. Doesn't look too bad, but it could swell. Your father is on his way."

He could hear the other student settle on the bed across from him, the plasticky vinyl groaning as the kid got comfortable. He heard the unmistakable crunch of an instant cold pack-he had been covered in them in the hospital. Fletcher cut his eyes over his shoulder.

"Avery?"

Half her face was covered by the ice pack and her hair looked like she had brushed it with a blender, but it was definitely Avery Templeton.

She turned her head toward him. "Hey, Fletcher."

Fletcher sat up. "What happened to you?"

Avery stared at the ceiling again, moving the ice pack aside and touching the bridge of her nose gingerly. She winced and pressed the ice pack back against her face.

"Some senior happened to me. She said Jimmy was in jail and that he was innocent, and somehow the whole thing was all my fault."

"Then she slugged you?"

Avery shrugged. "Someone did. It was like a riot."

Fletcher let out something between a sigh and a laugh. "A riot? That kind of stuff doesn't happen here."

"Neither do murders."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Fletcher's mind spun, thinking of something to say. But Avery started talking.

"Do you think he told anyone?"

"Who? Jimmy?"

Avery s.h.i.+fted, the ice pack crinkling as she did. "Yeah. Do you think he told anyone what he did to..."-her voice dropped to a choked, low whisper-"what he did to you guys?"

Now Fletcher lay back and stared at the pockmarked ceiling above him. "I-I don't know. If you kill someone, who would you tell?"

He could hear the release of Avery's breath in the darkness. "I don't know."

"I don't think a guy who would kill someone could have any friends."

"Two people," Avery said.

"What?"

"He tried to kill two people, Fletch. He killed Adam and he meant to kill you."

Fletcher thought of Jimmy Jerold, of the way he'd bitten off his words when he had Fletcher by the s.h.i.+rtfront, little flecks of spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. He could still feel the hate that had rolled off Jimmy and the look of his cold, black eyes.

Was he there that day?

Calling up the memories, Fletcher felt the pain in his skull intensify and he started to salivate, certain he was going to throw up. He swallowed back bile and tried to remember Jimmy's boots stomping across the forest clearing, the sound they made when they crunched over curls of bark and broken leaves. But the memory always disintegrated like an old-fas.h.i.+oned film catching fire-little spots of black marring the images here and there, until the spots ran together and the whole picture disappeared.

Fletcher heard Adam's voice though, loud and distinctive: Hey-hey, man. What the-what the f.u.c.k do you think you're doing?

Fletcher's house was dark when he let himself in. It was still light outside-school had only let out a few hours ago-but all the curtains were drawn, casting eerie shadows. His mother said she was protecting the furniture from fading in the summer sun, but the curtains didn't open in winter either.

He rummaged through the fridge for something to eat and a c.o.ke, then dropped his sweats.h.i.+rt and backpack on his bedroom floor before flopping down on the bed. His head had been throbbing since he saw Avery in the nurse's office. The idea that someone had slugged her needled at him. Why would someone attack Avery? She had nothing to do with the situation at all.

They didn't find me, Avery. You did.

His own voice floated back to him, and his mind returned to the forest once more. He blinked in the semidarkness, smelling that fresh-turned earth as Avery slid toward him.

His stomach quivered. Was he back? The guy who did this to him-to Adam? Fletcher swore he could hear everything-the pat, pat, pat of the fire ant's footsteps. The crackling sound tree bark made as it started to dry and curl. The short, ragged breaths of someone closing in on him.

He knew he should move, but everything hurt. If the guy was coming back, Fletcher really hoped he would finish him off this time, just like he did Adam.

And then he saw Avery.

Not a savior. Not an angel. Just a girl. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. She leaned in to him, and Fletcher could smell her, something faint and fruity-coconut or lime...

Fletcher sat bolt upright on the bed.

...Fletcher really hoped he would finish him off this time, just like he did Adam.

"Oh my G.o.d." His hand flew to the bandage, to the soft ache of the st.i.tches and the cut underneath. "I knew Adam was dead."

Dread spread through him. He remembered. His brain had locked up memories and was leaking them out little by little. He pressed the pads of his fingers against his eyes. "Remember, G.o.d d.a.m.n it. Remember something."

But all he could see was darkness. He flopped back on his bed, his body suddenly a thousand pounds of lead.

"Just f.u.c.king remember something."

Twelve.

It wasn't Avery's father who picked her up. It was Deputy Fenster-or Karen, to Avery. She arrived in her squad car and crisp black uniform, her white-blond hair tucked into a bun that sat just above her collar. Avery knew that hair above the collar was a standard part of the Dan River Falls Police Department's uniform, along with clean, clipped nails and manicured facial hair. She always thought it was funny that facial hair should be "manicured," and as a kid she imagined men walking around with moustaches and beards painted in nail-polish colors, like Fusion Pink or Ravis.h.i.+ng Red.

"That's a heck of a s.h.i.+ner you've got, kid."

Karen had been a part of Avery's life for as long as she could remember, but ever since her mother died, the deputy was dispatched-or came on her own-whenever Avery needed something her father couldn't deal with. She showed up for back-to-school shopping and taught Avery how to French-braid her own hair. She drove Avery to buy new bras and tampons. But driving Avery home from a fight was a first.

Avery tugged on her seat belt. "What did my dad say?"

"He was worried about you," Karen said, her eyes flicking from the road for a beat.

Avery must have looked panicked because Karen slowed the car for a mile or two and went back to looking straight ahead. Ever since her mother's accident, Avery had been terrified of anyone who dared to take her eye off the road.

"He wanted to pick you up himself but he was prepping for the press conference."

"You don't have to do that, Karen."

Karen made a smooth turn off the highway. "Do what?"

"Rea.s.sure me that my father loves me."

Karen raised her eyebrows and her lips quirked up into a half smile. "You're too smart for your own good, Avery. He'll probably be home in an hour or so. The conference is supposed to go live at three."

Avery nodded, blowing out a long sigh. "Good. That'll give me enough time to get a helmet and one of Dad's bulletproof vests."

"Honey, are you scared? You're not in any danger."

"I will be when that press conference runs." She pointed to her blackened eye when Karen frowned. "This? A thank-you gift from Jimmy Jerold's girlfriend. She knows I was the one who told Dad what he said and got him arrested." She huffed something like a laugh. "She's dating a killer and I get the black eye."

Karen slowed down the car as they pulled onto Avery's street. "Oh, Avery, we let Jimmy Jerold go."

Now it was Avery's turn to frown. "What? Why? Didn't you hear what he said to Fletcher? Even if he denied it, there are two witnesses. Two very reliable witnesses. And the blood. Why did they let him go?"

Karen pulled into the driveway and pushed the cruiser into park. "Jimmy had an airtight alibi."

"He had blood on his s.h.i.+rt, Karen. Human blood!"

She c.o.c.ked her head, a chunk of hair falling from her bun. "How do you know the blood was human?"

Avery's stomach dropped. "I-it just-wasn't it Adam's? Or Fletcher's?"

"Fletcher's T-s.h.i.+rt is at the lab right now. They're running tests, but all we know is that it's blood. Jimmy handed over his clothes too, and those are being tested."

Avery felt bile itch in her throat, and for the first time since the incident, she felt real fear. "So whoever did this could still be out there?"

"It's beginning to look that way," Karen said, apology withering her voice.

Avery looked out the window. This was her town: the Buy Rite, the gas station, the Buzz Biz, her elementary school. She had biked through every parking lot, hung out at every strip-mall yogurt shop. It was a town where everyone knew everyone else and she should have felt comfortable, but now it was tainted. Behind the pleasant facade, evil lurked. Someone had killed once and was probably waiting to kill again. Was anyone safe?

A tremble of fear, cold like the breath of a ghost, snaked through her body.

"Do you want me to stay with you until your dad comes home?" Karen asked as Avery got out of the car.

Avery glanced at the "safety" light on in the living room and back at Karen. Fear still p.r.i.c.ked at the base of her spine, but she shook her head. "I'll be fine."

Nothing in the house is going to get me, she rea.s.sured herself.

Avery waved at Karen, then hurried to the front door and sunk her key in the lock.

"Nothing is going to get me," she repeated out loud.

The house was exactly the way Avery and her dad had left it that morning-blinds partially drawn, unread newspaper still rubber-banded on the dining table, her father's gla.s.ses perched on top as though he were about to read but had gotten distracted. But something inside felt off.

Gooseflesh rippled the skin on her arms and neck as Avery dropped her backpack. Her ears p.r.i.c.ked, waiting for the squeak of a shoe, a rustle of clothing, a door being closed too carefully.

The lace curtain over the sink fluttered with a gust of wind, and Avery slammed the window shut. She couldn't remember ever opening or closing that window. Neither she nor her father ever touched it. She scrutinized it. The window was small, but still large enough that someone Avery's size, or even a bit larger, could slide right through. She inched it open again and brushed her palm against the screen. It seemed to be secured, but that didn't mean anything. Had her father opened the window?

The tiny, empty vase that usually sat on the windowsill was knocked over, shattered blue gla.s.s in the sink.

Did someone crawl through?

Blood rushed through Avery's ears.

It was the wind, she scolded herself. The wind blew the vase over.

But who had opened the window?

"h.e.l.lo?" Avery called-then immediately slapped her palm against her forehead. "Oh my G.o.d, I'm like every stupid girl in a horror movie. h.e.l.lo," she sang out again, "I'm a lonely, unarmed girl. If you're here to kill me, please start your chain saw!" She laughed off the tension in her muscles, but she didn't feel any better. Jimmy Jerold had been freed. Someone was still out there.

She clicked on every downstairs light, even though it was the middle of the afternoon, and turned on the television, relis.h.i.+ng the obnoxiously loud commercial for some blue kid's drink. Once it ended, the news popped on. The two anchors were coifed and positioned to look stiff and serious as a thunder of music rolled in the background.

"And now we go to Chief Effron Templeton at the Dan River Falls Police Department with the latest on the homicide in the Cascade Mountain area and the daring escape of one of the young victims."

The camera panned the American flags in front of the police department and the Dan River Falls Police sign before settling on her father. He looked stern faced behind a podium, flanked by an information officer and Officer Blount.

The chief introduced the incident, running quickly over the details. Avery could practically give the speech with him, she'd heard it so many times. Then he went on.

"It is true that we had a suspect in custody."

The news reporters and community members in the audience murmured their interest.

"That gentleman had an alibi and is no longer considered a suspect or person of interest in this case. Once again, all of our officers are working around the clock to find Adam Marshall's killer and bring him to justice. But we implore you, the community, to stay in contact with us. If you hear anything or may have seen anything, even if it seemed unimportant, please bring it to our attention. Parents, you may have heard your kids talking about a run-in with someone or possibly some trouble at school. Let us know. Again, we are doing everything we can to find the person or persons responsible-"