Before She Was Found(87)

“That’s right,” I said. “As long as you aren’t planning to hurt yourself again or aren’t planning to hurt someone else, what you say to me will be confidential.”

Kendall thought about this; red dots pinpricked the skin beneath her eyes, broken blood vessels from vomiting up the pills she had taken. “Even to my parents?” she asked. “Even to the police?”

My pulse quickened but I kept my face neutral. “That’s right. I can’t tell your parents or the police.”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “What happened to Cora. Emery and I were the ones pretending to be Wither. I found out Cora was looking for information about him in a chat room. It was just a joke. We didn’t really think she would fall for it. But she did.” Kendall swallowed with difficulty and I picked up a glass of water next to her bed and held it out to her. She waved it away.

“After a few days I told Emery we needed to stop,” Kendall explained. “And I thought she agreed. But she kept going. I didn’t know. I swear. But Cora was acting all weird so I checked the website and found the emails. Emery was the one who told Cora to go to the train yard.” Kendall bit her lip, drawing blood. Tears streamed down her cheeks and thick mucus collected beneath her nose. “She’s the one who told Cora that she could see Joseph Wither in person. That all they had to do was go to the train yard at midnight. It was supposed to be a joke.” Kendall clutched at the bedsheets, twisting them between her fingers. “I know we should have never done it in the first place. But I tried to stop it, I really did.”

I tried not to let the horror show on my face. “Do you think that Emery may have been the one to attack your sister?” I asked.

Kendall shook her head vigorously. “No, no. That night I was texting with her until after midnight. And when she heard about what happened she became hysterical. It was so mean of her but she wouldn’t hurt anyone. I don’t know what to do,” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “What should I do?”

It shouldn’t have surprised me, the cruelty of young girls, but in this case it did. One impulsive act had set off an avalanche of events that had resulted in an attack on a little girl, two arrests and an attempted suicide.

I chose my words carefully. “It’s up to you, Kendall, but since you are asking for my advice, I think you should tell your parents and then talk to the police together. Eventually the police will find out that you and Emery were the ones who posted on the website. It won’t be easy, but it will be better for everyone if you tell the truth.”

“Can you be with me? When I talk to them?” She looked so young, so scared.

“Of course. When you’re ready, you let me know.”

“But not right now.” She turned her head away from me, closed her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow.”



Thomas Petit


Thursday, April 19, 2018


Thomas is in his truck just before the sun rises. He didn’t sleep well last night. Someone was sneaking around the back of the house. He had tried to catch whoever was out there but his arthritic legs couldn’t move fast enough. At any rate he was able to scare them off before they caused any mischief.

When he finally got back into bed his mind started replaying the events of the day before. Thomas went to the courthouse, Jordyn’s dress clothes in hand, fully expecting that she would be arraigned. He wasn’t sure what she was going to talk about, but it didn’t sound good.

When he got there, Robert told him that the arraignment was postponed, Jordyn was being reinterviewed by the police and more than likely she was going to get to come home the next day. Though Thomas pressed him, Robert wouldn’t give any details as to what bombshell Jordyn was about to drop. He said the police had to investigate Jordyn’s claims and he’d be able to share more soon. “I believe her,” Robert had told him and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

Thomas drives up and down the quiet streets of Pitch to center himself. Most homes are still steeped in darkness with lights off and shades drawn. He could put a name to just about each and every house he passed, and if he couldn’t remember names he remembered drinks.

Simon Gaspar lives there in the green house with the white shutters. He is partial to gin and tonics with a twist of lime. The Porters live across the street in the gray house with the bay window. Roy Porter likes rum and Coke while his wife always orders a Long Island iced tea. The woman in the yellow house at the end of the block asks for something called a Fallen Angel, a concoction made with gin, white crème de menthe, lemons, bitters and a cherry on top.

Thomas finds himself on Hickory, a street whose inhabitants tend to like their booze cheap and hard. He rolls past the Crow home and for the life of him he can’t associate any sort of liquor with Beth. In fact, he’s not even certain that Beth has stepped foot in the bar. Not much of a drinker, Thomas thinks. Or just not a barfly. Thomas remembers Jordyn saying something about how Violet’s mom worked all the time. He imagines it’s not easy being a single parent and can’t fathom raising his boys on his own.

He wants to be angry with Beth and wants to hate Violet, but finds he can’t. Violet has always seemed like a nice girl, has always seemed to bring out a softer side of Jordyn. He didn’t know much about that boy Gabe.

The sun is just beginning to rise, turning the eastern sky moscato pink and triple sec gold while the west remains blanketed in what’s left of the night. Thomas heads back west, passing by a whiskey sour, a Tom Collins and a planter’s punch. He turns onto Apple Street and drives slowly past the teacher’s house. John Dover. Cold Press Black Ale served in a frosted mug.