Put Me Back Together(102)

He clenched his jaw. He’d shown very little emotion until now, but I could tell he was trying desperately to hold back tears.

“He talked the whole time he did it. He kept going on about how much you hated Tommy, and describing the horrible things Tommy had done to you. But they were all things I’d done. That’s how I knew.”

“Ricky,” I said, gripping him by the shoulder, “you have to know that wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want either of you to die. Brandon was—”

“A total psycho,” he finished. “I know. I know you’re not a killer, Katie. Whatever you said just got all twisted up in his head. I know that.”

I nodded, amazed that a fifteen-year-old kid had put this together when I never could.

“So you saw everything?” I asked slowly. The horror of it was beyond imagining.

Ricky shook his head. “It was kind of dark, and there were all these bushes in the way. I didn’t dare go any closer. But I heard it all.” I clenched my eyes shut as Ricky’s tears finally came. “I heard Tommy whimpering and screaming and crying until…until he stopped. I sat there listening and I did nothing.”

I put my arm around him as he wept. I told him all the things Lucas had been telling me, that it wasn’t his fault, he’d been just a scared little kid, that it hadn’t been his job to stop a killer. I knew just how true those words were, and just how easy they were to dismiss. Ricky wiped at his face with his dirty hands and I saw that there was still some kid left in him, and I was glad. Maybe by the time he was my age he could put all this behind him. Maybe he could do what I couldn’t when I was thirteen or fifteen or eighteen. Maybe he could forgive himself.

“You’re not going to come clean, are you?” he said suddenly.

“Well, I already told my parents, and yours,” I said.

My call to the Wesleys that morning had been much easier than I’d expected. At first I’d thought they hadn’t understood what I was saying. As soon as I’d mentioned Tommy’s name Mrs. Wesley had dropped the phone, and Mr. Wesley had just kept saying, “That’s okay, dear,” as if I were confessing to having accidentally shredded one of their bushes with the mower.

“They seemed surprisingly unconcerned,” I said.

“Yeah,” Ricky said knowingly. “They’ve been like that ever since Tommy died, like nothing can ever shock them again. I got a tattoo when I was twelve and they didn’t care. I crashed their car. It’s better now that I’m not living with them.”

The Wesleys had moved to Alberta a few years back, but Mr. Wesley had explained to me on the phone that Ricky had insisted on staying behind. He lived with a friend’s family during the school year. He’d also told me his son liked to play football during lunchtime.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” I asked.

Ricky shrugged. “I told them I wanted to stay with my friends. But really, I couldn’t stand to leave Tommy. He’s buried here. I couldn’t leave him alone.” He kicked at a tuft of grass with his sneaker. “But what I mean is, I know you lied on the stand. You pretended you didn’t know Brandon at all. And maybe you’re thinking of telling the truth to the world now, but…I lied, too, you know? I lied to everyone for so long and I felt like crap about it, until one day I realized that the lie was good. The lie put the blame where it had to go—on Brandon. The rest of it should just stay buried, with Tommy.”


I sighed. I hadn’t really thought about this part—telling the truth to anyone beyond my little circle. I also knew it wasn’t entirely in my control. Brandon knew about my lie, too, and he could bring it all back up again if he wanted to, not that anyone had listened to him the first time.

A part of me did want to tell the world the truth. It seemed like the perfect way to finally free myself of the past. But another more sensible—and yes, fearful—part of me was afraid of the consequences that would follow. There was always the possibility that if I did tell Brandon might go free, and Ricky was right: the blame was his. He was the one who had to be punished, not Ricky, and not me.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said honestly, “but I’ll leave your name out of it, Ricky. I’m not going to tell the media that your brother died because you were such a brat. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He gave me a small half-smile. “I had a crush on you, you know?” he said. “That’s why I was always such a jerk to you.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right. You hated me.”

“No,” he replied. “I could see you liked Tommy better and I was jealous. You were so pretty and I wanted you to like me, but you just saw me as this little kid.”

I blinked at him in surprise.

“You’re even prettier now,” he said shyly, and I had to look away so he wouldn’t see me smile. I wasn’t laughing at him. This was just the most surreal conversation I’d ever had. “Is that your boyfriend?” he said, pointing over at Lucas, who was leaning on the front of the car, sipping the coffee my dad had given him.

“Yeah, it is,” I said. Looking at Lucas grounded me back in the moment. I felt the dark forest which had been surrounding both Ricky and me begin to recede.

“It figures,” Ricky mumbled.

The school bell rang and we all turned to look at the drab high school building. I’d spent four years of my life wandering those halls, lost in a haze of pain and self-loathing. I was glad I’d come to find Ricky, but I was even gladder I hadn’t had to go inside the school to do it. I didn’t want to step foot inside that building again, ever.