Put Me Back Together(80)

“Stupid bitch,” Brandon says.

The last thing I hear is Tommy’s scream.



Lucas held me in his arms, rocking me as my entire body was racked with sobs. The only word I said for a long while was “Tommy,” and each time I did he stroked my head and told me everything would be okay. But it didn’t feel okay. Reliving that moment felt almost exactly like Hell, and I didn’t want to be in Lucas’s arms now. I didn’t want to drag him down to Hell with me. But he wouldn’t let me go.

Eventually, once my tears had slowed to a trickle, Lucas loosened his hold, allowing me to pull away. Immediately I turned my back as I wiped at my face.

“Katie…” Lucas said, reaching for me, but I flinched at his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” I warned. “You don’t want to hold me. You don’t want to hold a killer.”

“You’re not a killer,” Lucas said steadily, and I snorted. “Brandon is the Kindergarten Killer, not you.”

I twisted around to face him, suddenly furious. “It was my idea!” I cried. “Tommy’s murder started in my head, not Brandon’s. Sure it was Ricky I wanted dead, not poor Tommy, but what’s the difference? Brandon cut him down the torso, just like I asked. Split him almost in half. You know, you read all about it. Everyone did. And he did it for me!”

“That doesn’t mean it was what you wanted,” Lucas protested. “That doesn’t mean you would have done it yourself. You were a pissed off kid and you said you wanted someone dead. That’s not the same as going through with it. Brandon is the murderer, Katie.”

“Yeah,” I said, “and I’m just the girl who drove him to it.”

He was about to retort, but instead Lucas’s face stilled as he took in my words. “Is that why you were so afraid when I knocked down Buck? You thought I’d turned into Brandon?”

“It’s what I’m good at,” I said bitterly. “I drive guys to madness, to violence. It’s my talent.”

Lucas sighed and took me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him. Reluctantly, I raised my eyes to meet his. “I know a little bit about the Kindergarten Killer,” he said. “I read every article about it when I was in high school. We even followed the case in class. The teacher thought it would be better than gossiping about it in the halls. Brandon’s father used to beat him with tools from his workshop. When they arrested him he had broken ribs from being beaten. He’d been killing animals in those woods for months, mutilating their bodies. Practicing. His teachers admitted they thought he was off. I think his mother said he tried to kill his little sister once. He was a killer long before he met you.”

“Fine, he’s the killer,” I conceded. “He murdered Tommy, not me. But it’s still my fault!” My tears were running again, blurring my vision.

“Tell me why,” Lucas said, tightening his grip on my shoulders as I tried to pull away.

“B-because,” I spluttered. “Because, I-I—”

“Because you were his babysitter? Because you once said you hated his brother so much you wanted to kill him and a psychopath decided it was a good idea?”

“Because if not for me, he’d still be alive.”

“That’s crazy logic, Katie,” Lucas said, his kind eyes boring into mine, trying to fill me with his compassion. But my heart was too full of self-loathing to let him in. “You didn’t want either Tommy or Ricky to die, not really. I know you, maybe better than anyone now. You’re not to blame.”

Reaching up swiftly, I yanked hard on Lucas’s arms, dislodging them from my shoulders, and shot to my feet. “You know me?” I said, angrily wiping at my wet cheeks. “Haven’t you been listening? Everything I’ve ever told you is a lie. I’m not the shy artist who likes brownies and rescues kittens. I’m a liar and a phony. I’m a fugitive. I lied to the police and I lied in court. I belong in jail!”

I began twisting my fingers, falling into that same old habit. I remembered then the reason I’d started doing it in the first place. In the ambulance, after Tommy died, I’d twisted my fingers just like this, trying to get the blood off. I imagined I could still see it there even months later, even after a hundred washings. Tommy’s blood would always be on my hands.

“You were just trying to protect yourself,” Lucas went on in that same sympathetic tone, and suddenly I wanted to hit him. “You were thirteen. Do you know how many lies I told when I was thirteen?”

I’m guessing you weren’t under oath at the time,” I said. “I’m guessing you drew a line somewhere. You’d lie to your mom, but not your best friend. You’d lie about getting detention, but not about stabbing someone to death. Do you know how many lies I’ve told, who I’ve lied to? I’ll tell you who: everyone. I lied to the press about that day. To my friends. To my parents. To my sister. To you. I’ve been lying so long I don’t even recognize the truth anymore. Is that the kind of person you want to be with? A pathological liar who’ll say anything to save her skin?”

“Would it have made that much difference if you’d told the truth?” Lucas countered. “Being a liar isn’t the same as being a killer.”


“I claimed I didn’t even know Brandon,” I spat. “I said I’d never seen him before in my life, and they all believed me because I was the sweet girl from the nice family and he was trash. I washed my hands of Tommy’s death and let Brandon take the fall.” My head began to pound and I gripped it with my hands.