Aftermath(66)

“So, deal?”

“Deal.”

We drink our shakes and talk. We don’t discuss what’s going on. We just talk. We’ve been there about an hour when I get a text.

Tiffany: I have something.

Tiffany: It’s important.

Me: What is it?

Tiffany: Can’t say. Need to show you.

Me: Out with Jesse. Swing by your place after?

Tiffany: Dad won’t like that. He doesn’t want me associating with… people connected to the shooting.

Me: Tomorrow?

Tiffany: It’s urgent.

I check the number again. It’s definitely Tiffany, but this sounds suspicious.

Me: Meet now?

Tiffany: Please.

Me: Fletcher Park?

Tiffany: Perfect!

I tell her we’ll be there in twenty. Then I sign off. I show Jesse the thread. He reads it, and then looks at me.

“No,” he says.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You want to go to Fletcher Park. At dusk. Because if it is her, she has information we can use… and if it’s not her, you can turn the tables on whoever does show up.”

“Yep.”

Jesse looks at me. One long, hard look. Then he waves for me to finish my shake so we can leave.

Skye

Despite the cosmetic changes at Fletcher Park, the layout remains the same. Playground next to the road and parking lot. Picnic pavilion behind it. Baseball diamond behind that. Beyond the bleachers is what used to be open field. Now it’s under development, with a few partial homes. Machinery and turned-up soil mark land where we once played tag and hide-and-seek in the long grass.

I even had a fort out there once. The first time I brought Jesse, I showed him what remained of it, and he was very impressed by my construction skills. Typical Jesse – not “Wow, that’s a cool fort,” but “Wow, you built it properly.” And I was so much more pleased with that.

My fort is long gone, and this afternoon, when we sat on the pavilion roof, I gazed into the field and felt what I suppose is nostalgia. Seems weird at my age, but that was what I felt, seeing the playground revamped and the field torn up.

As we get out of the car, I text Tiffany.

Me: We’re here.

Tiffany: On my way!

“I’m sure you are,” Jesse mutters as he peers around the playground. Dusk has settled hard, and the park grounds are more shadow than light. He looks at my phone and opens his mouth. Then he shuts it.

He isn’t happy about this. On the drive, I phoned Tiffany to check whether she sent those texts. She didn’t answer.

We climb onto the playground equipment, giving us a good place to see from and be seen from. Then we wait.

Jesse spots the figure first. He nudges me and discreetly gestures toward the pavilion. Someone’s standing half hidden in shadows. Someone who is too tall to be Tiffany.

The figure pulls back around the building.

I text Tiffany.

Me: You here?

Her: Not yet! Give me 5!

Uh-huh.

Jesse reads the texts. Then he says, “Can you scroll up?”

“That’s all she sent tonight. Well, except for this.” I move to our brief conversation earlier in the evening. He reads it and frowns.

“Problem?” I say.

“She uses full words. Like you.”

I shrug. “A writer thing, I guess.”

“Yes, but —”

A phone sounds. Just the first notes of a ring tone, cut short. We both look up fast. The figure beside the pavilion has his head down, hands in front, as if silencing that ring.

The figure looks up… and sees us looking straight at him. He takes a slow step back. I slide down the climber, my feet hitting the recycled rubber with a squeak.

“Skye!” Jesse whispers.

The figure takes off. I go after him.

I hear that rubber squeak again as Jesse jumps down, and then the pound of his footsteps as he calls, “Skye! Get back here!”

I know I’m doing something reckless, but I need to see this person. It might be the only chance to clear my name. Just one glimpse of a face, and I’ll know who’s behind this.

As I run, I see every dirty look I’ve gotten in the past three years. I hear every whisper behind my back. I reread every online comment. Everyone who thinks I did something. That I knew something. That I failed to stop my brother. That I’m cursed with the same taint, and what’s happening now is just proof I have a few screws loose, like Luka and my mother, and that my father was right to abandon us, to get as far as he could from his messed-up family.

As I pass the pavilion, I fumble to get my phone out. I can see the figure ahead as he tears toward the housing development. I just need to get close enough to startle him. Make him turn, and when he does, I’ll have my phone ready for a photo.

I glance back. Jesse got a late start, and I’m running full out, but it’s not enough. Jesse’s gaining.

Just a few more seconds. I’m gaining on my target too, close enough now to be positive it’s a guy. He’s dressed in black, which makes it increasingly hard to follow him as the streetlights fade behind us.

I can’t shake Jesse. His specialties are sprints and hurdles, and he’s in his element here, running fast and leaping over debris.

I race around a stack of building lumber. Behind me, I hear a grunt of pain, as if Jesse jumped and landed wrong. I resist the urge to slow.