Aftermath(72)

What’s in those pages? I had them for days and never even realized it, and that’s good because my fingerprints aren’t all over it, but I wish I’d looked. I desperately wished I’d looked.

I’ve always trusted the official investigation in the shooting. The police had no reason to cover up anything. If nobody questioned the findings, then their conclusions must be correct.

But someone did question. Someone sent me those pages.

Yes… someone hoping I’d wave it around as proof of my brother’s innocence, further damning myself in the process.

My persecutor didn’t send me those pages to be helpful.

They are lies. Falsified reports. That’s why the detective slapped the folder shut. The last thing the police need is a dead boy’s sister claiming she saw a police report proving his innocence… leaving the department scrambling to prove it was doctored.

I still wish I’d looked.

Really? Do I want to see doctored police files? Plant false doubt in my head?

Too late. It’s already planted.

Even when I finally fall asleep, my brain stays fixed on the file. On everything that could be in it.

In my dreams, I read that there was no gun in Luka’s hand. He lifted his hands while holding his cell phone to call and tell me he was okay, and the police mistook it for a gun and shot him.

I wake from that dream, and I know it’s not true. Luka had a gun. No one has ever disputed that.

Then I fall asleep again and dream that he did have a gun. That he shot kids. That he killed Jamil. That he was the worst of the shooters, and afterward, there was confusion, an error in the lab mistakenly showing that the bullets came from Isaac’s gun.

I wake, and I know that’s not true either. Again, there were witnesses who saw Isaac shoot Jamil and others.

When morning comes, I know there’s only one way to put my mind at ease. Learn all the details of the shooting. Understand exactly what happened, as best it can ever be understood.

Jesse drives me to the hospital the next morning. His mom cleans and redresses my arm. It’s fine so far, and while I can feel it, the pain isn’t enough for medication or a sling. Soon we’re on our way again.

There’s been no news about Tiffany. I searched online for that as soon as I woke up. Dr. Mandal has called the police to check, and they insist they’re investigating. A missing person bulletin will go out after she’s been gone for twenty-four hours. Until then, they have no proof of abduction, and she turned eighteen last month.

“I’m debating whether to hack into Tiffany’s email account,” Jesse says as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot. “It might show what she wanted to tell us.”

“But if that can be traced back to you, it won’t look good.”

“I know. I’ve hit a dead end otherwise on the hacking stuff. I zeroed in on the birthday part of Leanna’s video, thinking it suggested your stalker is connected to her and has access to family footage. But no – that clip is online as part of a memorial video. I watched the bits side by side. It’s an exact copy.”

“So someone downloaded the memorial video and took that part.”

He nods. “But on that note, one thing we haven’t had a chance to follow up on is the AV tech. We should speak to Chris today.”

“Text and see if he can meet you for lunch. I’ll be at the main library. There’s something I want to research.”

“I’d rather we didn’t split up, Skye. That seems to be asking for trouble.”

When I hesitate, he says, “What are you researching?”

I hesitate again.

He glances over as he idles at a stoplight. “Is it about the shooting?”

“They found part of the police report in my locker. Someone put it in there, saying I needed to look closer at the case. I didn’t read them. I’d gotten notes that seemed to suggest I knew more about the shooting, so I thought it was more of that. I still think it’s just a variation on it – my persecutor hoping I’ll start claiming Luka was innocent.”

“And you don’t want me helping because of Tuesday night at NHH. How I reacted to that projection of Jamil.”

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t want to tell you I was researching it because it looks like I’m hoping to clear Luka.”

“I know you better than that, Skye,” he says. “And thank you for not leaving me out to spare my feelings about Jamil. I…” He turns his gaze to the road. “I get a lot of that. It makes me feel like an imposter. Almost as much as the steroids did.”

“I know.”

“There were so many times I wished he was —” He inhales. “Not dead. I used to dream he’d get a sports scholarship to a boarding school. But not dead. Never dead.” His fingers clutch the wheel. “I have nightmares of that, though, of him coming back and saying I wanted him —” He stops short.

“I have nightmares of Luka. That he’s home, and everything’s okay. Which aren’t nightmares until I wake up and remember the truth.”

He reaches and finds my hand, giving it a squeeze before taking the wheel again.

“I do mourn Jamil,” he says. “In my way. I feel bad that he never got to grow up. I remember Dad saying he hated his brothers when he was a kid. They were always picking on him. Once they grew up, that changed, and they’re really close now. I think that’s what I miss most – that I never got the chance to find out if it would be like that with Jamil.”