Aftermath(86)

“You are.”

I make a face. “I can be, but that’s a whole other level of goodness. Of forgiveness. I don’t hate Harley the way I hate Isaac, but I’m not looking forward to sitting across from him in a prison visiting room, either.”

“Are you thinking of asking Tiffany to come along?”

I shake my head vehemently. “Never. I’m just…” I pause, as wisps of thoughts flit past, too ethereal to grasp. Another shake of my head. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“That you’d like to kiss me again?”

I smile. “Right. Yes. I’m pretty sure that was it.” I lean toward him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I can’t sleep. I’ll start to drift off, and then bolt awake, heart pounding, with the urgent sense that I’m forgetting something. I lie there, going through all the things that could be keeping me awake. It’s not a short list. On a few of the items, my mind slows and circles, like smelling something familiar and thinking, Is it butterscotch? Kind of, but not exactly.

Something to do with visiting Harley Stewart? Kind of, but not exactly. I do keep thinking of Tiffany sitting with him in the hospital, and I’m not sure why – I guess it’s like I told Jesse, that I can’t imagine being that forgiving and I wonder if that’s wrong of me.

Whatever’s bothering me is connected to Harley, but there’s more to it.

Something to do with Jesse? No. Chris. No. Tiffany? Kind of, but not exactly. I feel terrible about what happened to her. But I can’t fix that, and this feels like something I can fix. Or, more accurately, something I can figure out. Before it’s too late.

Owen? Yes, it has to do with Owen. Am I worried he’ll come after me? Yes, but Mae is changing the locks tomorrow, and for now, she has the alarm system armed.

I’m not freaking out over Owen, but my anxiety circles around him.

Owen and Harley.

Owen and the shooting.

Is there a connection? Not that I can see, beyond Vicki.

Owen didn’t go to North Hampton. At the time of the shooting, he was a senior at Southfield. But could he still have been connected to it? A seventeen-year-old can easily slip into a different high school.

But if Owen was somehow part of the shooting, why would he come after me? He certainly wouldn’t encourage me to investigate. That’d be his biggest fear – that I’d start asking questions.

Wait. No. He hadn’t been the one who’d encouraged me to dig deeper. That was Chris.

Owen only wanted me gone. Wanted me gone so I wouldn’t dig?

Could he have only been faking outrage over having me in Riverside to get Vicki’s help?

When I close my eyes, I keep seeing Owen’s house. The broken glass. The kitchen sink.

Why am I thinking of broken glass and a pile of dishes?

I shake it off and focus on Chris and the file. That police report. Why would Harley tell a lie that could be so easily disproven? Where he’d been at the time of the lockdown would be a matter of record. He could not have been in English class —

I bolt upright.

I sit there a moment as I work it all through. Then I grab my phone and text Jesse.

Jesse

Jesse wakes, gulping breath, heart pounding so hard he winces as his bruised ribs ache. He wipes sweat from his eyes and checks the clock on his phone. Three a.m. He groans. Barely an hour of sleep, and he’s already had three nightmares.

He’s just about to close his eyes when his mother raps at the door.

“My name is Jasser Devesh Mandal,” he calls. “I’m sixteen. I live at 324 Spruce Grove Lane. And you’re holding up three fingers.”

“Two,” she says through the closed door.

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise, the fall might have given me x-ray vision. Which would be weird. Cool, but weird.”

She chuckles, and he says, “Open the door. Make sure I’m okay.”

She opens it but stays in the hall. “How’s your head?”

“Fine. Ribs hurt, but otherwise, apparently, I land like a cat.”

“Cats land on their feet.”

“I don’t have to. I’m bionic. All those steroids.”

She makes a face, like she doesn’t appreciate the joke, but she finds a smile for him.

“I’m okay, Mom. I’ll be okay.”

She leans against the doorjamb. “You seem happy.”

“For a guy who tried rescuing a kidnapped girl and got knocked through a railing for his trouble? Sure, all things considered, I’m pretty happy.”

“Is it Skye?”

He groans and thumps back on his pillow.

“I have to ask,” she says.

Yes, she does and that’s a discussion they’ll need to have, but he really doesn’t want to deal with it now. He props himself up again. “I’m happy because I came clean about the dope. I’m happy because I’ve resolved to get my act together in school. I’m very happy because Skye’s back, and she’s made me see where I’d gone wrong and realize I want to fix it. Now, good night, Mom.”

She leaves, closing the door, and Jesse lies on his back and thinks of Skye. The problem is how he’s thinking of her. He wants to pull up memories of her being here, of her kissing him, the look in her eyes, the feel of her lips on his. Instead, he keeps thinking of the nightmares. First, he dreamed of Owen attacking Mae and Skye in the parking lot. He double-checked his phone, reminding himself that she’d texted to say good night once she was in the condo. Safely in the condo. In the second nightmare, she got inside and texted him… and then was attacked by Owen. Check the phone again. Confirm that she texted a final good night from bed. And that brought nightmare number three: Owen attacking Skye in her room.