Aftermath(90)

I shake her, lightly at first, and then harder and — She flops onto her back, and I let out a yelp, and I drop the phone and knife as my hands go to her neck, desperately searching for — I find a pulse. Or I think I do. I can’t hear her breathing. I’m right here, and the room is silent, and I don’t hear her breathing. I lean in, my ear going to her lips. Then I catch it, but it’s as faint as her pulse.

When I shake her harder, she flops like a rag doll.

She’s sedated. Heavily sedated. Too heavily sedated. I know that, and all I can think about was the time I came home with Gran, a month after the shooting, after we went out to lunch, and Mom stayed behind, and I went into Mom’s room and…

She’d overdosed on sleeping pills. She tried later to say it’d been a mistake and she’d miscounted, but I knew it hadn’t been. I’d run in, and I’d found her just like this.

My heart slams against my ribs as I shake Mae, saying, “Wake up. Please, Mae. Just wake —”

A board creaks in the hall. I stop. There’s a soft thump, like a stockinged foot coming down. Then silence.

I take a deep breath. Pick up the knife. Grip it tight. And then…

I start to call Owen’s name. But I know it’s not Owen. I know who it is, and yet I still want to say his name, pray I am mistaken.

I take a deep breath.

“Tiffany?” I call.

No answer.

I start to again say “Owen,” as if silence is proof that my theory is wrong. But I know better.

My heart’s pounding so hard it takes a second for me to get the words out.

“Tiffany? I know it’s you.”

Knife ready, I start toward the door, letting my feet fall hard, my footsteps clear.

Run, Tiffany. Just run. Please. You have time. Run, and let me get help for Mae and take care of her, and the police can go after you.

Just run. Please, please, please…

A figure fills the doorway.

Skye

It’s Tiffany. I knew it would be, but I still hoped. I hoped with all my heart that I was wrong.

“Why?” I say.

She snorts a laugh, and rage fills me. I remember how horrible I felt about her being kidnapped. I remember sitting at her side in the hospital, consumed by guilt, tripping over myself to apologize, while she was so understanding.

I think of the nurse, telling me that Tiffany has such a good heart, and of myself thinking, Yes, yes, she does. So good. So brave. So strong.

Such a liar. A hateful, twisted liar.

I grip the knife and —

She raises her hand and points a gun at me.

“You should see your face, Skye,” she says. “You’re like a little kid asking why somebody was mean to you. A little girl asking why her big brother wanted to shoot up his school.”

“Luka didn’t want to shoot anyone.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, little girl.”

“Luka hid the gun in the bathroom. That’s why he went in there.”

“Exactly. To get the gun and shoot —”

“And shoot who? The school was on lockdown. Luka was the one who put the school on lockdown. He’s the one who called the police. Isaac gave Luka a gun, and he put it in the bathroom.”

“Why would he —?”

“Because he’s Luka.” My eyes start to tear up, but I blink it back fast. “He hated guns. Wouldn’t even go target shooting with our dad. Isaac told him the plan and gave him a gun, and he couldn’t bring himself to carry it around. So he hid it in the bathroom, stole a girl’s cell phone and called the police.”

“Nice story, but —”

“You’re the one who told the police Luka was in class when the lockdown was called. You lied, and then you gave yourself away.”

“Gave myself away?”

“The performance art at the school, the show you put on for me. You’re in the images in the English class. You were in Luka’s class. You, not Harley. You’re the one who gave that statement to the police, saying Luka snuck out after the lockdown was called. Instead, he was in the bathroom waiting to hand over the gun. Which was a really dumb, clumsy mistake. But that’s all Luka did wrong. He made a mistake.”

“Your darling brother planned —”

“No, he didn’t. You did. You and Isaac. I don’t know how much Luka knew. But he never agreed to that shooting.”

“And the part about me being involved? When there’s no proof that I had anything to do with it?”

“But there is. Whoever gave that report to the police knew the basics of the plan, but no details. That’s why we presumed it was Harley. You told the police that you only knew Isaac was up to something with Luka and Harley. You said that Luka definitely knew what was happening. In other words, you lied.”

“I remember how much you liked to tell stories, Skye. This isn’t one of your best.”

“It’s all theory, of course. The details, that is. The heart of it, though – that you were part of the plan – is proven fact.”

“Proven how?”

“By the fact that you’re standing here, holding a gun on me. You’d gotten away with it. You successfully set yourself up as yet another victim: the poor girl whose boyfriend turned out to be a psychopathic school shooter. Then I showed up. The one person who had a reason to dig deeper. Especially if I started hanging around with Chris and Jesse. You knew Chris had doubts, didn’t you?”