One of Us Is Next(87)
“Um. Hi,” I say nervously, clutching my phone as I step inside. Mom is sitting beside Emma’s bed and the police officer is standing at its foot. The gray-haired nurse is writing something down on Emma’s chart. Emma herself is still asleep. I gaze at her peaceful face, wishing I could see directly into her brain. Emma knew about Derek and me. She knew. Even when she confronted me in Café Contigo, red-faced and almost crying, waving her phone like it was the first time she’d ever heard the news.
Unless Derek is lying. But why would he? My head aches, my brain working overtime trying to connect the dots on all the new information that’s hit me tonight.
Mom’s strained voice pierces my tangled thoughts. “Phoebe, this is Detective Mendoza with the Bayview Police. He has some questions for you.”
“For me?” I tear my eyes away from Emma as the nurse straightens.
“You can stay here, if you like,” she says, crossing to the door. “We can close this for a few minutes and give you privacy. Just press the call button if the patient needs me.”
I hover next to the door after it closes, and Detective Mendoza clears his throat. “Phoebe, I’ve already explained this to your mother, but you are not being accused of anything related to this evening’s events. Your presence for the entirety of tonight is accounted for. However, we’d like your cooperation as we build the case against Jared Jackson, and to do that effectively we need to understand your relationship with him.”
“My…what?” I wish I had my cup of water back. My throat is suddenly so dry that it hurts. “I don’t have a relationship with him. I only just learned his name downstairs.”
“We’ve spent the past hour interviewing Mr. Jackson about his motivations for tonight’s events at Talia’s Restaurant. We also seized his phone, which he claims has months’ worth of correspondence with you. He says he met you in an online forum called Vengeance Is Mine in late December, that the two of you bonded over family tragedies, and eventually agreed to, as he put it, take out one another’s enemies. Mr. Jackson says he fulfilled his end of the bargain when he executed a texting-based Truth or Dare game at Bayview High that led to Brandon Weber’s death earlier this month.”
My legs suddenly go weak, and I barely make it into the corner chair. “I don’t understand. Brandon…what about Brandon?” I dart my eyes toward Mom, who stirs beside Emma’s bed like a sleepwalker trying to wake up.
“Wait. Brandon Weber?” she asks thickly. “You didn’t mention him before.”
Detective Mendoza looks down at a notepad in his hand. “According to Mr. Jackson, he used gossip about Bayview High students—yourself and your sister included—to kick the game off.” He glances up at me briefly, then back at his notes. “The actions that led to Brandon Weber’s death were the result of a Dare issued to him. Mr. Jackson made use of his background in construction work to remove supports from beneath that landing, causing Brandon to fall to his death. In return, you were supposed to help Mr. Jackson get revenge on Eli Kleinfelter, for putting Mr. Jackson’s brother in jail. However, Mr. Jackson says you fell out of touch after Brandon Weber’s death, and became unresponsive to his attempts to contact you. Thus tonight’s attack. He decided to take matters into his own hands, and conclude the deal without you.”
Unresponsive to his attempts to contact you. We need to talk. That’s what the note I got at Café Contigo yesterday said. If I’m understanding Detective Mendoza correctly, Jared Jackson must have sent that. And set up the entire Truth or Dare game…for me. Which makes no sense whatsoever. Even putting aside the insane idea that I’d agree to hurt Eli—how could a person I’ve never met believe I made a deal with him? And that I wanted Brandon dead?
I’m going to be sick. “No. That’s not…I wouldn’t in a million years do anything like that,” I say. An image flashes through my brain of Brandon in my apartment, assaulting me and hurling insults. In that instant, I hated him. Did I tell the wrong person? Who did I tell? How could Jared Jackson even know about it, or about me? “Why would I? Brandon and I aren’t…we didn’t get along all the time, but he wasn’t my enemy.”
Detective Mendoza’s tone doesn’t change: calm and unemotional, like his notes are a textbook he’s using to teach a class. “Mr. Jackson says you told him how Brandon Weber contributed to your father’s death by causing a forklift to malfunction during a critical point in its operation.”
Everything inside me stills. I forget how to breathe. The tears that had been gathering behind my eyes freeze. My heart, which was just pounding loudly in my ears, is suddenly so silent that I wonder, briefly, if I’m dead.
“What.” I push the word through numb lips, cold and flat. It doesn’t seem like enough. There have to be more words. I search my brain for them. “Did. You say.”
A strangled cry bursts out of Mom. “I never wanted you kids to know, Phoebe. What was the point of knowing something like that? I’m so sorry I didn’t prepare you for it. But you could have talked to me. Why didn’t you talk to me?”
Brandon. Dad. This is a nightmare. I’m asleep and having the worst dream of my entire life. I pinch my arm, as hard as I can. I don’t even feel it, but I don’t wake up, either.
“I didn’t,” I finally say. “Know any of that.”