Blue Is for Nightmares (21 page)

And Veronica... they thought right away that I did it. They asked me what happened. I started telling them, you know, how I saw you guys helping Drea, and then how I followed you into the school. Then they stopped me and read me my rights. They made me call my parents."

"What did your parents say?"

"They told me to cooperate, to just tell them everything. So I did. The police questioned me for over an hour. First one guy, then this lady. Then back and forth. My parents ended up getting a flight here first thing this morning. They're pissed. They're hiring a lawyer."

I think I hear a slight whimper in his voice, where his breath can't quite catch up to the words.

"I gotta go," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Chad?"

"Just tell me you don't think I'm guilty, Stace. I really need someone to believe me right now"

I don't say anything right away; I just listen to his breath on the other end. "I do believe you," I say, finally, quickly, not knowing if I really do. The phone makes a clicking sound on the other end. "Chad?" But he's already hung up and I have no idea if he even heard me.

I'm just about to call him back when I notice Amber's teddy-bear backpack sitting on the floor beside my bed. The police must have thought it was mine. I pick it up and unzip the belly Donovan's mini-sketchbook sits at the top. I pull it out and stuff it into the inside pocket of my jacket, wondering if he's still with Drea at the hospital, if I'll see him there. Then I pluck out Amber's cell phone, still dead, and plug the charger into the outlet behind my bed.

I grab the phone to call Drea at the hospital, but hear a jingling sound outside the door. Maybe that's her now. I creep toward the edge of the bed, noticing that the crack of hallway-light at the bottom of the door has been blocked-- like someone's standing there.

I place the phone back down on its cradle and get up slowly, watching the dark shadows play at the bottom of the door. From the center of the room, I wait several seconds for a knock or for someone to enter. When neither happens, I yank the baseball bat from the corner and, in one quick motion, whip the door open.

Freaking Amber. She's scribbling a note on the message board attached to the door.

"What is wrong with you?" I say. "You scared the crap out of me.-

"Some good morning," she says, inviting herself in. "I guess I don't need to ask how you're doing." Amber closes the door behind her. "I heard about what happened. I can't believe Veronica's dead."

"Believe it. Because it's true."

"I know," she says, fingering along the windowsill, staring out toward the lawn. "It's just that...

that wasn't supposed to happen, you know?"

I reach into the spell drawer for my bottle of lavender, hoping the floral scent will help soothe my spirit.

"I heard they're canceling classes for next week," Amber says. "There's supposed to be some assembly about it later, but everybody's leaving for the weekend." She watches me dab fingerprints of the oil behind my ears. 'Are you all right? You seem a bit distracted."

"How do you
think
I am? Veronica Leeman was lying dead in front of me just a few hours ago and you have as much remorse about it as a chipped pedicure."

-Why should I have remorse? I didn't do it. I mean, yeah, I feel bad--I may not have liked her, but I didn't want her to
die.

I cap the bottle and pop it back inside the drawer. There's really no sense pursuing this topic any further with her because if I do, I may very well go ballistic and today, of all days, I need to remain calm. Strength comes with mindfulness.

"Did Drea spend the night at the hospital?" I ask finally. "What are you talking about? Isn't she with you?" "Why would she be with me?"

-I dropped her off here last night. After the hospital." "What do you mean, you dropped her off?"

"Yeah, after she called her parents and got checked out, I called PJ to come and pick us up. He did and we dropped her off here."

I look at Drea's bed, the covers still very much intact.

"You couldn't have. She didn't come home last night." "I think I'd know if we dropped her off or not." "Who's 'we'?"

"I told you. Me and Pr

"What happened to Donovan?"

)3

"He took a cab back. PJ got all piss-jealous of Donovan, saying I was hanging all over him, which I wasn't. So, then, Donovan had to take a cab back because PJ didn't want him in his car."

"So what about Drea? What happened when you dropped her off?"

"Yeah, so we drove back to campus, and I told PJ to wait in the car for me while I walked Drea into the lobby. I needed some time alone with him, to tell him off. He can't keep thinking of me as his juice."

"So you never actually walked Drea up here?"

"No."

Our eyes lock. Regardless of what roles Amber and I play in this whole ordeal, we both know that this means--today is Drea's day to die and she's already missing.

There's a knock at the door. "Ms. Brown?" says the female voice from the hallway Amber and I look at the door, then at each other. "Piglets," Amber whispers. "I refuse to talk to them. We don't have to, you know. We're minors." She snatches her teddy-bear backpack from my bed and heads to the window

-Wait!"
I hiss. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Leaving. If you're smart you'll do the same.- Amber opens the window and straddles one leg over the sill.

'Are you crazy?"
I grab at her arm. "You can't leave now. You need to tell them about last night.

About Drea.
Remember? Drea?"

Amber hesitates a moment, but then pulls her arm away. "I can't. Talking to police totally freaks me out, Stace. They make you feel guilty"

"Not if you're innocent."

She looks away. "Call me as soon as she leaves. Don't worry, Stace. We'll get to the bottom of this."

At that, she flips her other leg over the sill and runs across the lawn, toward the forest.

twe.nty-nine

I throw the door open only to find a short, fragile-looking woman standing in front of me, head to toe in a black DKNY-ish suit, snug cream blouse underneath, and shiny black ankle boots with a square toe.

"Hi," she says, in a voice as petite as she is. 'Are you Stacey Brown?"

I nod.

She introduces herself as Officer Tate, though it might as well be Tart because that's exactly what she looks like--

twenty-something, shoulder-length, artfully highlighted ginger-brown hair, with a chunk of platinum that dangles over one eye. "I have a few questions to ask you about last night," she says, flashing me her badge. "Can I come in?"

I nod and step aside, allowing tart-woman to find her place in the center of the room. She pulls a thin spiral notebook from a square, shiny black purse and flips to a fresh page. But, since we're hardly talking manicures here, before she can even
try
to take control of the situation, I grab a firm hold of the reins. "I have a few questions too." I toss the door closed. "My roommate is missing and I want to know what you're going to do about it."

She studies my expression from behind two bright, aqua- colored contacts, waiting for my stare to break, for me to look away. When I don't, she pulls the pencil from behind a double-pierced ear and places it against the clean, white notebook page.

"How long has she been missing?"

"Since last night. She was dropped off here, in front of the dorm, but then never made it back to her room."

"Might there be a chance she's staying in someone else's room? Have you two been fighting?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean, yes, we did get into a fight. But no, she wouldn't have stayed in someone else's room." "How do you know?"

"Look,
I
don't have time to argue. I just know."

"You're not helping me here, Stacey"

"Didn't you hear me?" I ask.
"Drea's
in
trouble."

"I need you to calm down." She motions to the bed for me to sit. But how can I? How am I supposed to relax when Drea is missing and I'm the only one who seems to care? I grab the protection bottle from the night table and hold it into my chest.

"Look, Stacey, we can talk in circles and get nothing accomplished, or you can let me help you.

But the only way I can do that is if you talk to me. Start from the beginning and tell me what happened."

"Fine," I say, even though this whole scenario of having to start from the beginning with little Miss Clairol, who doesn't seem to be the least bit interested in Drea, is so completely un-fine.

-Good." She hands me the glass of water by the bed. "Have you talked to your parents about this yet?"

I shake my head.

"Well, I need you to talk to them before I question you." "Why? My mother won't care."

"It's just procedure. You need to tell her the situation and that you're going to talk to me. I can't question you unless you do." She pulls out a cell phone. -What's your mother's number?"

I roll my eyes and rattle off the number, thinking how completely senseless this formality is.

How completely senseless that my teenie-bop-wannabe mom has been granted the title of adult, while I am still considered a child.

"Hello? Mrs. Brown? This is Officer Jan Tate of the Hanover Police Department. Your daughter, Stacey, would like to speak to you." Officer Tate extends the phone to me. I take and place it up to my ear.

"Stacey" my mother says, "what's going on?"

"Mom, something bad happened. A girl on campus was murdered last night and I... found the body"

"What?"

"I know. I'm going to talk to the police about it. I just needed to tell you first."

"Stacey, wait. Why are they questioning you? Why didn't you call me about this last night?

You're not in any kind of trouble, are you?"

"I don't know," I say.

"Is Drea being questioned, too?"

"No, Drea is missing."

"Missing?
What do you mean, missing?" she asks.

"I mean I can't find her and I don't know where she is." "Oh my god, Stacey. Do you need me to come up?"

I spend the next several seconds trying to convince my

mother that I can handle the situation on my own, but she makes me promise to call her back after talking to the tart-lady anyway.

I hang up and look over at Officer Tate, busy eyeing the chunky crystal rock and assortment of candles on my night table. "Okay" I say, breaking her glance. 'All set."

Since I can't bear sticking my feet into the muddied-up shoes from last night, still completely soaked from our jaunt across the wet soccer field, and since I can't locate two matching shoes amidst all the clothing debris in our room, I have no choice but to pull out the yellow tennis sneakers from my closet, the ones with the thick wooden beads on the laces. The ones from my nightmare.

I stuff the protection bottle into my coat pocket and follow her out the lobby door, keeping pace at least three steps

behind. Luckily, she parked the cruiser in the side lot where there isn't a lot of people-traffic. I ride in the back seat, even though she grants me the privilege of sitting in the front, and keep my head low so no one will see me.

When we get there, Officer Tate leads me into the station--a bit different than what it looks like in the movies. Instead of desks lined up in neat school-rows, ink blotters littered with glazed doughnuts and Styrofoam cups, and phones ringing off the hook, it's pin-drop quiet. A dark piece of glass separates the reception room from the offices. Officer Tate nods to the guy behind the window and he buzzes us through.

I follow her down a short corridor, taking the opportunity to peek into the offices that branch off on both sides, at the officers working on computers and rummaging through files. She points to the room on the right. "Have a seat in there and I'll be right with you."

Here's where it looks like TV Stark white walls, dusty linoleum floor, laminated-wood table, and metal folding chairs. I pluck the protection bottle from my pocket and grip it in my palm for strength.

Officer Tate comes in shortly after. She closes the door behind her and places a tape recorder on the table between us. We sit down; she smiles at me, pushes record, and we just start talking. We talk about Veronica and the details of the night before. She makes me go over every detail, from the moment we broke into Veronica's room to when I found her body in the classroom. I quickly realize that Miss Clairol is a lot smarter than her hairdo might profess. She twists and turns her questions to try and trip me up, get me

to say something different. But I know all the answers; I'm confident about them. And I don't have anything to hide.
Almost.

"Did you happen to see who sent the e-mail?" She studies my face for an answer.

I look down toward the protection bottle in my lap, wondering what I'm doing, why I'm trying to protect him.

"It was from Chad," I say finally, feeling selfish for not saying so in the first place.

She nods as though she already knows. "In your opinion, Stacey, were Chad and Veronica very good friends?"

I shake my head, knowing exactly where this line of questioning is headed.

"So, why do you think he would be so concerned about her cheating?"

I shrug.

-Do you think there's a chance he just wanted to be alone with her?"

"No." I mask my hand up over my eyes at the thought of Chad asking her there and then showing up only a little while after. "Why would he?"

"Do you need a minute?"

I shake my head and take a deep breath. "I don't know why he would do that."

When Officer Tate appears satisfied enough with my answers, she ends up humoring me for several more minutes while I unload about my nightmares and the card reading. The phone calls, notes, missing laundry, the lilies and what they mean--the way I was able to sense the smell of dirt from their stems and petals. I tell her how I've sensed the smell of dirt before, from Drea's pink bra, and how I was able to feel its vibrations in the laundry room. I even tell her how I've been trying to help Drea with my spells. How Amber, Drea, and I created the protection bottle and then consecrated its powers. And when I'm done, when I'm finally able to take a breath, she looks at me as though I'm crazy, as though
I
should be the one going to a hospital.