Strange in Skin (6 page)

“No, not everyone, but we do get a lot of inmates who have done the unthinkable. Ever since they
made the jail so much bigger, it seems like that’s a lot of who goes through there, but sometimes they
don’t stay long.”

His words alarmed me. “What do you mean?”

Buck took another noisy slurp of his drink and set it down on the table just as obnoxiously. “Well,
some of them get transferred to other prisons.” He paused and took a good look at what I was doing.
“You’re that interested in my job?”

I wasn’t sure if this turn of subject was the beginning of an interrogation, so I decided I should stop
asking so many questions. “Of course.” I gave him a huge grin. “I don’t know much about the police
life.”

“You just know the church life.” Buck grinned back.
I sighed, realizing he wasn’t catching onto anything. “How’s your dinner?”
“Great,” he said patting his belly.
I laughed.
“Yours?”
“Delicious. We always come here when we go out to eat.”
“Best place in town.” Buck waved down the waitress to get another drink.

We sat there in silence, finishing up our meals. My salad actually wasn’t that great this time, but I
kept managing to pick through it and act like I was truly enjoying it.

 

Buck finished his food first and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So, I hope I didn’t scare you
when you were down at the jail with the way I was acting.”

 

“Not at all.” I was glad he was talking about this again.

 

“Good. I mean, those guys can be real jerks, and I can’t just let them walk all over me. I didn’t like
to show you that side of me.”

“Really, I understand, Buck.” I bit my lip hesitating for a moment, but my impatience was getting the
best of me. “There was that one prisoner, the very last one.”
He looked over my shoulder off into space trying to recall exactly who I was talking about.

“You didn’t seem to like that one very much. He must be one of those ones who did something
unthinkable,” I said, anxious for some sort of answer.

“Oh, yeah, I know who you mean. Logan.” The way he called him by his last name with such
emphasis of emotion showed how much he really loathed him. “He’s definitely a scumbag. That’s the
one that I slipped your name to. Sorry for that. I overreacted on that one.”

That one. He couldn’t even bring himself to say his name again. “That’s okay,” I quickly said.
“No, I feel bad. I was a jerk. He just really gets to me.”

“Don’t feel bad, Buck. You’re a good police officer.” I wanted to ask more. Should I? Buck could
be such an emotional mess. One minute he was extremely happy and the next he seemed so down. It
was hard to juggle the situation without knowing which way it would turn out. “What did he do?
Logan, I mean.”

Buck waved down the waitress again. “Do you want another drink?” he asked me.
“No.”

“Can we get the check, please?” He turned his head toward me again. “I’m not really supposed to
talk about those kinds of things.”

 

“Oh.” Disappointment filled me again. Was I ever going to be able to find out why he was in there?

Buck must have been able to read the disappointment written all over my face. “Hey,” he
whispered, putting his finger under my chin and lifting my head up. “I know I can trust you, Anna. This
stuff I talk about, cop stuff, it’s between you and I, right?”

I felt a little glimmer of hope as I was breaking down the wall. “Of course. You have my word.” I
regretted saying that as soon as it had slipped out of my mouth. I never liked to promise things. I grew
up getting scolded whenever I said that. It wasn’t supposed to be used lightly. I guess Buck probably
knew that and that’s why he found me so trustworthy.

He leaned across the table to get closer to me. I felt myself leaning in as well, the suspense taking
hold of me. What was he going to say? Emry’s a thief, a drunk, or a drug dealer?

 

“He killed his best friend. And not by accident either. He threw him off a really high tower,” Buck
whispered.

 

I had been way off. Buck was saying that Emry was a murderer.

I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. I backed away from Buck, probably too quickly, and
struggled to regain control of myself. Could this possibly be true? Could beautiful, wonderful, sweet
Emry have done such a dreadful thing and furthermore, to his own best friend?

Buck immediately saw my shock He rushed to the other side of the booth to sit next to me and put
his arm around my neck trying to comfort me, but my mind was still spinning from the picture forming
in my head of Emry looking down from a tall tower to the ground where his friend’s body lay
motionless.

“Hey now,” Buck hissed. “It’s okay. Please don’t be upset. I know it’s scary to think about, but I’m
sure he’s forgotten about you. I’m positive he has. He’s not going to come after you or anything. I
wouldn’t let that happen anyway.”

Pull it together!
I commanded myself.
You’re acting ridiculously
. But then I felt a little relieved as
well. At least he thought I was scared, as if there was a reason to my sudden hyperventilation.
“Come on, let’s get you going home.”

I allowed Buck to pull me to a standing position out of the booth. He tossed some cash onto the
table, and we walked together out of the diner. He stayed very close behind me, I guessed he thought
maybe in case I would faint from fear or something.

The car ride home was mostly silent. Buck didn’t know what else to say to comfort me, and my
mind was still trying to wrap itself around the situation at hand. I had gotten what I wanted, an answer
to my question, and I knew I should truly feel fear. I had gotten absurdly close to an alleged killer, but
for some reason, the shock of hearing the reason of why Emry was in jail was not because I was
afraid of him. I felt sorry for him. This all had to be a mistake, but murder wouldn’t be treated lightly.
This wasn’t just something he could walk away from and be released from jail, not any day soon, at
least. This was a real mess, and I felt a hollow feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. Why was I
being so harsh toward Buck for being an emotional mess? I was the one who was acting like a drama
queen with my ups and downs. This was not something I felt I was capable of helping Emry with. This
was beyond me. I was too insignificant to help Emry.
I was helpless
, I thought.

Surely there was more to the story. I had to start digging up Emry’s past. How would I ever start to
do such a thing? I felt determination again, a purpose to all of this madness within myself. It was the
only thing that helped make the void slightly disappear and somewhat bearable. I had to redirect my
thoughts once again. I was going to have to become more focused or else Emry would be lost to me
forever in the lifetime of a prison sentence.

“Just great!” Buck shouted out.

My eyes flittered upwards to look through the windshield towards the foggy road in front of us. I
couldn’t tell where we were as I hadn’t been paying attention. Buck pulled over to the side of the
road.

“Do you feel that?” he asked me.
I looked toward him and then back to the road as the car came to a complete stop. “Feel what?”

Buck took a deep breath. “Flat tire.” As he jumped out of the car, I felt the sudden rush of cold air
hit my face from the open door.

I pulled the handle of the car door on my side and slipped out into the afternoon air as well. The fog
was thick, settling a few inches off the ground. I had trouble seeing my own feet as I looked down at
the road. Buck was already bent over the culprit tire trying to see how much damage had been done.

“How bad is it?” I walked over and stood behind him. I could see the tire sagging. “Do you have a
spare?”
He huffed as if suddenly irritated with himself. “You’d think I would, but you know, I don’t. I don’t
even have a donut.” He kicked at the tire with his boot. “I can call someone. It shouldn’t take too long
for us to be picked up.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Sure is getting colder, huh? We’d
better get back in the car and try to keep warm.”

I saw him eye me slightly, and I realized he was thinking he could keep me warm until someone
showed up. Would he offer me his coat or put his arms around me in the car? I wasn’t sure what he
had planned, but I nervously started straining my eyes to try to look through the fog.

“Hey, we’re on Livingston Street, aren’t we?” I asked, taking a few steps away from Buck and a
few closer toward the open field across the road.

 

“Yeah, I think. Why?”

“Mrs. Anderson lives on this road, and if this is the field,” I said, crossing the ditch and hopping
into the field, “her house should just be right up there.” I pointed for him. “We could stay there until
someone picked us up. It’d be warm there.” It would get me away from having to be that close to
Buck. I didn’t want to give him too much of the wrong impression. Friendly, yes, but not
that
friendly.

Before Buck could object to my little scheme, I started walking through the field toward where I
was almost certain the house would be.

 

“Anna, wait up!” Buck yelled out from behind me. “I have to get my phone!”

I slowed my pace a little but continued to walk. He could catch up. And he did. My boots trampled
the frozen ground beneath my feet. It must have rained while we were in the diner. Ice seemed to be
covering everything. Every few steps I would feel my boots slip, but then I would steady myself
before falling down. We walked like this side by side for a while, our breaths exploding into
miniature clouds in front of our faces as we went along.

“You know Mrs. Anderson, don’t you?” I asked him.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Anderson is a … nice lady.”

He said it strangely. I wasn’t sure what he meant about it. Buck seemed to say everyone’s name in a
weird way though. It’s like he held grudges or something, knew something about everyone.
“She’s always calling my father for one thing or the other. Usually it’s her son that calls though.”
“It’s not like she’s that old,” Buck commented as if I had meant she were elderly or incapable of
taking care of herself.

“No, she’s not.” I hadn’t really thought much about it before. Mrs. Anderson had always seemed
older to me because her kids were at least a good ten to fifteen years older than myself, but really, she
was around the same age as my parents. She had just had her kids at a young age. I wondered why I
had never really thought about that before. “She’s been through a lot though.”

“You mean with her husband’s death and then Ernie’s?” Buck asked. “It’s actually been a long time
since both of them passed.” He said it without a hint of sympathy.
I slipped on the ice again, but this time I felt Buck grab hold of the back of my arm, steadying me.
“Thanks.” He didn’t release his grasp but continued to keep a firm hold on me to make sure that I
wouldn’t be able to slip again.

Mrs. Anderson had had some troublesome hardships to deal with in the last decade or so. Her
husband had suddenly killed himself. Mrs. Anderson was the one who found him hanging by a rope in
their bedroom. No one knew why he had done it, and nobody liked to mention that it had happened
either. Suicide was a very difficult thing to deal with. Not only had that loved one died, but we
believed that his soul would be damned as well. That’s what we were taught in the church. I couldn’t
really ever remember seeing Mrs. Anderson’s husband. I couldn’t picture his face in my head.

And then around five or six years later, Mrs. Anderson’s middle child, Ernie, died in a fishing
accident. He had been at the lake by himself and campers found him face down in the water, drowned.
I didn’t know her well, but she was probably an emotional wreck, devastated by the loss of those
around her, and rightfully so. She never came to church, but she seemed to need extra guidance from
my father, and if she was really depressed, her son, Lauren, would call my father to try to help her.
Lately, it seemed like a regular occurrence. Mrs. Anderson, the unstable widow of Seneca. She had
turned into ‘the creepy lady’ to the little kids who wanted nothing to do with her and would double
dare each other, especially around Halloween, to walk down her long driveway and catch a glimpse
of her in her house, as if she were a witch or something, like her house was now haunted by the ghost
of her dead husband.

“She just needs a little more spiritual help than others,” I finally said, trying to defend the poor
lady. “It may have been awhile, but who knows how long it takes to get over some of the things she’s
been through.”

“You’re right.” Buck sounded sympathetic now, more towards me catching him being heartless
rather than judging Mrs. Anderson.

The field was coming to an end as I could see trees directly ahead and then the opening that was the
entrance of her long, narrow driveway. The fog seemed to have lifted a little in this area, and I looked
around me and really saw that everything was truly covered in ice.

“Must’ve rained.” Buck was having the exact same thoughts. “Hey, hold on for a sec.” He abruptly
stopped and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket as it was humming on vibrate. “Hello? Hey,
Frank.” He turned around and started having a conversation with one of his buddies. I guessed he had
given someone a call while we were still at the car. “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. Um, it’s Livingston
Street. Well, that depends. Do you want to change a tire in the cold or would you rather hook up the
car to a tow truck in the cold?” He chuckled. “Okay. Sure. Thanks. See ya.” He snapped the phone
shut and smiled as he headed back to where I stood. “Help’s on the way.”

He said it as if we were in danger.

We began walking again down the driveway and rounded the corner. Mrs. Anderson’s house would
be within sight soon. My eyes skimmed past the fading fog toward where I knew the porch would be.
Suddenly, my crunching steps came to a halt.

“Anna, what the …?”

 

“Shh!” I hissed at him, squatting down behind a bush to hide myself so I could observe more
closely. Buck automatically hunched over next to me.