Authors: Hannah Jayne
Avery had no idea how she made it through the rest of her classes. Around her, the rumors circulated—that she and Fletcher had attacked Adam together, that it was their plot all along, that they were the modern-day murderous Bonnie and Clyde.
“She snapped,” Avery heard someone say under her breath.
“Fletcher is in love with Avery. He’d do anything she said…”
“Avery said if he got rid of Adam…”
Each new theory was a stab to Avery’s self-worth, but the accusatory stares were even worse. Once upon a time, she had been invisible, a goody-goody—now she was a celebrity criminal, tried and convicted in front of a jury of her peers. There was no reason to defend herself. The decision had already been made: Fletcher killed Adam, and Avery had helped. Maybe Fletcher would have defended her, but he didn’t show up at school nor did he answer any of Avery’s calls or texts. When the final bell rang, she tried again.
After the third ring, a woman answered in an uncertain, scared voice. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Carroll?”
“Who is this, please?”
Avery cleared her throat. “It’s Avery. Avery Templeton. I’m a friend of Fletcher’s.” She knew that Mrs. Carroll knew exactly who she was, but adding that she was Fletcher’s friend somehow felt important.
“Yes, Avery. May I help you?”
Avery’s eyes started to fill with tears, even though she knew the offer to help was part of a greeting rather than any actual offer. She couldn’t talk to her father much, and she’d always been able to talk with her mother…
She cleared her throat. “Is Fletcher there?”
There was an extra-long silence. “I’m sorry. Fletcher can’t come to the phone right now.”
Avery found herself nodding even though she knew Mrs. Carroll couldn’t see her. “Sure, yeah, okay. Would it be okay if I came by the house later?”
Another pause. “I don’t think so, Avery.”
“Can you tell Fletcher that I called? I’ve been trying to get hold—”
“Sure, Avery,” Mrs. Carroll’s soft voice cut her off smoothly. “I’ll let him know that you were looking for him.”
Avery was about to reply when the line dropped and she was listening to silence. She stared at her phone as if that would explain everything: Fletcher seemingly avoiding her and Mrs. Carroll’s quick cutoff. Or did Mrs. Carroll just not want her to talk to Fletcher?
Avery turned and Ellison, standing with Tim and some other kids, wandered over to her. “Hey,” Ellison said.
Avery wasn’t in the mood to talk, her head swimming with thoughts about Fletch and Mrs. Carroll. “Hey,” she said offhandedly.
“About all the stuff—all the rumors and stuff—”
Avery stiffened, nearly ready to sprint for the car the second she heard her father honk. “I’ve gotta go.” She turned her back on Ellison, trying hard not to strain to hear the murmuring voices behind her.
“That was fast,” Chief Templeton said. “Didn’t you want to say good-bye to your friends?”
What
friends?
Avery thought. Instead, she just shook her head, eyes focused on her hands resting on her jeans. “Can we just go?”
They drove in silence for a few moments. Then her father started to make small talk—something about a cake coming into the office, the sugar rush killing a week of “clean eating.”
“They think that I had something to do with it,” Avery said finally.
“What’s that?
She couldn’t announce—admit—it again.
“Nothing. Have you heard anything from the Carrolls? Fletcher wasn’t in school again today. Did any of the tox or blood screens come back?”
Chief Templeton rolled the car to a stop at a red light, and Avery could see the muscle jump along his jawline. “We’re not going to talk about this anymore, Avery.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest, the needling pain she’d been feeling all day replaced by an indignant anger.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about stuff like this. You’re just a kid.”
“Just a kid? Dad, my friend died. And my other friend is being accused of his murder.”
“No one is accusing Fletcher of murder.”
“No one but the whole school.”
“We’re not talking about this. You’re too close to this case—I shouldn’t have even talked to you about it in the first place.”
“Dad, I was the one who found Fletcher, remember?”
“Yes, Avery, I remember. But it’s time to let me take over, okay? We’re doing what we can.”
“What you
can
?” Avery spat out. “You’re letting the entire town prosecute Fletch and his mom. His locker and his house have been vandalized, and you’re just letting it happen!”
“We are taking care of it. Just because you can’t see the progress we’ve made right in front of you doesn’t mean that we haven’t been building a case.”
“What kind of progress? And a case against who? I mean, someone tried to kill me, Dad. Has that figured into your investigation? Or are you just brushing that aside because you also think Fletch is guilty?”
“I’m not going to come down on you for being so disrespectful because I know you’re hurting right now. But, Avery, you’d better watch your mouth.”
“Dad!”
“This is out of your hands, out of your life now, kid.”
Avery was seething. She glanced over at her dad whose face looked almost serene, like the last three minutes had never happened. She hated how he did that, went from animated one minute to shut down the next. She wondered what else he was able to hide with that closed-off look.
• • •
Fletcher overheard his mother’s exchange with Avery. He turned his back to the door, and a few minutes later, his mother knocked on his door frame.
“Anyone call for me?”
“No, honey.”
He didn’t have to turn around to know that his mother was holding a plate in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. He didn’t have to turn around to know that she was feeding him those pills again, the ones from Dr. Palmer or Dr. Roy or maybe some other doctor who she had dreamed up to poke at him and shine lights in his eyes even before all of this happened.
“I don’t want anything to eat.”
“You have to eat something, Fletcher.”
He hated the patronizing way she said his name. Her sigh told him she was tired of being his mother, his warden, his gatekeeper.
“Just leave me alone.”
Fletcher heard her put the plate and milk down on his desk. He knew she wouldn’t leave without poking at him, asking him questions, and trying to get him to talk.
“How are the blackouts?”
The blackouts were shorter now, sharp pieces of dark. But some of the time from his escape was starting to fade into a gray fog. He could see shadows and shapes. He could hear voices.
Maybe he could piece it all together. Maybe if he really concentrated…
“Try not to stress yourself. Remember what the doctor said?”
He didn’t.
“Just relax and make sure you eat your sandwich and finish your milk.”
He stayed quiet.
“Fletcher?” Her voice rose.
“Sure, Mom.”
• • •
Avery and her father didn’t speak until they turned down her street. “So I’m just going to drop you off and go back to the station. I shouldn’t be too late tonight. Maybe we can go out, grab a couple of burgers?”
He poked her on the shoulder when Avery didn’t respond. “Avy?”
“Burgers. Sure, fine, whatever.”
The chief guided the car down the street and into their long driveway, the tires grating as they bit the gravel. He pushed the car into park and turned toward her.
“What else is going on, Avy? Come on, something with school? Boys?”
Avery tried to hide the scowl on her face.
“You know you can talk to me about anything.”
Avery got out of the car. She kicked the door of the police cruiser shut. “Right, Dad. Anything except for police work.”
Chief Templeton rolled down his window. “That’s not fair, Avy. This is police business.” The stern look in his eyes shifted, and suddenly the chief was her father once again. “A kid is dead. And I don’t want you messed up in this. I won’t put you in any danger. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too.”
A lump formed in the back of her throat, and Avery was pulled back to the months after her mother passed. The casserole brigade had stopped coming, the “just checking in” calls had gone silent. For the rest of the community, life went back to business as usual. And they expected Avery and her father to do the same. But there was nothing usual about their new existence. She and her dad had tried to do everything the same way—church on Sundays, dinner at the table from serving dishes and plates—but the silence was too hard.
Avery and her father found there was safety in the darkness, in meals eaten off paper towels in front of the kitchen sink or in front of the TV, the flickering light an appreciated shadow for the tears in her father’s eyes.
Avery softened. “You won’t lose me, Dad. I’m not stupid.” She offered a small smile. “I am your daughter after all.”
The chief smiled back. “I’m not sure that makes either of us exempt from stupidity.”
Avery jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I just want to help, that’s all. I know Fletcher. I knew Adam. Just let me help.”
Her father let out a measured sigh. “I’ll tell you what. You can help from in there.” He pointed to the house. “No crime-scene visiting. No interrogation, and definitely no strip searches.”
“Ew! Dad! Gross!”
“In the house, Avy.”
“Will you at least tell me what you find and then listen to my theory?”
“I’ll tell you what. If your homework is done and the house is cleaned, I’ll let you know what we’ve got and listen to your theory.”
“Homework
and
housework?”
“A cornerstone of a good investigation is an impeccable police report.”
“And housework?”
Chief Templeton shrugged and clicked the key in the ignition, letting the cruiser’s engine roar to life. “Hey, the chief of police likes a clean house. Do we have a deal?”
Avery smiled in spite of her dad’s annoying rules. “Fine!” She trudged to the front porch and spun around, pointing at her father. “But don’t forget, we have a deal!”
Chief Templeton waved, waiting until Avery was in the house with enough time to bolt the lock before he pulled out of the driveway.
• • •
Avery finished all of her homework and nearly wore out the battery on her cell phone playing games before she groaned and texted her father. It was only four forty, but she was starving.
ETA?
She texted.
7…ISH
was the response.
Avery groaned and tried another fruitless call to Fletcher’s cell, which went directly to voice mail. She bopped her phone against her side and thought about school, about hateful, snotty Kaylee’s face.
She knew Fletch had nothing to do with hurting Adam. She knew she certainly didn’t either.
“Screw this,” she said, sliding her phone into her back pocket. “If Fletch doesn’t want to clear his name and Dad doesn’t want to clear Fletch’s name, then I will.”
She took the stairs two at a time, cast a sideways look at her munched-up bike, then hopped onto her father’s, pedaling hard once she hit the street.
Adam’s house was in the same neighborhood as Avery’s and Fletcher’s, just set back a little farther at the edge of the woods. She glanced at her phone when she reached Adam’s house. The flickering “Low Battery” readout popped up first, right above the time—5:17.
She had no idea what she would tell Adam’s mother when she opened the door.
I’ll just tell her that I let Adam borrow a book or something in homeroom… Maybe I could just…
Avery rang the bell before she realized how stupid her plan was. What mother was going to let Avery paw through her dead son’s stuff? She was about to turn and leave when the garage door startled her. She hugged the outside wall and watched Mrs. Marshall’s blue Volvo back out slowly.
Avery stared, hidden behind a decorative, swirly pine tree. She watched Mrs. Marshall pause before turning her car around and zipping for the mouth of the street. Avery dove underneath the garage door just before it closed.
• • •
Fletcher hated when his mom talked about him like he wasn’t even there. She was on the phone with Dr. Palmer, who didn’t have a free appointment until the end of the week, saying things like she was “concerned” and that Fletcher “seemed upset” while he sat fifteen feet away.
She could have been talking to him. She
should
have been. Fletcher knew how Dr. Palmer would respond. It would be something about compartmentalizing trauma and creating a stable environment. Consistent and comfortable.
He looked around the sparse house. “Consistent and comfortable” wasn’t how he would describe it at all. His mother was always nervously flittering around, and even though they had been there for five years, it had never felt like home. There were no pictures on the walls, no family heirlooms, no backyard graveyard of old bicycles. His father wasn’t at this house, and neither was his older sister, Susan.
Fletcher bit his lip.
He knew that his dad’s and Susan’s absences had nothing to do with the half-empty house. He knew it was because of him. That was another memory he didn’t want to revisit: the way blood poured over Susan’s lips, their mother in between them, her hands glossy and red.
Fletcher had wondered then what was wrong with him.
Now, though the bandage was off and his stitches were out, his head still throbbed. The doctors at Dan River Falls Community Hospital had said there would be no lasting damage, but Fletcher didn’t believe them. Otherwise why wouldn’t his memories be coming back to him? They weren’t becoming clearer as time wore on. If anything, the events of that day were getting darker, grainier, and grittier.
Fletcher glanced at his mother who had turned her back, her voice dropping to a low murmur as she spoke to Dr. Palmer.
He knew. His mother was making plans to send him away. He felt as if the bare walls of this stupid house were closing in.