Authors: Cj Omololu
Time seems to stop as I drop to the ground and put my hand on the back of his head, trying to stop the blood, but it seeps through my fingers. Panic fills my body, shooting sparks through my bloodstream. I’m desperate to find another explanation, another reality. This can’t be happening! His beautiful blue eyes stare straight ahead, and there’s no life or recognition in them. Eli’s skin is warm to the touch, and I can still see traces of sweat around his hairline from being onstage, but his arms lie uselessly at his sides, and his body has a stillness to it that I’ve never seen before. Even before I put a hand up to feel for a pulse on his neck, I can feel the disbelief growing. I have to acknowledge what I don’t want to admit. There’s nothing I can do. Eli’s already dead.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, tears filling my eyes and spilling onto the front of his shirt as I hold him half on my
lap and half on the ground. “I’m so, so sorry.” I feel like curling up beside him, giving in to whatever’s going on around me, because I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t save him.
I don’t know if I’ve been here for minutes or hours when I hear the door to the club scrape open and deep voices in conversation as someone walks into the alley. That tiny sound jerks me back to life. Eli’s gone; there’s nothing left of him in this body—no music, no understanding, no forgiveness. I look down the alley at two guys in sweat-soaked T-shirts as they lean against the building, their heads wreathed in smoke. My stomach lurches, and I know I can’t let them find me here. With all the other evidence, there’s no jury in the world that would believe I’m innocent. And if I go to jail for this, I’m sure Eli won’t be the last victim.
Gravel grinds into my knees, and I brace myself on the van, my hand leaving a deep red smear on the white paint as I pull myself up. The metallic smell of the blood hits my nostrils, and I manage to step a few feet away before the hot vomit makes its way up my throat and splatters onto the asphalt. I stagger upright and wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I’m not thinking about the blood that covers my hands and stains the front of my shirt in big, wet blotches. I’m just relying on instinct and self-preservation as I walk quickly past the two guys by the door—the only way out of this alley.
“Hey!” one of them shouts as I walk by. I can hear the alarm in his voice, so I break into a run. “Hey! Stop her!”
The heels on Ava’s shoes are too high, and I almost twist my ankle before I kick them off, gaining speed as my bare feet pound the pavement. The guys must give up the chase to
see what I’ve left behind, because I’m alone as I turn the corner onto the main street. I can hear the faint bass rumblings from inside the club. The guys must be getting ready to go on for the second half of their set, not knowing that they’ve already played their last notes together. The world around me is a blur from the tears that stream down my face. Eli will never be onstage again. Never pick up his guitar. Never sing. And it’s all my fault—I led Ava right to him.
I race down the sidewalk, the lights from oncoming cars flashing into my eyes. I run for blocks and blocks, trying to put as much distance as possible between me and the club. Finally my breath is so ragged, I can’t run anymore, so I veer off into a side street lined with the loading docks of the stores that are in the front. I lean against a chain-link fence and try to force air into my lungs. I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t want to believe it, but it must have been Ava in the photo the night that Casey died, and she didn’t just let Dylan off with a warning. She’s been systematically killing all the guys that Alicia’s gone out with. She’s been lying to me. For how long?
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket. Ava. I feel the vibrations and stare at her name on the screen until it just becomes a jumble of unfamiliar letters. After what she’s done, I can’t help her anymore. I hesitate, then press
IGNORE
, my chest heavy, the decision irreversible. I turn the phone off so that nobody can track my movements, and then look around, trying to get my bearings. I’m still downtown somewhere, but I don’t come here enough to know the streets well. My hands are shaking, and for the first time I really see the
blood that’s dried, sticky and sheer, on my left palm, and the huge spots on my silver top. Eli’s blood must be all over my pants too, but they’re black, and in the dim orange light from the alley I can’t see it. I pull the top over my head and immediately start to shiver, the black tank top underneath the only barrier between me and the cold misty air. There are several Dumpsters near the first loading dock, so I wad up the bloodstained shirt and smash it as deep into the rotten, sickly-sweet-smelling garbage as I can. The cops might find it if they look hard enough, but hopefully by then it won’t matter. I need to stay one step ahead of them. And one step ahead of Ava.
It’s the sirens in the distance, the high wailing that bounces off the buildings, that gets me moving again. I pass another club, dozens of people lined up under a red awning, and a few of them stare at me as I walk by with my head down, trying not to draw attention to myself, but it’s hard to be inconspicuous with bare feet and bloodstained hands. I have to get somewhere safe to clean up and figure out my next move.
On the next corner there’s a yellow neon sign advertising Topsy’s Diner. Despite the fact that it’s open twenty-four hours, I see only a couple of people on stools at the counter. There’s a side door that leads to the parking lot. Most of the customers are in the front of the diner, so I slip in the side door and head straight for the bathroom. The tiles on the sink are cracked, but the water from the tap is warm the minute I turn it on.
I pull the last few drops of soap from the dispenser. The
suds are tinged with pink as they float down the drain, and nausea hits me again as I rinse off the last of Eli’s blood. The face that stares back at me in the mirror is pale with a dark red blood smear on the cheek. I’m not sure I recognize myself anymore. The movements of my reflection follow me as I wet another paper towel and scrub my face; then I rinse my mouth to get rid of any traces of the night.
I’m alone in the bathroom, so I lean against the sink and pull out my phone. I have no idea who to call. Home is out, along with Maya, because she’s the first person they’d expect me to ask for help. It’s possible they’ve even put a trace on Dad’s and Maya’s phones already. Ava could be anywhere, and now that I know what she’s done, I can’t let her know where I am. We’re both on our own. I don’t owe her anything anymore. I turn my phone on to dial the only other possible number, quickly before I lose my nerve.
“Hello?” I can hear the caution in his voice.
“Zane?” My voice cracks with just that one word.
“Lexi? What’s going on?”
Suddenly I’m not sure of anything. Not even Zane. He’s been so helpful through all this—maybe a little too helpful. “Where are you?” I ask.
“I’m at home. Why?” His voice is wary.
“What’s your home phone number?” That’s the only way to be sure that he’s not here somewhere, not involved.
“My what? Lex, this is crazy—you’re already on the phone with me.”
“I need to call you on your home number,” I insist.
He sighs with frustration and gives me the number.
“I’ll call you right back,” I say, repeating the numbers under my breath as I hang up and dial again with shaking fingers.
I almost collapse with relief when Zane answers the phone on the first ring. “Now you have to tell me what’s going on,” he demands. “Where are you?”
“I’m at a diner called Topsy’s downtown.” I can feel the tears welling up in my throat as I think about what I have to say next. “Something bad happened. Really bad.”
“I’ll come get you,” he says instantly.
“You don’t understand.” I feel the hot tears falling from my cheeks. “Eli’s dead. I … I saw him. Ava did it. I’m sure of it now.” My voice breaks, and it takes a second of deep breathing to get the rest out. “But they’re going to think it was me.”
“No, they’re not,” he says, his voice calmer than I can imagine. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They will,” I insist. “People saw me.… I had blood all over.… It’s bad.…” I can feel the panic rising again as I picture Eli lying in the alley.
“Stay there!” he says. “I’m getting into the car.”
Zane could get in so much trouble just being with me. I feel totally alone right now, but I don’t want to drag anyone else down with me. “But what if they catch—”
“I’m leaving now,” he says, his voice full of authority, and I lean on that for a moment. “Can you wait there for me? Are you safe?”
I look down at my dark clothes and bare feet. I look homeless but okay. “I think so. For a little while.”
“Good. Sit down and get a cup of coffee and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He pauses. “And, Lex, take the battery out of your phone.”
“I’ll turn it off,” I say.
“The cops can still trace it. You need to get something small—like a nail file or screwdriver—to take the screws off the back and pull the big square battery out. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.” I hear him hang up and silence take over. “Thanks,” I say into the empty air, and hang up the phone.
I’m conscious of my bare feet as I slip into a booth near the side door, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now, so I just tuck them under the table and hope that nobody will notice. There’s a container full of toothpicks on the table, so I grab one and snap it in half. I take off the cover of the phone and see the screws just like Zane said. It takes a few tries with the toothpick, but eventually I get them off and pull out the big square battery.
“What can I get you, sugar?” a waitress says, slapping a laminated menu onto the table.
I jump back, startled, and lose one of the tiny screws under the table. “Um … coffee. Just coffee.”
She looks me over. “Coffee and a piece of pie,” she says, scribbling on her tiny notepad. “Coming right up.”
“Just coffee,” I say. My stomach is churning. I’m not going to touch it, but I need an excuse to take up this booth until Zane gets here.
“Look, honey,” she says. I can see a piece of pink gum stuck to her back teeth when she talks. “The pie’s on the house. You look like a girl who could use something on the house right about now.”
I stare at my fingers on the table. There’s a trace of dried blood on my cuticle. My eyes fill with tears. “Thanks …” I look at her name tag. “Rose.”
She grins and taps the plastic tag with her pen. “Rose E. Rose. That’s my full name, swear to God. My first name was Rose, and I married a man named Rose. Makes it easy to remember, don’t it?”
I manage a tiny smile. “It does.”
“Coffee and pie coming right up.”
Without my phone, I have nothing to do but watch the other customers and stare out the window until Rose places a cup of coffee in a thick ceramic mug in front of me, along with a piece of apple pie almost obliterated by a scoop of vanilla ice cream. “You’re such a bitty thing, I figured the ice cream can only help.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying to look normal by tearing packets of sugar and dumping them into the coffee. Rose walks up to the customers at the counter with a glass coffeepot, topping off each mug and leaning down to talk for just a second.
I poke at the pie with a fork. Lifting a bite to my mouth is impossible, but there’s something in the smell that’s comforting. Homey. Which is funny, because for all she cooks, Cecilia has never baked a pie in her life.
The ice cream has melted into a puddle and is dripping
slowly off the plate by the time Zane slides into the booth across from me. Just the sight of him makes new tears threaten.
“Thanks … thanks for coming,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Zane gets up and moves to the seat next to me, surrounding me in a hug that I allow myself to melt into. I bury my face in his chest and inhale the scent of the sun and the sea, closing my eyes as if I can block everything out. “What happened?” he finally asks, his voice rumbling in my ear.
I pull away and grab a napkin to blot my eyes. “Ava killed Eli. In an alley in back of the club where he was playing.”
His face is full of disbelief. “You saw her?”
“No. Not exactly. But I lost track of her when I was in the bathroom, and when I went outside to find him …” I trail off here, the grief threatening to overwhelm me. If only I could take that minute back. “When I got outside, she’d already gotten to him first.” I lift my eyes to Zane’s. “It had to be her. No one else knew we were going to see him, and she was so insistent about coming. It was one cut to the back of the neck, just like the others.”
“And there’s no way this was something else? An accident, or maybe he got mugged?”
I look straight at him.
“Okay, okay,” he says, giving himself over to what I already know is true. “What did you do then?”
“I ran. Stopped once to get rid of my shirt and then found this place and called you.”
“Your shirt?”
I nod. “It was covered in blood. I tried to help Eli before … before I knew he was dead. I stuffed it into a Dumpster in some alley.”
Zane considers this. “You know the cops will find it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I left a nice big handprint in Eli’s blood on the van when I pulled myself up off the ground. And a couple of guys saw me running away.” I put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. “I’m totally screwed.”
“What about Ms. Alvarez?” Zane says, his voice full of renewed enthusiasm.
I lift my head. “Her job is to keep me out of jail, not necessarily to believe what I say. At best, she probably thinks Ava and I are in it together.” I pause and take a deep breath. “It looks bad, Zane. Really bad. I just … I just can’t believe this is happening.” It feels surreal. It’s one thing to see photos of dead guys after the fact but something else to feel the warm blood on your hands.
The bell at the front door jingles, and a cop walks in, one hand on the gun at his hip. I stiffen and glance out the side door, but the cop car is sitting there running, with his partner in the front seat.
“You stay here,” I say, my mind in full panic mode. “I don’t want to get you any more involved in this. I’m going to make a run for it.”