My eyes flutter open. The light hanging above my head nearly blinds me. The first thing I see: the wooden ceiling covered in chipped red paint. To my right is a wall full of old wine bottles, cardboard boxes with baby clothes spilling out, and numerous bobble heads my dad swore he threw out.
I’m in my shed.
I have no idea how I got here, but I guess it’s better than laying in a ditch somewhere or waking up with a face tattoo. Now that I think about it, I grab my face feeling for any abnormalities when red catches my eye. Blood. With having two older brothers the sight of blood is nothing new, but seeing my hands and t-shirt covered in it and possessing no memory of how it got there gives me an uneasy feeling. I scan my body looking for any open wounds. Nothing, and other than the throbbing in my head, I feel no pain. I gradually sit up and immediately feel hundreds of tiny soldiers stomp around in my head. I rub my temples but the throbbing continues. Tiny drops of blood scatter around my sneakers. I raise my head to see a trail of blood leading to the door. I follow them. I expect to see a dead body at the end of it. It’s probably Jack the Jock. I always hated that guy with his perfect hair and perfect teeth. Maybe my drunk self ripped them out. The thought kind of makes me smile.
The trail ends at the door. Slowly, I creep the door open, preparing for the worst. I’m greeted by blinding sunlight. I examine my surroundings: grass with daisies and tulips popping up from the ground, a tall oak tree, which I jumped off in seventh grade and broke my leg, and a white house full of parents that are probably looking for an explanation. No dead body, but a bloody handprint smudged at the doorjamb as if the person stumbled out of the shed. Around the fingernail impressions, four tiny indents mar the wood, each displaying a piece of purple paint. I match my hand to them. The fingers are too skinny to be mine, which confirms my original theory: the blood scattered around the shed and on my clothes doesn’t belong to me.
The Monday morning chatter at school consists of Natalie Thelman’s party. The hundreds that attended recalled their favorite moments (like when Trish threw up on Ava and Chad did the “chicken challenge,” whatever that is). Those who didn’t go told stories they heard had from others. I don’t remember any of it, the entire night a blur. The last thing I remember after walking in with Travis is seeing Lila. From twenty feet away, I still smelled her: fresh strawberries and rain. It made me sick watching her straddle Jack the Jock that night, knowing we had broken up just two weeks before.
I find Travis in the main hall, eager to tell him about the blood I found in the shed. I wave at him from a few feet away, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. His body stiffens, face goes pale as if he’s going to puke any second.
“Hey Travis,” I call after him, catching up to him. “Why do you…” I pause, following his gaze. About ten police officers scatter around the hallway. Two officers talk to our principal, Ms. Andrews. The others chat up some students who look like they’re about to crap their pants.
“Ah man, this is it, “ says Travis, trembling. “I knew I shouldn’t have downloaded all that illegal music. Oh god, I can’t make it in prison. Do you see this face? I’ll be someone’s bitch within the first twenty-four hours.”
“Calm down. I’m sure they aren’t here for you.” But my heartbeat quickens. What if they know about the blood in the shed? What if I really did hurt someone? What if I murdered someone?
“…I’ll move to Canada and change my name, “ Travis continues. “William Chatterberry. Yeah, I like that.“
“Hey,” I call to a girl named April as she struts my way. “Do you know why they’re here?” I motion toward the cops.
She looks both ways then leans in.
“That Charlie girl went missing Friday night,” she whispers. “The last time anyone saw her was at Natalie’s party.”
Charlie Westbrooks, Crestwood’s infamous rebel. I have creative writing class with her. I usually joke around in that class unlike Charlie. Her poetry and stories are rich and oozing with pain. Every time she presents I get lost in her chaotic world. I just never heard someone so…broken.
Travis lets out a loud sigh of relief and collapses back onto the lockers.
“Do they have any leads?” I stuff my shaking hands in my pocket.
April shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”
“Excuse me.” I squeeze past her and start toward the officers. I keep my eyes focused on everything but them. I lean down to tie my shoe close enough to overhear one of the conversations.
“Last time I saw her she was in the pool—fully clothed,” says a student. “She was alone.”
“Do you know anything about Ms.Thelman’s car?”
He shakes his head.
Suddenly a cold hand grips my arms and pulls me into a dark classroom.
“What the hell?” I stare down at my little sister, Riley.
“I should ask you the same thing.” She shoves her phone in my face. I pull her hand back and stare at the picture. Natalie, in a black crop top and skinny jeans, chugs beer straight from the keg while a plethora of teens cheer her on.
“Wow,” I say, sarcasm lacing my voice. “Natalie sure is impressive.”
“Not that, you idiot.” She takes the phone and zooms in on two people. It’s a moment before I realize one of them is me. The other Charlie. It looks like we’re stepping out into the backyard. My arm is laced around hers. I’m smiling like an idiot staring at the ground. Charlie stares into the camera looking like a deer in headlights. My focus zooms in on her hand resting on the doorway, mostly her fingernails. Her purple fingernails.
Oh god. “Oh god.” My hands shake so severely I nearly drop the phone.
“I know. Garrett told me he saw Charlie pulling off in Natalie’s car with someone. He couldn’t identify the passenger. Let’s keep it that way. If the police saw this you could get in some serious trouble.”
They’d take me into questioning no doubt. What would I say? Sorry officer, I was too drunk to remember anything, but I did wake up with her blood all over me and I’m just now telling you about it. I might as well just write guilty on my forehead.
“Crap crap crap,” I pace the floor. “Who else has seen this?”
“I found it on Garrett’s phone. He left at the party.”
“Delete it. Now.” My voice came out more menacing than intended. I can’t shake this uneasy feeling in my gut. The last time I got that drunk was when my father caught my mother cheating on him. It tore the family apart and I was a wreck for months, but even then I remembered most things. This night comes up completely blank.
“Even if I did delete it, what if someone else has it on camera? What if the police see it?” says Riley.
I press my palms into my eyes. She’s right. There’s only one thing left to do.
“I need to find Charlie.”
Walking home I keep looking over my shoulder expecting a swat team to roll out of the bushes at any moment. I thought it was over when the cops left the school until I see them posted in Joe’s Coffee Shop and some local gas stations. I panic and quickly alter my path. I cut toward Perch Park. Silence and tall trees with decaying leaves surround me. Most importantly, it was cop free. My body relaxes. Something I haven’t done since Sunday morning.
A car engine roars in the distance. I see sunbeams bounce off the red and blue siren. I freeze. Cops. Without thinking, I dash through the woods, my arms in perfect right angles. I keep running until my lungs overflow with air and my knees begin to give out. I collapse onto the leaves and my back strikes a cold, metal object. I groan in agony. I look behind me to see a pastel, blue convertible. Band stickers cover the passenger’s side door and a pair of tiny flip flops hang from the mirror. This car could only belong to one person: Natalie Thelman.
Charlie has to be close and I need to find her before the police do. I scan the car. Glass litters the front seat. An orange towel, spotted with red is tucked under the driver’s seat . A blue cabin, overgrown with vines and moss, and looking like it could collapse at any moment, appears a few feet away. A shadow moves across the second story window. My heart skips a beat. A tiny voice in the back of my mind echoes: Charlie. I grab the largest stick I could find and creep closer, peeking through the window. There’s a single floral couch. No Charlie in sight. I inch toward the front door and pull the knob. Unlocked. If the person who kidnapped/ murdered Charlie is here they sure are dumb. What criminal leaves the door unlocked? Unless there’s something in here they want me to find.
The wood creaks under my Doc Martens. The room reeks of dust and moss, the sun escaping from the cracked windows my only source of light. The thump of footsteps comes closer. I tiptoe up the stairs holding the stick out in front of me, stopping at the second to top step. I lean against the wall until I look into one of the bedrooms. There’s a twin bed with a thick white blanket. I was about to dismiss the room as clear when a male body moves into view. Tattoos run down his arm and poke out of the back of his black tank top. He talks into a flip phone and by his red face and the vein popping out of his forehead, I can see he’s not happy.
I tighten my grip around the stick and inch closer.
I’m going to die. This man is ten times bigger than me, but what do I have to lose? Soon I’ll be the number one suspect in the missing Charlie case.
A step closer.
Who will get my things? I never had time to write a will. Oh god, I hope Travis clears my internet history.
I step into the second floor hallway. The guy slowly turns my way when I feel damp hands wrap around my mouth and pull my shirt. They drag me down the hall. I had no time to scream or react before they slam me against a wall and flick on the light. I was about to protest but then I notice the thick red curls. I smile. Charlie.
My mouth opens as her chipped, purple fingernails crush my throat.
“What the hell are you doing here?” says Charlie. “ Do you have a death wish?” Her grip tightens. My windpipe grows narrower and narrower.
“You’re. Choking. Me.” I gasp. Her face remains stern but she removes her hand. I dive in and hug her, happy that she’s here and breathing instead of a bag of bones. Her arms shoot up as if she’s about to be arrested. I hear something crunch. I feel a thick cloth on her lower abdomen.
I reach my hand toward it. “Hey what’s—” She smacks my hand away.
“Charlie?” I hear a male voice call.
“I’m fine, Lee.”
“Lee?” I whisper to her. “You’re friends with your kidnapper?” Oh no. She’s delusional.
“Kidnapper? What are you. . .you need to go now.” Charlie nudges me toward the door but I push her hand away.
“No. Not until we call the police and I get some damn answers. Half the town is looking for you.”
Her expression softens and I swear I see tears swell in her eyes. “They’re… they’re looking for me?”
“Yes. That’s what the town does when people go missing. Now, let’s go.” I grab her by her arm but she slaps my hands away.
“No. I can’t.”
“You have to. People think you’re dead.”
“Let them think that.”
“And they think I did it.” Well, that’s not exactly true. Not yet anyways. “Why was your blood all over my shed?” I look down at her lower abdomen. “What happened that night?”
“It’s better you don’t remember.”
I step closer to her. “What happened to you?”
“Leave it alone, Noah.” She turns away from me.
“Tell me. Did I hurt you?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Tell me. I can take it.”
She shakes her head.
“Please.”
Charlie stands face to face with me. She searches for something in my eyes, then speaks. “Someone is trying to kill me.”
Yaasmeen Piper is a senior at Capital Area Charter School for the Arts.
