All the Little Lights
Page 65
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I’ve told you.”
“Not enough!” He dropped to his knees, grabbing mine. “Trust me, Catherine. I swear I won’t make you regret it.”
I stared at him, watching the worry and desperation swarm in his eyes. I turned toward the stairs.
“Does what’s going on in there have to do with Presley?” he asked.
My mouth fell open, and I pushed his hands off my knees. “You think I have something to do with this?”
“No,” he said, holding his hands up. “I would never think that, Catherine, c’mon.”
I stood. “But you still asked.” I let the blanket fall to the ground and headed for the stairs.
“Catherine, don’t leave. Catherine!” he called.
When my foot touched the first step, a loud crash sounded behind me, and I whipped around. Elliott had punched his new bathroom door. His fist went straight through the flimsy, hollow wood, and then he reared back again.
As his fist landed another blow, I ran up the stairs, yanking the door open to see Leigh standing on the other side, eyes wide. She passed me, rushing down to stop Elliott from trashing his room.
I pushed out the front door. Winter blasted me in the face, and my lungs felt on fire with every icy breath. One of the last lit streetlights highlighted a snowflake as it danced in front of me on its way to the ground. I stopped, glancing up to see large flakes falling around me, clinging to my hair and settling on my shoulders. I closed my eyes, feeling the frozen pieces kiss my face. Snow had a way of silencing the world, enticing me to stay submerged in it. The thin layer of snow sticking to the ground crunched under my feet as I took my first step toward the Juniper, away from the person who was my island away from the dangerous things that lived outside my bedroom door. Nothing was safe anymore. Maybe nothing ever was.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Catherine
Mrs. Mason twisted her number two pencil between her fingers, waiting for me to speak. She’d remarked on the dark circles under my eyes.
I sat in the scratchy chair in front of her desk, swallowed by my puffy coat and scarf. Mrs. Mason had the same concerned expression she wore the day she’d called DHS on Mama.
“Things aren’t great,” I said simply.
She leaned forward. “You went to the police station last night. How did that go?”
“It went.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Is Elliott okay?”
I sank further into the seat. It would be so easy to expose the Juniper, but to do that I’d have to betray Mama. Althea was right. They couldn’t continue as they had without me. But should they? I gazed up at Mrs. Mason from under my lashes.
“He’s okay,” I said simply. “They were pretty hard on him.”
Mrs. Mason sighed. “I was worried about that. What do you think?”
“Do I think he has something to do with Presley’s disappearance? No.”
“He likes you. A lot. You don’t think he’d be angry about the way she treated you? I heard she was pretty awful. Why didn’t you tell me, Catherine? Of all the hours we spent in here together, you couldn’t tell me Presley Brubaker was bullying you?”
“Elliott wouldn’t hurt Presley. She’s done all kinds of things to me since I’ve met him, and he’s no more than mouthed off to her a few times. He’s been in scuffles with other guys, but he’d never hurt a girl. Never.”
“I believe you,” Mrs. Mason said. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?” When I didn’t respond, she clasped her hands together. “Catherine, I can see you’re tired. You’re stressed. You’re pulling away. Let me help you.”
I rubbed the heaviness from my eyes. The clock said eight forty-five. The day was going to drag on, especially knowing Elliott would want to talk. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he was tired of failing to climb over all the walls I’d built. I hadn’t seen him since leaving his house the night before.
“Catherine—”
“You can’t help me,” I said, standing. “First hour is already over. I should go.”
“Detective Thompson wants me to report to him. I can’t tell him what we talked about, of course, but he wants me to email him an assessment of your emotional state.”
I frowned. “He . . . what?”
“Once you leave, I have to email him. They plan to bring you in for questioning.”
“We haven’t done anything! Not liking Presley isn’t a crime! Why don’t they concentrate on finding her instead of us?” I yelled.
Mrs. Mason sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s the most honesty I’ve seen from you. That’s incredibly brave. Honesty requires vulnerability. How did that feel?”
I paused, feeling more manipulated than anything else. “Send Thompson whatever you want. I’m leaving.”
I pulled the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and yanked on the door. Mrs. Rosalsky and Dr. Augustine watched me storm out, as did the handful of student aides.
A yellow note was taped to my locker with the word CONFESS written in block letters. I ripped it off, wadded it up, and threw it to the ground, returning my attention to my locker. I yanked up on the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. I tried my combination again and again, feeling dozens of eyes on the back of my head. I tried once more and yanked again. Nothing. Hot tears welled in my eyes.
An arm appeared over my right shoulder, turned the dial, and then yanked, hard. The latch released, and I grabbed Elliott’s arm with both hands, feeling my breath catch in my throat.
He pressed his right cheek against my left, his skin feeling like sunshine on mine. He smelled like soap and serenity, his voice warming me like a soft blanket. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. He was important. I should protect him the way he did me, but I wasn’t strong enough to let go. Elliott was anchoring me to everything normal I had left in the world.
Elliott let go of my locker and wrapped his arm across my collarbones, holding on to my shoulder, his cheek still against mine.
“I’m so sorry about last night, Catherine. I swore I’d never do that again. You’re the last person I’d want to see that. I was tired and raw, and . . . I lost it. I would never, ever lay a hand on you. Just doors, apparently. And trees . . . and Cruz Miller. Aunt Leigh says I need a punching bag in my room. I . . .”
I turned, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. His warm lips pressed against my hair, and then he pressed his cheek against the same spot.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.
I shook my head, feeling tears run down my nose. I couldn’t speak, feeling more vulnerable in that hour than I had in three years.
“How was it at home?”
The hall cleared, and the bell rang, but we remained.
“I’m just . . .” Tears overflowed onto my cheeks. “I’m very tired.”
Elliott’s eyes danced while the wheels in his head turned. “I’m staying tonight.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He pressed his forehead against mine. “Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you? I’d cut off my throwing hand to keep you safe.”
I held him tighter. “So we’ll keep each other safe.”
The engine of Madison’s mother’s Nissan hummed quietly as it idled in front of the Juniper. Madison picked at the steering wheel, recounting her minutes with Detective Thompson.
“Not enough!” He dropped to his knees, grabbing mine. “Trust me, Catherine. I swear I won’t make you regret it.”
I stared at him, watching the worry and desperation swarm in his eyes. I turned toward the stairs.
“Does what’s going on in there have to do with Presley?” he asked.
My mouth fell open, and I pushed his hands off my knees. “You think I have something to do with this?”
“No,” he said, holding his hands up. “I would never think that, Catherine, c’mon.”
I stood. “But you still asked.” I let the blanket fall to the ground and headed for the stairs.
“Catherine, don’t leave. Catherine!” he called.
When my foot touched the first step, a loud crash sounded behind me, and I whipped around. Elliott had punched his new bathroom door. His fist went straight through the flimsy, hollow wood, and then he reared back again.
As his fist landed another blow, I ran up the stairs, yanking the door open to see Leigh standing on the other side, eyes wide. She passed me, rushing down to stop Elliott from trashing his room.
I pushed out the front door. Winter blasted me in the face, and my lungs felt on fire with every icy breath. One of the last lit streetlights highlighted a snowflake as it danced in front of me on its way to the ground. I stopped, glancing up to see large flakes falling around me, clinging to my hair and settling on my shoulders. I closed my eyes, feeling the frozen pieces kiss my face. Snow had a way of silencing the world, enticing me to stay submerged in it. The thin layer of snow sticking to the ground crunched under my feet as I took my first step toward the Juniper, away from the person who was my island away from the dangerous things that lived outside my bedroom door. Nothing was safe anymore. Maybe nothing ever was.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Catherine
Mrs. Mason twisted her number two pencil between her fingers, waiting for me to speak. She’d remarked on the dark circles under my eyes.
I sat in the scratchy chair in front of her desk, swallowed by my puffy coat and scarf. Mrs. Mason had the same concerned expression she wore the day she’d called DHS on Mama.
“Things aren’t great,” I said simply.
She leaned forward. “You went to the police station last night. How did that go?”
“It went.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Is Elliott okay?”
I sank further into the seat. It would be so easy to expose the Juniper, but to do that I’d have to betray Mama. Althea was right. They couldn’t continue as they had without me. But should they? I gazed up at Mrs. Mason from under my lashes.
“He’s okay,” I said simply. “They were pretty hard on him.”
Mrs. Mason sighed. “I was worried about that. What do you think?”
“Do I think he has something to do with Presley’s disappearance? No.”
“He likes you. A lot. You don’t think he’d be angry about the way she treated you? I heard she was pretty awful. Why didn’t you tell me, Catherine? Of all the hours we spent in here together, you couldn’t tell me Presley Brubaker was bullying you?”
“Elliott wouldn’t hurt Presley. She’s done all kinds of things to me since I’ve met him, and he’s no more than mouthed off to her a few times. He’s been in scuffles with other guys, but he’d never hurt a girl. Never.”
“I believe you,” Mrs. Mason said. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?” When I didn’t respond, she clasped her hands together. “Catherine, I can see you’re tired. You’re stressed. You’re pulling away. Let me help you.”
I rubbed the heaviness from my eyes. The clock said eight forty-five. The day was going to drag on, especially knowing Elliott would want to talk. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he was tired of failing to climb over all the walls I’d built. I hadn’t seen him since leaving his house the night before.
“Catherine—”
“You can’t help me,” I said, standing. “First hour is already over. I should go.”
“Detective Thompson wants me to report to him. I can’t tell him what we talked about, of course, but he wants me to email him an assessment of your emotional state.”
I frowned. “He . . . what?”
“Once you leave, I have to email him. They plan to bring you in for questioning.”
“We haven’t done anything! Not liking Presley isn’t a crime! Why don’t they concentrate on finding her instead of us?” I yelled.
Mrs. Mason sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s the most honesty I’ve seen from you. That’s incredibly brave. Honesty requires vulnerability. How did that feel?”
I paused, feeling more manipulated than anything else. “Send Thompson whatever you want. I’m leaving.”
I pulled the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and yanked on the door. Mrs. Rosalsky and Dr. Augustine watched me storm out, as did the handful of student aides.
A yellow note was taped to my locker with the word CONFESS written in block letters. I ripped it off, wadded it up, and threw it to the ground, returning my attention to my locker. I yanked up on the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. I tried my combination again and again, feeling dozens of eyes on the back of my head. I tried once more and yanked again. Nothing. Hot tears welled in my eyes.
An arm appeared over my right shoulder, turned the dial, and then yanked, hard. The latch released, and I grabbed Elliott’s arm with both hands, feeling my breath catch in my throat.
He pressed his right cheek against my left, his skin feeling like sunshine on mine. He smelled like soap and serenity, his voice warming me like a soft blanket. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. He was important. I should protect him the way he did me, but I wasn’t strong enough to let go. Elliott was anchoring me to everything normal I had left in the world.
Elliott let go of my locker and wrapped his arm across my collarbones, holding on to my shoulder, his cheek still against mine.
“I’m so sorry about last night, Catherine. I swore I’d never do that again. You’re the last person I’d want to see that. I was tired and raw, and . . . I lost it. I would never, ever lay a hand on you. Just doors, apparently. And trees . . . and Cruz Miller. Aunt Leigh says I need a punching bag in my room. I . . .”
I turned, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. His warm lips pressed against my hair, and then he pressed his cheek against the same spot.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.
I shook my head, feeling tears run down my nose. I couldn’t speak, feeling more vulnerable in that hour than I had in three years.
“How was it at home?”
The hall cleared, and the bell rang, but we remained.
“I’m just . . .” Tears overflowed onto my cheeks. “I’m very tired.”
Elliott’s eyes danced while the wheels in his head turned. “I’m staying tonight.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He pressed his forehead against mine. “Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you? I’d cut off my throwing hand to keep you safe.”
I held him tighter. “So we’ll keep each other safe.”
The engine of Madison’s mother’s Nissan hummed quietly as it idled in front of the Juniper. Madison picked at the steering wheel, recounting her minutes with Detective Thompson.
