All the Little Lights
Page 70

A scratching sound—metal on metal—cut through the air. Anna Sue stopped moving, and Tatum turned around.
“Where is she?” Anna Sue asked, rage in her eyes. She took a step toward me, holding the paring knife. “I know you know!”
I took a step back, glancing over Anna Sue’s artwork, a word cut into the paint of my locker from the top corner to the bottom.
CONFESS
Tatum took the knife from her, holding it up to my face, backing me against the line of lockers.
“Is she alive?” Tatum whispered. “Did that savage tell you where he put her, or did he just kill her? Is she buried somewhere? Tell us!”
The fluorescent lights above glinted off the tip of the knife, just inches from my eye.
“I don’t know where she is,” I breathed. “Elliott doesn’t know where she is. He was at my house all night. It couldn’t have been him.”
Anna Sue yelled in my face. “Everyone knows it was him! We just want her back! We just want her safe! Tell us where she is!”
“I’m warning you. Get away from me,” I seethed.
“Is that a threat?” Tatum asked, touching the tip of the sharp metal to my cheek.
I closed my eyes and screamed, lashing out with my fists. Tatum fell back, the knife clanging to the ground. I kicked it away and pushed Tatum against one of the large windows across from my locker, feeling my knuckles make contact with the bones in her face but feeling no pain. I could have kept swinging for the rest of the day.
Anna Sue grabbed my hair and pulled me backward. We both lost our balance and tumbled to the tile floor. I climbed on top of her, landing punches against her forearms that were covering her face.
“I said,” I yelled, tightening my fist, “leave me alone! I’ve never done anything to you! You’ve bullied me almost my entire life! No more! Do you understand me? No! More!” I hit Anna Sue after every other word, my anger seeping from every pore.
She tried to throw a punch of her own, but I used that opportunity to shove my fist into her unprotected face.
“Stop! Stop this now!”
By the time someone pulled me away, my chest was heaving, my muscles shaking from adrenaline and exhaustion. I kicked and thrashed to get at Anna Sue again. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Tatum flattened against the wall, terrified.
“I said stop!” Mr. Mason yelled. He maintained his grip around my middle.
My arms fell to my sides, my knees gave out, and a sob I’d been waiting to cry since I was seven bubbled up and overflowed.
Mrs. Mason turned the corner, surprised to see her husband holding me and Anna Sue on the ground with a bloody lip.
“What the hell happened?” She saw the markings on my locker and then her eyes zeroed in on the knife lying on the floor. She scrambled to pick it up. “Whose is this? Anna Sue, did you use this to write on Catherine’s locker?”
Anna Sue sat up with a frown, wiping her bloody lip with the back of her hand.
“Answer me!” Mrs. Mason yelled. When Anna Sue refused to comply, the counselor looked to Tatum. “Tell me. What happened?”
“We know they’re being investigated! We want to know what they did with Presley!” Tatum cried.
Mr. Mason let me go, peering over his glasses at me. “You attacked these girls for scratching up your locker? Catherine, that’s not like you. What happened?”
Anna Sue and Tatum glowered at me. I looked down for a moment, noticing my bloody knuckles. They looked just like Elliott’s the first time we met. My gaze met Mrs. Mason’s.
“Anna Sue used the knife to scratch the letters into my locker, and I caught them. They asked me where Presley was, then Tatum took the knife and held it to my face. She backed me against the lockers.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mason looked at Tatum, their mouths open.
“Tatum, did you threaten Catherine with this knife?” Mrs. Mason asked.
Tatum’s eyes danced between the Masons, and then she settled on Anna Sue, seeming to refocus. “We’ll do whatever we have to do to get our friend back.”
Mrs. Mason looked to me, fear in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Mr. Mason, please take Anna Sue and Tatum to Dr. Augustine. And call the police. Catherine Calhoun was just threatened with a dangerous weapon on school property.”
Mr. Mason grabbed Tatum’s arm and then Anna Sue’s, pulling her to stand.
“Wait,” Tatum said, struggling. “She attacked us! She attacked us!”
“After you threatened her with a knife,” Mr. Mason said, his deep voice echoing down the hallway. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
I turned the dial of my locker, yanked, and for the first time, the latch released on the first try. I pulled out a thin pad and a tampon, slipping them both into the inside pocket of my coat.
“Oh. That’s why you came to your locker in the middle of class,” Mrs. Mason said. She cupped my cheeks in her hands, then brushed my hair. “Are you all right?”
I nodded, still feeling tears cooling on my cheeks.
She hugged me to her, holding me tight. I realized I was still shaking, my cheek against her chest. “You’re not safe out here anymore.”
“I didn’t do anything to Presley. Neither did Elliott. I swear to you we didn’t.”
“I know. Come on,” she said, pulling me by the hand.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Mrs. Mason sighed. “You’re going to receive and complete your work in my office until this settles down.”
Chapter Thirty
Catherine
Rain pelted the Chrysler’s windshield and dripped down without interference from the wipers. Elliott had been quiet all evening, after school, at the grocery store, and sitting in his idling car in front of the Juniper.
“Can I come in?” he asked finally, water still dripping from his nose. He stared at his steering wheel, waiting for my answer.
I touched his cheek. “Yeah. We need to get you dried off.”
“I’ll carry the bags to the porch, then I’ll meet you upstairs.”
I nodded.
When I carried the last bag to the kitchen, I stopped, noticing Mama was sitting on the couch, watching a dark television screen.
“I picked up groceries,” I said, peeling off my coat and hanging it with the others. “Want to help me put them away?” She didn’t answer. “How was your day?”
One item after another, I filled the pantry and then the refrigerator. My wet clothes were stuck to my skin, and my teeth began to chatter as I put the empty plastic bags in the recycling bin. I removed my boots, dropping them off in the foyer before walking into the living room.
“Mama?”
She didn’t move.
I walked around, seeing her pale face and red-rimmed eyes focused on the floor. “What are you doing?” I asked, kneeling in front of her. I combed her tangled hair from her face with my fingers, a sick feeling stirring in my stomach. She’d been that low once or twice before, but her behavior was becoming increasingly unsettling.
“Everyone dies,” she whispered, her eyes glossing over.
“Are you missing Dad?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked up to glare at me, and then she turned away, a tear falling down her cheek.
“Okay. Let’s get you to bed.” I stood, helping her up with a grunt. I took her upstairs, down the hall, and then up the short, second set of stairs to her master suite. She sat on the bed, the same sad expression on her face. I unbuttoned her blouse, removed her bra, and found her favorite nightgown, tugging it over her head.