Chapter 14

Our car had been attacked. An innocent kid had been killed. Had someone been sending us a message, or had they actually thought it was one of us in the car? Either way, I hoped it had been a mistake, that Rachel's simple, minimal association with me hadn't resulted in a targeted death.

What was worse, someone who had been on the bus with us had gotten off and gone straight to the police. Luckily, the person hadn't remembered the destination of the bus (or of us, though we doubted we'd let anyone know where we were headed, anyway.) Unkluckily, they'd overheard Ashley mention how we couldn't afford gas to travel by car and recognized us somehow, then realized that it was our car that had been destroyed. The police had confirmed it only hours later. These police sure worked fast. In any case, Ashley and I now looked horrible; like killers.

I sure didn't feel very much like I looked good. I did feel a bit like a killer. The police were still not assuming things publicly or asking for us dead or alive. I planned to run to the nearest cop shop when we reached our destination and ask to talk to whoever I could to straighten things out. This could solve the big problem, but also a smaller one-namely, where we'd go once we got off the bus. Nobody was waiting for us and we couldn't trust anyone who might be willing to take us in, not that anyone would if they'd seen the news. If we were detained and questioned for days, as I suspected we would be under the circumstances, we'd at least have food and shelter and time to maybe scrape together some sort of plan while the media buzz died down and we were cleared of suspicion for Rachel's death.

Even though my brain was trying to work it all out, some other part of me just kept thinking about how Rachel, only six when I'd been fourteen, innocent all the while I suffered and feared, was now dead.

"We couldn't have prevented it," Ashley said, when at last, three days later, she and I got off the bus. It was around midnight, totally black aside from the station lights, and raining hard. "Nothing could have stopped what happened."

I knew she was right. Had Ashley not come with me, she'd be dead. Had I not left Chicago...well, I might've been in that car, though we likely wouldn't have been headed to the bus station.

We left the bus station and headed for the police station. It was exactly as I remembered it, though ten years older.

I introduced myself, and Ashley did the same. Instantly, we were led to a private room where Ashley and I sat together on one side of a table and several officers sat across from us. We were offered water and food, but I only accepted a can of Coke. Ashley hept her hands tight in her lap.

I explained myself as best I could; how the reporters had been hounding me and how it seemed that I was under attack once again. I told them we had arranged for Rachel to take our car home for us while we traveled on the bus, but had no idea someone would attack it. We told them we'd just seen the story on the TV on the bus and gotten off right away. (That was a slight lie; we'd seen the story on our first day on the bus, but had kept going since I knew we could talk to the police here, and anyway, it wouldn't fix what had happened if we'd gotten off; just wasted our bus money and made our tickets useless.)

It didn't seem that the cops could legally do anything to us. They'd just wanted to hear us out. They told us to stay in contact and one of them, a young man, wished us good luck. He added that he'd been the same age we'd been ten years earlier and had been fixated on the story because he'd never heard of any other like it, and had ended up going for the police career because of it.

Outside, Ashley and I lugging our duffel bags, we paused. It was cold, wet, dark, and we were alone. Oddly, I felt safe, though. I knew that in Chicago it had begun to seem that we were attacked at every turn, but Chicago was miles away. Hundreds of miles, maybe thousands. (Who knew? I might've been better at school without the BSC distracting me, but my geography grade had never earned a raise.) In any case, it meant Dahlia was far enough away to be a problem only to my belongings, not to me.

"We should have told the police not to tell the world where we are," I said, when Ashley and I had found seats in a warm, brightly-lit cafe. It was almost deserted, aside from a few young couples out on dates. "If word gets out and Dahlia hears, we'll be no safer here than we were there."

"It's probably illegal for our location to be revealed in this situation," Ashley said. "Everyone knows someone's after you. My ex could still be after me. He did bother to hold a gun to my head not long ago. It's weird how a relationship problem is at all comparable to your problem right now."

"We might not even be safe around regular people," I pointed out. "Someone might be afraid enough of what we could be to kill us. Or they might see Dahlia as some kind of victim."

"How's that possible?"

"Oh, you know modern laws. Well, you've seen how well they work, anyway," I said. "A man rapes and kills his girlfriend and while she's portrayed as the instigator by wearing a skirt, he's put into protective custody to keep someone from hurting him in retaliation. Does that make any sense? Should he suffer for what he did? Should she be made out to be the bad guy? Of course not. But a lot of people see criminals who've done very bad things as people who just suffer from some sort of mental disorder. They see those criminals as sick, as victims. I personally think it's because people don't want to believe that some people are just evil and that everyone's capable of crime. Even awful crimes, like Dahlia's."

"So people might think Dahlia's just suffering from some sort of mental illness and therefore shouldn't be punished?" Ashley looked shocked. "Don't people ever think? Someone who has a place where people can be kept prisoner and tortured in crazy ways for weeks isn't just sick, they're mental. And they can't possibly be entirely unaware of what they're doing. Dahlia didn't always look crazy; she had brushed hair and clean skin and new clothes and she had to have been eating, too. That meant she was aware, which means she knew everything she did. She's not innocent in any way."

"I know. But that whole 'innocent until proven guilty' thing speaks in favor of the criminals, doesn't it? It's good for the actual innocent people, but there aren't many of those left in this world." I hesitated as the waiter brought my plate of fish and chips. "If the system was based on a 'guilty until proven innocent' way of justice, maybe there'd actually be some justice. Fewer criminals walking the streets before trials, maybe fewer crimes commited, maybe people even being dissuaded from doing bad things."

We sat in silence for a moment, and then, "Closing time. Everyone finish up."

"Guess we can't stay here all night," Ashley said. "What do you think? Should we find the bus station and see if there are any seats left on the next bus?"

I shook my head. "I'm too tired. I'll fall asleep trying to figure out where we're going. Let's find someplace to sleep tonight and tomorrow, we should leave. Keep moving, not staying anywhere long."

"Motel?" Ashley asked, as we gulped down what was left of our food and left the diner. "Did we bring money for things like that?"

"Yes, but I have another idea."

"Will you tell me about it, or is it a surprise because you're not even sure it's a good idea?"

"I'm not sure it's a good idea, but I might as well tell you. This is Stoneybrook, and from everything I know, Kristy still lives here. If there's anyone I feel like having taken out, it's Kristy, so hopefiully if something happens, it's after we leave." That wasn't quite true. I had to know if she was still depressed about the end of her club, if she was against me, if she remembered me, if she'd seen the news, if she was even still here. I was shockingly curious.

"Claudia, for one thing, joking about having people taken out isn't cool. Not now, not for us, not here. For another, Kristy could be as much a reporter as Mallory is and twice as stubborn about getting something from you, as she always was. And something I didn't even consider yet is that those who are after us could have paid any of your old friends to tell them or take us out themselves if we go to them."

"That's true," I replied slowly, not sure if I'd thought of that yet myself or not. It was odd; at a time when I needed more than ever to remember things, I couldn't. "But I want to try, anyway."

"I hope you aren't reverting back to your BSC-era mentality and thinking Kristy the Great will somehow manage to save you and stop the insanity," Ashley said, looking at me much like I was a child.

I glared at her. "Ashley, just come with me, okay? You won't be safe just standing here, in this neighborhood."

"What you mean to say," she said, as she followed me, "is that nothing I can say will stop you from seeking out your old boss and idol even though there's a good chance it's a really bad idea?"

"Exactly."

. . . .

I knew from a little contact with Jessi that Kristy had moved. When we reached the address I'd been given, I was less certain than I had been, mainly because the house was dark.

I walked up to it and knocked, anyway. I knew it was late and that if she was here, she'd likely not be too happy to get a surprise visit from out-of-towners like this, but if she wasn't, I'd sure surprise some strangers. And, maybe, accidentally leave them as targets.

The door opened after a few presses of the doorbell button, and a shirtless man in baggy flannel pajama pants, his feet bare, answered the door. He looked sleepy, a little cranky, defensive, and oddly familiar.

"Can I help you?"

"Possibly. I'm looking for Kristy. Is she here?"

"Only technically. See that headstone?" He gestured to the garden at the corner of the front yard, which was a big curcular patch of flowers nestled into a weeping willow tree, a headstone centerpiece lit up by solar lights. "Shh. She's sleeping," he added sarcastically.

"Who the hell are you?" I snapped. "This isn't funny! Where's Kristy?"

"She died three years ago," the man said, and flicked on the porch light. "Look, lady-Claudia?"

I held a hand up to my forehead to see better, though the man still stood in the dark entrance to the house. I could make out solid muscles and a hairless, broad chest and shoulders, and a tattoo of a heart with a big 'K' in it on his left bicep. But his face was a mystery, until he stepped into the rain and his face was in the light.

I still didn't know him. "Yes, I'm Claudia, an old friend of hers. I know I've been in the news, but I swear, I'm not looking for trouble."

The man looked closely at me. "Claudia Kishi. You don't remember me? I know my accent has faded, but if ah tolked lack thiz, would it help?"

I hesitated. "Logan Bruno?"

The man nodded. "Kristy and I made our relationship official a week or two after Mary Anne left. I realize I cheated on her, but we were fourteen, and not exactly in a marriage. Kristy and I got pregnant at fifteen, and our son is now eight. She died when he was five in a shooting in Mexico, some drug-related thing, when she was there for a softball tour. Want to come in?"

Dazed, Ashley and I both did. Maybe part of Kristy's loss of enthusiasm was because she'd started seeing her best friend's boyfriend, and her friend moved away, too. I'd always thought of her as more loyal than that. Then again, pregnant at fifteen? Where'd her persistent sense of responsibility gone?

We sat down in the warmth of the lit kitchen and Logan looked us over. He looked great; very handsome, long-ish blonde hair, warm eyes. I didn't know for sure how Ashley and I looked, but we'd been on a bus for a while and likely didn't look or smell great.

"So, she died," I said, shocked by the news. That meant at least two of our members were gone. Stacey and Kristy. Two of the original members.

Logan looked sad. "Yes. She left something for you, though, and I didn't know for sure how to contact you. Nobody around here seemed to know where you'd gone, and when I heard you were in Chicago, I started looking for ways to message you, but half the time the phone number was wrong or disconnected and none of your profiles that I came across online would let non-friends message you. I tried sending a few friend requests," he added, "but maybe the sites glitched and they never went through."

I shrugged, too. "Maybe."

Logan left and returned quickly with a small white envelope, the flap simply tucked inside. I opened it as Logan and Ashley prepared the living room for us to sleep in. I was curious. Had Kristy taken all of her secrets to the grave with her, or did this letter tell me everything?

Her handwriting had hardly changed. It was a little less loopy whenever the letter had been written, though.

To: Claudia
I'm so sorry for everything that happened. I know that when you needed a friend, I wasn't there for you. I know I didn't help in any way, maybe even making things worse. I know that if you are reading this, I'm likely not around to tell you these things myself, so I had to tell you somehow. Writing this isn't easy, and I'm not much of a writer-that was always Mal's thing, and she's making use of it now-but I feel as though I have to. Too much was left unresolved between us, considering we were friends.
For one thing, I did poison those dog treats I gave you. I didn't know what you needed them for, and had I known it would have ended up in a situation like that, when instead of Ashley at your side it should have been me, I wouldn't have done it. I have to thank you for not incriminating me. Or did you? It's funny; I'm really not that old but my memory's gone. In any case, I don't recall ever being in jail.
I poisoned them, I guess, because I figured you'd just use them in some kind of art project and it'd never matter. But if not, I was hoping you'd get into trouble and come crawling back to me for help since I'd always been able to help before. Everything I had was slipping away; please don't hate me for trying to keep a hold of what little I could. I wanted you to need my help, need me; and maybe you'd feel connected again and want to help me make sure the BSC stayed running.

Hadn't I been the one to run the BSC all by myself while she did...whatever?

I know it was stupid. I was just a dumb kid. I know it was wrong.
I also cheated on Bart Taylor all those years ago, with Logan. You probably know this by now, as I left this letter with him. I got pregnant two years ago and gave birth to a son not so long ago. If you didn't know any of this or you got this letter some other way, please don't think badly of Logan. He didn't have to be with me, but he did, though I admit to instigating it. I guess Mary Anne just thinks they drifted apart because of the distance between them.

"Claudia, are you hungry? Should I make some sandwiches, soup, anything?"

"Sure, sounds good."

I don't know what's happened in your life to bring you to the moment when these words are being read; am I dead? Did someone kill me because I used to know you? I'm not trying to say anyone would, but I guess it could happen. I saw the news, and it was crazy. I hope you're okay and can forgive me for everything I did (and should have done but didn't) years ago. I hope you're doing well and coping nicely. I hope we can still be friends.
Love, Kristy

I felt my eyes well up as I read that, but by the time our late-night meal was ready, I felt fine. I felt very sad and forgiving and forgiven and wishing life hadn't turned out as it had, or at least that I'd kept my friends closer to me, but I couldn't change it. All I could do was wish and forgive.

We talked with Logan until we'd done eating, and then he had to go to bed. He had to work the next day. Ashley read Kristy's letter, but didn't comment. I was glad; she hadn't been as close to Kristy as I had and therefore, I felt, didn't have an opinion that mattered. They hadn't gotten along well, anyway, and since the letter was to me, it was how I took it that mattered.

Anyway, we were exhausted, so we stretched out and fell asleep.

. . . .

Kristy was dead. Stacey was dead. My life had been shrunken in the past; a life so big and full of fun and people and memories and laughter and work had been shrunken down to the absolute basics; pain and hunger and fear. I'd started getting it back, and now it seemed that it continued to shrink. I rarely had fun, people were dying off, my memories weren't clear (and most that were clear were of the times I just didn't want to remember) and I felt like I worked all the time. Relaxing took a lot of work, it seemed. And laughter? It was scarce.

But I was pretty used to that. My life had been pretty predictable for the most part, but for a long time, just under twice my lifetime, nothing had been predictable for one day to the next. For a while it had been, sort of; I'd gotten up every day at the same time, gone to work, come home, visited Bobbi, eaten, slept, showered, and done what I had to do. It had seemed complacent and boring, but I loved it, because I knew it could be so much worse.

Author's Note: For chapters 12 and 13, I wrote a total of about 10,500 words. Wow. I was trying to keep each chapter at approximately 3,500 words so there'd sort of be a regular, consistent length, but 12 had 4368 words and 13 had 6256! (I've been uploading incomplete chapters to the Document Manager on so I could see how many words there were! Clever, eh?) Anyway...the next chapter is an alternate POV chapter-and going by the order written so far, it's a Dahlia chapter! :D