Chapter 25: No Hospital
Wirt knew he couldn't just sit in the lot and brood forever.
But he had no idea where to go.
He couldn't go home. It was much too early, and he couldn't even imagine how his dad would react if he came home early with blood dripping down his face.
He couldn't go to school, or they'd call his dad.
The hospital?
No, they'd also call his dad, and then they'd ask what had happened to his head, and he was too tired to come up with a convincing lie.
He sighed. Maybe he should just go home. It wasn't as though his dad could force the truth out of him. And he craved the feeling of his bed. He wanted to lay down and go to sleep, forever maybe.
He stood up, tugged his hood down over his head, and pulled on his backpack.
With his glance downward, he made his way toward his dad's house, dreading every step he took down the street.
He still felt dizzy, and the more he walked, the more his head began pounding again.
As he walked down the familiar street toward his dad's, he began shaking and feeling weak with each step, until finally, his legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.
His breath was unsteady, and he wondered if he was going to die.
No, that's dumb. He wouldn't die over hitting his head. It wasn't as if his skull had been fractured. He couldn't remember hearing his skull crack, and he thought that actually cracking his skull would have hurt a hell of a lot more. He'd likely already be dead if his skull had been broken.
Besides, he wasn't bleeding much anymore. The blood had become sticky and dried up on his face. He winced at the thought of what his hair looked like, all matted with dried blood.
He tried to get back to his feet, when suddenly, a car pulled up next to him.
He couldn't see the car since the hood was covering the sides of his face, but he could only imagine that Jonathan had come back after him with a rifle or something.
He tried to get up and start running, but he only fell back down.
Hopeless, he didn't try to get back up. He just looked up slightly and peeked at the car.
It wasn't Jonathan's.
It was...
"Wirt?" Sara called out toward him as she got out the driver's side of the car.
He looked up at her, and she rushed to his side.
She forcibly pulled down his hood. "Wirt, oh my god."
It must have been quite the sight, all that dried blood clinging to the sides of his head and around the edges of his hairline.
"What happened?" Sara demanded frantically, but he couldn't find his voice. He just stared at her.
It felt like forever since he'd last seen her.
He didn't realize it until now, but she was the only one he wanted to see and be around.
His loving, caring best friend.
He suddenly felt guilty for giving her the cold shoulder the last time he saw her.
Now he wanted and needed her more than ever.
She stood up and took his hands, pulling him to his feet and helping him become steady.
"Come on, let's go, I've got you."
She opened the passenger door and helped him inside. "There we go."
She shut Wirt's door and made her way to the driver's side to get back in.
She turned the car back on after closing her door, and pulled away from the sidewalk. She drove up the street, in the opposite direction of his dad's house.
"Get my phone out of the glove box, we'll call your dad, and I'll take you to the emergency room-"
He looked up at her with fear in his eyes. "No!" He finally managed in a begging voice.
Sara was almost startled, and she gave him a quick, concerned glance before averting her eyes back to the road. "Why not?"
"My dad can't see me like this, he thinks I'm at school right now."
"Wirt, you're bleeding from your head, what if you have a concussion or a facture or something?"
"I'm fine, trust me." He began begging. "Please don't take me to the hospital, Sara."
She sighed, stopping the car at a red light.
"Well, my dad's not home. We can go to my house, if you want."
Wirt didn't have to think about it for even a split second. "Can we?"
With a small, sad smile, Sara nodded. "But first, I need to pick up something to eat. I'm starving, and there's nothing quick or microwaveable at the house."
Wirt couldn't help but give a tiny smile. He enjoyed hearing her talk, it calmed him. It put him under the delusion that everything would be okay. He knew everything was falling apart, but Sara could make him think otherwise, even if for just a little while.
"So what are you doing out of school?" he asked her.
She hummed and shrugged. "Just felt like ditching. Band is stressing me out a little. Our marching coach- you remember him, right?"
"Weird guy named Gordon or something?"
"Yeah, him. Well, he quit, or he was fired or something, I don't know, Mr. Tomkins won't tell us. But there's a rumor going around he had a drinking problem, and he came to practice intoxicated."
"Wow."
"Yeah, it wouldn't surprise me though, he was weird. Anyway, now Mr. Tomkins has to find another marching coach, and he's stressed over that because marching coaches cost a lot. Now all the stress from not having a marching coach and the band having only about two thousand dollars in funds is getting to everybody- it's just a nasty situation all around."
"Sure sounds like it."
Sara pulled into the drive-thru of Grilly's. "Want anything?"
Wirt shook his head. "No, thank you."
While Sara ordered, Wirt pulled his hood back over his head. He didn't want the cashier to see the blood on his face when Sara pulled up next to the window.
After paying and receiving her food, Sara left the parking lot and began back on their way to her house.
She pulled into the empty driveway, shut off the car, and looked up at Wirt. "Do you need help getting out?"
Wirt shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
That was partially the truth. He was shaking, and his head began pulsing as soon as he stood up. But he was fine walking into the house on his own.
Sara went immediately into the kitchen and set the bags of food onto the counter. When she returned, she set her hand on Wirt's back. "Let's go into the bathroom, I'll help you clean up."
Wirt obliged, letting her lead him into the bathroom. She advised him to sit down on the closed toilet, and he watched as she began pulling gauze and rubbing alcohol out from under the sink, and soaking a dark green hand towel under the warm tap water.
She raised his head with a gentle finger under his chin, and began wiping away the dried blood caked to the side of his head and around his hairline. The whole time, he just stared at her face. When she noticed, she smiled at him, and he felt his cheeks grow warm.
Once the blood was wiped away, she began looking at his scalp, using her fingers to move his hair out of the way.
He hissed suddenly, as she came nearer to where his head had been beaten against the asphalt. The skin there was raw, and it stung badly upon contact.
"Sorry, sorry," she murmured, looking at the spot with furrowed eyebrows.
Without a word, she picked up the gauze, soaked it in rubbing alcohol, and told Wirt, "This might burn a little, I'm sorry."
And as she dabbed at the abrasions on his scalp, it did burn, but, just like she'd said, only a little. Wirt bit back the pain, and after a few minutes, she was done.
"I'm almost finished, I promise."
She picked up the green towel again, and, very carefully and with only a little pressure, scrubbed at the small, blood-matted pieces of hair, until he looked almost good as new.
She smiled at her work, Wirt looked clean and inviolate now.
Then her smile fell, and with a soft, pitiful expression, she asked the same question from earlier.
"Wirt, what happened?"
He looked down shamefully, and after a few failed attempts, he managed to look back up and tell her, "I tried to sneak into my mom's house and get evidence myself. But..." He stopped.
"But what?"
Wirt answered after a shaky breath. "He found me."
Sara was almost afraid to ask the next question. "Wh-what did he do?"
"I tried to run, but he chased me, all the way out of the neighborhood, and to this... this back lot near the bowling alley." He left out the significant detail about what had happened in that same lot so many years ago, and that the only reason Jonathan had caught up to him was because he'd freaked out and stopped upon realizing where he was. "And then he... he took the evidence."
"And what happened to your head?"
Wirt gulped. "He beat it against the concrete."
Sara physically flinched, and wrapped her arms around him.
"Sara?" He said.
She pulled away from him, but kept her arms on his shoulders. "Yeah?"
He wanted to tell her what he'd found. He wanted to tell her about the pictures...
And he wanted to tell her about Josie, that her death wasn't an accident, she didn't hit her head on the rocks while falling into the river. Jonathan had assaulted her, and then killed her, and most likely ditched her body in the river.
But with the shake of his head, Wirt decided against it.
"Never mind."
Sara looked like she wanted to prod him into telling her, but she didn't. She just gave a soft "okay" and got up to put away the medical supplies she'd used.
"Thank you," he told her, fumbling with his fingers.
She smiled at him. "Anytime."
Once she finished setting away the supplies into their proper drawers and cabinets, she left the bathroom, Wirt following after. She retrieved her burger from the counter and sat down on the recliner in the living room while Wirt lie down on the couch to rest his still aching (though slowly recovering) head.
He stared up at the ceiling, pondering whether or not he should fall asleep at Sara's. He felt a little impolite doing so.
Then.
A thought popped into his head, out of thin air, like a fly had just landed on him.
It was enough to make him sit up quickly and ignore the rush of pain that came to his head by doing so. Sara looked up at him with confusion.
He dug through his pockets, and pulled out the one piece of evidence he'd forgotten he had.
It was a piece of the puzzle that could possibly help him.
The picture of Alison, and the address on the back.
He wondered to where the address led, but he suspected it led to Alison.
Maybe she knew things.
Maybe she could help him.
"Sara?" Wirt began. She stopped chewing.
He held up the address and asked,
"Can you drive me here?"