Dirty South Drug Wars (31 page)

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“You don’t.”

“I want to.”

Tanner chuckled and smirked. “You could never.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed and took my hands. “They bought it, you know?”

I nodded, the flicker of promise burning bright in the depths of my despair. “I’d hoped.”

“Let’s run away together.” His voice was a whisper, a quiet plea. “Let’s run away and leave everything behind, never looking back.”

“A romantic concept,” I said. “Romantic and glorious, divine, and …
bad
. It’s just a bad idea.”

Half expecting him to chuckle at my pitiful excuse of a joke, I was disappointed by his worried frown.

“Did you start to believe the lie?” he asked. “Did you lose faith in me?”

“No, but I still kinda wanna break your face. You coulda snuck in a call or a text.”

“Too dangerous,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. This playground is freaking me out.”

*

Tanner and I snuck through the darkness, pressing ourselves between the rows of parked cars. I was surprised to find his Mustang tucked among other vehicles, but I shouldn’t have been shocked. We were alike, yet so different from one another in so many ways. I was in a constant worry, and he was laid-back and relaxed. We slid into the car and shot out of town into the dark night.

“Bryce told me everything about Davis and Ray,” I said. “Where are they now?”

Tanner frowned. “Ray left town. Went back home to Alabama last night, which deepens Graham’s belief that he’s doing business with Amos.”

“If Graham is correct, and Ray is working with Amos, Amos must know we were seeing each other at some point.” I sighed, inflicted with a whole new worry. “And Davis? What happened to him?”

Tanner shot me a sideways grin, his teeth flashing in the moonlight spilling through his open window. “Oh, he’s tied up.”

“Tied up as in busy?”

He laughed, the menacing sound creeping into the air. “No, tied up as in the very literal sense. As in tied up in our basement as we speak. And Graham isn’t showing him an ounce of mercy.”

I said nothing in return, trying to comprehend the truth of his words. I struggled to imagine the horrors of that basement and the things Graham was possibly doing to torture Davis. I found no pity inside my heart, at least not for Davis. Bryce was the one I felt sympathy toward. Tanner once told me Bryce’s mom split not long after his birth. Now his dad was teetering on the brink of death. Growing up without one parent was one thing, but without two was quite another.

“Josie said Drew would be at the game tonight,” I said, “which means he’s still alive. I’m assuming that’s because everyone is still in denial about what really happened to Shelby.”

Tanner flexed his fingers, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Drew isn’t at the game. He hasn’t played ball all season. Couldn’t pass a piss test if he tried. And no one is in denial. Shelby told us Drew’d been abusive to her. She also claims Drew confessed he’s secretly working with Amos, selling meth.”

“And Graham doesn’t care?”

Tanner frowned, eyebrows bunched together. “Of course Graham cares. Shelby is like a daughter to him. Why do you think he doesn’t care?”

“Uh, because Drew is still alive.”

Tanner sighed. “The situation with Drew is complicated. Levi disappeared this summer. Davis will be out of the picture soon enough. And if Drew disappears, what do you think will happen? He’s a teenager—a kid. Maybe not a likable kid now, but he once was. People don’t remember the bad stuff when someone dies or disappears. They only remember the good. Drew’s disappearance will be splashed on the front page of every newspaper in the South. High school athlete, handsome guy, deceased father, leaving his poor mother behind. You know as well as I do who will be snooping around town.”

Understanding dawned on me. “The FBI.”

“Exactly. Sneaking around seems pretty shitty right now. How would you feel if I was locked up for life for the murder of Levi Bridges?” Tanner grinned. “You think they still allow conjugal visits?”

“I don’t know.” I bit my lip, feigning innocence. “We shouldn’t take any chances. Maybe you should pull over and show me how much you missed me.”

Tanner’s mischievous smirk drifted away, replaced with longing and the need to consume. He jerked the steering wheel without warning, his tires spitting up rocks before coming to a halt on the side of the road. And for the first time in weeks, I felt alive.

Alive.

*

Chance was home from college for the weekend, and apparently anxious to visit my sister. He texted Tanner and asked if we could swing by their house and pick him up, allowing him to ride with us back to my house. I fought an internal battle for a moment but caved.

The image of my sister’s thin, pained face buried underneath her comforter earlier this morning flashed through my mind. She only needed to know Chance still cared for her. Maybe it would be enough to pull her from the depression she’d slipped into.

Chance was waiting for us on the front porch. He loped down the steps, giving me a careful grin as he slid into the backseat of the car.

My own smile was stiff, although it shouldn’t have been. I couldn’t blame him for initially believing that Brodie hit Shelby. He’d known Drew a hell of a lot longer than he’d known any of us. And I couldn’t blame him for leaving town, for pursuing the dreams he’d held long before my sister sprang into his life.

We turned on our old road and Chance ran his fingers through his hair. “You think she’ll be mad?”

Those were the first words spoken since picking him up at their house. I said nothing because I was unsure of my sister’s reaction. Lucy was a loose cannon. Her emotions changed more often than her underwear.

Tanner pulled in the drive and cut the engine. A strange sound filled the outside air, a song of old times, simpler times. A sense of foreboding hung around us, stifling and bitter. The three of us exchanged quick looks. I saw they felt it too, a sharp knife stabbing into the serenity of the heated night.

I opened the door of the car with shaky hands, knowing in my heart something wasn’t right. There was a stillness to the air, penetrated only by the mournful sounds of a heartbroken singer. The song reverberated over the lake, echoing through the thick forest surrounding the still water. The sound was so haunting, so familiar, that I froze, listening to the lyrics of a lonesome bird and a midnight train.

“Oh my God.” Voice trembling, my heart pleaded for the dreadful song to be silent.

“What’s wrong?” Tanner asked.

“That was my father’s song. He played it all the time before he passed away.”

A haunting flash of a memory spun through my mind, twisting and turning, becoming something different from what I once remembered. It was the memory of my father sitting in his recliner, smoking a cigar and drinking long-aged whiskey as he listened to Hank on our old turntable. The record was scratchy from years of overuse, skipping and jumping with static scratching the edge of the singer’s voice. I never recognized my father’s sadness back then, but the memory was now fresh and violent in my mind. The memory displayed the perfect portrait of a disheartened man, staring woefully into the glowing embers of our fireplace.

I sucked in a deep breath, willing myself from the car, feeling the heaviness of Tanner and Chance’s worried stares on me the entire time. “Lucy
hates
this song.”

I landed on quivering legs before creeping across the pavement toward the house. The soft yellow glow of a lamp filled the living room, spilling out onto the deck, making the windows glow like the devil’s eyes against the dark veil of night. The outside speakers positioned on the deck continued to blare the soulful tune, sending shockwaves of dread through my veins.

Pressing forward, I grasped the cool doorknob in my hand, twisted it, and shoved the door open. The music belted intensely inside the house.

I stumbled toward the stereo system, but a strange displacement of the floor caused me to pause. I moved my foot, bunching my brow in confusion. Then my face dropped in shock.

Hair. Long, silky hair lay on the floor below me. It trailed across the worn carpet. Spindly strands traced a path to the stairway.

It was my sister’s hair; it was her pride and joy. It was beautiful and shiny, lying in luscious, choppy chunks scattered across the floor.

Chance choked out my sister’s name in a broken sob. He shoved past me and sprinted across the room.

I stumbled to the side as Chance darted up the staircase. He disappeared upstairs, but it should have been me. It should have been me running to my sister’s aid, but I was a statue, my feet cemented to the floor. My throat tightened as though an invisible force were strangling me. A heavy weight pressed against my chest. The rush of blood through my ears pounded into my brain, but it wasn’t enough to smother my father’s song.

The song ended and a horrific silence filled the air. It was the calmness I’d silently pleaded for, but the quiet was somehow worse than the echo of the song. It was broken by the sound of Chance’s scream. His voice was a sob, shattered and frantic, screaming Tanner’s name in desperation.

Suddenly I was free, shedding my invisible restraints, releasing my iron-weighted feet from the shackles of fear, and forcing myself into the here and now. I shot across the living room with Tanner on my heels and dashed up the staircase.

I took a sharp left and then a right, gripping the doorframe of my sister’s bedroom between my fingers, but she wasn’t there. The room was empty and familiar. The bed was unkempt. Hair products and massive amounts of makeup remained scattered across her white wicker vanity. The heart-shaped mirror mocked me by throwing my own frantic expression back in my face.

Grunts and low curses penetrated the air, drifting from the room at the end of the hall.

Not that room … not
her
room. Lucy never enters that room.

Tanner heard it as well. He darted to the room, Christine’s bedroom, shoving the partly opened door completely open. It slammed against the wall with such force the floor trembled underneath my feet.

My feet … they moved forward, my hands trailing along the rough-cut lumber walls. Splinters dug into my flesh as I rushed down the hallway, but I felt no pain.

Cold, hard fear infiltrated my very core. I entered my mother’s bedroom and my heart stopped, then seized, sputtering in my chest.

Chance was bent over a tiny wisp of a girl. She lay on the floor, wearing nothing but a blood-red, silk camisole and matching shorts. Her skin was pale and waxy, reminding me of a shiny little doll. Her lips were blushed a powder blue, the color of Nana’s hydrangea blooms in the summer. Blood trailed from her left arm, from the crook of her delicate little elbow. Her hair was short, spiky, chopped off in a horrific fashion, and feathered gently against her soft, angelic cheeks.

Syringes. Used syringes lay at her side. A pair of Christine’s tan, sheer pantyhose was wrapped around her upper left arm. Tanner was frantically trying to remove it. He failed at first and then ripped it off, tearing and clawing at the fabric. A sickening ripping sound filled the air.

The girl wasn’t my sister. The girl wasn’t my sister because my sister was an angel, a beautiful, misunderstood child, only a year younger than me. She was my twin heart. Except this girl, her heart no longer beat.

“That’s not my sister,” I whispered.

Tanner’s head shot up as he stared at me from where he was perched near the tiny girl. He was bent over her, his long, lithe fingers pressed against the pulse point of her wrist.

Chance ignored my words. He was too busy pumping his clenched fists over the girl’s chest. His upper body rose and fell with such force I heard the distinct sound of cracking and crunching beneath his hands. My stomach lurched at the sound.

“You’re breaking her ribs!” I screamed, darting forward and grasping his shoulders.

Chance flung me aside and continued to pound against the girl’s chest. I hit the chest of drawers hard. A sharp stab of pain shot through my back. I stumbled forward again as Chance screamed at me to stay back.

“He knows what he’s doing!” Tanner shouted, his face struggling to remain calm.

Chance ceased his movements to pinch the girl’s nose and force air into her mouth.

“He’s breaking her ribs; he’s crushing her chest.”

Chance checked the girl’s pulse, his fingers pressing against her thin neck. His face was grim yet determined. Sweat pebbled on his forehead, soaking the collar of his shirt.

“Let me take over. We can switch out,” Tanner said.

Chance shook his head, resuming his position over her chest. “No, it’s gotta be me.
I’m
the one who’s supposed to save her. You call 911.”

The pale girl’s body flopped limply against the floor with each compression from Chance’s hands. Tanner pulled his phone from his pocket and called for emergency assistance. His voice was muffled, drained from the air, smothered by my ragged breaths.

My legs became weak like a wet rag. I sank to my knees on Christine’s bedroom floor, and I crawled to my sister’s side.