Nearly Gone (9 page)

Some nameless emotion crossed his face, making me regret letting go of his hand. He picked up a dull knife and balanced it between his fingers, letting it hover over the fragile silence between us. “I got busted in a drug raid.”
“Dealing or buying?”
“Dealing.”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
He winced as if the question caused him pain, but didn’t answer.
“If you really want to change, why are you hanging out with Lonny Johnson?”
“It’s complicated,” he said almost to himself. “But it doesn’t really matter, does it? You know, once a bad element, always a bad element.” The words were empty. Hollow. As though he’d heard them so many times they’d lost their meaning.
I watched him fall into a dark corner of himself and I resisted the urge to touch him, not wanting to feel the depth of emotion I saw on his face. Expunging his past was as much his ticket out of a life he didn’t want as my scholarship.
“That’s bullshit.” I turned the page, starting the lesson again. “Just because it’s complicated, doesn’t mean there isn’t a solution.”

Marcia wasn’t coming back. That much was certain. But Thursday, we knew that Emily wasn’t either. Jeremy and I stepped through the front doors as Vote for

me for Prom Queen posters of Emily were stuffed into oversized trash bags, discarded like yesterday’s news. Posters of new faces immediately went up in their place. Their smiles seemed to say: “Nothing to see here, folks. Everything’s back to normal.” But I knew better.

Everything wasn’t back to normal. The note carved into my table in physics class promised this was far from over.
Better luck next time
. Emily’s disappearance under the bleachers was directly connected to Marcia’s murder, even if the police
had
been careful not to reveal any information about the marking on Marcia’s arm that matched the one on Emily.

“What do you think happened?” A gravelly voice spoke close behind me and I lurched. Reece leaned over my shoulder, close enough that his hair tickled my cheek.

“Don’t
do
that!”
He just laughed.
“I’m heading to class.” Jeremy swallowed hard, Adam’s

apple catching on his good-bye. “See you later, Leigh.” He disappeared behind a row of lockers before I could say a word.

Reece sidled up beside me. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“You might consider softening your image a bit . . . if you care, that is.” I picked up my pace and he walked beside me in silence.
“So . . .” he finally asked, “what do you think?”
I risked a sideways glance, seeing only his left side in profile. It was like looking at an entirely different person. From this side, I couldn’t see the two barbells in his brow, the scar that leaned to the right of his chin, or even his tattoo. He looked smooth and deceptively charming. Even his smile seemed to hug the left side of his face. It was like all he had to do to soften his image was turn around. “I don’t know . . . Maybe the facial piercings are a bit much.”
He touched the studs in his brow. “That’s not what I meant. What do you think about Emily and Marcia? A lot of rumors flying around. What do you think happened?”
I’d been listening for days for the quiet conversations between classes, and the whispering clusters in the halls. The school had been so preoccupied with Marcia’s death, everyone had more or less forgotten about Emily until this morning when her Prom Court posters came down. Nothing in any of the wild rumors linked the two. Which meant the police had told Reece that the cases were connected. And now he was fishing. Waiting for me to slip up and say something that he could take back to Nicholson.
“I think their families have probably been through enough. And talking about it isn’t going to change what happened to either of them.”
I cut Reece a quick glance out of the corner of my eye, hoping I’d sounded vague and uninterested enough to be convincing. I wasn’t paying attention and smacked headlong into Vince DiMorello. He stood over me with a broad, dimpled, shit-eating grin, like an opportunity had just fallen into his lap.
“Hey, Boswell.” His smoothed his jersey, his green eyes twinkling. I lowered mine to the floor. Vince was hard to look at, perfect in ways that made the world seem that much more unfair. “The team’s going out on Friday night. Thought we’d go see your mom.”
Freshman year, Vince’s older brother used a fake ID to get into Gentleman Jim’s. He managed to take a few incriminating photos on his cell phone before Butch kicked him out. None of them showed my mother’s face, but it wasn’t her face they were interested in.
“Let it go, Vince.” The jokes about my mother got old years ago, and I just didn’t have the patience for it today.
“I’ve got a stack of Washingtons,” he boomed, loud enough to turn heads. A loose circle formed around us and necks craned for a closer look. Vince was the center of his own universe and as usual, all the popular stars revolved around him. He pulled a roll of cash from his pocket and peeled off a crisp twenty-dollar bill, waving it in the air high enough for everyone to see it. “Where do you think your mom will let me put
this
?”
A few people laughed, the circle tightening. Hot tears burned behind my eyes and I refused to blink.
“What about you, Boswell? What would you do for a dollar?” Vince grabbed his crotch and rocked his pelvis, showing off his best “O” face for the crowd.
If I walked away now, the crowd would part for me, even if they did laugh behind my back. But I refused to turn my back on Vince and let him have that satisfaction. Instead, I stepped toward him. “Let me by,” I said as firmly as I could. If he laid one finger on me, I’d have him expelled. He didn’t move and I took another step forward, into him. His hand twitched.
“Don’t touch me,” I warned.
His breath was hot on my face as he peeled another bill from the stack. “I hear your mom charges extra for that too.”
I stiffened, ready to tell him to go to hell, but someone yanked me back. The laughter died and a hush fell as Reece stepped between us.
“Leave her alone,” Reece said quietly.
TJ’s hand rested on Vince’s shoulder and he spoke into Vince’s ear. “Come on, man. You don’t want to do this.”
Vince jerked his arm, dislodging TJ’s grip and making him stumble. TJ righted himself and took a step back, and I knew he wouldn’t try to hold Vince back again.
A whisper rolled through the crowd, the air thick and electric between them as Vince’s eyes flicked from Reece to me, and then back again.
“No shit, Whelan. Is Nearly A Virgin your new girlfriend? I didn’t realize charity work was a requirement of your parole.” Low whistles rose over muffled laughter. Someone shoved me into Reece’s back.
Reece balled his fists.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered to his shoulder, too short to speak into his ear. I tugged his sleeve. He didn’t move.
“You owe Leigh an apology,” he said in a tightly controlled voice.
“That’s pretty fucking chivalrous, Whelan. You’re a real gentleman. Does that mean you haven’t done her yet?”
Reece’s fist shot out and Vince’s head snapped back. I was pitched forward as teachers shoved their way through the mass and grabbed Reece’s and Vince’s tangled bodies from behind. Faculty shouted orders, but the crowd had erupted into chaos.
“DiMorello! Whelan!” Principal Romero and two security guards clawed their way into the nucleus. Romero’s face was red, a map of forking purple veins. “In my office! Now!”
Faculty ordered everyone to return to class. Vince sneered at me with bloody teeth and dropped the twenties at my feet as security herded him through the crowd. I didn’t pick them up. A shoulder bumped against me, and I looked up into Reece’s expressionless face as security marched him past.
He didn’t even look at me, his words cold enough to burn.
“I hope you’re worth it.”

I took my sandwich and retreated under a willow on the quieter side of school. The branches dipped low enough to brush the dirt and concealed me in a veil of green shadows. But I knew Jeremy would find me. The same way he’d found me that Friday morning at the train station two years ago, when I ran away, determined to find my father after a particularly bad argument with Mona.

I hadn’t called Jeremy. Never told him where I was going or why. I had just taken my ticket from the counter and turned to see Jeremy’s face, standing in line behind me, a duffel over his shoulder and his wallet in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” I’d asked him.

He’d replied, “I’m going with you.” And in that moment, everything changed. Finding my father—figuring out who David Boswell really was—didn’t seem to matter as much as the fact that Jeremy was there. He’d stay with me, no matter what it cost him, even if his father beat him for it. And I couldn’t leave him any more than I could take him with me.

As if stepping out of my memory, Jeremy parted the willow branches and eased down into the grass. I smiled, tears brimming over again, and I wiped them with my sleeve.

“Are you crying?” He wore a surprised expression. Like he’d never seen me cry before.
I blew my nose on a torn corner of my lunch sack. “It’s been known to happen.”
Jeremy sat close, our arms and legs not quite touching. “I heard about Vince.”
“I guess everyone heard, huh?” I rested my chin on my knees. A warm breeze blew over the campus, rustling new leaves and scattering cut grass over the sidewalks.
“They say”—Jeremy leaned in close—“they, of course being the collective unconscious of the West River populous—that you beat the crap out of him. That you gave him a bloody lip and wiped the floor with his ass.”
I gave him a playful shove. “Vince did get a bloody lip, but it wasn’t from me. He mouthed off to Reece Whelan. Reece got one good shot in.” I wouldn’t begrudge myself a little smug satisfaction, even if Reece’s parting words had cut deeper than anything Vince said about my mother.
“I know. It’s all over school, how Prince Pierced-A-Lot came to your rescue.” Jeremy put his hand to his head and went limp against my shoulder, a mock swoon. “How’d it feel to be the damsel in distress?”
“Shut up.” I knocked his knee with my own. “What else did you hear?”
“Just that Vince got off with a warning. He didn’t throw a punch and administration doesn’t want to screw up his spotless athletic record . . .”
I threw my bag lunch into the dirt. In the school’s eyes, as long as Vince DiMorello scored goals, he could do no wrong. No one cared that he was showing naked pictures of my mother or picking fights in the hall. They refused to see him as a criminal, but I knew better. Vince DiMorello was as evil as his twisted bloody smile.
“Whelan got a week of suspension and a one-strikeyou’re-out warning.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the bark, letting that bombshell sink in. A week of suspension. I should have been happy, thrilled even, to have Reece off my back for an entire week. But I couldn’t shake off a sense of guilt.
We sprung him . . . for good behavior . . . cut him a deal . . . stays in school and keeps his nose clean . . .

I felt sick. If Reece had been expelled, he’d end up back in jail. And—underlying motives or not—he’d fought Vince because of me.

I hope you’re worth it.

Jeremy’s elbow knocked mine, drawing my attention as he drew up his sleeve. He flexed a wiry bicep.
“You know, if
I
had been there,
I
would have taken care of Vince for you.”
I arched a weary eye. If Jeremy had been there, we’d have suffered the verbal smack-down together. Vince was an equalopportunity destroyer.
“Seriously,” he insisted, holstering his pathetic guns. “I’d have challenged him to a spelling bee. Total jock obliteration. I’d have been ruthless in defense of your honor.” He pressed a fist over his heart and tipped his head to mine.
A laugh bubbled over the lump in my throat. I leaned on him, resting my head between his chin and shoulder. He felt warm and familiar, and surprisingly serene. He tasted like chamomile and honey. I soaked up his feelings for me, letting them radiate through me like the sun.
“You seem . . . better than you did last week.” It was easier to say, when neither of was looking right at the other. I felt him shrug. Felt the deep breath he took before speaking.
“Yeah, about that,” he exhaled. “I just wasn’t myself.”
“Don’t apologize. I never should have called you a shitty reporter—”
“Oh, so now I’m a ‘shitty’ reporter?” My head bobbed on his shoulder.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I tipped my chin up to make sure he was laughing. He was. He gave me a peck on the forehead, then looked away, before either of us could second-guess his reasons.
At least Jeremy was honest with himself. He never tried to be anyone he wasn’t, accepting each of us for who we were, flaws and all. He was a real friend, not a paid one. I knew he wouldn’t mind when I asked him to skip lunch to drive me home so I could pretend to be sick for the rest of the day.
I knew he’d share half of his sandwich with me on the way.
And we both knew I wouldn’t have anything to give in return.

That night, I pulled back the sheet, a makeshift curtain tacked to the paneling over my window, while I balanced the phone under my chin. I was only half listening to Anh while she bitched about her brother. “. . . so he refused to sign the permission slip. He says it’s a waste of time to spend an entire school day at an amusement park. Instead, he’s making me go on a bunch of college tours out of town all weekend. I’m so pissed!”

Mona disappeared beyond the circle of the neighbor’s security lights. They flickered on and off in succession, the dark snapping at her heels as she stepped in and out of each one, and approached the traffic light at the end of the street.

From the point where she disappeared, a single headlight turned, blinding me as it drew closer.
“I think he just has something against Jeremy . . .”
Reece. He cruised under the same security light Mona had just tripped. My stomach twisted in a tight knot. Was he here to blame me, to tell me it was my fault he got suspended? Or was he here to pick up our conversation where we left off, before his fight with Vince, when he’d asked me what I’d really thought had happened to Emily and Marcia?
“Leigh, are you even listening?”
I dropped the sheet and leaned against the wall. “Sorry, Anh. I’ll call you back. I have to go.” I disconnected, heart speeding up as I listened for Reece’s bike to slow. But he didn’t stop at my trailer. His bike rumbled past and I counted beats until he killed the engine at the dead end of the street.
What the hell was Reece Whelan doing? No one parked at the playground at the end of Sunny View Drive after dark, unless they had business there. And there were only two kinds of business in Sunny View. My mind spun with a sick curiosity. I’d watched men pick up rent-a-girls on the corner by the playground all my life. I was numb to it. But something inside me clenched when I pictured Reece with them. Or when I considered that the alternative might actually be worse.
What if he wasn’t here for the girls? He said he’d been sent to juvie because he’d been busted in a drug raid. How far could he fall if he thought he’d lost everything?
Make sure he stays in line.
Shit.
I pushed off the wall and threw open my bedroom door. The stale reek of Mona’s cigarettes assaulted me in the hall. I grabbed the metal bat and slid back the dead bolt, taking a last deep breath.
I kept to the shadows, careful to avoid the light sensors and trailers with barking dogs, and looped around the block, emerging behind the broken-down playground. Rancid trash gagged me as I crouched low behind a Dumpster and peered around it.
Reece stood near the metal frame of an old swing set. Three car doors slammed in quick succession. The interior lights of Lonny’s Lexus never came on, but the bleached spikes in his hair and white-blond goatee glowed under the dim light of a full moon when he stepped out. He was flanked by two figures, their faces concealed under hoodies.
Hair rose on my forearms. If this was just business as usual, why didn’t they meet at Lonny’s trailer, like he had with Oleksa? Why meet here, in the dark, with two of his thugs?
“You’re late,” Lonny growled.
“I’m here.” Reece shrugged, unconcerned. “Are we going to do this or not?”
Lonny nodded and the hooded figures stepped forward. Reece raised his arms, locking his fingers behind his head. He seemed relaxed, comfortable even, like he’d done it a million times before. Until one of them—the tall one wearing bulky high-tops with red laces—pushed back his hood and Reece stiffened.
Oleksa.
He smiled a rare, cold smile at Reece. Whispered something in his ear. Reece answered with a barely perceptible shake of his head. Oleksa frisked him down both legs, hands running over and inside his leather jacket, quick and sure as they’d been with the Rubik’s cube. Satisfied, he lifted Reece’s T-shirt, offering Lonny a view of his bare chest.
Shadows outlined the muscles of Reece’s abdomen. A nipple ring glinted from his right pectoral and a pendant hung to his sternum, hovering over a dark line that started at his navel and dipped into the top of his jeans.
Lonny nodded. Oleksa dropped the shirt and stepped back. Reece lowered his hands slowly, eyes never leaving Oleksa’s face.
“Excuse the formalities.” Lonny smoothed his goatee thoughtfully.
Reece pulled his shirt in place and rested his hands at his sides. “We’re cool.”
“I believe we’ve already agreed on the terms?”
Reece nodded, glancing cautiously at Oleksa before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small envelope. Oleksa grabbed it and thumbed through the contents. He signaled to Lonny with a jerk of his chin, then stuffed a bag into Reece’s pocket.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business.” Lonny turned, goons at his heels. “Let’s do it again soon.”
“Actually . . .” Reece’s voice was unwavering. “I was hoping you could help me out with one more thing.”
Lonny stopped, but didn’t turn. His tattooed fingers laced around the handle of his car. “And what might that be?”
“I’m looking for a little
Special K
.”
Tension crackled in Lonny’s pause. When he spoke, his voice was low, deadly. “You’re a good-looking guy, Whelan. All the girls are talking about you. Probably drop their panties just looking at you. I have a very hard time believing you need any . . . social lubricant.”
Reece shifted, darting glances at Oleksa. Lonny’s suspicion was almost tangible. Something between them had turned. Lonny tipped his head, studying him. “It’s an odd request from someone like you.” He shot Oleksa a look. “And it makes me a little uncomfortable.”
The goons lunged. I clung to the Dumpster as the stocky one bent Reece’s arms behind his back. Oleksa grabbed the bag from Reece’s pocket and tossed it to Lonny.
“Just because you’re not wearing a wire doesn’t mean I trust you.” Lonny stepped up in Reece’s face. “See, the cops have been sniffing around ever since Sleeping Beauty fell in the pool. They’re asking a lot of questions. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
A chill crept through me. Crouched low, I stepped back and looked for a way out through the shadows where I could escape unseen. A twig snapped under my foot and I froze, but no one heard.
Lonny paced, tossing and catching his keys. “I’ve got friends in the system, Whelan. I heard about you. I know who you are. What you did.” The keys jangled. Up and down. “What I can’t figure out is how you walked.” Lonny stopped and ran a palm over his gelled spikes, back and forth. “Only two ways to walk from the shit on your record, kid. You either blow the right parole officer . . . or you narc.”
Reece’s cover was about to be blown.
Lonny turned to Reece. “So which is it?”
Reece’s expression was hard, but the cool steadiness was gone from his voice. “Just time out for good behavior, man.”
Lonny pointed two fingers at Reece’s chest. “Answer the question.”
“I’m not a narc.” Reece struggled to free his arms, his chest rising and falling faster.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Lonny launched a fist into Reece’s gut. I gripped the bat, squeezing my eyes shut as Reece dropped to his knees.
“It doesn’t change anything. I don’t trust you, and it wouldn’t matter even if you were a narc. Cops got nothing on me. I’ve learned a few things. My hands are clean . . .” Lonny wiped his knuckles and scrutinized his nails.  “.  .  . Always clean. See, I have a business to run. I don’t like when things get messy.” A smile crept over his face. I wasn’t sure which was more frightening, watching Lonny inflict violence, or the promise of something worse in that smile. “I’ll need time to check your . . . credentials . . . before we try this again.”
Reece rolled onto his side, grunting and struggling for breath. Lonny motioned to Oleksa and I panicked when they hefted Reece to his knees. I wanted to run. Lock myself in my metal box and pretend this wasn’t happening. But I couldn’t make myself leave.
Oleksa’s fist smashed into Reece’s face. His head rocked back, blood flowing in a thick, dark stream. Lonny watched, tossing and catching his keys. I fisted the bat, hiding in the shadows like a coward, waiting for the police to come and save Reece—or arrest him. But they weren’t coming. He wasn’t wearing a wire. They had no way of knowing he was in trouble.
Oleksa hit him again.
I hope you’re worth it.
I grabbed the bat, creeping through the shadows in a wide arc and coming behind them near Lonny’s car. I pressed one hand on the hood and hauled myself up, planting my feet wide, steeling myself for the stupid, crazy thing I was about to do.
I raised the bat over my head.
“Let him go!” I shouted. “Or I’ll destroy your fucking car!” Loose hair whipped around my face. I looked into their eyes, one by one, then held Lonny’s stare. I wouldn’t let go.
Reece’s chin rested on his chest, bleeding into his shirt. Oleksa looked back and forth between me and Lonny, hands twitching at his side. Lonny shook his head with a bemused disbelief.
“My, my.” His voice was silky sweet and it terrified me as much as his smile. “Isn’t this something?”
He stepped toward me and every cell in my body screamed at me to run. Reece raised his head slowly, his eyes half closed and unfocused. His gaze sharpened on the hood of Lonny’s car. On me. His face paled, as if he were looking at a ghost. He opened his mouth to speak and struggled to one knee, but Oleksa kicked him in the gut, doubling him over.
“I said let him go!” I raised the bat higher, aimed at the windshield.
Lonny chuckled, but nobody moved. He was stalling. Calling my bluff. I tested the weight of the bat, letting it roll in my palms. Lonny raised an eyebrow.
“I heard about your run-in with DiMorello today. Heard Whelan came to your rescue. Is he your man now? Or are you just here to return the favor?”
I calculated my words carefully. Lonny was already suspicious of Reece. The wrong answer could get him killed.
“What I do with Reece is none of your business.”
“Maybe it should be, Boswell. Your boyfriend is looking for some pretty nasty little pills. Nasty little pills that make sweet girls like you do really nasty things.” Lonny shrugged. “But what do I care? Maybe you already do.”
His eyes skimmed over me, lingering on my breasts and hips in a way that made me feel sick inside. He ran his tongue over his teeth and toyed with the barbell above his chin, pushing and pulling it through the hole in his lip while he considered me.
“You keep your boyfriend on the right side of my street. I’m not sure I like him.” Lonny gestured to his goons. The stocky one tossed Reece’s limp body to the ground.
“You, however . . .” Lonny shook his finger at me. “. . . I am definitely beginning to like. Now get your skinny ass off my car. Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll break your pretty legs.”
I had no doubt he’d make good on the threat. Bat in hand, I jumped down the side of the car farther from him and backed away.
“You have your girlfriend to thank for this,” Lonny said, tossing a clear bag of pills between Reece’s knees. Reece swayed, slick with blood and sweat, red drops spattering against the plastic.
Lonny’s gaze was heavy on me as he angled into his car. “I won’t forget this, Boswell.”
The Lexus ghosted out of Sunny View. I tossed the bat and dropped to the ground beside Reece, afraid to touch him. He cradled his ribs, each breath harsh and shallow.
“What the hell were you thinking?” He spit blood in the dirt, then snatched up the bag and jammed it in his pocket. “He could have killed you!”
“What the hell was
I
thinking? What the hell were
you
thinking? Look at you!”
An angry gash split his lip and dripped off the end of his chin, and blood trickled from his left eyebrow. He was caked in dirt and blood, but he’d been lucky. Oleksa had been righthanded, sparing Reece’s piercings. “We need to get you to a hospital. Can you stand?”
“No! I can’t go to a hospital. They’ll call the cops.” His face contorted in pain as he tried to straighten himself. “I’m fine. Just help me up.”
Reece wrapped his left arm around his ribs. I grabbed his right, and together we eased him to his feet. Groaning, he maneuvered himself out of his jacket and peeled his T-shirt over his head. Angry black bruises were blooming over his ribs.
I watched, helpless, as he balled up the shirt, then pressed it to his head to staunch the bleeding. With labored breaths, he worked his arms back into his jacket and eased himself onto the bike.
“Come on.” The order rasped in his throat as he released the kickstand.
He could go to hell. I kicked through the tall grass, snatching my bat off the ground. “I’m going home.”
“Leigh, wait!” The kickstand snapped back into place and I heard his boots behind me.
I kept walking.
“Leigh! I’m sorry.” His apology echoed off the trailers. “You can’t go home. You shouldn’t be there alone tonight. It’s not safe.”
I swung around. His blood was streaked across my hoodie and my hands. “I can take care of myself !”
He looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time. And I wanted him to. I wanted him to understand what I had been ready to sacrifice, though I wasn’t sure why.
He blinked away blood and wiped his eyes with his balledup shirt. “You didn’t have to get involved. Haven’t you ever heard of a cell phone?”
“I don’t have one!”
“Well, you should. What if something happened to you? You’d be a lot safer carrying a cell phone . . .” He gestured to the bat I still gripped.
My vision blurred with angry tears. “Next time I won’t bother!” The adrenaline slipped away, leaving me raw and cold all over.
He let out a long, tired breath. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I should have said thank you. Now will you please put down the bat and come with me?” He held a hand out, waiting.
I let the bat fall to the ground and looked down at my fingers. At the blood under my nails. My hands were shaking, and I stared at them, half expecting them to crumble. Reece grabbed the front of my hoodie and pulled me to him.
“I need . . .” He looked in my eyes with a raw and tangled expression. Then he pulled away and it was gone. He cleared his throat. “I need you to hold this while I drive.” He pressed the crumpled bloody T-shirt into my palm.
I looked toward home, down the rows of metal boxes with dead bolts and security lights that never felt like enough. I didn’t want to be alone.
I straddled the bike, legs unsteady. He reached behind and took my sleeve, lifting my hand to his wound. I wrapped the other around his chest, tucking my hands inside my sleeves to keep from touching the bare, hot skin under his jacket.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To see a friend. And then I’ll take you home.”