Stumbling, my foot catches on something and I looking down at what it could be. My vision is blurry, but there’s no mistaking the distinct curve of an arm jutting out of the mud.
Who the fuck does that belong to?
I drop to my knees, fingers digging in the mud as rain pelts my back. My muscles scream in agony at the effort, but I have to know if whoever lays beneath the mud is okay.
The last swipe of mud reveals the slumped face of my best friend, Sarah. She’s not moving.
“Sarah!” I cry out, trying to shake the part of her that I can reach, but she’s rigid. Cold to the touch. Not a tuft of breath escapes her lips.
Fear grips my heart when I realize she was the something that was laying on top of me. Nothing is making any sense as flashes of the night form a nonsensical puzzle in my mind.
I scramble backwards trying to piece together what the hell happened. Reaching down, I pile the mud back on her, in shock or in denial about what I’m seeing. Only the thought of making this all go away percolates along my shattered conscious.
It’s not real. It can’t be. I think, as her face disappears beneath the layers of mud.
Once covered, I stare down at the pile of mud that houses my best friend’s corpse and find myself roiling with the need to vomit. Unable to stop the retching, I feel it splatter on my shoes and dribbling down my dirt encrusted face.
Nothing makes any sense, and it feels like brain is pounding inside of my skull. I have to go. I need to get out of here.
Stumbling, I take off into the night, blurry eyed and battered as I leave my best-friend’s body behind.
I can’t believe I just left her there. The sheriff doesn’t seem to believe me either as he stares down at my shivering body. Thankfully, his wife was kind enough to supply a tattered blanket and a stale cup of coffee. It tastes like ash in my mouth, but at least it’s warm.
One of the deputies found me wandering along the road and hauled me in for questioning. I’ve never been in the back of a police car before, and I can’t say I want to experience that again. He treated me like some kind of criminal. Like I deserved to be locked up back there. But I guess being a kid that attends Kingston Prep comes with its own connotations.
“Why would you bury her if you didn’t kill her?” He asks for the fifth time. Or maybe the sixth. It’s hard to keep track of the conversation that only feels like we’re going in pointless circles.
“I told you everything I know.” I answer, exasperated.
It has to be close to dawn by now and my entire body screams with the struggle to stay awake. I want nothing more than to climb into my dingy little cot at Kingston and wake up to all this being a horrible dream. Something I can laugh off with my friends later.
But the bright and buzzing florescent lights above drill into my sensitive retinas, letting me know that this isn’t some dream. Some nightmare. This is reality, and they think I killed Sarah, though no one has been able to locate her body yet.
They’ve classified her as missing, dismissing my story due to other testimonies that have been taken.
The sheriff stares me down. His deeply wrinkled forehead is furrowed and splattered with age spots. It’s clear he’d rather be doing anything else but this, and I can’t say I feel any different.
“Your mother is here to take you back home.” He finally says, and my stomach drops.
“My mother?” Swallowing hard, I’d just assumed that I’d go back to Kingston, but having to face my mother after a night like I’ve had, is sending me into a downward spiral.
“We contacted her as is protocol with a minor. Now, don’t be getting any wild ideas to run off anywhere. We’ll need to ask you a few more questions.” He takes me out to a dingy waiting area where my mother, a mirror version of myself only older, awaits.
Her lips are pursed, and her features are pulled into a scowl as I approach. I can tell that she didn’t have time to get ready before coming to get me because she’s dressed in a sweater, jeans, and her hair is still thrown in her sleeping braid. Not a stitch of makeup lines her face, and knowing how important appearances are to her, she must have left the moment she was called. I think I’ve only seen her without makeup when she’s gotten sick, and the thought sours my already nauseous stomach.
“Hazel, let’s go.” Her fingers dig into my arm, hard enough that I know it’ll leave bruises. I can only imagine what fresh hell awaits me once I get home. The last time she was this upset, she had me kidnapped and sent to Kingston.
It’s only when we’re halfway home, deep in the silence, that I realize I’ve lost the camera I’d been carrying.
CHAPTER 34
HAZEL
27 YEARS OLD
Flurries dancealong the edge of the window gathering in a small pile of the skylight. I gaze up at it as the dregs of sleep cling to me. My mind has been slowly processing my memories that have come back, and with that come the dreams. Making me feel as if I’m reliving those moments. But with the dreams comes a sense of disbelief and leaves me wondering what’s real and what’s imagined.
Are those moments in the woods with Kyle and Sarah really what happened? Or am I the monster they’ve made me out to be?
