William slammed his fist into the back of my seat and screamed at me to stop the car.
Marcus was already reaching for the door.
I pulled over, heart pounding, and told themI’d leave them there. I told them I’d drive off and strand them in the middle of nowhere if they got out, hoping they wouldn’t.
I thought it would scare them, that it would be enough to make them rethink their choices.
It wasn’t.
They threw the doors open and got out anyway. Didn’t even bother closing them.
I stayed behind the wheel, frozen, watching through the rearview mirror as they approached the girls.
One of the girls ran straight into the fields before they could get to her..
I hit the gas.
I peeled away, gravel flying, engine screaming. I wanted them to see me leaving. I wanted them to chase the car instead. I wanted it to be enough to stop them.
It wasn’t.
I saw Marcus sprint after the girl who ran.
I saw William grab the other one and drag her off the road and into the field like she weighed nothing.
I drove home shaking so badly I nearly crashed. I told my father everything the moment I walked through the door. He was furious—at me, at them, at my mother. He said he never wanted me with them in the first place.
My mother told him it would be handled.
Swept away.
That made him angrier than I’ve ever seen him.
When we learned what had been done to the girls, I told my father I was going to the police. I didn’t care what it cost me. I didn’t care about my future. I said what happened mattered more than anything else.
I confronted William and Marcus myself. Told them they had to turn themselves in. Told them it was the only right thing left to do.
William laughed.
It was high-pitched. It sounded sharp, wrong.
He told me I was already complicit. That no one would believe I wasn’t involved. That I’d driven the car, that I’d been there, that I’d left the scene.
Then he told me he and Marcus would say I did it.
That I was the one who dragged her into the field.
The story disappeared from the news. Quietly. Buried. I could see William’s parents’ fingerprints everywhere—lawyers, donations, pressure. Trying to erase what couldn’t be erased.
I gave the sheriff everything I had. Every detail. Every little bit of information he could use to conduct his investigation. He, like me, was flamingmad at what had happened to the girls. He was the only one who kept pushing, even when the walls closed in around him.
William killed him.
I don’t have proof. But William told me—smiling, calm—that he could do to me what he’d done to the sheriff if I didn’t learn to stay quiet.
I understood exactly what that meant.
Months passed. The guilt became unbearable. It ate at me every day. I told William I was done. That I would turn myself in and name him and Marcus as co-conspirators. That I would accept whatever punishment came.
