“Where the fuck have you been?” It isn’t angry, but still, it carries a hint of annoyance.
The clearing of a raspy throat follows, and I let go of my breath when I hear that it’s Chief Wynston.
“Can’t even leave this damn town for a couple days without everything going goddamn belly up,” Wynston’s voice cracks as he speaks, then it becomes low and quiet, casting on a whisper, “Is the boy here?”
I suck on my front teeth and clench my fists, screwing my ears.
Rusty must confirm with a movement.
Wynston’s voice remains quiet, “What happened to his sister, Jade Keller…” he pauses, and I imagine he’s shaking his head, because he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, shifting quickly to another, “Laiken Campbell is lucky to be alive. No idea how she got away. I visited her this morning; her recollection of the night is harrowing.”
Rusty coughs, spits to the ground. “You reckon he let her go intentionally?”
I steeple my fingers, push against the wood flooring to my feet, then I stumble toward the window, gazing outside from behind the cream drape. Both Chief Wynston and Rusty are standing beside the white sedan painted in the colors of law enforcement.
Wynston takes an intentional step closer to Rusty, speaking beneath his breath, “You and I both know she shouldn’t have survived that.”
Both of my hands press against the wall beside me, taking the weight of my carcass. I can’t feel my heart beating in my chest anymore.
Wynston’s unruly and gray eyebrows are raised. He looks at Rusty who sucks on a cigarette, letting the smoke curl from his nose.
“So, what the fuck are you doing here, hmmm? Shouldn’t you be doing everything to pin this motherfucker?”
Wynston extends his arm in front of him, the light brown of his uniform shuffling with the movement. He sighs with defeat, and at that, I feel the walls of my throat tighten.
Wynston hisses through his teeth, raising his eyebrows. “He leaves nothing behind, Rusty. You know that. You found her, doused and scrubbed with bleach.”
Bile splashes onto my tongue. I squeeze my eyes closed. I didn’t know about that part, a small, but huge detail Harlen and Rusty had both decided to leave out.
I wrap my arms around my stomach. I couldn’t blame them for that.
Not a second stretches between them before Rusty replies, “Well, he did this time.”
Wynston is quick to snort and retort, “You want to tell me what that might be, Officer?” He shakes his balding head and folds his arms across his chest.
Rusty jerks his chin toward the end of the driveway. “Her.”
My stomach burns and the edges of my vision blur, he was talking about Laiken.
I slide down the wall behind me, drawing my legs toward my chest, hanging my trembling arms over my knees and slamming the back of my head against the wall. I squeeze my eyes closed, and begin to draw back breath when I hear Wynston speak again.
“Look, I came out here to tell you that the Keller's home burned down overnight…” he pauses, and I know what he’s about to say before he says it. “But you already know that, don’t you?” Wynston clears his throat and I imagine him to be raising his white eyebrows again, waiting for a reply from Rusty that was never going to come. “I’ve put out a statement that the blaze wasn’t connected to what happened to Jade Keller andLaiken Campbell, that it’s believed to have been started by an unattended candle, and Mr. and Mrs. Keller didn’t make it out in time,” he coughs on the lie, beats his chest. “Skinner paid me a visit this morning, and I’m guessing we aren’t going to talk about the bullet holes in their heads?”
His words make my limbs turn numb.
“Guess not,” Rusty states coolly, and a tortured, yet resigned exhale leaves the cop.
“I thought you might say that.” A drag of a boot over rocks sounds. “Good thing I never liked Jack Keller much. Heather, though, she was a nice woman, deserved much better.”
His words cripple me because he knew. Mom hid her bruises, but sometimes all it took was looking someone in the eyes to know that the facade my father created was not all it seemed to be, especially in a career where you could smell a narcissist from a nose hair away.
I’ve never liked this town, but I liked Jason Wynston.
There’s another throat clearing, and when I peek over the windowsill, I watch Wynston slide his holey handkerchief out of his pocket, dragging it beneath his nose. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Rusty taps him on the back, squeezes his shoulder, and when Wynston folds the handkerchief back into a perfect square, the same way his shoulders fold over themselves, returning it to his pocket, he says with resignation, “Look after that boy, tell him that I’m going to do everything to find the person who did this to his sister.”
And at that, I return to the floor, feeling my bones tightening.
