This reaction feels more familiar, almost comforting in a strange way.

  She has the good grace to look ashamed of her action. I choose to ignore it and take the wipe from her hand and finish wiping blood from my own face.

  Alexis stands and takes a barely perceptible step away from me.

  A small crowd has gathered around us, curious stares, but no offers to help.

  I concentrate on my breathing and watch Walker’s cute antics. I block out everything else.

  Several long minutes later, someone crashes out of the corn. I jump involuntarily, ready to run.

  It’s Preston, his face stricken.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” his questions fire out faster than I can answer them. He has no qualms about touching me and pulls me into an embrace as soon as he reaches my side on the bench. I allow myself to melt into his arms, the small tether of my control slipping.

  Preston pulls me so close he accidentally bumps my sore nose and I make a small sound of pain.

  He pulls away, “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “My nose.”

  He touches my cheek gently, wiping at a spot of blood I missed. “You’re a mess,” he says.

  Dustin stalks out of the corn. Even in plain clothes, the set of his shoulders and the way he walks screams cop. Fury in his eyes, he turns on Preston.

  “You want to tell me where you were when Gabby was attacked?” Dustin growls.

  Preston stands quietly. “I was waiting up here for her. I already told you that.”

  “Convenient story.”

  “True story.” Preston counters.

  Lucas approaches the verbal standoff, something in his hand.

  I nearly scream when I see the clown mask he carries.

  “I found this at the edge of the field. The guy’s gone, though.” Taking note of my reaction, he hides the mask out of my line of sight. “I see we found the missing date.” His tone leaves no doubt he has the same opinion as Dustin.

  “This is ridiculous, Preston didn’t attack me,” my stammer gone.

  “Just a coincidence he was there both times you see this clown guy?” Lucas asks stepping next to Dustin.

  “I would never hurt Gabby.” Preston states simply. The other two men are taller and broader than he is, but Preston stands his ground admirably against them. I struggle to my feet to stand next to him.

  “I was with Preston when the girl got attacked.” I state. “He didn’t do it.”

  “Tell us about this girl. Where is she now?” Dustin asks.

  I tell them about finding Melanie unconscious and how she didn’t believe anything happened to her. “She left with her friends. She didn’t want me to tell anyone.”

  “And how exactly did you find this “girl” in all this corn?” I don’t like Dustin’s tone. I’ve heard it many times over the years.

  The crowd of people seem to lean closer, listening to my story. Preston looks at me intently, curious as well. I can’t find the words, can’t explain.

  “I-.” My stammer returns. Nervously, I rub my tattoo under my sweater, even though it isn’t tingling.

  Dustin sees the small movement and makes a disgusted noise.

  “Let me guess, you sensed it?” His words drip with sarcasm.

  I lock eyes with my brother, oblivious of the people around us. “Yes, I did. I sensed it and I went to her. Good thing I did, too, or else she would be dead.” No trace of stammer, each word clipped and clear. I glare at Dustin, daring him to contradict me. He holds my eyes as the moment stretches, then looks away. Victory to me.

  I look around the group, all eyes staring at me in open curiosity.

  Suddenly, exhaustion climbs over me. My nose hurts, my bones hurt, my heart hurts. I need to get away.

  “Preston, please take me home.” I force as much strength into my voice as I can.

  Preston stares at me, hesitates. Just a tiny hesitation, but enough to cut me. I turn and walk away and he follows a few steps behind.

  “We aren’t done questioning him,” Dustin calls after me.

  I spin around. “Yes you are. You go do whatever police work you need to find this guy who attacked me and Melanie. Preston and I are leaving.”

  I’m sure Dustin has more to say, but I’m not listening.

  I struggle along with my one boot. Frustrated, I pull the boot off and throw it across the parking area. Stones poke my bare feet, but I don’t care. I pull the door handle of Preston’s car. It’s locked. Preston presses the button on his key fob and the lock pops up.

  I climb in the car and slam the door.

  He slides into the driver’s seat next to me. Silently starts the engine and pulls out of the parking area towards home.

  “Do you want to go to the ER and get your nose checked out?” Preston asks cautiously.

  “I just want to go home and be alone,” I sulk.

  I can feel Preston thinking, deciding. “Do you want to talk about how you found the girl? What did he mean by ‘you sensed it’?”

  I sigh heavily, the bone tired feeling pulling me down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Preston visibly tenses next to me. “Right. Why would you want to tell me about it? You only almost got killed because you didn’t tell me before.” I’m not sure how I expected him to react, but his anger catches me off guard.

  We ride in silence and I stare out the side window, getting as far away from him as possible. What does he want from me? It’s bad enough he knows about me seeing things with my touch. If I tell him God talks to me through my tattoo, he will never want to see me again. My own brother can’t handle it.

  The tension in the car grows as I don’t respond. I swim in it, drowning in the misery of him so close, yet miles away. We turn down our street, our homes quickly approaching.

  Time ticks by, marked by the mailboxes we pass. I sneak a glance at him. His jaw juts in hard anger, his lips clenched in an unfamiliar line.

  The moment for honesty rushes to me, then passes. He pulls into his driveway next to mine and the moment slips away.

  He climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him, leaving me alone in the empty space.

  I get out, unsure what to do.

  “Preston?” I offer quietly to his back as he walks to his front door.

  He stops, but doesn’t turn around.

  “One of these days, you will need to learn to trust someone.”

  “But-.”

  “When you decide to trust me, you know where I live. Good night, Gabby.”

  Preston goes through his front door. It clicks shut with a small, sad sound. I stand barefoot and alone on his driveway, nothing but the dark to keep me company.

  Chapter 26

  GABBY

  This evening started with so much promise and now it lays in shambles. Without my shoes and jacket, I shiver in the night air. I let myself into my house, check on Chester and roam from room to room, unsettled. I peel off my tight jeans and sweater and replace them with loose, comfortable clothes. The weary feeling still pulls me down, but I don’t want to go to bed. I feel caged and vulnerable alone in my tiny house.

  A few minutes later, I turn the key in the Charger and roar out of the driveway. I speed away from Preston, away from the fear of my own home.

  I drive too fast down back roads, Twenty-one Pilots blasting so loudly my ears ring. No matter how fast I drive, the pain stays with me.

  I want my mother, but that’s not possible. She’s locked away for a crime she didn’t commit. Locked away from her life and locked away from us.

  Eventually, I pull into Grandma Dot’s gravel driveway. The windows in the old farm house stand black and empty. Her old flat bed truck isn’t in the driveway, and I remember it’s her bowling night. I park anyway. This is the only home I have left that feels safe.

  I let myself into the kitchen. Jet yaps from his kennel, at first in warning, then in excitement once he realizes it’s me. At least the small dog wants to see me. I let him out of the kennel and he dances around my ankles in a black fuzzy blur.

  “Hey, Jet. Glad to see you, too. Grandma still have a few beers hidden in the fridge?” I ask the tiny dog. “I could really use a drink tonight.”

  I find a stray can of beer in the bottom drawer and take Jet out on the wide covered back porch. He runs out into the yard to do his business and I snuggle into one of the oversized wooden rockers.

  Enjoying the moonlight, I sit in the dark, taking heavy gulps of the bitter beer. I hide from the disappointment of Preston, hide from the disgust of Dustin and Alexis, hide from the inconvenience I am to Lucas.

  Mostly, I hide from the fear of the man who wants to hurt me. Jet jumps up the steps, done with his activities in the yard.

  “Come here, Jet.” I coax him closer. He puts his front paws on my knees, something in his mouth. I take the bundle away from him, expecting one of his many toys.

  A dead bird lays in my hand, its neck at an odd angle, its feathers falling off into my lap.

  Startled, I toss the dead thing away and hurriedly brush the feathers off of me.

  The dead bird breaks me, and I sob. Heavy, choking sobs. Jet looks at me, a worried cock to his head. I gather the small dog to me, pull my knees up onto the chair and curl myself into a protective ball around him. I focus on his heartbeat against my palm, focus on the soft fur in my hands. I don’t want to feel the pain, the loss, the loneliness. I don’t want to feel at all.

  Forcing the tears to stop, I chug the last of my beer. Welcome the slight swirl in my head from the unaccustomed alcohol.

  I tuck my chin back into Jet and squeeze my eyes shut. A vision of a clown mask fills my mind.

  I will my mind to emptiness.

  The chair rocks slightly in the breeze, like the gentle hand of God. I take comfort knowing He is with me even if no one else is, and drift to sleep.

  I wake to Jet struggling in my lap and the rumbling sound of an engine. Jet jumps from my lap and runs out to meet Grandma Dot’s flat bed.

  “Jet, what are you doing out here? Why is Gabriella’s car here?” she asks the dog. I can hear the concern in her voice all the way from my seat on the porch.

  “I’m here, Grandma.” I call to her.

  “What happened?” she asks, getting right to the point.

  “Good to see you too,” I try to sound funny, but miss the mark.

  She walks up the few steps, pauses to look at me carefully. “You need tea,” she states simply.

  I follow her into the kitchen, not sure what to say.

  “You’re a mess. Go get cleaned up and we can talk.”

  In the hall bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. Dirt smears my cheeks. The mascara I so carefully applied earlier has run in dark streaks from my tears. Remnants of blood show below my nose. No wonder Grandma looked so worried. A mess is an understatement.

  I wash my face and try to tame my wild curls. After making myself as presentable as possible, I re-join her in the kitchen.

  I clutch the hot tea, and avoid her eyes.

  “Want to talk about it?” she asks gently.

  I shake my head, but the words tumble out anyway. Grandma Dot listens in her quiet way, perfected from years of listening to clients pour out their deepest secrets.

  “I didn’t feel safe at home, so I came here.” I finish.

  She takes a sip of her tea, her hand shaking as she lifts it to her lips. “You saved a girl from being murdered, and she didn’t believe she was in danger. Then you get attacked and nearly killed and Dustin gets mad about you ‘sensing’ the danger for the girl. Not mad you were hurt. Alexis pulls away from you instead of helping you. Then this Preston gets mad at you for not telling him all your secrets on a first date? Do I have the story about right?”

  “A little skewed in my defense, but that’s pretty much it.” Her quick defense of me soothes me more than the hot tea.

  “I’m going to have to talk to that boy and his wife.”

  “No, please don’t. I’m used to them. If you say something, it will only start more trouble.”

  “Fine, but one of these days I’m going to spank him. I don’t care if he’s a grown up cop or not.” Grandma Dot winks at me. The image of her turning Dustin who’s twice her size over her knee makes me smile.

  “I’d love to see that.” I giggle, glad for the tension relief.

  “Now, forget about those jerks. The most important thing is your safety. Any idea who’s after you?”

  “None. It has to be whoever killed Karen and Steven. No one else would be after me so violently.”

  Grandma considers this for a moment, nodding absently. “So we have to figure out who killed them and get him locked up before he can get to you. Does Dustin have any leads?”

  “They still think Patrick did it, although they haven’t brought charges against him. I guarantee Patrick Jennings wasn’t chasing me through the corn maze tonight.”

  “You said before it was someone they both knew and trusted. That limits the list.”

  “But I don’t know anyone they both knew. I was just a little girl then. Do you have any thoughts?”

  “Just that your mom ran in their crowd back then. Are you still going to see her tomorrow like usual?”

  “Yes. Honestly, looking forward to getting out of River Bend, even if it’s just for a few hours. Whoever this guy is, he can’t get to me in the prison. That sentence sounds absurd as I say it. What happened to my life? It used to be so boring and predictable.”

  “Gabriella, you’ve never been boring a day in your life.”

  “After this week, I welcome a little boring. At least for a day or two.” I swirl the last of my tea in the bottom of the cup, then drink it down.

  “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?”

  “I expected you would. You’re always welcome here. This is your home.”

  Later, curled under the yellow bedspread in my old room, I think about Grandma Dot’s words. Home. I haven’t felt at home since before my father was murdered and my mother was taken away. Grandma Dot loves me and kept me safe here, the closest thing to home I will ever be able to have. The empty part inside me follows wherever I go. Even in my own house, it haunts me.

  I drift asleep thinking of my mother, remembering her easy smile from the days before our life was torn apart. I can almost smell the coconut of her lotion, feel her hand touch my cheek. I can almost feel her tucking me in at night, whispering in my ear, “Good night, Gabby. I love you.”

  Almost feel her.

  Almost.

  Chapter 27

  GABBY

  I make the drive to the outskirts of Indianapolis every month to visit my mother in prison. Grandma Dot comes along with me when she can, but mostly I go alone. It hurts Granma to see her only daughter in prison for something she didn’t do. Her visits have gotten fewer and farther between as the years have passed. Dustin has never visited her. He has held fast in his belief she murdered our father, no matter what I tell him.

  I’m nearly all my mother has now, and I take the responsibility seriously.

  The heavy overcast sky that hangs over River Bend gives way to bluer skies as I drive south on I-69. The farther I get from home, the lighter my heart feels too. The routine of my monthly visit grounds me.

  I listen to my favorite podcast to keep me company. Crime Junkies fills my mind with stories of other murders. I listen closely, trying to find a clue or an idea to help me solve the mystery I’m stuck in. I don’t find any.

  I go through the security checks as smoothly as possible. I bring nothing with me, and wear only loose fitting, soft clothes. I know the drill. The fewer things they have to check, the easier it is.

  The smell of disinfectant and stress-sweat surrounds me as I settle into the visiting booth. I sit on the plastic chair at the booth with a plastic window separating me from where my mother will soon sit. Handprints smear the Plexiglas, reminders of previous visitors desperate to touch. One leg of my chair is shorter than the other, and I fight the urge to rock it as I wait.

  I don’t have to wait long and my mother sits before me. A bright smile lights up her pale, thin face. Her eyes, the color of sky, an exact match to mine, look too big for her face. She tries to hide their haunted look with her smile. Her hair has grown since I last saw her, more gray at the roots than before. She looks old, nearly un-recognizable from the memories I fell asleep to last night. The realization frightens me.

  The need to hold her and be held by her swamps me. The Plexiglas blocks any chance to touch, but I yearn for it anyway.

  I remove the sticky phone from its cradle and hold it near my ear, but not touching it. I’m thankful for my gloves.

  “Gabby,” she breathes excitedly into the phone.

  “Hi, Mom.” I feel shy suddenly, not wanting her to see my need. “How are you?”

  “Oh, you know the same as always,” she says, a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Of course.” I reply. I study her face, a little girl searching for comfort.

  “Is everything okay, Gabby? You seem off. Is Dustin all right?” Her concern for the son she hasn’t seen in twelve years makes me angry.

  “Dustin is the same as always.” I stuff down my resentment.

  “And Grandma Dot?”

  “Everyone is just the same, mom.” I run a finger along the counter, nervous. “Well, actually, I’m not the same.”

  “I can see that,” she says gently. “What’s going on?”

  As clearly and concisely as possible, I tell her about the murders and my part in finding the killer. She hangs on my every word, no doubt the most exciting story she has heard in years. I gloss over the parts about the man after me, leaving out the terror I felt. I don’t want her to worry. She’s too far away and unable to do anything about it.

  “You actually saw their deaths when you touched the bones?”

  I nod.

  “I knew you had the gift, as Grandma Dot calls it. I didn’t know you could do that.” I can’t tell if her tone is disbelief or awe.

  “I can do lots of things. I just don’t talk about it.” I dart my eyes away, afraid of her reaction. We’ve never talked about the things I see. She knows the basics, but I don’t tell her specifics. Of course Grandma told her some of it when I was younger.

 

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