Dark Paradise (5 page)

D
eputy George Dubois, legendary prick of all pricks, stands by the back gate with his thumbs hooked in his duty belt. His expressionless face means he definitely saw Clarice with her hand down my boxers. I throw a grimace in Clarice's direction, but she's staring at the water. Damn right! She'd better be embarrassed trying to give me a hand job without asking permission first.

George nods to Clarice. “I need to speak with Landry in private.”

She grabs her clothes off the ground. It takes less than ten seconds for her to abandon me to deal with the fallout alone. How is it I always end up taking the blame for her stupid ideas? You'd think after twenty years I'd know better.

“Landry…”

I meet his gaze. “What did you say?”

“I need to speak with your parents.”

“Sorry, Dad's in Lafayette, and Mom's asleep. Why don't you come back tomorrow?” The hope in my voice makes me cringe. He stares at me with cold green eyes, and I shiver. “Come on, Deputy. Give me a break. This isn't what it looks like.”

Why am I making excuses? I'm an adult. I signed up for the draft. I'm in college. I'm not the kid he used to babysit, but suddenly I'm twelve again when George says, “Stop dicking around, Landry. Sheriff Keyes is waiting for us out front.”

Mom's gonna skin me alive.
I rise and walk toward him. The closer I get to George, the less intimidated I feel. I've got three inches and about fifty pounds on him.

But he's got a gun.

I grab a towel off of the deck chair and wrap it around my waist. I'm about to go inside when I turn back around to beg George for a pass one last time. I catch the deputy at a vulnerable moment. Deep lines are etched around his eyes. It feels like he rams his fist in my gut.
Why would Sheriff Keyes be here? He'd only want to speak to Mom and Dad if something bad happened. It doesn't make any sense.
My palms begin to tingle. The sensation travels up my arms then spreads through the rest of my body. I'm about to jump out of my skin.
Lainey…oh, God.

A gust of cold air chills my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. “I know why you're here. It's Lainey. She's dead, isn't she?”

Silence falls over the yard, but I still have to strain to hear George's whispered “Yes.”

The sound of glass shattering whips my head around. Mom stands in front of the screen door. The drink-filled tray she'd been carrying dangles from her fingers. Broken shards of glass litter the concrete.

“Momma,” I choke on the word, breathing hard.

Her mouth opens, and a keening wail cuts the air…like a knife…each scream jabs deeper and deeper into my chest.

My throat tightens around my own cries. They fight to get free. To release the pressure building inside my chest, but I hold them in. I have to be strong.

Mom takes a step forward and stumbles. I lunge for her, but I'm too far away. George catches her as she falls, scooping her up in his arms like she weighs no more than an infant.

My legs don't catch my forward motion. I drop to my knees. Pain stabs my hand, and I look at my palm, dazed. I yank out the sliver of glass. Blood oozes from the puncture wound and drips to the ground. The dime-size crimson splatter widens. Now it's the size of a quarter…a silver dollar.

“Landry, I need your help. Your mom's cut herself,” George yells from inside the house.

I tear my eyes from the blood and push to my feet. My thoughts are fuzzy. I feel disconnected, as if I'm watching from outside of myself. I step carefully to avoid the rest of the glass and pause in the doorway, letting my eyes adjust. Sheriff Keyes sits on the sofa next to Mom. He has his arm around her shoulder and pats her back as she cries—and it's not her usual ladylike misting of the eyes that she dabs away with tissue during sad movies—I mean, she bawls, as in snot dripping and tears streaming over the sheriff's starched, khaki uniform shirt. It's a total loss of her vaunted self-control. I've never seen her break down before, and it makes the situation even more surreal. 'Cause Lainey being dead, it's bullshit!

The more I think on it, the more I know for sure. Lainey can't be dead. I saw her not more than half an hour ago in the garage. Sure she looked kind of filmy and way too quiet, but she didn't look dead. And that stupid itch…fleas. The cat brought the parasites into the house. Sasha's always hunting mice and dumping them on our beds. Bet one crawled up my nose while I was sleeping, and that's why my brain itches.

Lainey can't be dead.

A sound breaks into my thoughts. It takes a second for words to form from the meaningless mutters.

“Landry…”
That's my name.

I blink then focus on George. “What?”

“Snap out of it.”

“Out of what?” My gaze travels back to Mom. She's stopped wailing and now clings to the sheriff, shuddering and hiccupping. A shadow crosses my vision.
How long have I been standing in the doorway? In a towel. Surrounded by broken glass. Barefoot.

I shake my head. “What the hell?”

George grabs my sandals from beside the doormat. He holds them out to me. I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to do with them. Does he want me to go with him somewhere? Didn't Sheriff Keyes tell Mom they found Lainey? Where is she?

My head's killing me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palm against the throbbing vein between my eyes. Hands lift my leg. George slips first one foot then the other into the sandals. “Why don't you go sit beside your mom?” he says.

He takes my arm, and I let him lead me to the sofa. I sit next to Mom with my hands folded between my legs so they don't shake. Sheriff Keyes continues to rock Mom like a colicky baby. His voice is too low for me to hear what he's saying to comfort her. I guess he and George decided to split us into easily handled chunks, but it wasn't necessary.

“I'm fine,” I whisper.

“No. You're not. Where's your first aid kit, Landry?” George asks.

I glance down at my injured hand. The bleeding has stopped, but dirt crusts the puncture wound. I'd better wash it out with peroxide so it doesn't get infected. I'd hate to get my hand amputated for a stupid reason like gangrene.

Oh, yeah. Mom got hurt too.

Her foot's propped on the table with a bloody dishtowel wrapped around it. I stand up and walk toward the staircase. George puts out his hand, and I ram chest first into his palm. I hold my breath against the pain in my ribs.

“Damn it, that hurts.” I smack his hand aside.

“Where are you going?”

“For the first aid kit. It's in the upstairs bathroom.”

“I'll get it.”

No, I need to be alone for a minute. “It'll be faster if I go.”

George's doubtful expression makes it seem like he doesn't believe me. I bark out a choked laugh and wince as my ribs protest. I step around him and take the stairs two at a time. I'm breathing hard when I reach the top, and I lay my arms against the railing until I catch my breath.

Downstairs the murmur of voices captures my attention, and I strain to hear the conversation. A thump from down the hall turns me in that direction. I pause for a minute. I listen but don't hear anything else. Probably my imagination on overtime. I start toward the bathroom. The thud from Lainey's room is louder this time. A rush of excitement floods through my body, clearing the fog from my mind.

I run to fling open her door. It bounces against the wall and rebounds closed. I stop it an inch from smacking my face. The image of her empty bedroom is branded in my mind. Without opening the door, I imagine her lavender and white bedspread and fluffy pillows on her made bed. The spotless floor and organized dresser. What the hell?

“Landry?”

I spin, falling back against the wall. My heart almost explodes out of my chest. “Don't sneak up on me.”

George's voice is gentle, like he's trying to talk a guy off a high-rise ledge. “Does he think I'll jump?”

“I don't think you're gonna kill yourself,” he says.

Oh, jeez, I asked the question out loud. “I'm not crazy.”

“You're in shock. It's normal given the circumstances. Why don't you go downstairs and sit with your mom?”

“I heard someone walking around in Lainey's room. What if she came home while we were talking?”

George reaches around me and opens the door.

“See,” I say, pointing at the bed. “Her room's usually a mess. It drives Mom crazy. They're always fighting about her making her bed and picking up her clothes.”

His sharp gaze travels around the room, settling on each piece of furniture for a second before moving on as if cataloging the contents for future reference. Once done, he looks back at me. “Maybe she didn't want to leave behind a dirty room and cleaned up before going out.”

I snort. Obviously he doesn't know Lainey as well as he thinks he does. “Why would she? She thinks making her bed's a waste of time since she'll have to get back in it again later. Plus her cleaning would make Mom happy. Lainey never does anything for anyone but herself.”

George nods as if what I said makes perfect sense. He waves his hand. “Can I look around? Maybe she left a note.”

“Sure, go ahead. Check the closet to make sure she's not hiding in there.” I sit on her bed. I've been banned from coming into her bedroom for years. Lainey had been pissed at how girly Mom decorated it, but after she grew out of her tomboy stage, she came to love it. It'll serve my big sis right having her ex-boyfriend pawing through her private stuff after pulling a stunt like this. For a minute, I really thought she'd died.

George starts riffling through her desk drawers. He glances over his shoulder at me with a frown. “You doing okay now?”

I laugh. “Yeah, sorry. I guess I lost it for a minute. What made you think Lainey was dead anyway?”

“Are you saying you think she's alive?” He turns slowly. “I thought you understood what I was telling you earlier.”

“You think she's dead, but she's not. I swear.” I hold up my hand. “Scout's honor. Lainey ran off with her new beau. She's been sneaking out with him for about eight or nine months.”

God, the look in George's eyes.

I lift my head to stare at the ceiling. The blood coursing through my body pulses in my ears. His voice comes as a muffled shushing. “Landry, I'm sorry. I thought you heard the sheriff tell your mom…”

I wish I couldn't hear at all.

“We found Lainey.” George stands over the bed. He wants to be sure I hear him this time. That I don't mistake the words coming out of his mouth. He's gonna force me to face the truth whether I want to or not. No more living in denial. No more pretending. No more hope.

I breathe out the words, “Found her where?”

“Her body was found floating in Bayou St. Louis. She's dead, Landry. Dr. Rathbone plans to conduct an autopsy later today to determine the cause of death.”

I'm not sure when the tears start to fall. My face feels numb. I watch them drop from my eyes to form a violet stain on my sister's lavender bedspread. A thump comes from inside the closet. George walks over to open the door. Sasha looks up at him and hisses, then runs to hide under Lainey's bed.

“I need to get dressed.” I run for the bathroom.

Everything moves in slow motion.

My brain shuts off.

I'm cool with the emptiness.

I take a quick shower to get the chlorine off my skin and get dressed, but then I'm forced to crouch over the toilet, dry heaving. When I can stand, I splash my face with cool water. The Landry in the mirror looks like a zombie. Dark-rimmed, hollow gray eyes and wet black hair I don't even bother combing. I remember to grab the first aid kit and walk downstairs.

Sheriff Keyes stands by the front door with Mom. I thought he would've left by now. I'm glad he waited and didn't leave Mom alone. She's in bad shape. Now that my brain is partially functional again, I think I'd better take her to the ER so she can get stitches. I go to stand with them. Outside, George paces with jerky steps in front of the patrol car with one hand pressed against his shoulder mike.

Sheriff Keyes pats my shoulder. “I'm sorry, son. I wish I could stay until your dad arrives, but there's been another development in the case. I'm sorry for your loss.”

I nod and wrap my arm around Mom's shoulder. “Thank you.”

Sheriff Keyes walks down the sidewalk and meets up with George. They speak in low voices as they move with measured but urgent strides to climb into the car. The patrol car's engine revs then peels out with squealing tires and sirens blaring.

We stand in the doorway in silence for I don't know how long. Mom and I are lost in our own worlds until they collide. She twists out of my arms, and I let them fall to my sides. My shoulders slump, a heavy weight presses down on them. The sudden urge to punch a hole in the wall has me balling my hands into useless fists.

Mom's gaze flickers downward, and I shove my hands into my pockets. “Do you want breakfast?” she asks, heading toward the kitchen, not waiting for my answer.

I chase after her. She moves fast. It doesn't seem like her injury even hurts. Then I notice she walks with a slight limp, not putting all of her weight down on her foot. She bustles around the kitchen, leaving bloody footprints on the tile with each step. She pulls out packages of bacon and eggs from the refrigerator then slams the door. The expression on her face terrifies me. She's totally blank.

“Mom, why don't you take a sleeping pill and rest? I'll cook up something for you.”

“Don't patronize me,” she says serenely. Too calm to be real.

I swallow hard. Maybe
I
should take a sleeping pill instead. Wake up once this nightmare is over. Except it never will be. I'll replay this moment over and over for the rest of my life. The day my sister died.