In the Blood (10 page)

She’s totally checked out. Again.

Chapter Thirty-three

Fifteen minutes later, Amy and I leave home. Going to the park when all this is happening may seem odd, but I need some time out. Not for long. Just enough to get some fresh air and to allow my thoughts to process without me sabotaging them, if that makes sense. Because Amy’s chatter will take my mind off of what’s happening and allow my mind to deal with it.

Amy places her warm hand in mine and, for a second, I clench inside, worrying how I can hold her hand when I might have done something awful to another child. When thinking rationally, I know that, deep down inside of me, I don’t feel capable of doing that sort of stuff, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t. Who knows what might happen when I’m out of my head like yesterday and what’s in my subconscious comes out? And I’d be stupidly naïve to just assume that how I feel at now isn’t going to change over the years.

But pulling my hand away isn’t going to achieve anything other than upsetting Amy, which I don’t want to do, so I try and forget everything that’s going on, and focus only on her incessant chatting, mainly about puppies and ice cream. Life’s so simple when you’re a kid. Then I think of my dad’s victims and realize that’s not really true.

“Jed, wait.” I turn and see Summer racing up to us.

My heart skips a beat. Will there ever come a time when she doesn’t affect me like this? And what the hell does she want? Has she forgotten what happened the last time we spoke?

“We’re going to the park,” Amy says excitedly when Summer reaches us. “Do you want to come?”

No, Amy. No.

“Summer’s busy,” I say.

“Sure,” Summer says at exactly the same time.

That ruins my chances of taking time out to sort my head.

I glare at Summer, but she acts like she doesn’t notice and takes hold of Amy’s other hand, which is also clutching Rolo. Over the top of Amy’s head she mouths, “Are you okay?”

I give a curt nod and then turn to face the direction we’re heading. Why is she asking if I’m okay? She can’t know about what happened to me last night. Unless Mom went around to ask her if she’d seen me. Nah. No way would she have done that.

We walk in silence until reaching the park, then, after getting Amy an ice cream, we sit down on the bench near the play equipment. Would you believe it, the puppies are here again with their owner, a woman who looks a bit like Mom. She lets Amy play with them, and, while she’s out of earshot, I turn to Summer.

“Why are you here? Don’t you get I want to be left alone? Especially now I’ve got all this Dawson stuff to sort out.”

The moment the words are out of my mouth I regret saying them. If she knows about my part in Dawson’s disappearance, she’ll want to get involved, and that will only make things harder if it turns out I am responsible.

She frowns. “What’s Dawson’s disappearance got to do with you?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” I turn from her and concentrate on Amy, who’s chasing the puppies. Or, rather, they’re chasing her. Whatever, she’s having a great time and is totally oblivious to anything going on here. Which is just how it should be.

“It can’t be nothing, or you wouldn’t have said it. Tell me,” she insists. “Maybe I can help.”

I toss a glance in her direction. Her face is set. She’s determined to get it out of me I’ve seen that stubborn set of her jaw many times. I ache to confide in her, but I can’t. Really, I can’t. She’d hate me forever if she finds out.

“Forget it.” I stand and start to walk away.

“Jed, wait. Just tell me. How bad can it be?” Summer demands, jumping up from the bench and standing next to me.

She takes hold of my arm and, for a second, her warmth softens me. But as quickly as that happens, I shake her off.

I draw in a deep breath. “You obviously haven’t heard. I was the last person to see him alive.”

Alive.
What the hell made me say that?

“Jed. Jed.” Summer pulls on my arm. “Are you okay? You looked so scared just then. And what do you mean about Dawson?”

I shake myself out of my reverie. What would I give to return to the time when we could be at ease with each other? When I could tell her anything and not worry that she’d ever think bad things about me.

“You don’t want to know, Summer. You really don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

Something inside me snaps. Maybe I should tell her, and then she’ll leave me alone for good. Because, once she knows, there’s no going back. I sit back down on the bench, and she does the same.

“It’s Dawson’s disappearance. I can’t be sure, but I think I might have had something to do with it.” I stare at her through half-closed eyes and hold my breath, waiting for her response.

“Why would you have anything to do with it? And why can’t you be sure? It makes no sense.” She frowns.

I try to fight the urge to open up to her, but I can’t. I need someone to talk to, and, if she wants to cut and run after she hears what I’ve done, then so what? At least then I’ll have succeeded in doing what I wanted—keeping her away from me.

“It doesn’t matter why. I can’t be sure, because I was so drunk I don’t remember anything from when I left the mall yesterday afternoon until early this morning.” I avert my eyes so not to have to witness the change in hers as she processes my admission.

“Well, he wasn’t with you at the liquor store around seven yesterday,” she states with confidence.

“The liquor store? Which liquor store?” I immediately look at Summer, my eyes wide open in shock.

“The one on Hampton Street. Dad stopped there on the way home. While I was waiting in the car, I saw you come out. Actually, you sort of staggered out of there. You were holding a bag with a bottle of something in it. I could just see the top peeping out.”

Fuck. So that’s where I went.

“And you’re sure Dawson wasn’t with me?” I ask, knowing what that could mean and not wanting to get too excited until I know for definite.

“Positive. You were on your own. And when you came out of the store, you headed down Hampton toward St. John’s Street.”

Where the park is. Does that mean I spent all night in the park on my own? How come the cops didn’t find me there? You’d think they’d patrol parks at night. Unless I hid somewhere; in the bushes, maybe.

“And you’re absolutely one hundred percent sure I was alone? And definitely didn’t have Dawson with me. I could’ve left him outside and collected him after.”

My heart’s thumping madly. If Dawson wasn’t there, then I haven’t done anything to him. The relief is so intense that I can barely think straight.

Unless I stashed him somewhere. My heart plummets at the thought.

You’re not your dad, Jed. Stop going down that path.

But the self-doubt takes over. After all, if my own dad isn’t the person I thought he was, then why would it be such a stretch that I’m not, either?

Even mom, who was always a rock, fell apart since everything went down.

“I’ve already told you,” Summer replies impatiently. “You were definitely alone. I watched you for ages in the rearview mirror.”

Christ, I love this girl.

Shit. I don’t mean like that.

Actually, I do.

“Why didn’t you come over?” I ask, puzzled why she’d act so out of character.

It’s so unlike her to leave me alone. You’d think, at a time like that, she’d be in there like a shot, desperate to interfere and lecture me about drinking.

“Are you kidding?” she asks, giving a hollow laugh. “It was nearly dark, and I’m
persona non grata
as far as you’re concerned these days. I could see by the way you were staggering you’d had a few, and I wasn’t gonna risk it. No way.”

What did she think I was gonna do?

My few moments of euphoria hurtle to the ground with the realization that one of the few people I actually care about could think I’d do something mean to her, just because I’d been drinking.

“Well, if
I
didn’t have anything to do with Dawson’s disappearance, who did?” I mutter, more to myself than to Summer.

“The police are out searching. They’ll find him. But I still don’t get why you think you might be involved.”

“If you want to know, I’ll tell you. But remember, once you do know, you can’t un-know.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Ethan Lopez

Age seven.

Brother to Zoe and Lucia.

Son of Carlos and Isabella.

Shy.

Dark curls.

Obsessed with dinosaurs.

Wants to be a paleontologist.

Scared of spiders.

Favorite food: chocolate ice cream.

Wants an Xbox for his birthday.

Favorite teacher: Mrs. Jackson.

Favorite TV show: SpongeBob.

Best friend: Dominic.

Benjamin Franklin’s fourth victim.

Dead.

Chapter Thirty-five

It’s like what Summer is about to learn should come with a government health warning:

The following information is likely to disgust you more than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life, and you should only listen if you believe you’re of a strong enough disposition to tolerate depravity of the highest order.

“What do you mean I can’t
un-know
?” Summer asks.

“That once you hear what I’m about to say, you’ll never forget it, even if you’d give anything to.”

“What’s it all about?” Summer asks, a tremor in her voice.

“Me,” I whisper. “It’s about me.”

“That’s okay, then,” she replies, visibly letting out a long breath. “We’re friends, and you know I’ll support you no matter what.”

She’s so naïve; it tears me apart to know that our relationship will change irrevocably in less than a minute.

“Your choice.” I clench my fists tightly by my side. “Okay, then. The fact is… The fact is…there’s a chance that, in the future, I’ll turn into a pedophile.”

Summer’s jaw drops. “What?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“A pedophile,” I repeat, the word sticking in the back of my throat. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t had any urges yet, that I know of. And though I don’t remember doing anything to Dawson when I was out of it last night, that doesn’t mean I didn’t.”

My breaths are short and sharp, and I close my eyes to try and ease the pain I’m feeling. People say you feel better when you get something off your chest. Well, I can tell you that’s a load of crap. I’ve never felt so awful in my whole life. Awful for what I might have done last night. And awful because the most trusting person in the world, and someone I once hoped might love me as I love her, has to learn that she’s got it totally wrong as far as I’m concerned.

“What?” Her eyes widen. “I don’t get it. How can you believe you’re a pedophile? Especially when you haven’t done anything like it before?” She shakes her head, a look of disbelief on her face.

I draw in a long breath, trying to ignore the stabbing pains from my cramping gut.

“When I went to visit my dad, he told me he was abused by his dad. And my dad, he… Well, you know all about him. There’s a link. Dad and me, we’re so much alike in every way. However much I hate to admit it. And Dad was the same as his dad. The three of us, out of the same mold. I’ve done the research, and it all adds up. You can put whatever fancy theory on it you like. Social, psychological…even genetic, although that’s yet to be proven…and, in my mind, it points to the fact that, in all probability, I’ll be next.” I thump the bench in frustration, and Summer jumps.

“No,” Summer says, her voice determined. “No. It’s not true. It can’t be. I know you. You’re never gonna be a pedophile. Never. I don’t care about your dad or his dad, or anyone’s dad. It’s not gonna happen to you. It’s not.”

I want to reassure her that everything will be okay. But, of course, I can’t. It’s crazy to even think about it.

I lean forward and cover my head with my hands, staying there for what seems like ages, when, in fact, it’s probably only a minute.

“Summer, listen to me,” I plead after sitting up. “No one believed my dad was capable of what he did. He was a normal guy. The perfect husband, the perfect dad. But he wasn’t. He was driven by disgusting urges that he had no control over. He said himself that he didn’t want to—that he wanted to stop because he knew it was wrong—but he couldn’t control it. It just…came out. And we don’t know when the urges started. It might not have been until he was older. We just don’t know. That’s why, just because I feel normal now, doesn’t mean I will be in the future. And I won’t be able to do a thing about it. Pedophiles can’t be cured. They’re compulsive. They can’t stop.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard to try and stem the tears that are threatening to fall.

“I don’t buy it,” Summer says adamantly.

It’s like she’s looking for every reason not to believe me, but she’s out of luck. Does she really think that if there was a chance for me not to be affected I wouldn’t grab it with both hands?

“I’ve been researching. It’s all on my laptop. Come back with me now, and I’ll show you.”

“And according to what you’ve found, every single pedophile was abused as a child and all their children will be pedophiles, too?” Summer questions.

“I didn’t say that. That’s just one of the possible factors. I wasn’t abused, and we don’t know if granddad was abused. It’s complicated. It could be down to upbringing and psychological make-up. But also, people who were abused often become abusers. So what I’m saying to you is, based on all this, there’s a good chance of me becoming one, too,” I say clutching vainly at what little semblance of self-control I have. If I lose it now, then so will Summer.

“And the research can’t be wrong?” Summer asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Look, Summer. It’s not been proven like a scientist might prove something. But the facts are that I’m likely to become one. So stop questioning me. Trust that I know what’s likely to happen.”

There’s no point in sugarcoating it. She needs to accept it the same as I have.

“I can’t. If you told me you had unnatural feelings for children, then that’s different. But you said you haven’t. And surely, by your age, you’d know that something was wrong. Right?”

Silence hangs ominously in the air, like we both know the answer to this question is gonna tip the balance one way or the other.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure at what age these things start. Plus, what counts as unnatural?” I ask, my voice breaking. “You know, I love Amy so much, and when I think of her, it’s like she’s the most important person in my life. Especially since Mom’s stopped caring for her like she used to. I feel totally responsible for her. Is that unnatural? Is it?”

The desperation in my voice is mirrored by the desperation in my heart. I feel like there’s no way out. All I want to do is crawl inside myself and hide from this horrendous situation.

“No. No. Your feelings for Amy aren’t unnatural. Of course they’re not.” She glances at me, her eyes pools of emotion. “They’re normal feelings you have for your family, or for someone you love. Especially after what you’ve all been through. There’s nothing disgusting or perverted about them. Nothing at all.”

“Really?” I ask, a glimmer of hope forcing its way through the blackness of my mind.

Summer nods. “Yes, really. What about Dawson? How do you feel about him?”

Just thinking about Dawson sends shivers down my spine. I can’t shake the feeling that something awful has happened to him, and that I could be responsible.

I never used to doubt myself until Dad’s arrest. But now…

“I don’t know. He’s a good kid. I enjoy talking to him. I’ve never, ever had the urge to touch him... But I don’t know what happened last night.”

She lets out a long sigh and pauses for a few moments before speaking. “But surely, if you did do something to Dawson or any boy last night, something you can’t remember, then how come you don’t have any bruises or scratch marks on you? No boy is gonna give up without a fight, is he?”

I glance at my arms and hands, which show no evidence of me having fought with anyone. There are no scratches, no blood, no bruises, nothing under my nails. Though I cleaned them in the shower.

My mind’s in turmoil.

Could she be right?