Sweet Alibi (31 page)

I nod my head as he hauls me off the bed, gives me one tight squeeze, and then drops to his knees. I lie flat on the floor and shimmy under my bed. Dad lifts the pink dust ruffle with lace trim and dips his head to look at me.

“I love you, Georgia. Forever.” His voice quavers on the last word.

“I love you, Dad,” I whisper but it's too late. He's gone. I want to follow him and hold him and tell him I love him.

I wait for long minutes. I hear Dad’s heavy footfalls on the stairway; he's running down, I can tell. It sounded just the same when I cut my hand on broken glass when I was eight and I bled all over the kitchen floor. Those comforting thump, thump, thumps on the stairway were a rhythm that calmed my heart knowing that he was coming to save me, to make it better, but now the feeling is entirely different. He's leaving me. Every step increases the fear in my heart and the pounding in my ears as I strain to hear over my own soft sobs. I wipe the tears off my face angrily and lay my hot cheeks against the freezing cold of the wood floor. The tactile sensation helps to calm me until I hear a large thud and my mother's scream.

I know now it wasn't a dream. It sounded as if something's hit the floor. I don't hear Dad's footsteps anymore, I don't hear his voice, but I can hear the voices of others. Two men, speaking roughly, slurring, using bad words that Mom and Dad scolded me and Jenny Baker from using.

I hear Mom's sobs, uncontrollable sobs that are now matching my own, but mine are silent where hers are interspersed with shrieks, and then I hear another thud and a groan before it sounds like something else has fallen. I wait and wait and wait to hear what's going on. I pray that whoever was down there fighting with Mom and Dad has left. I keep waiting. Then I hear mumbling between the two men and they’re getting closer. Fear leaps back into my throat, threatening to choke me. I feel the need to cough, to swallow, I think there's bile rising, I feel like I might be sick but Dad told me to be quiet. Where is Dad? Why do I have to stay here? I want to see that he's okay. Why did he leave me? I could have helped him. I’m a fast runner. I won first place on field day in fourth grade for the sprint. I could have run to get help. Doesn't Dad know that?

“Anyone else?” A deep voice shakes me from my thoughts. I lay stock-still and pray that whoever is here can't hear the thudding of my heart. I hold my breath for as long as I possibly can, I’m afraid they'll hear me breathing. Heavy footfalls echo along the wooden floor of the hallway outside my bedroom. My door is closed, and I pray that they don't come in here. I know they'll find me if they come in. I also pray that Mom and Dad will come back. I don't understand why they left me here by myself. I’m afraid of the strange men outside my room. The footsteps stop outside my door, and the old doorknob shakes for a moment before the door creaks open slowly. I flatten my cheek against the floor and narrow my eyes to squint underneath the dust ruffle. I see heavy, black boots standing in the hallway just outside my door. The moonlight shines in from my bedroom window and I see something dark and wet glisten off the toe of the boot. My breath catches in my throat when I realize it looks like blood. The urge to cough or swallow or cry or run hits me. I can't sit so still when something so horrible has clearly happened. I open my breath to taking heaving pants, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation that I can't breathe as one boot turns toward my room and takes another step in.

“Found the jewelry. In here,” a rough voice, belonging to the other man, echoes down the hallway. The boot I’m watching freezes mid-step. I wait as he waits. I bet he's looking around my room for something. For me. The tears roll down my face silently and finally I shut my eyes, unwillingly to see anymore. If something bad is going to happen, I don't want to see it coming. I bite my bottom lip painfully to distract myself from the strange men walking through our house, digging through my mom's jewelry box.

“Come on, we gotta hurry,” one guy grunts. I hear a few retreating steps down the hallway. I squint one eye open and can see that my door is still partially open. I wish desperately that he had closed it, then I could shut my eyes tight and feel like I wasn't living a nightmare right now.

A few minutes pass as I hear gruff voices mumbling and then fast footsteps up the stairway. Someone else is coming. My heart thuds and my body prickles in fear.

“Don't hurt her, please don't hurt her.” It's my dad. He's come. He's going to get me.

“Daddy.” I whisper the word so quietly I wonder if I’ve even said it out loud. Another loud thud and I see my dad fall to his knees outside my bedroom door. He's pleading incoherently, crying.

“Come on.” One of the men hauls him off his feet.

“Tie him up,” says the other. I hear then pull my dad down the stairs, thud after thud as his knees hit each and every step on the way down.

“Come on, bitch.”

“Please just leave her,” my dad says groggily. A grunt echoes up the stairs, and then I screw my eyes shut to the world around me. I hear random screams and moans and then sometime, maybe hours or minutes or days later, I hear two pops. I don't know what they are and my brain no longer has the ability to expend the energy to figure it out.

I open my eyes to bright, streaming light in my bedroom. My brain is a mass of confusion as it registers that I’ve slept on the cold, wooden floor all night, under my bed no less. My brain is foggy and I don't feel rested, and then voices mumbling downstairs reach my ears. I’m too afraid to leave. It all crashes back. Dad told me to stay here no matter what I heard. I can tell the downstairs is crawling with people. I’m confused. Did Mom and Dad invite people over this morning? Was I supposed to be up and dressed already? Was it a holiday or a special occasion? Then more footsteps track up the stairway. They are cautious and careful. Shiny, black shoes cross in front of my open door and pause. The door creaks open slowly, and navy blue pants come into focus, along with another pair of shiny, black shoes and navy pants.

I strain to remember why they look familiar. I feel like I should know what's happening, I should know why they look familiar.

“Check the other rooms,” a man’s voice echoes through my small bedroom and the boots come closer to my bed. I start to tremble with fear. The boots pause and then the dust ruffle lifts and I’m staring at warm, brown eyes.

“Hey, honey. Everything’s okay, you can come out now. We’re here to help.”

“Dad said I have to stay,” I whimper and shut my eyes. I’m so confused.

“I’m a police officer, honey”

“Do you have a badge?” I squeak.

“Sure, honey. Look.”

I open my eyes as his shiny, gold medal comes into view. “Can you come out and talk to me?” he says in a soothing voice. My heart hammers in my chest. I’ve been here all night. My body is stiff and in pain. I want to get out. I think I can trust him.

I nod and then slide my body across the wooden floor and pull out from under my bed. The police officer helps lift me, which is a good thing because my legs are weak from being cramped and contorted all night.

Then another police officer dressed in navy steps into the room. She has dark, curly hair and friendly, brown eyes. She gives me a comforting smile and wraps her arm around my shoulders.

“We’re going to take care of you okay, sweetie? We just need to take you outside to get you checked out, make sure you’re not hurt. Can you walk, honey?”

I nod as she and the other officer place strong arms around me as I take slow steps out the door. My eyes follow the planks of the old, wooden floor and I see splotches of blood, but my brain can't fathom what they’re from. I hear the officers talking to each other, I think they even try to talk to me, but I hear nothing.

As we reach the last few steps, the woman officer's calming voice speaks to me. “Just lay your head on my shoulder okay, sweetheart? Don't worry about anything else, just keep your head tucked in my shoulder.” I nod and do as I’m told. 

We take a few more steps and then among hushed voices a few words reach my ears. “Time of death approximately four to six hours ago.” I suck in a sharp breath and my head shoots up. The policewoman has a comforting hand on my head to keep me in place, but she isn't able to shield me like she was trying to do. I see more than half a dozen people milling around our kitchen. My eyes take in a slumped shape covered with a black sheet. I don't understand what I’m seeing until my eyes dart across the floor and see another black sheet covering a body. I know instantly who it is because I see a fuzzy pink slipper laying a few inches away. A slipper I’ve seen hundreds of times before, except this time it's covered in blood. My mind shuts down and the only thing I can hear is screaming.

Twenty-Nine

Georgia

“GEORGIA.” KYLE’S VOICE echoed in my ears.

“Hi,” I whispered as I stretched and opened my eyes.

“Are you okay?” He sat on the couch and draped an arm over my waist. The guilt rose in my throat at his loving touch and gentle concern.

“Yeah, we were evacuated. I didn't want to wake you,” I whisper as I shake the fog from my mind, vestiges of the nightmare I’d had the night before still clinging. Except it wasn’t so much a nightmare as a memory. Usually the nightmares were snippets of memory intermixed with nonsensical things, except this was real. Every moment, minute by minute, as I remembered it, even the pieces I tried desperately to forget, they were all there.

“I would have come and gotten you. You could have called.” He stroked my arm under the blanket. “It's so good to have you home.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.

“Kyle.” I pulled my hand out and set it on his arm.

He looked down at my hand a moment, then back into my eyes “You didn't leave your ring, did you?” His brow creased in confusion.

“No, I have it.” I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. “We need to talk, Kyle.”

“About what?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Us,” I said simply. I saw his jaw tighten beneath his stubbled cheek.

“Okay, I’ve got a meeting at nine, but I can call and
―
”

“It can wait. I'll be here when you get back.” I smiled to reassure him.

“Are you sure, Georgia? Is this serious?” Kyle's chocolatey brown eyes bore into mine, pleading for answers.

“It can wait. I'll see you when you get home.” I patted his arm.

“Okay.” Kyle pecked me on the lips again before walking back to our bedroom. I heard the shower turn on as he got ready for work.

“This is serious, I know it is.” Kyle walked out a few minutes later, his hair wet from the shower. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and my eyes traveled his long, lean physique. I remembered tracing the hard planes of his chest with my fingertips, the smell of his skin, a scent that used to drive me wild when we were teenagers.

“You have to go to work,” I replied.

“I called them, I'm staying home today.”

“You don't have to.” I looked up as he stood over me.

“I did, you said we need to talk, so I'm here, ready to talk.” He sat and clasped my hand in his own. I licked my lips, hearing the words that I needed to say rushing through my head but unable to force them from my lips. It was not lost on me that Kyle had overworked himself to the point of neglecting our relationship and had finally put us first after it was too late.

“I can’t marry you,” I said gently, my eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“Now? Or never?” His face flashed with a mixture of anger and pain. I searched his eyes, looking at the man that he'd grown into, the boy that used to blow bubbles the size of softballs and wear his Washington Nationals hat cocked to one side. That beautiful, toothy grin that had me melting in a puddle at the age of sixteen.

“Now or never, Georgia?” His voice rose an octave.

“I don't think ever, Kyle.” The silence stretched between us, the tension so tight it felt like a rubber band would snap and shred us both. I knew I deserved it for destroying the sweet, innocent boy I'd always loved.

“What happened this summer?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I think it was what didn't happen.” I looked down at my hands.

“What? Because I couldn't come down? Christ, Georgia, I was working,” he grumbled. “It’s been tough being apart all summer for me too, but I told you not to go.”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “We’ve just grown apart. I think we want different things.”

“Like him?” His eyes pierced into me.

“What? No,” I said, but I could tell the shame was evident on my face.

“It isn’t? Because it felt like that to me when I was there. In fact, it felt like that before I even got there. You were pulling away from me the moment you got down there.”

“Wait, is that why you proposed? To stake some sort of claim on me?” My eyes shot to his. He didn't answer. “Kyle, is that why you proposed that weekend? So you wouldn’t lose me?”

“It wasn't like that. I just knew you wanted more from me, and I couldn’t be there in person, so I thought if you had my ring on your finger, it would be a reminder of what we had, what we have.” He brought a hand up to my neck and stroked affectionately.

“That's shitty, Kyle. You should have proposed because you wanted to marry me.”

“I did it because I love you, I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. Don't end us, Georgia.”