The Dead Boyfriend (12 page)

Deena grabbed the door handle and tugged. The door slid open easily. We slipped inside. The air was hot in here and smelled stale.

We were in a back hallway. The door to Preller's small office was open. In the dim light, I could see a narrow desk piled high with papers, a laptop, and a stack of books.

And what were those things on top of the bookshelf? I squinted hard.
Star Wars
figures. The minister had a collection of
Star Wars
figures.

The floor creaked beneath our shoes. The sound brought me back from my wandering thoughts. I grabbed Deena's shoulder. “Do you think anyone's watching the chapel?” I whispered. “A night guard or something?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Stay alert.”

Alert? I'd never been more alert in my life. That's what fright can do to you. Every creak of the floor made me jump. Every flicker of the light made my heart skip a beat.

“It's about time for a cat to jump out at us and scare us to death,” I whispered. “Isn't that what always happens in these scary situations?”

Deena turned and glared at me. “Why are you making jokes? This isn't funny.”

“I-I,” I stammered. “My brain is trying to keep it light, I guess. That's one way of dealing with fear.”

“Just shut up,” she snapped. “Follow me.”

A narrow doorway led us into the chapel. We were standing a few feet behind the altar. I let my eyes wander to the back of the long room. Electric candles along the walls sent a warm yellow glow over the empty pews, and up to the low wood-beam rafters.

The huge vases of lilies hadn't been moved. But the coffin was no longer resting between them. The sick-sweet smell of the lilies overwhelmed everything.

“There's no one here,” Deena whispered. She pointed to a narrow side room in the corner. I followed her gaze and saw the dark wood coffin. Blade's coffin. The lid was down. The coffin was bathed in a deep blackness.

“They just moved it aside,” Deena whispered. “Follow me. And do exactly as I say. We have to lift him out of the coffin carefully. Once he's out, we'll wrap our arms around his waist and walk him out between us.”

I shivered. I'd never touched a dead person before. Blade was only the second dead person I'd ever seen. My grandmother was the first, and she was over eighty when she died.

Deena stepped up to the side of the coffin. I hung back. A wave of terror washed over me. What would the corpse feel like? Would it be all squishy and soft? Or had it hardened stiff as a board? Would it smell? Didn't all dead things smell horrible?

“What are you waiting for?” Deena motioned impatiently for me to join her.

I took a deep breath and stepped up beside her. The coffin rested on a low table. The lid was at my shoulders. I held my breath. I didn't want to smell it.

“It's … too dark,” I whispered. “How can we see anything?”

Deena pulled out her phone. She clicked on the flashlight icon. The phone sent a bright narrow beam of white light over the coffin.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let's lift the lid together. It's probably not that heavy.”

I moved my two hands to the edge of the lid. Deena held the phone light in her teeth and wrapped her hands on the lid.

“Okay. Now,” she whispered.

I was shaking so hard, I didn't know if I could get my arms to move. But somehow I found the strength. We both pushed up. The lid lifted easier than I imagined.

We raised the lid high, and it clicked into place in an upright position. Then we lowered our arms, took a step back, both breathing noisily. Deena aimed the light into the coffin. It made the white satin lining glow.

We stared into the light—and both uttered sharp cries that echoed off the rafters.

The coffin was empty.

Blade was gone.

 

PART THREE

 

25.

“Caitlyn, can we talk to you?”

I stared at the two cops who stepped up to my car. I recognized them immediately. Rivera and Miller. They had come to my front door a short while after I had stabbed Blade.

Now here they were at the mall, studying me as I climbed out of my car. I had hoped to go to my job. My nice normal boring job behind the popcorn counter.

But … no way.

They motioned to their patrol car. My whole body shuddered with dread as I lowered myself into the backseat.

At the Shadyside precinct house, Rivera and Miller led me into a small square interview room. I gazed around the room, my hands clasped in front of me, my jaw clenched tightly. I was determined not to show how terrified I was.

What do they know?

In the patrol car on the way here, they told me they just had a few questions for me. They read my rights to me. Just like on
Law & Order
. They said I had the right to have my parents and a lawyer present.

That was the
last
thing I wanted.

“Are you arresting me?” I asked, my voice tiny and choked.

Rivera shook his head. “Just a few questions, that's all. A few things to clear up.”

I'm guilty,
I thought.
How much do you know? Do you know I'm the one who stabbed him?

“Want us to call your parents?” Miller asked.

“No,” I repeated. “It isn't necessary. I mean … if it's just a few questions.”

The walls of the interview room were a sick pea soup green, and the paint was peeling near the ceiling. Two lights inside gray cones hung down over a long table. The tabletop was covered in names and initials carved into the wood. The windowless room was hot and smelled of stale cigarette smoke despite the
NO SMOKING
sign tacked to the wall.

Rivera motioned for me to sit down at one of the folding chairs that lined the table. Then the two officers disappeared, closing the door behind them.

I've seen this on TV,
I thought.
They leave me here to sweat and get tense. They want to frighten me.

About twenty minutes later, Rivera returned and took the chair opposite me. He wiped his mustache with his fingers, his dark eyes studying me. “Caitlyn, would you like some water? It's hot in here.”

“That's okay,” I said. “We won't be here for long, right?”

All I wanted to know was how much did they know? Did they bring me here to set a trap for me to confess? Were they going to arrest me?

“Yeah. Just a few questions,” Rivera said, shifting his weight. He was too tall for the little chair.

“About Blade?” I said. I squeezed my hands together in my lap.

He nodded. He twirled a gold ring on the pinky finger of his left hand, twirled it slowly, his eyes locked on me. “We understand you were a friend of his.”

“Well, we went out a few times,” I said. “I didn't really know him. I think his family just moved here a few months ago.”

I tried to return his stare. Somehow, I managed to keep my voice steady. I was glad there was no lie detector in the room.

A car horn honked somewhere outside. Rivera twisted the ring on his finger and kept his eyes on me. “Where were you Saturday night, Caitlyn? The night Blade was killed.”

“Saturday night? I … uh … I was home,” I said. “Remember? You and your partner came to my door? I told you then I hadn't gone out.”

He let go of the ring and lowered both hands to the edge of the table. Did he believe me? I couldn't tell anything by his blank expression.

“Try to remember,” he said. “When was the last time you saw Blade?”

I hesitated. “I don't really remember. Maybe Thursday or Friday at Lefty's.”

Rivera sighed again. He leaned across the table toward me. He rubbed the black stubble on one side of his face. “Caitlyn,” he said, “why are you lying to me?”

 

26.

My whole body went cold. A choking sound escaped my throat. I struggled to breathe normally. “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered.

Don't lose it, Caitlyn,
I warned myself.
Don't let him mess you up. You can play this out.

I tried to reassure myself. But my heart was going crazy like it was doing a drum solo, and Rivera's hard stare was sending chill after chill down my back.

“We have a witness,” Rivera said, speaking softly, slowly.

Oh my God! Someone saw me kill Blade?

“We have a witness who told us you were one of the last people to see him alive.”

I swallowed. I didn't say a word. I waited for him to continue.

He brushed a fly off his forehead. He rubbed his cheek again. “Caitlyn, is the witness telling the truth?”

“Yes,” I said. “I guess. I'm sorry. I'm just so … so upset. My brain isn't functioning. I mean, I've never had a friend die before.”

I wiped sweat off my forehead. It had to be two hundred degrees in the tiny room.

“Well, do you want to tell me the truth now?” Rivera asked. “You were at the dance club called Fire Saturday night?”

“Yes. Yes, I was,” I confessed, lowering my eyes. Then I snapped, “Who told you that?”

“Blade's girlfriend. Vanessa Blum,” he replied.

Girlfriend? She said she was his girlfriend?

A sharp pain exploded in my chest. As if I had been stabbed.

Blade had a girlfriend. He was just playing with me.

“Okay. Yes,” I said. “I went to the club.” I crossed my arms tightly in front of me, trying to stop the pain, trying to shield myself from his questions.

But there was no escape. I had to tell the whole story. Or at least
part
of the story of Saturday night.

“I was supposed to go out with Blade,” I said. “We had a date. But he stood me up at the last minute. So … I went to my friend Miranda's house for a while, and then I was bored. So I went to the dance club. You know. To see if any of my other friends were there.” I took a breath.

“And you saw Blade?” Rivera urged me on.

I nodded. “Yes. I saw him there. And I was … well … shocked. I mean, we did have a date, and he told me he got hung up and couldn't make it. And then there he was, at Fire with another girl.”

“And that made you angry?” Rivera demanded.

“Well…”

“You had a screaming fight with him at the bar?”

I felt totally trapped. How could I get out of this? Not by telling the truth. Could I get away with half-truths?

If only I knew how much Rivera knew.

“Yeah, sure. I was angry,” I said. “He lied to me and there he was with this girl. Vanessa. So yes, I was angry. But … we didn't have a screaming fight.”

Rivera's eyes widened. “You didn't?”

“No. No way,” I said. “I told him off, and then I left the club.”

This was all true. I was telling him the truth.

Rivera shifted his weight on the little folding chair again. His expression remained blank. “Then what?”

“Then I went home,” I told him. “I was upset. I went up to my room. You came to my house, remember?”

“And found the front door open,” he said. “Caitlyn, did you leave the door open? Were you so upset and angry that you left the front door open?”

“Maybe it was me,” I admitted. “I don't know.”

He toyed with the ring on his pinky finger again as he studied me. “So you went straight home from the club, and you didn't leave the house again Saturday night?”

I nodded. “I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't.”

Rivera took a long pause, as if he was trying to think of what to ask next. “You didn't go to his house and wait for him after you left the dance club?”

“No,” I said. “I went home. I … I told you, we weren't that close. I was only at his house once. I'm not even sure I could find it.”

Did Rivera believe me?

“Well, Caitlyn, how angry were you Saturday night? Would you say you were angry enough to get violent?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I … I'm not a violent person. I've never had a real fight with anyone. I … think I was more hurt than angry. Just because he lied to me. You know.”

Rivera nodded. He studied me for a long moment. Then he scooted his chair back till it hit the wall. He climbed to his feet. “I'm sorry if this was hard for you,” he said. “I know—”

“Yes. Yes, it was hard,” I said. I reached into my bag for a tissue and wiped my eyes. “I liked him. I really liked him. And now I'm totally freaked out knowing I was one of the last people to ever see him. And I'll never have a chance to make up with him. Never. I … can't stop thinking about it. I really can't.” I wiped my eyes some more.

He opened the door and motioned for me to follow him out. “I appreciate your cooperation,” he said. “Officer Miller will drive you back to the mall.”

He waved to Miller, who had a desk against the wall in the front room. I strode quickly toward the exit, eager to get away from there.

Rivera's voice followed me to the door: “Caitlyn, stick around, okay? I may want to talk to you again. “

 

27.

I hurried to the Cineplex, Diary. I was late but I didn't care. I needed to get back to a normal life, or at least go through the motions. I knew my life would never be normal again, never be like before.

I was edgy, alert to everything, so tense my skin prickled. I knew the police would be back. I knew they'd be coming to arrest me any day. Arrest me for murdering Blade, and I had no way to prove I wasn't responsible. No way to prove that I was being controlled by Deena Fear.

Maybe, I could plead insanity.

Which was quite possible. I mean, my being insane.

Yes, I was insane for getting involved with Deena Fear. Insane for falling into her trap. Insane for going along with her scheme to bring poor dead Blade back.