He swallowed, and when he went to speak, his voice was ragged. “And they were . . .” He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
She nodded. “One day he happened to look up and he . . . saw me. I tried to duck out of the way, but it was too late. I started to run away, but it had rained earlier and I slipped and fell, and that’s when I hurt my knee. Debra came outside, found me rolling around in the mud, holding my knee. She looked at me and . . . she knew. She knew what I’d been doing and what I’d seen.” Zell stopped talking for a moment, letting her words sink in. Across the street, police personnel were erecting a large portable floodlight. “She left the next day.”
She ducked her head. “I just thought you should know. I talked to her the other day, and she told me she wasn’t going to tell you, and that I shouldn’t or everyone would know what I’d done.” She held her hands up. “But I think she knew I was going to tell you. And it’s time I did. I don’t care if everyone knows. I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.” They were silent for a few minutes. Lance opened his mouth as if to speak, and then seemed to think better of it. Zell watched him walk away, gave him the space and time to absorb all that she had said. She turned back to watch the action across the street and waited to feel the good feelings she’d imagined her confession would bring.
JENCEY
The police moved like bees around a hive, encircling James Doyle’s house. Lance was nearby talking to Zell, who was also standing on her front lawn to watch the scene. She looked around but didn’t see Bryte anywhere. One by one the media arrived, leaping from their cars to be the first on the scene, two of them actually sprinting across the yard, racing each other. It would’ve been comical if there was a different reason for their presence.
Though it was now fully dark, the place was lit up like midday. Jencey had watched several policemen lead a confused and frightened Jesse from the home, looking for all the world like he was the one being arrested, his eyes darting around, taking it all in, or trying to. Alone and terrified, she’d seen him run out of the house after Cailey had smashed the glass, then back inside. She’d felt sorry for him, but kept her distance. She was just another stranger to him, even if once upon a time she’d ridden the school bus with him, never making eye contact, avoiding the weird guy from her neighborhood. Though it was too late, she wished she’d been the kind of girl who would’ve been nice to Jesse. Maybe if she had been she could’ve crossed the yard, walked beside him, helped him somehow understand what was happening. She wondered where he’d spend the night. She shook her head. First his mother’s loss, now this.
Hannah had also been removed from the scene, taken away in an ambulance moments after the authorities arrived. This time Cailey had been allowed in the ambulance, mostly because Hannah Sumner had flipped out about getting in until they said she could have Cailey with her. Jencey watched as Cailey bravely climbed into the ambulance and perched on the side of the stretcher, taking the girl’s hand with a resolute look on her face, looking far older than her years. Hannah was slipping into shock, her mind protecting her from reality. Jencey thought of the times she’d seen that face on TV this summer, the times she’d changed the channel so her girls didn’t see it, believing that if you didn’t look directly at it you could pretend it wasn’t there. She didn’t like to think of the many times she’d spent the night at Lance’s, steps away from a child’s endless nightmare. She tried not to think of Hannah’s parents seeing her again, imagining their simultaneous joy and terror. Parents were supposed to be the ones to make the nightmares go away.
So far there’d been no sign of James. Cops were coming and going in their attempt to locate and arrest him. She supposed she was waiting for news of his arrest, hungry for some sense of justice. She hoped some cop got in a few good kidney punches once the cuffs were on. Ordinarily she was opposed to violence, but tonight her blood boiled. She thought of being a frightened young girl herself, never held prisoner except in her own mind. She looked behind her at the house where the person who’d terrified her—who’d made her flee—had lived. It was over now. She never had to worry about someone threatening her, never had to look over her shoulder again.
She glanced over and caught Lance watching her. Slowly, meekly, she raised her hand in greeting, relieved when he said something to Zell, and ambled over in response. She longed to reach out to him, to feel his strong arms make her feel safe like that night after they learned about Ty. Not knowing where Debra was or why Debra wasn’t there, she kept silent, kept her distance. For a few minutes, he stood wordlessly beside her as they both took in the scene, disbelief floating in the air between them. Other disbelieving neighbors began trickling out of their houses as word spread, needing to see this with their own eyes. They formed clusters in Lance’s and Zell’s yards, everyone grappling for a clear view, angling for the latest news.
She needed to call her mom, let her know she was OK. They’d be home from the movies by now, would no doubt hear and be concerned. She thought of her mother’s face as she’d said goodbye to her before she’d left for that college so far from home. She could see now that her mother had been terrified but worked to keep her from seeing it. When she got home, she would thank them for making sure she was safe by letting her go. If the tables were turned, she wasn’t sure she could’ve done the same.
Tears began to fall, but she made no motion to wipe them away lest she call attention to herself. This night shouldn’t be about sadness. Jencey was free and so was that little girl. Lance stepped closer. He put his arm around her and drew her into him, closing the distance between them. And then, ever so gently, he reached up and wiped her tears away. She hadn’t drawn attention to her tears, but he’d seen them anyway. She began to cry harder, and he pulled her in, surrounding her with love.
BRYTE
Thankfully, Myrtle Honeycutt was still up watching a Braves game when Bryte brought Rigby back. “Did you hear all that commotion out there?” the old woman asked as she opened the door, her eyes wide and darting around. “You got any idea what’s going on?”
Bryte patted Myrtle’s shoulder, assuring her that everything was fine. She helped her settle in for the night and watched to make sure she locked the door behind her. Still keyed up from the events of the night, she came home to a darkened house. She worried that Everett had done exactly what she’d feared he would do since the day they got together. But would he take their son? The word caught in her throat: their. He would not take Christopher because he was not his son. And the knowledge of that might’ve been the final straw. She resumed her internal lecture from before: she’d done this to herself, and she deserved everything that came to her.
Still, she called out into the darkness, “Everett?” her voice a loud, urgent whisper. She wanted to tell him what had happened that night, all that she’d witnessed at Zell’s house. She thought of the terrified little girls in Zell’s kitchen, the flashing lights of the police cars throwing red-and-blue patterns against the neighboring houses, the onslaught of reporters. She’d snuck away while everyone was distracted. Hannah’s discovery was a big story, but she had an unfolding drama of her own to sort out.