The New Girl

“It’s all my fault,” Danny says.

“What?” It takes a moment to register what he just said, because I was thinking the exact same thing, that it’s all my fault.

“He must’ve been up there because Mrs. Henderson had a talk with him. She must’ve told him she knows about the cheating ring, and that’s what he does whenever he’s upset—he goes for a hike. I shouldn’t have told Mrs. Henderson. I should’ve gone to him first, I should’ve—”

I wrap him in a tight hug. Can I hate myself any more than this? Not possible. Every atom in my body is seething, picking up a tiny spear and jabbing it into my being. I am officially the worst person in the history of worst people.

It was self-defense, I remind myself for the millionth time. But right now, faced with Danny’s grief, the reminder that it was self-defense doesn’t really help soothe me. If anything, it feels like a stupid, flimsy excuse.

But it’s not. He attacked you. He tried to kill you.

“Why’d he have to go to Orange?” Danny cries, interrupting the cascade of voices in my head. “In such bad weather too. He used to tell me it was the most pathetic overlook. We used to go hiking and we never, ever bothered going there. Why now?”

“Danny—” What dirty, bald-faced lie could I possibly come up with that might make this all better? “People do weird things when they’re upset. Maybe he couldn’t be bothered to drive farther up.” Surely, I have won the Most Awful, No-Good, Terrible Human of the Year award by now.

“Maybe,” he says. He doesn’t look at all convinced. “I don’t know. Something’s off.”

“No, it makes sense. I mean, look at Sophie, why did she go to Mr. Werner’s office? That’s really weird, and—”

I’m jerked away as Danny suddenly explodes into motion. “Don’t fucking compare the two of them!” Inside the small room, Danny’s voice is a thunderclap, jarring me down to my bones.

I stare at him, wide-eyed, and his face has turned an angry red as he rants on, his arms flailing wildly. “Sophie was a fucked-up crackhead who was out to get Uncle James! She was unstable, totally fucking crazy, she didn’t deserve to—” He catches himself abruptly and takes in a sharp breath, looking pained. “I—shit, I’m so sorry. God, I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry, Lia.”

It takes a few moments for me to manage to nod. What was he about to say? That Sophie didn’t deserve to live? Acid eats its way through my stomach. Everything inside me is twisting painfully. I can’t believe what I’ve just witnessed. My boyfriend, ranting in such a hateful way about a dead girl. My face feels numb, like I’m wearing a mask.

“I’m so sorry,” Danny says in a broken voice. “I didn’t mean all those things, I’m just so messed up about my uncle. Like, I feel so, so guilty about everything that’s happened to him. I was going to tell the cops about the cheating ring and everything, but. I don’t know. Mrs. Henderson talked to me. Did I mention that?”

I shake my head, still unable to say anything. The fury has left Danny’s face, thank god, and he’s back to being nothing but remorseful. I guess his outburst was just an expression of his grief. Didn’t they say that there are many stages of grief, and that anger is one of them? Yeah, that’s it.

“She told me not to tell anyone about him selling grades because it would only ruin Uncle James’s reputation—like she gives a shit about his reputation. But she’s right. I don’t want the cheating scandal to be the thing everyone remembers him for, you know?”

I nod.

“Anyway, so I didn’t tell the cops anything, and the guy in charge of the case—Detective Jackson—he was a total asshole. Acted like the whole thing was a waste of his time. He was all, ‘Dude came to the overlook to have a smoke, jerk off or whatever, slipped, fell on that broken branch there, and that was it.’ I told him Uncle James would never have chosen Orange Point to hang out at, but he said, ‘Son, you’re not your uncle. Hell, I tell my wife I never go to the Pussycat Club, but come Saturday night, know where you’d find me?’ and he laughed.”

“Jesus.” Sounds like a total douche canoe. But this horrible voice at the back of my mind whispers, Sounds like the kind of cop you want working on this case. The kind that would let you off scot-free. Shut up, small, horrible voice.

“He made me feel so stupid for asking more questions, like I was some CSI fanboy turning everything into a clue.” The anger is back on his face, but he takes a deep breath, obviously trying to control it.

Relief courses through me, which is horrible, I know, but the realization that the cops won’t be looking into it is such a huge weight off my mind that I almost start weeping then and there.

“His partner seemed more on the ball,” Danny says, and just like that, the relief is replaced by crushing fear.

“What?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself in time.

“Detective Jackson has a partner. Detective Mendez. She was asking a few questions, like if I noticed anything weird about Uncle James the days leading up to his death…” Danny shakes his head. “Maybe those are just routine questions, I don’t know.” He lets his head fall back, and for a while, he just stares blankly at the ceiling while my mind races ahead.

Is that a routine question? I don’t know. I don’t know anything! Does she suspect something? Does she—

“I know why I’m so angry about everything. I know why I think it’s suspicious,” Danny says, and my heart stops.

This is it. He’s going to say he knows it’s suspicious because Mr. Werner was shady as hell, and there are way too many people with motives to kill him, like me, for example, sitting here sweating and squirming. I’ll tell him it was painless, that he died instantly.

“Danny—”

“It’s guilt.”

“Say what?”

“I pretty much got him killed.” Danny snorts. “Ratted him out, he got upset, got into a freak accident, and now my guilt’s trying to tell me there was something more to it, so it wouldn’t just be my fault.”

“Stop it,” I snap. I can’t listen to this anymore. “You didn’t get him killed. None of this is your fault.” Except, well, it kind of sort of a little bit is. “It’s not your fault,” I say, louder, trying to shut the horrible little voice in my head up. If Danny hadn’t sat on the evidence, if he’d gone to Mrs. Henderson sooner, then Mr. Werner would probably be alive right now. “NOT YOUR FAULT.”

Danny looks at me weirdly. “You don’t have to shout.” He gives me a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” He takes my hand, and I let him.

“I’m a mess too. We can be a mess together.”

“Can I ask for a favor?”

“Anything.”

“My aunt tells me apparently Uncle James has left some stuff for me. Can you be there when I collect the stuff? I just—I don’t think I can do it alone.”

No. Hell to the no. No, no, no—“Yeah, of course.”

“You’re the best.”

I’m going to have to run miles to escape this fog of guilt, but for now, I hold Danny tight and wish I could make everything okay for both of us.





Chapter 21

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