Camden sucked in his breath and I had no choice but to power through the story. It was easier pretending it happened to someone else.
“Travis grew very quiet. For a few seconds there, he didn’t say anything. The girl had never been so terrified. The silence choked them all. Finally, he grabbed the girl by her arm, twisting it behind her back until she cried out in pain. Her parents started running down the stairs to stop him but Travis picked up a container from the shelves behind him. The girl didn’t know what it was, except that it had one of those warning labels on it. All the shelves had similar bottles, different colors, shapes and sizes. The girl had fallen into a sterile, cold basement. It almost looked like a lab but not quite. The man, Travis, threatened her parents. He said that if they told him the truth of what the girl was doing there, he’d let her go. But if they lied, he’d throw the bottle in her face.
Her parents told him the truth. The mother said she set it all up with the daughter because they were going to rob him. Because Travis deserved it. Because it was only fair. The mother didn’t say much more than that. It was enough. Travis smiled, and it looked like he was going to let the girl go. But he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he held the girl in place, and while smiling at her parents and telling them ‘thank you for your honesty’, he poured the contents of the bottle on the girl’s leg, where it ran down from her knee to the bottom of her foot. She was wearing sandals and shorts at the time. She’d never wear shorts again.”
I trailed off, realizing I had a life before all of that happened. That I had been so free and happy once. That I knew what it was like to walk down the street and not have people stare at you. I had so much potential back then and I never appreciated any of it. I never appreciated my future until it was ripped away from me.
“They never found out what chemicals were in the poison,” I told Camden before he could comment. “The doctors said it looked like battery acid or methylene chloride, which made them immediately suspicious. To them, it sounded like the girl’s parents were operating a meth lab. It made them sic Social Services on them. They asked the same questions about the accident over and over again. And over and over again, the girl had to remember her lie. That she was playing in the dump near her house, searching for car parts for her dad when she accidently kicked over a bottle of unmarked liquid and it spilled on her. The girl didn’t understand why she had to keep lying, why she couldn’t tell them the truth. It was Travis’ fault. He’s the one who did it. Why were they protecting him? But her parents just said, ‘no darling, it’s our fault.’ And so the girl would spend the rest of her life blaming all of them. She’d blame them until she died.”
The story was punctuated by an overwhelming silence. It filled the room to the brim, heavy with the truth and about to run over. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Camden sighed.
“What is it?” I asked, almost annoyed at his response.
“I don’t know what to say, Ellie,” he said sadly, “and I wish I did. I wish I had the words to take it all away. I am so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I lied. “I’m used to it.”
“Did you ever see Travis again?” he asked.
I hesitated. But there was no point in lying anymore.
“Yes. I did. That’s why I went back to Mississippi.”
“And Javier?”
“He worked for him.”
Camden took that information and I could hear him rolling over the bed with it. He exhaled. “So now it’s all making sense. You fell in love with one of the bad guys.”
“Don’t forget though, I’m one of the bad guys too.”
He didn’t say anything, perhaps lost in thought. I settled into my bed and pressed my head into the pillow. My eyes closed, ready for sleep. As I was drifting off, I heard Camden say, soft as air, “You’re not bad, Ellie. The world is bad and you’re just trying to survive in it.”
Or maybe it was a dream.
***
When the phone rang, jarring me out of my sleep, it took me a few moments to figure out where I was. I sat up in the bed and saw Camden stirring; the sun was just starting to rise somewhere in the east. I snatched up the phone from the table between our beds, remembering I’d asked for a wake-up call.
I eyed the clock as I said, “Hello?” It was seven a.m. I thought I asked for a wake-up call at eight.
There was no one on the line, just a faint humming sound. Then a click.
“Hello?” I asked again. A tiny seed of dread was blooming in my stomach.
“Who was it?” Camden asked groggily as he turned over. He looked over at me, blinking slowly. Without his glasses he looked different. He looked good.
“I thought it was the wake-up call,’’ I said as I put the phone back on the receiver. “But they were supposed to wake us at eight.”