He was killed.
So many thoughts were streaming through my mind. I should have slept with him months ago so he didn’t die a virgin. What a terrible thought. But for whatever reason, I felt like I’d denied him something. I never thought I’d feel guilty for waiting, but suddenly, I did. My reasons for waiting were still valid—I wasn’t in love with him. But my need to wait until I was in love didn’t seem as important now that he was gone, when weighed against the fact that he died. Besides, I’d agreed to have sex with him anyway, regardless of not being in love. We’d set a date, we’d paid for a hotel room. A hotel room we never showed up to. I was going to go through with it because I felt like he’d waited long enough. We’d both waited long enough. I wanted to know, too, what it felt like to be with someone. I was just as curious as any other girl my age, but I was also just as scared. There was also a tiny thought in the back of my mind that perhaps, just maybe, having sex with him would send me over the proverbial edge. I thought maybe if I made love with him, that final switch would flip and I’d finally fall in love with him.
I’d never known anyone who’d been murdered before, but I could officially attest to the fact that the family left behind by someone who died of natural causes had a very different road than Mrs. Wallace and Hayes. Not only were they dealing with the deaths, but they were also dealing with worrying about the man who had killed Cory and Mark.
After he’d shot all three people, the man wearing a mask ran away and the police had no leads on where it was he went or his identity. They knew what kind of gun was used, based on the bullets pulled from all three bodies, but that was basically the only information they had to go on.
This not only caused Mrs. Wallace great stress, understandably, it also caused some degree of paranoia. I’d gone with my mom over to her house a few times and I’d heard her talking about what-ifs. What if the killer had known Mark? What if he killed him on purpose? Targeted him? What if he wasn’t finished and came back for her and Hayes?
I didn’t see her in hysterics, but I heard her. She’d been in her room with my mom and Hayes and I’d sat on their couch, eyes wide, pulse racing.
It hadn’t occurred to me that this might not have been an accident.
Hayes wandered out and I must have looked like a deer in headlights because he diverted from whatever path he was on and came straight to me. “What’s wrong, Kenz?”
“Is what she’s saying true? Will they come back for you?” I hadn’t felt fear in the days since they’d died, but I was feeling it then.
He didn’t answer right away, but he looked at me, seeming to just take my face in. “No, Kenz. No one’s coming back for us. Mom’s just not thinking straight. Her mind’s not right.”
“But how do you know?” The thought was terrifying.
“Because it doesn’t make any sense. That guy was just hard up for money. He probably didn’t go in there intending to shoot anyone. He didn’t know who my dad was, or even what his name was.”
“But he does now! This has been all over the news all week. He’s out there and he knows the man he killed has a wife and another son. What’s stopping him from finding you and—?
I never finished that sentence because Hayes pulled me into his arms, running a hand down my hair, whispering that everything was okay, that he wasn’t going anywhere.
When the day finally came for the funeral, it felt surreal. I had never, not in a million years, thought I’d ever be attending Cory’s funeral. Even if we’d grown up and gotten married just like everyone had planned, I’d never thought that far ahead. I thought it would be years before I ever even had to go to a funeral. And even though eighteen was too young, in my opinion, to be going to your best friend’s funeral, it was most definitely too young to be dead.
Everything about Cory’s funeral felt wrong.
Mrs. Wallace insisted we sit in the front pew, even though I’d wanted to be as far away from the caskets as possible. Hayes sat on the end, his hand wrapped around his mother’s, resting in her lap. I was sure everyone in the church could hear Mrs. Wallace weeping throughout the funeral, and there was no denying it was heartbreaking.
Sometimes, people refer to funerals as celebrations of life. But not that funeral.
No.
No one was there to remember the good times, or think about how much light Cory had brought his parents, or how lucky Mrs. Wallace had been to spend her life with her husband.
No.