Everything about him is so unexpected. He’s so prickly, and then he’ll startle me with words that sound dangerously close to concern.
I watch him in silence, until he has the old wheel off and he’s putting the spare in its place. No cars have gone by in a while, and it’s very quiet out here with the faint whisper of light rain in the trees.
“Did you ever delete it?” he asks, his voice low.
I hesitate. I don’t want to lie to him, but I’m afraid of his reaction. “No.”
He doesn’t look away from what he’s doing. “Why not?”
“Because you were a dick when you asked me to.”
He laughs softly, under his breath. Then he sobers. “It wasn’t for me.”
“What do you mean?”
He scoops a nut or a bolt or something off the pavement and looks up at me. “I didn’t ask you to delete it for me. It was for Rev.”
“Then why didn’t he ask me to delete it?”
“Rev isn’t like that.”
No, he’s not. I barely know Rev Fletcher, but I can already tell he’s not the type of person to ask much of anyone. Declan Murphy isn’t, either, now that I think about it. This knowledge tugs at my conscience, making me want to go back to the school right this second and delete the photos from Mr. Gerardi’s memory card.
“Rev doesn’t like having his picture taken?”
“No. If you look in the old yearbooks, you’ll see he doesn’t have a portrait in any of them.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“Why?”
Declan’s hands go still, but he keeps his eyes on the wheel. “Because his father used to hurt him and then take pictures of it.”
It’s so far from what I was thinking that I nearly do a double take. I don’t even know if my imagination is conjuring better or worse images than what really happened to his friend. I want to know more—but I don’t. I’m not sure what to say. “Why?” I whisper.
“Because he was a sadistic bastard. If you ask Rev, he’ll tell you he’s glad it happened, because there was a record of everything that had been done to him.”
Thunder rolls overhead, and I expect the rain to pick up, but it doesn’t. “He was . . . glad?”
Declan shakes his head. “I don’t mean he has a scrapbook. When Rev was taken away, there was no chance of him going back.” He begins twisting the bolts into place. “He still doesn’t like having his picture taken.”
I swallow, and my throat is tight. Shame has me in its grip, and I don’t see it letting go anytime soon. “How would he feel about you telling me this?”
“Fine.” Declan looks at me, holding my eyes. “Rev would know I’m telling you for a reason.”
I shiver. “I won’t gossip about it.”
“I know you won’t.” His voice has lost any trace of an edge. He begins lowering the jack, and I watch him.
I know you won’t. There’s trust in those words, and it’s not something I expected to hear from him.
He tosses the keys to me. “I’ll pull my car in front of yours and hook it up. Don’t try to start it until I say so, okay?”
“Okay.” I hesitate, my fingers wrapping around the keys until the teeth bite into my palm. “Thanks.”
My car fires right up when connected to his battery. He sits in his vehicle and I sit in mine, and I’m surprised to find there’s a small part of me that wishes our conversation hadn’t ended right then. I feel like there’s so much more to say—which is ridiculous because I don’t know him at all.
After a few minutes, he unhooks the jumper cables and comes to my window. “You okay to drive?” he asks.
I nod.
“I wasn’t kidding about the battery,” he says.
My mouth is dry. “I know.”
“Okay. I’ll follow you home.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns around and walks back to his car.
I drive cautiously, glad his headlights are in my rear window. It’s well after eleven now. I have no idea what happened in the last half hour, but I feel completely off-kilter. I replay our interaction about the photograph. Rev’s hesitation makes sense now. So does Declan’s vehemence about my deleting it.
It makes Brandon’s insults seem all the more cutting. Declan was right, how it’s all but a capital offense to say some things, but you can tear down someone like him without worrying about repercussions. I think back to that first moment in the hallway, when I crashed into him and spilled his coffee, but he was the one sent to the office. Even the teachers expect the worst from him. I know I did. If you’d asked me to name guys at school who’d get down on the ground in the rain to change a girl’s tire, Declan wouldn’t have made the list.
And tonight he was the only person to stop.
I suddenly want to apologize for the way all of our interactions have gone. The misunderstandings weren’t entirely my fault, but I think he knows that, too. He’s guarded, like I am. I can let a few links out of my armor—especially since he offered a small degree of trust, without asking for anything in return. It’s so unexpected.
I remember that I’m supposed to be doing the unexpected, too.
I’m sorry, I’ll say when we get to my house. Maybe we can start over.
I pull into my driveway and glance in my rearview mirror, expecting him to stop and wait for me to get out.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t even slow down. Declan zooms off into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
From: Cemetery Girl <[email protected]> To: The Dark <[email protected]>
Date: Friday, October 4 11:32:53 PM
Subject: Home
I wanted to let you know that I made it home safely.
I hope you’re okay.
My house is mostly dark, which is a surprise. I half expect Alan to come charging out, screaming threats about curfew and Cheltenham and how I’m a good-for-nothing punk.
But no one comes out. I turn off the car and sit in the silence for a minute, reading her email again.
I should have told her.
Now I have no idea how to unravel this.