Driving home from the movies, the streets are mostly empty since it’s late. It was my first night out with the girls in forever. We saw a dumb romantic comedy—Ainsley chose it—and I ate too much popcorn, and then after we just talked in the parking lot, even though it was cold out. It felt like old times—just the four of us, no cares in the world now that school was out. Excited about Christmas, which is only a few days away.
I turn into Pine Forest. Lights are on in the first few houses I pass, which is weird at this hour. Then I notice our neighbors peering out their windows, looking in the direction of our house. And when I drive a little closer I see the news trucks and vans. Five or so. Reporters and cameramen hovering about, staking spots.
Just like in October.
I slam on the brakes and just idle in the street.
Oh God. Oh God.
After a moment, I press the gas again, turn slowly at the corner, easing past some reporters into our driveway. Even before I can get out of the car I see Earl racing out from the kitchen door. He gets to me fast, before all the reporters by the driveway can hurl their questions at me. “Come inside,” he says, huddling me against him.
“What’s going on?” I ask once we’re in the kitchen. “What’s happened? Is it Sam?”
That’s when I see Bud Walker, in the living room on his cell. “What’s he doing here?” I ask, feeling that horrible tightness in my chest.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Come into the den.” He guides me in there, and Mom is sitting with Sam on the couch. Thank God. Sam looks shell-shocked, his hair messy, his eyes kind of glazed over, but he’s there.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“That man,” Earl says softly, like he’s trying not to wake someone. “Russell Hunnicutt. He was killed today. Another inmate stabbed him in the prison.”
I hug Earl, to steady myself as the blood rushes around my head, a whooshing sound drowning everything out around me. When I’d seen all those news trucks, I thought something awful had happened to Sam. And now I’m trying to process what Earl has just said. Killed. The man who took Sam is gone from this world. It’s like stumbling off a cliff and then a hand reaches out and jerks you to safety at the last possible second. The rush in my head slows and I feel steadier. When I pull back, I say, “He’s really dead?”
Earl nods. “I guess it happened earlier tonight, but the sheriff’s office only called about thirty minutes ago. And now the media knows,” he says, motioning outside.
Mom comes over and hugs me. Over her shoulder, Sam looks shrunken in. Maybe that’s how I look, too.
“We tried your cell,” Mom says.
It takes me a few seconds for her words to register. “My phone was on silent, because of the movie.”
“I figured,” she says. “Come, sit.”
I look over at Sam, hoping I can see something in his eyes that will give me some clue as to how he’s feeling. And maybe then I’ll know how to feel. “Reporters are calling,” Earl says, “wanting our reaction. That’s why Mr. Walker came over.”
“What are we going to say?”
“Nothing,” Mom says, like that is the final word on the matter.
I look back at Sam. “Are you okay?” I ask.
It takes him a second, like no one has asked him this yet and he’s surprised, but he nods. “I can’t believe it,” he says softly. Mom sits back down and pulls Sam close against her, but his body seems limp.
I can hear Bud Walker on the phone in the living room. Earl takes a seat in his recliner. We sit there in tense silence, like we’re waiting out a tornado. I keep looking at Sam, but his eyes are closed now.
One by one we hear the news trucks leave. Eventually Earl goes and talks to Mr. Walker, quietly, so we can’t hear what they’re saying. He finally leaves and Earl comes back and sits down. And then we’re all sitting there again, no one saying anything.
It’s weird because we should be happy, shouldn’t we? And yet it feels like we’re at a wake. A wake for the man who destroyed our lives.
I glance over at Sam but his eyes are still closed, like he’s asleep.
Earl stands and starts turning out the lights and that snaps us out of our spell of silence. Mom stands and goes to lock the kitchen door. It’s just Sam and me on the couch, the room lit only by the small lamp on the desk. But even in the dimness, I think I see a tear leaking down his cheek, and then, quickly, his hand flicks it away.
“Let’s get some sleep,” Mom says, walking back into the den.
We both stand from the couch, Sam’s eyes open now, and that’s when Earl flicks the desk lamp off, and we’re all in darkness.
===
I wake up all of a sudden in the middle of the night. I sit there and wonder why my body shook me from sleep. Then I hear a crashing sound. Jesus, I think, a cold fear rippling through me. I hear a door opening, voices. Then I hear a kind of wailing. A boy’s wail.
Sam.
I jump off the bed, open my door, my heart pounding. I look down the hall, Sam’s door open, light spilling into the dark hallway. I take a few quick steps and I’m at the doorway. I see that Earl has Sam in an embrace on the floor at the foot of the bed, while Sam moans and thrashes around, trying to get free. It’s scary, like watching some animal in a trap. I just stand there, frozen and uncertain, my body itching to do something useful.
“Calm down, buddy,” Earl says. “I got you. I got you. You’re okay.”
Mom is hovering over them, her face stricken as she watches Earl try to calm Sam. She keeps trying to touch Sam, but he keeps thrashing.
I see that the mirror over his dresser is cracked, dangling askew. The whole room is a mess. Picture frames and books and clothes on the floor. Marks on the wall. I’m still afraid, but it’s a different kind of fear from a few seconds ago. That was the fear of not knowing. Now I feel afraid, seeing my own brother act like someone having a violent seizure. Sam’s face is wet with tears and pinched with rage. He’s still fighting Earl, trying to get free. But then he almost goes limp, so sudden it’s like someone has pushed an off button. He stops moaning. Mom squats to the ground in front of him and takes him from Earl, cradling him in her arms, his eyes open, looking at the ceiling.
“I miss him,” Sam says, his voice faint and cracked.
“Shhh,” Mom says.
Did I hear him right?
“I’ll never,” Sam says, his voice faint and cracked.
“Shhh,” Mom responds.
“I’ll never,” Sam says. His voice sputters, the way it does when you’re in a crying fit and try to speak. “I’ll never . . . see him . . . see him again.”