The Disappearance of Sloane Sullivan, page 28
I shot him a withering look. “Do you really want to play the who-didn’t-tell-what game right now?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Jason said. “Why don’t you start by asking him who killed Lorenzo.”
It was only there for a split second before Mark regained control over his expression, but the look that flashed across his face made my stomach drop. I’d seen photographic proof of his real identity, I’d remembered him shooting Reuben Marx, but it still hadn’t crossed my mind that he’d been the one to kill Lorenzo.
Horror rose up inside me. “You killed your own brother? The one you protected that day?”
Mark’s eyes were pleading. “He’d found you at school. He knew you were still alive. He said he was going to kill you.”
I took a step back. “So you killed him instead?”
Mark kept his eyes on me, as if we were the only two people in the room. “I’ll do anything to protect you.”
“I don’t want you to do anything! I don’t want you to do that!” My head was dizzy, like it couldn’t keep up with the awfulness of everything and each new revelation sent it spinning all over again.
“What do you mean Lorenzo knew she was still alive?” Jason asked.
I blinked.
Mark didn’t reply, but he balled the hand that wasn’t holding the gun into a fist.
“Could it have anything to do with this?” Jason pulled a plastic bag stamped with the word “Evidence” in red across the top from his pocket. “The infamous manila folder was just sitting on the dining room table while everyone else was distracted after dinner, so I took a little peek. They found this picture in Lorenzo’s back pocket.” He held the bag out to me. “Take a look.”
I took the bag from Jason. The photo inside was well-worn and looked like it had been folded and unfolded many times, but I could clearly see a girl with long blond hair lying facedown in what appeared to be a pool of blood. I frowned.
“There’s more,” Jason said. He handed me a second evidence bag.
Inside was another picture, this one of a string of texts on someone’s phone. I looked at the top of the screen. The texts had been sent from a very familiar number. And at the bottom, next to the same photo of the blonde girl I’d just seen, was a text that read: Told you I’d do it my way.
The memory of hovering in the kitchen, listening to Mark pace came at me in a rush. She doesn’t know anything...You promised I could do this my way...Yes, it’ll be soon. Have a little faith. My throat grew tight and I had to force my next words out. “What is this?”
Mark’s expression softened and, in a quiet voice meant only for me, he said, “Where’s the faith, Kid?”
“Don’t faith me right now!” I shook the evidence bags at him. “What is this?”
“They were pressuring me to stop playing games and come home. Apparently their ‘generosity’ toward you was over. They wanted me to...hurt you.” Mark’s gaze fell to the gun in his hand. “I had to make them believe you were dead so we could get out. So, no matter what, they’d never come looking for you.”
“Look at the girl more closely,” Jason said from right behind me.
I studied the photo. There were splatters of red on the back of the girl’s blue-and-white-striped shirt. Her long blond hair was disheveled, spread out so it both covered the side of her face that was visible and fanned out behind her head to tangle in the fingers of her right hand, which was lying palm down on the cold, dark ground. But her hair didn’t cover the wide silver ring on her ring finger. It was an intricate filigree pattern that looked like a piece of silver lace. A lump formed in my throat. They found Miranda, Sawyer’s voice reminded me. She woke up by some berry bush and had red juice dried in her hair and on her clothes. She was pretty freaked out it was blood at first.
I swallowed hard. “You made an amateur mistake, Mark. You forgot to take off Miranda’s ring. It’s too much of an identifying mark.”
Mark glanced from me to the picture and back again.
“It didn’t occur to you that I’d hear about a missing high school student from a few towns away? You underestimated the power of texting.” A chill ran through me. “I saw a picture of her from right before you...took her. That’s what you did the night you left? You told me you were getting ready for what was next.”
“I was,” Mark said quietly.
“By kidnapping an innocent girl?”
“I didn’t hurt her,” Mark snapped. “I...borrowed her. I drove around until I found a party in full swing, found the girl who looked the most like you, and brought her safely to the trees behind our house to take a picture. And then I returned her unharmed.”
“She’s not a library book, Mark! She’s a person. One you drugged, who can’t remember what happened, who’s probably been scared ever since!” I stared at the photo of Miranda through the plastic bag. I couldn’t imagine waking up covered in what looked like blood, not knowing where you’d been or what had been done to you. “Did you text this picture to Lorenzo?”
Mark nodded.
My mind began to race. “When?”
“A few days after I took it.”
Everything clicked into place. I’d overheard the phone call where he’d promised to do things his way the day before he supposedly dropped his phone in the toilet. Then he’d gotten a new phone with a new number. And a week later, he’d taken Miranda and texted her picture to Lorenzo, using his old number. “Your old phone wasn’t dead. You got a new one because you didn’t want your family to know your number if you were trying to disappear. But you kept the old phone just so you could send this picture to them. You planned this all along.”
Mark frowned. “I had to use the number they knew, just one last time. But then I destroyed it. Then I disappeared.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “You didn’t disappear! You made Lorenzo suspicious! He went looking for you, Mark. He went to Kentucky two weeks ago.”
Mark’s mouth dropped open.
“The Marshals followed him there. And what do you think he did when you weren’t where you were supposed to be? He found a way to find you, just like I did. He used this picture.”
“What do you mean? You can’t tell anything from that picture.”
“You can when you text it! Why would you have left Kentucky if I was actually dead? Why wouldn’t you have gone home if you’d done what they wanted? Too many questions made Lorenzo look for answers. And unless you disable the location services on your phone, every picture you take has the longitude and latitude of where you take it embedded in the photo’s properties. All Lorenzo had to do was open the properties to know where to find us.”
Mark ran a hand through his hair.
I stared into the eyes I thought I knew so well. “You kidnapped a girl and for what? To lead your brother here? To shoot him? I never asked you to do that for me.”
Mark edged closer to me. “Everything I’ve done has been for you! For us, so we can—”
“There is no us.” Jason’s voice was low and calm, but I felt the strain of each muscle in his arm as he stepped next to me and rested his hand against the back of mine.
Mark made an annoyed sound and raised his gun to Jason’s chest.
I dropped the evidence bags. “Mark, stop! Put the gun down.”
He didn’t listen. “You,” he said to Jason, pointing to the other side of the room with his gun. “Move away from her.”
“No,” Jason replied. He took a slight step in front of me. “I’m not letting you take her away from me again.”
The muscles in Mark’s arms flexed as he tightened his grip on the gun.
“Mark,” I warned. My heart felt like it was trying to escape from my chest.
“I’m not taking her away,” Mark told Jason. “It’s her choice.”
“And you think she’s going to pick you?” Jason scoffed.
Mark’s eyes narrowed as he stared down the sight of the gun.
I jumped in front of Jason and pointed Dixon’s gun at Mark. My hands shook slightly, but I still remembered what Duke taught me. Grip. Sight. Trigger. “Please, Mark. Don’t do this,” I whispered.
Mark tensed and the skin around his eyes wrinkled the way it did when he was surprised. “What are you doing with a gun?”
“I borrowed it from a Marshal.”
Mark shifted. “It’s not safe. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Maybe I do know what I’m doing. Maybe you’re not the only one of us who kept secrets.”
Mark studied me. “You’re bluffing.”
I clicked the safety off.
Jason stepped next to me. “I think she just made her choice.”
“Shut up!” Mark growled.
“Why? You think she’d actually pick you?” Jason laughed. “What can you offer her? More living on the run? Because that’s what your life is going to be now that you killed Lorenzo. The Marshals and your family are going to be after you.”
Mark kept his gaze and his gun trained on Jason, but I saw doubt creep into his eyes.
“Everything Sasha needs is here.” Jason turned to me. “Stay.” The word felt more like a promise than a request. “Your mom’s here.”
Mark’s eyes locked on mine. He shook his head. “I saw her car on fire. My family... Lorenzo said they did it. As a warning to you and me if I couldn’t keep you in line.”
“I’m here,” Jason continued as if Mark hadn’t spoken. He reached up and smoothed a piece of my hair.
“That’s it. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but back off!” Mark’s voice was steely.
“No!” Jason faced Mark. “I’m not afraid of a sorry excuse for a person who kidnaps and drugs and murders people, then runs away and lets others take the fall. My dad’s been in prison for five years because of you!”
I couldn’t react, couldn’t take my eyes off the gun, off Mark’s face. Easy, I thought. Don’t push him too hard.
But Jason didn’t get my telepathic message. “I’m not the one playing games. I came to protect Sasha from you. Because you’re no better than the rest of your pathetic criminal family.”
I saw the change in Mark’s eyes, from angry and annoyed and there to vacant and cold and deadly, a split second too late. “Mark, no!”
A gunshot rang out. My whole body tensed and I felt the recoil of a gun. And the boy I loved dropped to the floor.
Thirty-One
My ears were ringing. I wasn’t sure whether it was from the explosive sound of two gunshots in the small room or from the sickening thud of Jason hitting the floor.
“Jase!” I dropped next to him, my knee landing in blood already pooling under his left shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
His eyes were closed, his light blue T-shirt was plastered to his shoulder with blood, and he was paler than I’d ever seen anyone before.
“Jason?”
He groaned so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. I cradled his head in my hands and moved my ear closer. There was only silence as his body went limp.
“Jase?”
Nothing.
Dread filled every pore of my body. “You’re okay.” I gently placed his head back on the floor. “You’re okay.” I didn’t know whether he’d passed out or...
I grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse, but my hands were shaking too hard for me to feel anything. I released his arm and leaned forward, ready to listen for a heartbeat, when I saw the bloody fingerprints I’d left behind on his wrist. How did my fingers get bloody? All I’d touched was his head. Jesus.
A strangled noise escaped me as I patted Jason down, searching for a phone to call 911. All of his pockets were empty. Mark. Maybe Mark had a phone. I turned to him for the first time since Jason collapsed.
He was sprawled on the floor in front of the futon, one arm above his head, one arm flung out to the side, his gun a few inches away from his empty hand.
“Mark?”
I stood on wobbly legs and approached him slowly. My foot brushed against something. I looked down at Dixon’s gun spinning slightly on the floor from the gentle kick I’d just given it, then back at Mark. He wasn’t moving.
“Mark?” My voice broke.
He didn’t moan, didn’t flutter his eyelids. I watched his chest, waiting for it to move up and down, even the tiniest bit, but there was nothing. His shirt was black so I couldn’t see any blood, but I knew where I’d been pointing Dixon’s gun.
I covered my mouth and shook my head. The room began to spin. I hadn’t thought, hadn’t meant to pull the trigger. I didn’t even remember dropping Dixon’s gun. But I couldn’t have done this. I couldn’t have killed Mark. No matter who he really was, he’d always protected me. Always kept me safe. And I shot him for it.
“Mark?” I tried again. Black spots bloomed at the edges of my vision. “You can’t...” I forced a gulp of air into my lungs. I couldn’t lose it now. I had to help him, both of them. “I can’t do this without you,” I whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know what to do.” I took another deep breath. Find his phone. Call 911.
I knelt next to Mark and reached for his jeans pockets.
Bang!
The sound of a door flying open, followed by hurried footsteps, came from somewhere down the hall. I jumped back from Mark and tripped over Dixon’s gun. I picked it up and scrambled until I was facing the door to the room, my back pressed against the wall.
The footsteps grew louder. I didn’t know who they belonged to—more Rosettis?—but I wasn’t going down without a fight. It was up to me to protect everyone in the room. I blinked away more black spots and tried to steady my shaking hands. You’ve already pulled the trigger once, you can do it again if you have to.
I tightened my grip on the gun, aligned my sight on a point in the middle of the open doorway, and squeezed out the slack in the trigger. My heart pounded in rhythm to the quick footsteps just outside the door. My trigger finger twitched as a man with a gun flew into the room.
“Whoa!” Dixon yelled. He threw his hands up and ducked at the sight of his own gun pointed at his chest.
I jerked my finger off the trigger and raised the gun to the ceiling. “I almost shot you!” I cursed and tried to slow my pounding heart.
Dixon stepped farther into the room. “What is go—” His eyes widened as he took in Jason’s still body on the floor. His gaze cut back to me.
I pointed toward the futon.
Dixon’s eyes grew even larger when he saw Mark. He pulled a phone out of his hoodie. “I found them. Send an ambulance ASAP!” He rushed to Jason’s side. “What happened, Sasha?”
I held my breath as he placed two fingers on Jason’s neck.
Dixon looked up at me. “He has a pulse, but it’s weak.”
I slid down the wall and crumpled to the floor, all of the breath and warmth and determination rushing out of me.
Dixon crossed to Mark. “Stay with me, Sasha. What happened?”
“Mark had a gun,” I whispered. I was so cold.
Dixon leaned over Mark for an infinite moment. I didn’t know whether he was checking Mark’s pulse or listening for a heartbeat, but I couldn’t look away.
“I tried to stop him.” The spots in my vision weren’t going away. “I—I shot him.” The words echoed in my head.
Dixon rocked back on his heels and peered over his shoulder at me. “You shot him?”
A cool sweat broke out all over my body. “Is he...?”
Dixon only nodded once, but that tiniest of movements made my chest compress so painfully I couldn’t breathe. “He’s dead, Sasha.”
Those were the last words I heard before everything went black.
Thirty-Two
When I opened my eyes, everything was white. The fluorescent lights above my bed were bright white. The ceiling and walls of the small room I was in were a slightly duller white. The linoleum floor was a scuffed dingy white. The sheets covering my legs were a warm soft white. The blinds in the single window on the wall to my right were a shiny plasticky white. Even the sun filtering in through the blinds, making shadows across the floor, was so brilliant I almost had to squint.
I liked it. It felt like I was in the middle of a blizzard. Or a cloud. It was quiet too. So quiet that if it had been snowing, I probably could’ve heard the snowflakes falling. I snuggled into the soft sheets and traced my bed’s shadow with my eyes. It was long, stretching out across the floor and bending up the closed white door. I shifted and looked around. All of the shadows in the room were long, which meant the sun was low in the sky. Either it had just risen or was about to set. I frowned. Something about that didn’t feel right.
I leaned forward to get a better view out the window and felt a tug in my left arm. I glanced down and saw an IV needle in the inside of my forearm, held in place with tape. A tube ran from the needle to a bag of clear fluid hanging from an IV pole next to my bed. I moved around a little. I didn’t feel sick. Nothing hurt. I wasn’t even tired. Why do I have an IV? I twisted my arm to examine the needle. There was a tiny drop of dried blood trapped under the tape. I stared at it. Blood!
I jumped out of the bed, dragging the IV pole with me. There were no other machines in the room, nothing else attached to my body, so I ripped off the tape and yanked out the needle in one swift movement. I crossed to the door, stepping over the long shadows on the floor, and threw it open.
Dixon’s head snapped up. He was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking blue chair directly across from my door in a narrow, white hallway. He closed the manila folder in his lap. “You okay?”
“Where’s Jason?”
Dixon held up a reassuring hand and pointed to the door next to his chair, diagonally across the hall from me. “He’s fine. He’s in there.”
