Children of Monsters, page 15
He thinks I lied.
He thinks I did it.
He starts by having me go over the timeline of the day my dad picked me up – abducted me from my house. I tell him how I noticed a car tailing me home from Charlesborough. I stopped at home, there was a knock on the door, and then I don’t remember what happened next. I’ve been suspecting I was drugged, or Hallam had chloroform.
“Nothing at all?” the detective clarifies. “No struggle, nothing the man said?”
I shake my head.
He thinks this is suspicious. I know it.
“The next thing I remember was waking up in the dark. I had my wrists zip-tied. I realized I was in the back of a covered pickup truck.”
“How did you know that’s where you were?”
It’s an odd question, I think.
I don’t know.
“I’ve ridden in the back of a pickup before,” I tell him. “Just not with a tunnel cover or my hands tied.”
“Glad that’s not a regular occurrence,” he chuckles. “So, you’re in the back of the truck. The truck is moving, correct?”
I nod. “It drove for a while. I don’t know exactly how long.”
“What was the next stop?”
“It stopped when Accalia was thrown in. I heard the engine shut off first.” My hands are sweaty. “It was quiet for a little bit, and then the tailgate opened, and I saw him struggle with Accalia at the end of the truck.”
“Did either of you call for help at that point?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. I stayed quiet. Accalia fought, and she was loud, but I don’t remember if she called for help specifically.”
“Okay. Why didn’t you?”
I shrug. Why didn’t I? “I was afraid, I guess.”
“Okay, then what exactly happened?”
I take a breath.
“Take your time,” the detective says.
“It was really bright, after all the time in the dark, so it was hard to see a lot. But I saw my father hit her, and I saw her go down, and then he just shoved her into the truck's bed with me and closed it again.”
“Did you two speak?”
“She was unconscious, a bit. I thought he killed her at first, but then she came to. We tried kicking at the cover to get it to open.”
“Were you able to?”
“A little. We thought we had got it, but then the truck stopped again. After a while, Hallam opened the tailgate again and pulled her out. He said she was being trouble. I asked what he was doing, and he didn’t answer. He just took her somewhere and shut the truck. He fixed the cover, and I couldn’t move it again on my own.”
“So, at this point, you were alone again in the truck?”
I nod.
“Did the truck continue driving?”
“After a few minutes.” I tug nervously at my sleeve and twist the fabric around my fingers. “It kept driving until the evening, and then he stopped, and he dragged me out of the tailgate somewhere in the middle of the woods.”
“Were there any buildings, landmarks? Any indications of where in the woods this was?”
I think of the shed, with its bolted doors and windows so dirty and weathered with age that they were barely see-through. I tell the detective about it.
The detective frowns a little.
There was a shed. Right?
“Was Accalia there?” the detective asks.
I nod. “She just walked along with my dad as he dragged me to this shed.”
“Was she still restrained?”
I hesitate. I know now that, while she wasn’t physically, Hallam had controlled her every step of the way.
Don’t hesitate, I tell myself. He thinks that I did it.
“Not anymore. I remember wondering if she was working with him, at first. We never spoke about it, but I think he must have threatened her or something.”
The detective nods, deep in thought. “So you say he locked you up in this shed. Just you?”
“And Cal.”
He gives one big nod. “Okay. And then what?”
“He just left. He locked the door and drove away. He didn’t come back until morning.”
“So, you’re locked up in this shed in the woods with Accalia. At this point, you think she is working with your father.” He pauses. “Did that make you angry?”
I freeze.
He’s imagining me, angry. He’s wondering if I’d hurt her if I was mad. He’s picturing me next to a girl who could only be five foot two, or five three. He’s imagining the quiet guy who would snap in only a matter of time.
“You can tell me, Jasper. There’s nothing wrong with feelings. You’re not in trouble,” the detective prompts.
This is a trap.
They aren’t going to let me go.
“I wasn’t angry,” I tell him. It’s the truth. “I was confused. I think we both were. We didn’t know if we could trust each other.”
He nods again. “And what happened that night, then? Between the time your father left and the time he returned in the morning?”
I don’t have a response. My hands go cold.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Nothing at all?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t really speak.” My thoughts race as I try and explain around Cal changing. “We were cold, and tired, and scared. I guess we slept. Or tried to.”
“You just… slept.”
He doesn’t believe me.
I nod.
There’s a pointed silence. Thoughts whisper in my head. It’s only a second before they become a mumble. They know I’m lying. Maybe I’m lying about it all. Maybe she’s dead. What if I did do it? I can picture it happening. There’s blood under my fingernails. I’m going to go to prison. My family is going to hate me. I’m a monster. I deserve it. I did it. I did it. I did it.
“Why don’t we take a break?” the detective says after a torturous silence. “I’ll get some water and be right back.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he leaves the room.
I lean back in my chair, then adjust, sitting with my back straight. I breathe in until my lungs can’t hold any more air, and hold. The clock on the wall ticks away four seconds. I let all the air out in one steady breath, as if I’m playing one long, held note, and play over the steps I’ve been told to work on since I was eleven.
I run out of breath and repeat the process. When I release it this time, I focus on the familiar tension that builds in my chest from breath support, and feel the strain in my cheeks from the mouthpiece-less embouchure I’m holding.
I repeat the script in my head: these thoughts are not the truth. These thoughts do not reflect who I am. They are scary, but they will pass. They are only thoughts; I won’t dwell on them. I am not a bad person.
I’m not left to wait as long this time for the detective. In the short time I am waiting, my brain shows me images of Cal after she was beaten the first time for her first attempt to escape, but twisted into versions where I did it. I breathe, tell myself I am not a monster, and let the thought pass.
The detective sets a bottle of water on the table in front of me when he returns and then sits back down in his spot.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and open the bottle. I take a sip.
“Jasper, I’m going to be honest with you, and I hope you can do the same with me, okay? I feel like you’re not being entirely truthful right now. I feel like you’re leaving something out. Did something else happen that first night?”
“No.”
“Alright. The shed. You haven’t mentioned that before. Can you tell me a little more specifically where that is?” I’m not sure how to respond, but he doesn’t wait to add, “yes or no?”
“No.”
“On October eighth at about five PM, Accalia was seen in a gas station in Charlesborough. She was seen by the cashier entering a black sedan with dark tinted windows. Part of the car could be seen on security cameras, as well as Accalia herself, but not a license plate or driver. The cashier says it may have been a Honda Accord, but he couldn’t be positive.”
“She mentioned she had been in Charlesborough,” I say dumbly.
“Do you know anyone that drives a black sedan, or maybe a muscle car by the description I just gave?”
Panic spikes through me. “I do,” I admit. “But mine’s a Charger,” I continue more quietly. He doesn’t seem to care that mine’s an entirely different make than he said. The security footage of even just a quarter panel would show the difference.
It won’t matter, I think. He’s already decided that I’ve done something, and now he just needs to back up his conclusion. I was in Charlesborough that day in my car because I had therapy that morning. He thinks Cal was with me. He thinks she got into my car.
I wonder if it’s possible that Cal and I were in the city at the same time.
We weren’t.
I wonder if Hallam could have taken my car after he took me and driven it so he could get away without leaving a trace: if the car was seen, the registration would lead the police back to me instead of him. Maybe he took Cal and then put my car back – it was at home waiting for me when I returned. Would I have noticed if anything was moved?
I’m being ridiculous. Mom would have noticed if my car had been taken and returned that evening. There’s no way.
Oblivious to my spiralling thoughts, the detective abruptly shifts his line of questioning.
“Do you know how she entered a sedan, but you say you two were moved in the back of a pickup?”
“Hallam moved her from one vehicle to the other?” I guess.
“If you were in the back of one vehicle from early afternoon to evening, and he picked Accalia up at five in the other, which vehicle was Hallam driving?”
“I don’t know.” The rapid-fire questions are wearing at me.
I can’t answer them because I’m a liar.
I did it.
I did it.
There’s no other way.
Just admit it.
It will be better.
There’s no point in hiding it.
He’s thinking it already.
“Over the time you spent with your father, did you see anyone aside from yourself, him, or Accalia?”
“No.”
Another long, pointed silence.
I take a long breath in.
I know I did nothing wrong. I did not hurt anyone. Thoughts are not the truth.
I let my breath out.
“Am I under arrest?” I ask.
“No. No, not at all. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this. I know you must care about your sister, Jasper. I know you want her to be found, and I’m trying to do that. I know you’ll tell us anything you know.”
“I would like to leave now.” It’s too much. I can’t keep going over and over this again.
The detective nods again. Always nodding. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me? Anything that may be important since our last chat?”
“I don’t know anything else.”
“Okay,” he says. He stands, and his chair slides back with a harsh scrape against the tile-on-concrete floor. “I’ll walk you out.”
Walking through the flurries of snow to my car, I text Matthew.
I can’t do this anymore.
II
Matthew
We’re driving aimlessly down the backroads around town. It’s a habitual pastime when one of us is close to losing it. Of course, Jasper always drives, but his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells me he needs to more than I do. I’m happy watching trees fly by and give way to fields blanketed in snow before picking back up into trees once more.
Plus, Jasper has told me specifically that I’m not allowed behind the wheel of his car without a license, even when I proposed we trade places in an empty parking lot.
“You need to work on your word choice,” I tell him.
He’s chewing his lip while he drives, and he frowns as he stops at an intersection.
“I can’t do this anymore?” I mimic. His expression contorts into a barely-contained guilty smile. “It was a bit dramatic.” I sip at the coffee I made him stop at Goldie’s for on the way out of town.
“If they don’t find Cal soon, I think they’re going to arrest me,” he says.
“No, they’re not,” I assure. “You didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not what it looks like.” He sighs. “The questions they were asking me this morning… The detective straight up told me he thinks I’m lying about something.”
“Well, you’re not.”
He gives me a quick look over the console.
Cal. She’s the gap in the stories.
“I don’t know what to do,” he says, looking back to the road.
“What do you want to do?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. I watch snow blow across the road ahead like waves.
“I want to go back,” he says, finally.
I want to tell him no, immediately. I probably should. It’s an incredibly stupid idea to waltz back to his criminal nutjob father. But I also think today was almost the last straw, the last of this waiting game he can take.
“Not alone, okay?” I say.
He works his jaw. “Fine.”
Hours later, we’re still in the car. The sun is starting to set, still early in midwinter fashion.
“Where are we?” Jasper demands.
I look down at the GPS on my phone, which has been recalculating for the better part of the last five minutes. I give up and just face the screen toward him. He slows when he glances over and squints at the screen.
This is insane. Jasper’s said it. I’ve said it. We both ignore it.
Maybe I am a bad influence. It’s been said a few times.
Jasper curses loudly and pulls over. The car stops with a lurch, and he keeps his foot pressed down firmly on the brake rather than shifting into park.
“I missed a turn. We’re way too far,” Jasper says. His voice is strained, as close to yelling as possible despite the low volume.
“Then we backtrack.” I still can’t get the GPS to reconnect and determine where we are, much less where we need to go, but I push buttons on the device anyway.
Jasper huffs a sigh and flexes his grip on the wheel. “I was supposed to get help, and now I can’t even find my own way back there,” he grumbles.
“Just turn around.” He closes his eyes, and I can see the movement in his temples while he grinds his jaw. I look at the clock on the dash. “How long have we been driving?”
He opens his eyes, looks at the time, then sinks back into his seat again. The car crawls forward as he lessens his pressure on the brake, and I reach between us to shift it into park before his despair sends us into the ditch. “Almost an hour too long.”
My phone makes a noise, and I turn my attention back to the device in my lap. A small circle in the center of the screen wheels around and around. Finally, it skips, disappears, and the map returns, connected again. I punch in North Creek once more, and after just a few seconds, the pre-recorded voice from the program tells us to go back the way we came. I turn the screen back to Jasper, who doesn’t seem to see the connection as a positive.
“Everything would be better off if-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I tell him. “We both know it’s not true.”
He lets the rest of the words out in a deep breath and concedes. He leans his head back against the headrest, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
After a few long, silent moments, Jasper leans forward and opens his eyes. He returns his foot to the brake pedal and puts the car in drive.
“You good?” I ask.
“No,” he responds, and pulls onto the road in a sharp U-turn.
It’s pitch black outside, and snow has started to fall again. Flurries blow up against the windshield and dance in the beams of the headlights ahead of us. The eyes of a few small animals glow at me from the ditch beside the road, the rest hiding from the cold.
We drive in silence. I adjust the fan in front of me, so the heat stops blowing directly on my face. I rest my head against the cold glass of the window and watch the outside. The vent squeaks in a steady rhythm with the effort of heating the vehicle.
Between the noise of the fan, Jasper’s utter silence, and the heat, I find myself ready to fall asleep, nearly dozing in my seat. I shift my legs around instead and keep my eyes open.
Jasper slams on the brakes, the antilock system groaning and crunching to keep us from sliding out of control on the snowy road. I don’t have time to ask what happened before he throws the car into park, shoves open his door, and gets out.
I leave the car running and follow him out into the night. He jogs ahead a few steps and looks around, frantic. It isn’t snowing heavily, but what snow there is gets carried by the sharp wind and turns to ice shards against my skin.
“What happened?” I call.
He looks distressed, looking around for something that isn’t there. There are only trees and dark and pavement and snow.
“I saw her,” he says. “Right here. She was right in front of me.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t see anything.”
He rounds on me. “How?” he demands. “She was right here. I almost hit her.”
“I was watching, Jas. There wasn’t anyone here.”
He’s still looking around all over as if he simply overlooked her. “She was here,” he mutters. “She looked right at me.”
“Jasper.”
“I’m not crazy,” he exclaims. He sounds hysterical.
“I know. But there’s no one here.”
“She was! I swear, it was her.” He turns back to me. “I know what it sounds like, Matt, but I swear. This isn’t just me.”
“I believe you.” I’m worried about him.
He exhales sharply, the cloud of breath billowing out in front of him before getting stolen away by the wind, visible in the cold. He closes his eyes tightly, thinking, and paces in a small circle. “She’s not here,” he mutters, barely audible.
“You said yourself we came too far. We can keep going back, we-”
