Dying to Remember (The Station #2) Page 8

  Marisa sighs heavily before dropping her cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of her work shoe. Her gaze is vague when she glances back up, but her voice wavers, "Not sure what you expect me to do."

  "Are you available tomorrow morning to go for a little drive to the police station?" Jess asks, hugging her arms to her chest, even though she isn't cold.

  Another sigh. Another glance down at her feet. "Damn. Okay, I guess so," Marisa says at last.

  "Great! Pick you up here at nine?"

  Marisa nods curtly and then pushes off the wall with her shoulder and she walks away from Jess without another word. But it didn't matter to her; I could tell she felt relieved. This other girl could very well get the police off of Jess's back.

  Fingers crossed for you Hun, fingers crossed.

  ***

  I spend most of the night staring up at the bedroom ceiling. Jess doesn't fall asleep until the early morning hours. Thoughts of Chris and his lifeless body lying awkwardly on the forest floor spin around in her head like a carousel. After two hours of trying to move her thoughts on to something else, I give up. She is a tough one. Stubborn. Independent. Quite like myself.

  By the time daylight peers through her silky curtains she's asleep but restless. Her legs lash out against the confines of her satin sheets and her arms twitch. A few times she moans. It's a long night.

  After a quick shower and toast for breakfast, she sneaks out of the house before her parents have a chance to pin her down. As she pulls away from the house, she's sure she saw the silhouette of her mother waving angrily at her from the open garage but she doesn't slow, in fact she presses down on the accelerator until the shiny black tires kick rocks up into the air.

  Be prepared. Marisa may not be there. I warn her.

  But to our mutual amazement, she actually is. She sits on the bench just outside the shop looking unapproachably irritable. When Jess pulls her Volvo to a stop in front of her, she grimaces and pushes off the bench dramatically, quickly climbing into the passenger seat, as if she was afraid of who would see her getting into Jessica Levy's car. Word was starting to make its rounds…Chris Garret was dead. And the rumor was he died on his girlfriend's property. At least this is what Mommy Dearest said with disgust as Jess attempted to sneak back into her room the night before. She hadn't even asked where the girl had gone, just wanted to rub in her face that the whole family was now a part of the 'worst scandal in Flagstaff history'. Jess ignored her; if there was one thing that Mrs. Levy could do, it was exaggerate.

  With the windows rolled down, the fresh mountain air whirs through the interior of the car, blowing Jess's pony-tail out behind her like a fan. Marisa simply pushes her shorter hair behind her ears, ignoring the breeze. When they were half-way to their destination, she's the first to speak.

  "So, like, what is it you expect me to tell them? I'm not gonna just walk in there and spill my guts, you know?" She snapped her gum loudly in her mouth. Jess was thankful for the minty smell. The lingering odor of cigarette still heavily coated Marisa's entire being but the spearmint flavored gum masks just enough of the smell to make it tolerable for Jess.

  "Well, I think I'll start. I mean, with my story. I didn't really talk to them that much about my history with…Chris," Jess says quietly.

  Marisa stares at her with wide eyes, her lower jaw slack enough that her mouth hangs open awkwardly. "What? You mean they don't know about you and him either? Are you serious? Why didn't you tell me that?"

  Jess blinks at her before looking back at the road, "What do you mean?"

  "Because no one's going to believe me if I walk in there with you now to dump out my shit," she says angrily.

  "Of course they will," Jess says confidently.

  "Really? You have any idea how bad it will look for you to walk in there and say he smacked me around too? I mean, I thought they already knew. Without proof, this whole thing is a waste of time," she sighs out the words, clearly exhausted already by the thought of talking with the police.

  "They'll have proof," Jess says, once again with confidence.

  Marisa narrows her eyes at Jess and then crosses her arms across her tight tank top. "And what's that?"

  "He sent you to the hospital. They'll have records." This time Marisa's jaw unhinges so much that when Jess glances over at the stunned girl she can see the fillings in her back molars.

  "H-how'd you know about that?"

  "He told me." Jess shrugs, sending an apologetic look at Marisa, who quickly snaps her mouth shut and returns to staring out the windshield in silence for the next ten minutes of the drive.

  Jess might have sounded like she had it all together, but I knew better. She was crawling in her own skin, anxious and scared of what might happen after she sat down with Detective Manning. She was taking a risk seeing him without the family Attorney, but she knew without me having to tell her, that the Detective was more likely to believe her if she went in alone, or in this case, with the next best thing to a witness.

  Detective Manning was indeed surprised to see us after he came out of his small office and found us standing in the foyer. He greeted Marisa with a nod and Jess with a clammy hand-shake before ushering everyone into the small room.

  "What brings you here today, Miss Levy?" he asks as he settles back behind his desk.

  "Well, actually," Jess clears her throat, sitting up straighter, "I didn't tell you everything the other day."

  The Detective rests his fingers on his desk in a fleshy steeple and raises an eyebrow at her. But he says nothing. His silence makes me want to fidget. The fluorescent light above his desk flickers a few times and Jess glances up at it before looking over at Marisa, who is clearly uncomfortable in the small room as well.

  "Okay. So Chris had been really…abusive…for a while." Jess lets her shoulders sag a bit after saying the words.

  "What do you mean by 'abusive'?" the Detective asks carefully.

  "She means exactly what you think it means," Marisa says irritably.

  His eyes light on the older girl and a tight smile spreads across his face. "I'm sorry, but I was asking Miss Levy that question, wasn't I?"

  She shrugs, looking away from him with an indignant expression. Jess shifts in her seat nervously. Remember, this is why we're here; to talk about these things…just spit it out. You can do this.

  With a nod she inhales sharply, speaking so fast that even I have a hard time understanding her. And boy, does she let it all out, "At first Chris was great. I mean…great. But he started changing, getting all possessive and stuff. The first time he hit me it was because I put the wrong CD on in the car. It was just a slap, but it hurt. He would be sweet one minute and then a total jerk the next. He punched me in the stomach, kicked me, pulled my hair…you know. So, the other day when he had his arm around my neck, I thought…I thought that was it, you know? And I fought back. I didn't want to end up in the hospital like Marisa, or worse."

  At the mention of her name, Marisa sucks air in between her teeth so forcibly it lets out a soft whistle sound. The Detective's face softens slightly and he looks between both of them for a long minute.

  "I see. And Marisa is here to tell me about this hospital visit, I gather?" The older man raises a hand to his thinning hair and scratches absentmindedly at his scalp. Both Jess and Marisa nod.

  "He told me - Chris did. When we were dating you know, one of the many times he cheated on me, he told me what happened with Marisa. So I brought her here, so you'd believe me," Jess's upper lip begins to tremble.

  You're doing great. Hold it together. You got this.

  "So, tell me," he says with a curious look at Marisa.

  She squirms beneath his interested gaze, staring at something on his desk while she speaks, "It was late at night on a Friday. We had been drinking, and he wanted…he um…" she pauses to glance at Jess, who gives her an encouraging nod. "I wasn't in the mood that night, if you know what I mean, but he was. It pissed him off and he just lost it."


  "Lost it?" the Detective urges.

  "Yeah, I mean…he lost it. He started trashing my room, throwing my stuff around. Screaming at me and calling me a whore. I don't know how many times he hit me before I passed out. My roommate found me and took me to the hospital."

  "I see, so there's a record of what happened?"

  "I wouldn't tell them who did it. I mean, his parents are rich, you know?"

  The Detective seems to flinch at her last words and reclines in his chair until I'm sure he's going to fall flat on the ground behind his desk. The anxiety level in Jess rises so high I can literally feel the rush of her blood pressure as it increases in speed.

  "Yes, yes they are. This is the first I've heard of Chris being abusive." He rights himself in the chair and places both palms face down onto his desk. "But it doesn't surprise me, always thought there was something off with that boy." I mentally let out a ragged sigh of relief.

  "This is what we'll do. I'll take a trip to the hospital. See what I can find out about your visit Marisa, but I will need your permission to speak to the Doctor who treated you. Is that understood?"

  Marisa nods her head before he continues, "And Jessica, I want you to hang around home until you hear from me again. Chris's parents are furious and they want answers. They won't like this explanation, whether it's the truth…or not. Is that understood?"

  Jess nods, but then squeaks out a "Yes, Sir," when the Detective glares at her.

  "Okay, girls, thanks for coming in."

  As Marisa opens the door, Detective Manning places a large hand on Jess's shoulder, squeezing gently. This close she can smell the musky scent of his after-shave. "You may want to talk to your lawyer about what you just told me. Normally I wouldn't encourage that sort of thing, but this is something Vincent needs to know," he says with a sigh.

  "Okay," she replies quietly.

  She turns around to follow Marisa, who has already exited the room, and bumps shoulders with a boy not much older than she. He's tall, with dark hair cut short around the sides and combed forward in the front. Underneath perfectly arched eyebrows, his blue eyes shine like the clear shores of a tropical island beach. His full lips catch her attention, as does the deep furrow of his brow as he grumbles apologies for nearly plowing her over.

  "Cole? What're you doing here, son?" Detective Manning asks from behind Jess.

  Hey girl, yep, he's cute, but snap out of it. Time to go. I'd roll my eyes if I had them.

  Jess shakes her head slightly, looking up at the frustrated boy, who barely takes notice of her. He clearly wanted to complain about something to his dad. And Jess was obviously in his way.

  "Sorry," she says, before inching passed him.

  "Sorry," Cole replies without looking at her before stalking into his dad's office.

  She sneaks a glance over her shoulder at the boy's backside and then looks away guiltily. Right. Now is not the time to scope out boys. Surely not the Detective's kid, okay? Shamed, she nearly bolts from the building and finds Marisa leaning against her car, smoking a cigarette.

  "Well, that went over a bit better than I expected," she says to Jess with a wry smile.

  "Yeah. I think it will help. You coming in, I mean…thanks," Jess leans against the hood of the car, upwind from the smoke.

  "Did you see that guy with the gorgeous eyes?" Marisa casually flicks ash into the air.

  "Um, yeah. His name is Cole and he's the Detective's son," Jess answers, trying not to groan.

  "You're kidding? Well, that blows."

  "More than a little," Jess presses the loose hairs behind her ears.

  Marisa looks over at her with an amused expression and both the girls giggle. The instant the sound was out of her mouth though, Jess feels like folding herself in half and crying until there are no tears left. Her delirium spreads through me, and I struggle to get a hold of something sane. The only thing that comes to mind is what I have tried before with success.

  Chocolate, anyone?

  CHAPTER 10

  Though this isn't my first time hijacking someone else's mind, I'm finally beginning to understand that each assignment will be a completely different experience. The brain might have the same function for all of us, but the way our thoughts travel through our minds is truly unique. Some of us worry a lot while some of us compartmentalize every little thing so it can be easily stored (or denied) until the information is needed again. Others have no system and their thoughts scatter around their minds like fireworks…synapses constantly firing in opposite directions. But for each of us, regardless of how we think, our minds fit with our personalities. Our brains are the most complex part of our bodies, and yet, the most simple. Information goes in…information goes out. It is the single most intricate sharing system for all sentient beings; it is a system that will never be mastered.

  Alone in Jess's internal web of thoughts, I ponder this fact for what seems like weeks in real time, though it's only been a few days. I equally love and hate being left to rummage around in her brain. The way she thinks is fascinating. She processes information quite differently than I do, but I get it. And now I can sense that she feels me. She may not be aware of it, but she feels me nonetheless. It's a comforting thought, knowing I'm not truly alone.

  Jess is sitting on a cracked vinyl bench, shoved in the corner seating area of a local pancake house, pushing food around her plate with a syrup soaked fork. And all I can do is watch as the chunks of soggy food get slopped from one side of the chipped ceramic dish to the other. If only she knew that there was a place where people were tortured with memories of the smell, taste and texture of food. I want to gobble up the entire plate. When I think for sure I'm going to compel her to shove the dripping fork into her mouth so I can at least pretend to eat, the gentle lull of a boy's voice drifts over Jess's head.

  "Hey, it's you again," Cole Manning says softly from behind the booth.

  Jess turns around, finally dragging my forced gaze off the yummy looking plate and onto the tall boy that stands with his hands shoved into his pockets and a goofy grin stretching out his mouth.

  "Cole…right?"

  "Yeah, look, sorry about the other day…at my Dad's office. I didn't mean to be rude," he responds while shifting from one foot to the other.

  "Rude?"

  "You know, almost plowing you over," he laughs.

  That's a great laugh, Jess. Invite him to sit down with you for a bit. You could use the company.

  She smiles and then points to the opposite bench. It has twice as many cracks in the vinyl upholstery. "Want to sit?"

  He nods and slides onto the bench quickly, lowering his forearms until they rest on the table in front of him. The early morning light twinkling thru the nearby bay window makes the dark hairs on his arms glisten.

  "Not hungry?" he asks with a nod at her full plate.

  She slides it across the table until it softly bumps into one of his hands, "No. You take it."

  With another laugh, he stabs a perfect square of pancake with the gooey fork. I'm not sure exactly where my body is back at the Station, but I know for a fact my mouth is drooling. It's like food porn. I can't look away as Cole shovels several more bites of the buttery mess into his mouth. Jess watches too, quietly enjoying the moment almost as much as I am.

  "Yum. Maple syrup?" he asks.

  "Yep, it's my favorite. Usually," Her eyes dart from Cole to the large bay window. Outside people were beginning to mill around the shops. Some gather at the end of the street blocks, shaking their heads in feigned grief. It was the same conversation on every corner: "Did you hear about the Garrett boy…?"

  Jess grimaces and looks away from the street where two gossiping women have quickly become five. She would have stayed at home, except both her parents took the week off to handle the flurry of phone calls and drop-in visits from 'friends' who really only called to get the specifics of what happened. "It was an accident," her mother kept saying. Not exactly a lie but not the complete truth either. Chris's parents h
ad yet to contact them.

  "So…I heard about what happened." Jess was startled from her daydreaming by Cole's soothing voice. She looks up to see him leaning back into the damaged seat cushion, his hands below the table. His pale blue eyes are filled with a calming coolness, and she smiles at him guiltily.

  "Everyone has by now, haven't they?"

  "I guess so," he says with a nod of agreement.

  Jess lets out a ragged sigh and stares at the half-eaten plate of buttermilk pancakes. Her stomach was empty but not at all accepting of food. I knew this feeling. I didn't eat for days before my own death. I just…wasn't hungry.

  Drink your juice, at least. With another sigh she reaches for the orange juice and sips it while Cole watches.

  "So, what are you doing around here?" she asks.

  "Oh, I saw you from outside and thought…'Gee, I should apologize for being such a jerk the other day'. And you know, to say sorry for your boyfriend."

  "He wasn't my boyfriend," she says quickly.

  Cole raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Feeling compelled to explain, Jess gives him the quick version. "We weren't together when he, you know. We had already broken up, is what I meant." She rubs at her temple, an act she's seen her father do almost nightly since she was ten. Now she understood why he did it. The real world was stressful.

  "Oh," he says.

  Not interested in divulging any more details to the near stranger, she shifts in her seat so her back is against the window sill and her feet are propped up on the seat. "So, what's your story? It must suck having a cop for a dad."

  His crystal eyes widen and then he laughs loud enough that every patron in the small diner glances at them. The waitress, who has not returned since setting Jess's plate down, glowers a warning at them while she pours coffee the color of tar into a burly looking man's empty white mug.

  "It does suck sometimes," he says, still laughing, "I guess it sucks most the time, really."