Slain (7 page)

“I remember the ride spinning, then going up and up and up. I loved it so much! It was just so beautiful. I leaned my head back and watched the stars blur to streaks. My hair flew behind me like I was flying, and it really felt like I was. The wind pricked up goose bumps, and they felt like magic on my skin.”

Pastor Pete coughs, probably bothered by the magic comment and wondering where the story was going. We all were. You can see people shifting in the audience, losing patience.

“Then I did this stupid thing. I lifted my little pink piggy into the air, to make it fly. And it slipped out of my hands. And before I realized what I was doing I lunged for it and the swing twisted under me. I tried to wiggle to steady it, but my butt ended up slipping through the chain on the side of my seat.”

The room gets really quiet. People stop shuffling. I remember being there. In an instant, she had us all perched on the edge of our chairs.

“I don’t know how far off the ground I was at the time. But I was barely holding on. I was folded over in half, my head and hands and feet were still in the seat, but my bottom was dangling out like I was sitting inside an empty bucket.”

“I remember being scared and sorry and embarrassed that everyone could see my underwear. Which was stupid, because I was about to die, but I was six, so I guess that’s what you think about when you’re six.”

Next to me on the bed Paige’s breath hitches in her throat, and I know what she’s thinking because I’m thinking it too. It’s like June was doomed, destined in some way for tragedy.

“I remember trying to scream but not being able to. It seemed like my breath got caught in my throat for what felt like forever.”

Was that what it was like when she died? I’m crying now too, right along with Paige. I had just wanted to hear her voice, but this is too much.
 

“And then I remember my dad swinging over and grabbing me. First my ankle, then my hand. I remember him holding on to me so tight I thought my bones would break right off.”

“What I don’t remember is landing. I didn’t black out or anything, I just don’t remember it. I remember the moment after we landed, though. He pulled me out of the seat and held me really tight. He was breathing really hard, and his body was vibrating just like mine. But, somehow, we were both okay.”

Paige sniffles, wipes her face. This was harder to watch than I thought, but there’s only a little left. And June looks so alive, so normal. If I turn it off she’ll be gone again. Paige tucks her face into my stomach, and I put a hand on her head, gripping her close.
 

June keeps talking, “I know God sent my dad just in time to save me that night. God saved me before I even knew about Him, so that I could live long enough to meet Him.”

She looks stronger now. The color is back in her cheeks, and her voice is full and confident.

“Jesus had a plan for me. He had a plan for me to find this church and find Him and stand here tonight a whole person. So even on hard days I think about that night, and I remember God’s plan, and I remember that my future is in His hands too and that if I trust Him He’ll never let me fall. Thank you.”

She lowers the microphone, and the room explodes in applause and a chorus of hallelujahs. A smile runs across her face. She’s beaming, so happy to make us all so happy, so moved by her words. I decide to remember her exactly like this.

“Thank you,” Paige says. “Thank you.”

O
N
S
UNDAY
MORNING
,
THE
police call and ask me to come in to answer more questions about the lock-in. Now my parents and I are sitting in a small beige conference room at the police station, just big enough for a table that seats all of us: my family plus the two detectives—Detective Boyer, the one I spoke to that night, and her partner, Detective Bud Simms, who looks like he could be a hundred years old.
 

It smells like armpits in here.

“So you used to date June’s boyfriend, Nicolas?” Detective Boyer asks.

“Yes.” I say, worried about answering questions about him. Of course he’d be their first suspect, but there’s no way I’m going to help indict him.

“Were you upset when he broke up with you?”

Her question is jarring. Why would they care about how we broke up? “He didn’t break up with me. I broke up with him.”
 

Detective Simms perks up at that. “Oh? Why?”

“Because I wanted to date someone else.”

“Your current boyfriend, Michael Kent?”

“Yes.”

“Is all this personal information really necessary?” my mom asks, giving the detectives a smile that, if they knew her, they’d know wasn’t a smile at all. “With all the attention that comes from our work, we do our best to keep our daughter’s private life private.”

I have to keep myself from laughing. The only things sacred about my life are the things they don’t know.

“Exactly,” my dad pipes up. “I thought you needed Emma to help out with information about the lock-in because of her unique position in the youth community.”

“We’re just trying to get a clearer picture. Get to know everyone. All of this is helping a lot,” Detective Simms says, scratching his nose with the wrong end of his pen and accidentally drawing a blue line down the crease of it.

“So you broke up with Nicolas to date Michael. How long ago was that?” Detective Boyer seems to be in charge of asking the questions. She seems to be in charge of everything.

“Last spring.”

“When last spring?”

“Maybe April? It was before prom.”

“You don’t keep track of your anniversary?”

“I’m no good with dates,” I say, smiling.

Detective Boyer looks over to Simms with a frown and rubs her nose to let him know about the line. He rubs at it, but doesn’t get it off, leaving a blue smear where it used to be. Boyer seems annoyed but lets it go.

“Okay. Let’s talk about that night,” Boyer says. “When was the last time you saw June?”

“It was like I told you. I can’t remember for sure.”

“Give us your best guess.”

I sit up straight, fold my hands. “I know I saw her in the choir room after the Purity Ball. After that, I lost track of her.”

“Why weren’t you hanging out together? You were friends with her, right?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I didn’t really know her very well.”

“Is that so? A lot of other people thought you were one of her best friends.”

“She liked to tell people that, but like I said, I didn’t really know her that well.”

“So why would she think you were such good friends?”

“I tried to be nice to her, I guess. She’s new to the church, and it can be hard to make friends.”

Detective Boyer leans back in her chair with a wry smile. “So you’re saying the church crowd isn’t too friendly?”

My dad frowns, glares at her. “We accept everyone equally, Ms. Boyer, which is why Emma was extending a kindness to the girl.”

Detective Boyer nods, but the look on her face seems to say, “Yeah, right.”

“I’m sure you can understand how certain people have a tendency to get overly attached to someone like Emma,” my mom says.

Detective Simms jumps in. “Let me ask you something else, Emma. We’re estimating the time of death between ten and eleven,” he says.
 

Ten and eleven? I had assumed that June was killed just before we found her near midnight. But if she was killed between ten and eleven, that means she’d been lying there for nearly an hour, all alone. It means she was killed while Jackson and I were together.

“Can you tell me where you were during that time?”

Oh god. What do I say? I can’t tell them the truth. Not with my parents here. Not with Jackson’s criminal record. I don’t know what to do. My heart races until it feels like there’s a base guitar strumming inside my throat. I panic. “I was in the bathroom. I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Which bathroom?”

“Um, the one upstairs. In the Kid’s Korner.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth I regret it. It’s a totally stupid thing to say.

The two detectives exchange a look.

“Anybody with you?” Boyer asks.

“No, I was alone. My stomach was upset.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds awful,” she says, and the way she says it makes me feel like a jerk for complaining about an upset stomach when June was murdered. Especially when it’s not even close to true.

“Do you remember seeing June anytime after you guys changed?” Simms asks, but all I can focus on is the blue on his face, now glistening from getting mixed up with the oil on his nose.

“I’m sorry?” I say, not remembering the question he just asked.

“Do you remember seeing June anytime after you changed clothes?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. There were a lot of people there.”

“Three hundred and fifty-six,” Boyer says.

“Okay,” I say.

“There were 356 people there, Emma. Ten adults and 346 teenagers. And the thing is, we seem to be able to pin down where almost everyone was around ten thirty when June was killed. But we’re still not sure about you.”

“I told you. I was in the bathroom. I wasn’t feeling well.” My voice sounds more defensive than it should.

“Hold on now.” This time it’s my dad. “Do we need a lawyer here?”

She doesn’t answer him. “Which bathroom again?”

“The one upstairs. By the Kid’s Korner.”

“Why didn’t you use the one right next to the Youth Center? It would have been much closer.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You skipped a bathroom that was thirty feet out the door, a big bathroom where several other girls were already inside, changing into their pajamas. And then you went up two floors, alone, past the main level where there are at least three adult bathrooms, to use a bathroom where the toilets are child-sized? And you don’t know why? Can you see how I don’t understand?”

“I guess I wanted some privacy.” I pick at my cuticles. “Like you said, it was crowded in there, and it had already been a long day and I wasn’t feeling well.”

“If you wanted so much privacy that night, then why did you even go?”

“I go to everything.” Pastor’s Kid Obligation #3,872.

“Is Emma a suspect in all this?” My dad again.

“We haven’t named anyone as a suspect yet. Like I said, we’re just trying to get all the facts,” Detective Simms says. He’s so bland I want to gag.

“Well it certainly seems like you’re going in a direction that I’m very uncomfortable with. Emma is a good girl. I won’t have you accusing her like this.”

“Like I said, Mr. Grant, this is all just routine,” Detective Simms says.

Detective Boyer pulls a baggie out of a file folder and pushes it toward me. “Do you recognize this?”

I stare at the baggie, tilt my head until my eyes can see past the glare on the surface from the overhead light. Inside is a diamond earring. My diamond earring.
 

My heart drops into my stomach. How did they get my earring? Why do they have it now, sealed into a little plastic bag like it matters?

“That’s enough,” my dad says, standing up.

“We found it underneath your friend’s body. Any idea how it got there?”

Underneath June’s body? Then it’s not just my alibi they’re worried about. They think they have proof.

“I, I, I don’t—,“ I stammer.

“Don’t answer that, Emma,” my dad says. “We’re not continuing this without our lawyer present. Come on, girls. We’re going home.”

“W
HAT
WAS
THAT
IN
there?” my mom asks, fuming, all her fire in my direction. “The way you were acting…I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought you were guilty.”

We’re in my mom’s brand-new Mercedes ML350, in the parking lot of the police station. They’re sitting in the back to talk to me, one on either side, while the SUV idles, driverless. My dad just got off the phone with a lawyer, who we’re meeting in an hour.

“And that business about the earring?” she asks. “My mother gave those to you. How could you be so careless?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even remember when I lost it. I guess it could have been while I was dancing. Maybe June found it and was holding on to it until she saw me.”

“Of course she could have found it. There are a hundred reasonable explanations,” my dad says. “The police are grasping at straws.”

“She had them on during the processional. I distinctly recall seeing them on her.”

“Wait! I do remember. I took an earring off while we were changing. I was going to put it away so I wouldn’t lose it, but then I must have forgotten about it when June came over to talk to me.”

“So you just left them out where anyone could take them?” my mom says.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so. Perfect.” She shakes her head, irritated.

“Those detectives would just love it if it was her,” my dad says. “It’s a shame what lengths some people will go to in order to discredit believers.”

“Which is why you have to make an extra effort to be flawless, Emma,” my mom says. “You simply cannot make mistakes like that. It reflects very poorly on the church.”

The church. They’re not worried about me at all, they’re worried about themselves. My parent’s love is a shallow sort of love, a supposed-to love that I didn’t really understand until I felt how Jackson loved me. To them, I’m like a handbag or a designer watch, the perfect accessory for the church power couple. Perfect grades, perfect smile, perfect me.

It’s easier not to say that, though; always has been. “I’m sorry,” I say instead.

“Is there anything else we need to know?” my mom asks. “Before we talk to the lawyer?”

“It’s very important that you tell us the truth right now. If you were in that bathroom like you said, then fine. We’ll figure out a way to deal with it. But if not, it’s important we know. There’s nothing you could do to make us stop loving you.”
 

I’m pretty sure there is. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of things I could do, one of which I’ve already done.

“I told you everything,” I say.