Let's Not & Say We Did (The Love Game Book 5) Page 20

  Taylor hesitated. “You don’t think they’ll want to talk to us now once we mention it?”

  I hadn’t exactly meant that I’d reveal any details to them now, but Taylor’s concern was still a valid one. “I guess they’ll probably wonder,” I said. “But they can’t stop what they’re doing to speak to us. It might be better this way because it’ll give them some time to process what information could be coming their way.”

  “I doubt it’ll cross their minds that we might be…” She seemed to remember that others were in earshot, so she left her sentence unfinished. I knew what she was going to say anyway without her having to voice it.

  I sighed. “No. Probably not.” I watched Brad’s parents, both of them standing tall in the face of what had to be crippling. They should’ve been more fragile, I thought, like birds who’d been knocked from flight by a glass door. But they were holding it together better than the two of us—especially Brad’s dad, who looked almost stoic. Maybe he was someone who broke down privately after the buildup of the day caused so much pressure inside him that the second he was alone, he exploded like a two-liter of Diet Coke that had been shaken.

  And here we were about to throw a pack of Mentos into the bottle.

  “I’ll talk,” I said. “It might be easier if I’m the one who mentions it to them. Then we can talk to them together afterward.”

  “So…what, I just stand there next to you like your manslaughter wingman,” she whispered, “and let you do all the talking?”

  “When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous. This felt like a good idea when I thought of it, but now I feel like I’m looking out the door of an airplane trying to convince myself to jump.”

  “Why do all your metaphors have to do with aviation?” I asked her. “First the wingman and now this.”

  “Stop changing the subject.”

  “Fine,” I said, placating her. “But why would we want to jump out of a plane?”

  “Because we’re skydiving in my hypothetical scenario,” she replied, as if my question were the only stupid part of the conversation we were having. I watched her glance in the direction of Brad’s parents before focusing back on me. “Though this feels more like jumping without a parachute.”

  “Well, if you ever have plans to make your hypothetical sky jump a reality, count me out.”

  “More terrifying than what we’re doing now?” She stared at me as she let the question sink in. I didn’t have to reply for her to know my answer. “Exactly.”

  “Well, we’re almost to Brad’s family, so you better get ready to jump.” As the line moved again, we took a few more steps toward them.

  “I can’t jump,” she said, sounding noticeably more panicked than she had only moments before. And she’d sounded pretty fucking panicked then too.

  “Then I’ll just have to pull you out with me.”

  I didn’t wait for Taylor to respond because I didn’t want to lose my nerve. I just took a deep breath, tried to quiet the voice inside my head that said this was a gigantic fucking mistake, and faced Brad’s parents.

  No doubt there had been countless students who’d come through here to pay their respects to Brad and express their condolences to his family. And I was sure they probably thought Taylor and I were more of the same: two innocent college kids who were mourning the loss of one of their own.

  I wasn’t quite sure how to begin, other than to say I was sorry for their loss and to introduce myself as someone who knew their son, though not well, of course. “And my girlfriend, Taylor”—I put my arm on her back but couldn’t bring myself to look at her—“went to school with your son. Dated him, actually,” I said, though I don’t know why.

  Brad’s mother looked almost pleased. “He had a girlfriend?” She shook her head slowly. “We didn’t even realize.”

  “We weren’t together when he passed” was all Taylor said as a way of explaining the situation as simply as possible.

  “I see,” his mother said.

  I wondered if Brad’s own parents even realized what a creepy fuck their son was, because his mom, at least, seemed surprised to hear he’d been able to convince someone to date him.

  “I know this probably isn’t the best time,” I said, hoping to get to the point sooner rather than later. It would be our turn at the casket soon, and I’d finally have to face—literally—the person I’d killed. The strangest shit was that somehow this conversation seemed more painful than staring at Brad’s dead body. “But we’re only in town tonight,” I continued, “and I was wondering if we might be able to talk to you for a few minutes after the viewing. We’d like to talk to you about…what happened to your son. I know the circumstances of his passing weren’t exactly clear—”

  “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?” Brad’s father asked me.

  “My name is Ransom. I’m sure that doesn’t mean much to you right now, but I knew your son a little—”

  “You have information about my son’s death?” Brad’s mom cut in, sounding about as excited as someone could possibly seem at their child’s funeral. Though I was sure her emotion more closely resembled desperation. “Please. Tell me. We just don’t even know what he was doing there that night,” the woman said. “To be found in an alley like some sort of drug dealer or thug or something… It doesn’t make any sense to us. He was such a good kid. So smart. Brilliant, really. And he’d made so many friends at college. I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt him.” Her eyes had been cast down as she spoke, but she brought her gaze up to me when she said the last part. “Can you? What is it that you know?”

  I wasn’t expecting her to take hold of my wrist like she did, and the action startled me. My instinct was to break away, but her grip was nowhere near strong enough to cause me to feel physically threatened. It felt more frantic than anything else, like a silent plea for me to tell her more.

  Brad’s father placed his hand gently on her back and leaned down to her. “Not here,” he said, staring at the line behind us before glancing up toward the casket.

  Relieved that his dad’s social etiquette overruled any desire for more information—at least for the moment—I pulled my hand away slowly. I watched Brad’s mother’s eyes close for a second, and I could tell she thought if I walked away from her, anything I knew about Brad’s death might leave with me.

  “We’ll talk when you have a few minutes,” I said to them quietly.

  His mom nodded but didn’t say anything else.

  “I’m freaking out,” Taylor said after we moved up a few feet closer to the front of the line. “Now it’s real. We’re about to see Brad. And we just told his parents we have to talk to them after the service.” I could hear the panic in her voice, and I wished I could’ve convinced her not to do this here. Who knew if we’d even get to leave after we revealed our part in their son’s death.

  We moved again, and this time I realized there were only two people ahead of us, and I thought they were together.

  “Can you do this?” I asked, giving a nod toward the coffin. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

  Taylor nodded quickly and muttered a soft “yes,” like if she didn’t answer immediately, she was scared she might change her mind. “It’s just…a lot. Being here, seeing him, talking to his parents. I don’t know why I thought this would be easier, but I clearly overestimated myself.”

  As the area in front of the casket cleared, I grabbed a hold of her hand and gave it a firm squeeze that I hoped would be comforting. I didn’t know how she’d react once she saw the actual body. Maybe she’d burst into tears or hyperventilate, or maybe she’d let out an audible gasp at the sight of him lying lifeless in a box that I’d essentially put him in. Whatever her reaction was, I’d be ready for it. Ready for her. We’d come this far together. We’d see it through together too.

  She closed her eyes as she took the two steps toward him, and though I looked at the body for a quick second, most of my attention w
ent to Taylor.

  She took a deep breath before opening her eyes and looking down at Brad’s body. Her lips parted slightly as her eyes took in his body. Like his parents, he was well-dressed too. A dark-gray suit covered his body that would’ve been much paler without the makeup. And his dark hair had been styled to the side neatly.

  When I heard Taylor let out a small sound similar to a whimper, I looked over to see her covering her mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding mine. She pulled in a sharp breath through her nose before allowing her fingers to move enough that she could speak.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

  “I know,” I whispered back.

  “No, you really don’t,” she said, her voice suddenly holding a sense of panic I hadn’t seen until now. “We gotta get out of here.”

  “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she answered quickly. She glanced back at Brad’s parents, causing me to do the same. Despite their speaking to other people at the moment, both of them had their eyes trained on us. “Or everything. Jesus. Fuck.”

  “Taylor, tell me what’s going on,” I said, holding her steady to face me.

  Closing her eyes, she drew in a few deep breaths, and I could tell she was trying to breathe more slowly with each one. When she finally opened them to look at me again, her lips opened for a few seconds before she moved them to speak. And when she did, she uttered the best, and most confusing, set of words I’d ever heard.

  “That’s not Brad.”

  T A Y L O R

  “What?” Ransom asked, his jaw dropping open so far I could practically see down his throat.

  “That’s not Brad,” I whispered through gritted teeth. It felt like the best news ever and the worst news ever all at the same time. “We gotta get the hell out of here.”

  “That’s not Brad? What do you mean that’s not Brad?”

  “I mean it’s not him. I don’t know how it isn’t him. I just know that it isn’t.”

  When I’d laid eyes on the person inside the casket, I’d needed to make sure my eyes were telling a truth I wanted so badly to be true. Because although the person in the casket looked familiar and with his dark hair and similar age and body type could’ve easily been Brad, it wasn’t.

  I don’t think I’ve ever opened and shut my eyes that many times or that quickly in my life, almost as if I believed every blink might possibly reveal a new sight before me, like pulling a handle on a slot machine.

  I’d been glancing around looking for the closest exit as I grabbed Ransom’s hand and led him off to the side of the casket.

  “Maybe he just looks different because he’s dead,” Ransom offered, because, really, how could we have thought we killed someone we didn’t?

  “Do you know how many times I pictured what Brad would look like dead?” I pulled Ransom toward the side of the church and headed toward an exit. “I know that sounds…totally fucked up, but it’s true. He’s haunted me almost as much dead as he did when he was alive. Or I guess he’s maybe still alive.” Grabbing Ransom’s hand suddenly, I said, “Oh, my God! Do you think Brad’s still alive?” Even though I knew the answer, I asked anyway.

  “Um…” He hesitated, probably more because he didn’t want to tell me than because he didn’t know what to tell me. “I think he probably is, right? He has to be.” His voice sounded filled with the same heaviness I felt. The implications of all of this were too much to ponder right now.

  “We gotta get out of here,” I said again.

  “Shouldn’t we at least tell Brad’s…or whoever that was in the casket’s parents that we made a mistake? I mean, we just told the parents of whoever that guy is that we know something about their son’s death.”

  “Well, we can’t exactly go back there and tell them we accidentally killed someone who wasn’t their son.”

  “Isn’t that better than saying we killed someone who was?” Ransom asked. “We can’t just leave. We came to help give a grieving family closure about the passing of their son. We just made it worse for them.”

  “I’ll write them a letter to explain,” I said. “They’ll understand.”

  “A letter? How?”

  Jesus, my boyfriend asked a shit ton of questions that shouldn’t matter at the moment. We were standing at the double doors on the side of the church that led to the parking lot, but neither of us had opened them yet. At least at this angle, the family of the deceased could no longer see us.

  “Because,” I said. “I know him too.”

  “You know him? The dead guy? That dead guy? How? What do you mean you know him?”

  “Maybe know isn’t the correct word, but I’ve seen him before.” I could swear I did, though I couldn’t place him. “I’m not even sure of his name, though. I can’t… I don’t know how this is even happening.”

  Ransom lifted both hands to his head and massaged them through his hair anxiously. “What the fuck are we gonna do?” He groaned loudly before letting his hands fall to his sides with an “Ugh, this is so fucked up.”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. Then I let him have the moment to himself and simply be in his own mind until whatever thoughts were running through it finished their jog. Both of us were silent as we leaned against the church wall next to the exit. “But you’re right,” I conceded. “We can’t just let these poor people think we know something about…” I gestured toward the casket.

  “I’ll get us a prayer card before we go talk to them so we at least have his name,” Ransom promised. “You figure out what the hell we’re gonna say to them.”

  He was gone, heading toward the entrance of the church before I had time to try to bargain with him to switch tasks.

  I waited by the door for him, trying to make sense of what we’d discovered. Here was a kid who looked familiar, and apparently he’d died exactly as we thought Brad had died. But we’d had nothing to do with it. At least not directly.

  But when Ransom returned, I still hadn’t come up with a clear idea of what we’d say to the grieving parents that would be both a comfort and the truth. The scent of incense, flowers, and unexplained death clouded my mind too much for me to think clearly. My only hope was that seeing the name on the card would help me connect the dots I wasn’t even sure I wanted to connect.

  Ransom put the card in my hand. “His name’s Peter.”

  It didn’t immediately ring a bell, but when I saw his last name was Faulkner, I knew exactly where I’d seen him. We’d had some English lit class together as freshmen. The professor had commented during the first class about how Petey, as he’d introduced himself, shared his last name with a famous author.

  I’d hated the class, mostly because I was horrible at it. As if fishing wasn’t boring enough to experience, who wanted to read a book about some fisherman searching all over the ocean for a whale to kill? But Petey, an avid part of the class discussions, always seemed to enjoy it.

  I knew that I couldn’t leave without speaking to his parents. I just hoped I didn’t make an already horrible situation worse for them.

  Ransom and I made our way toward Mr. and Mrs. Faulkner cautiously, not wanting to disrupt the line or interrupt a conversation with family if Petey’s parents couldn’t talk. But as soon as they spotted us, it was clear they weren’t going to let us out of their sight again without talking to us. His father locked eyes with me and then immediately said something to the people he’d been speaking with before leading his wife toward where we stood between the pews.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “about before. We shouldn’t have told you something like that during such a difficult time. I just—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Petey’s mom said, her eyes filled with a hope that I was scared I would crush. “I’m glad you’re here. If you have information about our son’s death—”

  “We don’t,” I told her. “I’m sorry if it came across like that. I went to school with Petey. We had a freshman English class together, and he was…so smart.�
��

  “Jesus,” his father said, the low volume of his voice doing nothing to disguise his anger. “Everyone here knew my son. You implied you had something important to tell us. My wife and I thought that you knew something that would help explain the circumstances of his death.”

  Ransom’s eyes were wide as he watched me.

  “I live in the town where your son passed away,” I said, “and I just wanted to let you know that if I hear anything or if I can be of any help to you, I’ll reach out.”

  His mom’s expression seemed to deflate, but neither of his parents looked angry now. They seemed to be processing the information, their eyebrows furrowing in the same way Ransom’s were.

  Apparently all of us, myself included, were trying to figure out the implications of Petey’s whereabouts that night. It was a big city and a college town. Petey could’ve easily known someone there who he was visiting. Still, it seemed unlikely, given the distance from his own school.

  “Thank you,” his mother said. “We appreciate that. If you could maybe even ask around…”

  “I will,” I said, thinking that might not be a lie. Now that we weren’t involved in a murder investigation, maybe we could do a little investigation of our own. “I’m not sure I know anyone who knew Petey.”

  “So you don’t know this Lacey girl either?” his mom asked, looking disappointed.

  “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know any girls with that name.”

  Their shoulders slumped with the news. “We’ve been trying to figure out who this girl is, but we’ve gotten nowhere. All Petey told us was that he was planning to hang out with Lacey all weekend, and then he’s found dead in an alley hundreds of miles away. We don’t have a last name for this girl, and the police don’t seem to be much help locating a student by that name. Or anyone there who Petey would’ve been in contact with.”

  “I wish we could be more helpful,” I told them. “It seems…strange to me too, to say the least.”

  “We should probably get going,” Ransom said, more to Petey’s family than to me. “We have to get back home.”