I Heard You Scream Page 2

  Morgan’s been my best friend since elementary school. If not for that, maybe she’d never have gotten together with my brother’s best friend. It’s like I’m obligated to set her up with someone better. Her connection to me led her to a mentally and emotionally abusive relationship with Steve. Maybe this one will lead her somewhere healthy—happy for once.

  Morgan came with me the first time we all met for support, but after hanging out with us a few times, Steve made it clear he didn’t like her going without him. She’s only joined me a few times since. Now that they’ve split, I’m glad she’s back, and I know I’m not the only one.

  John studies her as she bites her lip, clutching her cellphone in her fist. Just by looking at me, John can tell whatever’s going on is bad.

  “Do you want me to answer it?” I blurt over the annoying ring. “You know I’ll tell him where to go.”

  “No,” she says on exhale. “I just let it go to voicemail.”

  “Is it your ex?” John asks.

  Morgan chews at her lip, with her face hidden behind her long, highlighted fringe, and gives me a wide-eyed look that asks what I’ve told him. I shrug with a smile and grab her phone.

  “Hey,” she laughs.

  I hold the button on the side while staring at her. “There. Off for the rest of the night, okay?”

  Morgan nods and settles back into her chair. I wish it were enough to ease her mind, but I know she’s still on edge—waiting for his next move to coerce her back or shame her for leaving in the first place. So am I.

  “Now that that’s taken care of.” Lennox inches around the dining table, grabbing a candle in each hand and brings them to the front room. He sets them by the bay window and his shadowy outline faces us. “Who’s joining me for a dance?”

  I toss my napkin on the table and stand. Ellie shoots me a pleased but shocked look. John and Morgan wear similar expressions.

  “I’m not really in the mood to dance.” I pick up my plate in one hand and Morgan’s in the other, staring at her. “But I’ll wash the dishes if you dry.”

  I want a chance to talk to her about Steve. He can’t keep harassing her like this.

  “No,” Lennox calls. “You’re not getting away that easy. The dishes can be done later. I want to enjoy my time with friends.”

  I ignore Lennox. Ellie grabs the other dishes and follows me to the kitchen. I’m not in the mood to make a fool of myself dancing in front of Lennox…

  “How about it?” I hear John ask softly as I enter the kitchen.

  Ellie and I glance at each other once we’re out of sight and she peeks into the dining room from the alcove.

  “Is she going to dance with him?” I hiss.

  She nods before joining me at the sink.

  “Good.” I set the dishes down by the sink. “Anything to take her mind off her ex.”

  She takes the plates from me and rinses them under the tap. “When did they break up?”

  “A couple weeks ago? He’s been calling and texting every day since.”

  Eliana raises her brows and twists the knob, turning the water off. “Seriously? Like this?”

  “It’s pretty bad.” I gather the pieces of my garlic bread and toss them in the compost. “Morgan says he’ll stop, but I know this guy. He’s relentless when he wants something. He’s so entitled.”

  Ellie leans back against the counter and twists at one of her many gold rings. “How long were they together for?”

  “Since the end of high school.”

  She gawks at me, her mouth agape. “That’s almost a decade.”

  I nod as she pushes herself off the counter. “I don’t know how she stayed with him so long. She never listened to me when I told her she should leave him.”

  “Huh.” Eliana stops by the speaker on the island countertop, reaching for it. “What ended it?” She rests her hand on the knob of the dock, waiting for my answer.

  A cold shiver descends my spine as three words come to mind.

  I don’t know.

  She told me she was finally done with him, but something happened—something pushed her over the edge. If he’d hit her—hurt her physically—I’d have to believe she’d tell me… unless she’s ashamed…

  “I don’t question it,” I say, shaking the thought away. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

  Ellie nods, seeming to consider that, and then turns the volume up on the speaker. “Come on,” I think she says.

  “Pardon?” I call over the music.

  She grabs my hand and leads me into the dining room.

  “No,” I laugh, and try to pull away as she guides us into the living room, but her grip remains firm.

  Lennox is strumming an air guitar as Morgan and John dance with locked eyes, their giant smiles giving me a warm, tingling sensation.

  “I can’t,” I laugh, finally pulling out of Ellie’s grip.

  “Yes, you can,” Morgan says, grabbing my hand from behind me and twirling me around to face her. John laughs, watching as Morgan grabs my other hand and twirls us both around.

  I wouldn’t have danced for another soul in this moment; only for her. When I realized it would have been my father’s birthday today, I hoped seeing my friends would cheer me up. Morgan’s happiness is the perfect cure. I don’t miss my dad, but I miss who he could have been to me. I miss the idea of having a dad. The kind of dad Morgan has, or that Lennox and Ellie talk about when they tell us about Simon, and how hard he tried to fill the roles of both parents for them.

  In this moment, those thoughts and worries fade. We twirl around the living room, all of us, taking turns, until two pounds echo on the front door, loud enough to hear over the music. Loud enough that we couldn’t have mistaken the sound for anything else, anywhere else.

  We freeze.

  “Is Austin coming?” Lennox asks John.

  He shakes his head. “Not this time…”

  Ellie leans into her brother and says something before heading toward the kitchen.

  Lennox passes me on the way to the door, his spice and cedar scent lingering behind him. The music stops. Ellie reappears from the alcove in the kitchen. We all wait in silence.

  Who could be here at this hour? A neighbour, complaining about the noise? A friend of Lennox or Ellie’s?

  I walk beneath the archway, toward the hallway to the front foyer, exchanging a furrowed-brow expression with Ellie. Lennox stands in the open doorway, dead centre, staring into the night.

  3

  The moment I step out of the car, I feel all their eyes on me, cool as the breeze from the waterfront. They stand in small groups on the other side of the picket fence, speaking in hushed voices, likely about me. If I’d known who I’d become to them before I decided to give my witness statement and testimony in court, maybe I would have chosen different words. Maybe I’d have stuck to the facts of what happened that night.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

  They say I’m the victim of the tragedy and a hero at the same time. I don’t identify with either of those labels, but it’s how I’m seen to everyone in Newcastle.

  Time twists memories and eases the burden of denial. No one really talks to me about that night anymore—they rarely even bring up my friends—except for on these anniversaries. Time is a friend to the innocent and an enemy to the guilty. Time has put distance between that night and I, because I’ve done what it takes to carry on.

  But time can’t dull the pain. The rusty copper wiring that claws my insides, winding tightly around every part of me that could carry me forward. They cut into me each time I’m reminded of that night. Not even the Xanax can fully numb it. And I deserve it.

  The mourners look at me with a mix of pity, reverence, and for some, ongoing grief from losing loved ones that night. Lennox and Eliana’s father Simon owns their house now. The memorial is held here, every year. They stand in suits and dresses at a table decorated with the white roses, greeting everyone who passes the white picket fence. The gate I once stumbled through with blood-soaked clothes, never to see my friends again.

  Cam joins my side, tucking his cell phone in his pocket. I give Simon a short wave before I turn to the beach. I’ve done my best to keep up appearances and be there for the families. They count on me to honour our loved ones—to represent them in some way—to offer hope that someone who went through such trauma carries on with life.

  “I’m just going to take a moment here.” I whisper, squeezing his arm.

  He nods, having understood from the time we started dating that there’s no room for him by my side when I’m like this. “Take your time. I’ll wait by the table.”

  Wind blows through my hair as a car drives by slowly, likely trying to find a place to park among almost twenty others.

  That night, Morgan drove me here. We’d come together, looking forward to dinner and a night on the beach around a bonfire. We’d walk across the sand with bottles and blankets, disappearing behind the tree line. We were so eager to share and connect over the mesmerizing flames of fire, to support each other through all our troubles until only embers remained.

  We couldn’t have known how that night would end—but maybe we should have. Maybe it was just a matter of time until it all went to hell. I don’t understand why I wasn’t dragged there, too.

  “Chels,” Kellan calls to me. She crosses the road in a light pink, floral dress. Her long, chestnut hair blows in the breeze across her face, but it doesn’t hide the small, pink pout of her lips. She hugs me and I give her a tight squeeze back. “Did you just get here, too?”

  “Yeah. The Xanax is finally kicking in,” I whisper, pulling some hair away from my face. She presses her lips together, unsure of what to say, and I fold my arms. “I just want today over with.”

  Kellan nods, but she stares back with a blank expression. There’s no way she can fully comprehend what I just said, but she never pretends to understand me or what I’ve been through. It’s what I love about her. Everything she knows, I’ve told her voluntarily, and it’s made me comfortable to confide in her the most. I keep things from her about that night, which makes the painful ache of disconnect worse in these situations. She wouldn’t speak to me again if she knew the truth, but I feel safest with her because she never questions me. She’s the one I share the most with, and she always makes time for me.

  I pull a strand of hair from my mouth again and motion toward the little groups gathered on the lawn. “I don’t like the idea of them watching. It’s like giving my pain an audience.”

  Kellan rests her warm hand on my back as we walk along the road, parallel to the white picket fence. We’ve been friends since high school. We played soccer on the Newcastle community team for two years before I quit. We drifted a bit, and I got closer to Morgan again. Kellan knew Morgan, too, but they never hung out. They didn’t mesh, and we never forced it. They filled very different roles in my life; Morgan and I loved to be around each other constantly. ‘Connected at the hip,’ her dad used to say. Even though she was there, she was often caught up in her own world and didn’t have as much attention or time for me after Steven came around. Kellan and I didn’t see each other as often, mostly just on soccer practice days when we’d play together, before I quit the team during high school, but I could always reach out to her for a chat, advice, an opinion, or help. She wasn’t around much, keeping busy on the fencing team, track team, and as president of the yearbook committee, but she was always present for me. Most of my favourite memories were with Morgan, but I felt most seen by Kellan.

  After high school, Kellan and I only got together over the holidays through college, and after I graduated, we fell out of touch for a while. We’d catch up a few times a year when I met John and Lennox. She never met my new group of friends, but made efforts to reconnect soon after the murders. She was there for me like the old days, at a time when I felt I’d lost everyone—even my brother. When we started working at the high school together, we became closer than ever before. She comes with me on this day, every year.

  She links her arm through mine as we take our time arriving at the gate. “Is Oz still coming?”

  “I think so.”

  Oz is one of my favourite people to work with and it became that way shortly after I met him when he was a new transfer at the high school– a guidance counsellor.

  “That’s nice.” She squeezes my arm. “You guys have really gotten close, huh?”

  I nod, letting the breeze soothe me as we approach the gate.

  I haven’t spoken much about that night to Oz—not that I do with anyone—but he seems to understand much of what goes unspoken with me. It’s the opposite of Kellan, really. While she never pretends to understand, Oz has this knowing look he gives me, as if he can sense my thoughts and feelings.

  Last week, we got some time to ourselves after a parent teacher meeting, when some of the faculty went to a pub in town. He seemed to understand my desire to get through the memorial when he invited himself to come. I agreed, but I’m still not sure how I feel about someone new being here. He won’t know anyone except for Kellan. That could be awkward for some people. Maybe he’s like me and won’t need someone holding his hand during an event like this. Maybe it's the idea of having him want to be here for me that I like most.

  Cam meets us at the gate with eight white roses in his hands, handing me four. “Careful. Some thorns weren’t removed.” He nods to Kellan and hands her the rest. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” They exchange short smiles. Cam goes back to the table to retrieve flowers for himself.

  Lennox and Ellie’s dad, Simon, approaches, hands in his dress pant pockets. He stops before me. “How are ya, darlin’?”

  I take a shaky breath in, but it’s the only thing that shakes. Thank God for Xanax. “Hanging in there. How about you, Mr. Sharpe?”

  “I told you. Call me Simon.” He stares in my direction from behind his sunglasses before lifting them slightly off his nose and wiping the tears from the tops of his cheeks, where they pool in the hollow, fleshy cushions beneath his eyes. “You need anything, darlin’, you come to me.”

  I know where his children got their sweet nature from.

  “Thank you.”

  “You see me before you leave, will ya?”

  “Promise.”

  He always asks to share a drink with me once everyone has left. Usually something strong, like whiskey or scotch. I’ve never refused him, and he doesn’t know that it’s the only alcohol I’ve had since I reached drinking age. I assume they’re the first of many drinks he has the night of each anniversary. It feels like the least I can do. For the rest of the night, he drinks alone.

  He separated from the twins’ mom when she refused to get help for her opioid addiction. She became homeless, living on the street. She lost her battle with addiction when Lennox and Ellie were ten. Without a partner to share his grief, Simon’s the one who needs me most on this day. It’s always been bearable because he never asks any questions. He only talks about the twins, shares memories of them, and plays a few songs they loved.

  One year, he played the acoustic rock album we’d listened to that very night, and when I asked him to change it, he did right away. I don’t know if he understood why. I think he realized without me having to say another word, just like he knew his son was interested in me.

  It’s another of the things he never mentions, but it’s implied in the way he looks at me when he talks about Lennox—different than Eliana—like he not only acknowledges the fine line between what was and could have been with us—he respects it. No one else knows. No one else does that, and it does something for me. It keeps me connected to Lennox in a way no one else can, and feeling close to him is something. Looking into Simon’s eyes hurts, seeing Lennox there, but it’s the kind of pain you can only earn with love.

  Simon leaves us with four roses in his hands, walking toward the candlelight vigil by the front bay window. Kellan joins my side again and I scan the crowd, studying the eyes of those closest to me, watching for anyone who seems off—angry, even—for any signs of the person who sent me the note in my purse. They might be watching right now.

  I take a shaky breath and finish scanning. There’s no sign of Oz, and I feel a tinge of disappointment.

  “That sweet man. Ugh. You’re so strong, Chels,” Kellan says, staring after Simon. “You don’t have to be. We’re here for you.” She nods to Cam and he drapes his arm across my shoulders, squeezing me against his chest in agreement.

  “Do you want to go ahead?” Cam asks, nodding at the roses in my hands.

  He knows I prefer having a moment at the vigil with less people around. I break from them and continue across the lawn. I stop just before the bay window on the other side of the emerald cedar, where their pictures are placed meticulously around candles. Where we all lay white roses each year. Where Simon kisses his fingers and presses them against the glass before his children’s faces.

  Every year, the same pictures.

  The same white roses.

  The same secrets.

  The same candles, burning bright, like they did that night.

  Burning like the lights on the porch at the Halloween party, where I met John and Lennox for the first time.

  Where it all started.

  4

  PAST

  Glowing jagged teeth and wide eyes glare at me from each corner of the wrap around porch as I pass the jack-o’-lanterns surrounding the house. The scarecrow on the rocking chair facing the back woods is even scarier. I don’t do well on Halloween. I don’t like to be scared for fun and I don’t understand people who do. I march around quickly, until I find myself back at the front door.

  Hip hop music I recognize from a long-ago college bar crawl blares from the open windows, drowning out the crickets. The house sits on the acreage along the outskirts of Newcastle. There are no neighbours to mind the noise for miles down the road. The bass intensifies the pressure in my chest, squeezing air from my lungs as I lean against the wooden railing by the stairs.