Marigold grabs the door handle and shuts the door in my face. I stare at the wood for the longest time, and then slowly turn around and collapse on my bed.
I wish there were a way I could dump everything that’s happened to me in the past two weeks onto Marigold. Maybe she can handle that shit better than I can. After all, she’s still standing, and barely looks worse for wear.
Me? I feel like two-day-old roadkill left to bake in the sun. I’m a withered husk of who I used to be, and it feels like the only thing keeping me alive is my anger and my hate and my desperation.
Anger at Briar for lying to me.
Hate for the man who destroyed my life so wantonly.
And oh, how desperate I am to make them all pay for their crimes.
* * *
Briar
It’s justafter one when I get to the burned-out church. Empty, blackened, cast in deep shadow.
I haven’t seen Marcus here in years. So why? Why did he track all the way over here from his house? It’s further than mine — an extra fifteen, twenty minutes. Doesn’t make sense, not if it was just to reminisce.
So why then?
I scan the building, trying to find anything that might be out of place. Some glaring sign that will point me in the right direction.
But it looks the same as it always does.
I head to the back where I thought I saw a flicker of light the night Marcus and I were here. There’s a tangled nest of brambles back here. I crouch, take out my phone, and shine the torch on the ground.
There are a few scrapes through the dirt, some indistinct marks. A thorn ripped from the bramble. Was this where Indi was hiding?
I turn, crouch, and scan the church from my new perspective. The entrance is straight ahead, the pulpit a little to the left. She would have had a clear line of sight to both of us coming and going.
She must have seen what Marcus was doing. My finger hovers over my phone, but who the fuck do I call?
I try Dylan first. He’s the one that sent Indi the video his girlfriend had taken of her on her knees in front of me in Veroza’s class.
No answer.
I try Zak next, but his phone’s off.
I know Marcus doesn’t have her number, and the last thing I want is to potentially tip him off to my amateur investigation.
Instead, I wander around the church. Spot the difference, Briar.
My eyes are drawn to the mess of footprints coming and going. I follow them a few times, trying to decipher which ones are mine, which are Indi’s, which could possibly be his. On the fourth circuit, I notice a pair of tracks detouring. It could be mine from the night I first followed Indi into this place…but it doesn’t feel right.
For one, they’re too perfect. Each precisely placed in front of the other.
I follow them down a row of pews, and stare at a scuff mark on the dusty tiles.
Crouching, I brush my fingers over the tile. It’s not flush with the others. No surprise — almost nothing in this church is straight or narrow anymore. I heard that the church burned down in the early sixties, cause unknown. Apparently, no one was injured in the fire, but it was never reconstructed.
I wedge my fingernail under the lip of the tile. Reluctantly, it starts lifting. I put it down to one side and frown down at the dark rectangle of empty space it was obscuring.
I reach inside. The air in that small space is arctic. I grab the bundle of fabric inside and draw it out as goosebumps break out over my arms.
Did you get rid of everything?
Of course.