Page 64 of Nothing Ever Happens Here

Then I hear Florence! It sounds like he’s pulling her into the kitchen. I hear her scream at the sirens. “I’m here! Help!” Oh my God. Why does he have her too, if I’m his target?

After a brief minute or two, I hear Evan open the door to the police, and what sounds like medics talking, the sound of boots on hardwood and male voices shouting.

“Thank God,” Evan says to them. What? What is he doing?

“I don’t want to hurt her, but she broke into my house, screaming about trying to find Shelby, and she attacked me. She shot me,” he says, and I have a brief moment of excitement knowing that it was Florence who actually shot him, even though my mind can’t wrap around the scenario or why she’s here or how that could be.

“He broke my arm!” I hear her cry.

“I’m so sorry, Florence,” he says, putting on a sweet voice—a pathetic show for the cops. “She came in here waving a gun around.I was just trying to get it from her before she hurt someone,” he says.

“No,” she whimpers.

Shit. Then the reality hits. He’s setting her up, just like he did to me. He’s making her look like the intruder—the attacker. I bet he even placed the gun next to her, gave her her phone back—made it all look the way he needs it to. I’m starting to get into his head, see the extreme and calculated manipulation he’s capable of. They won’t trace that gun to him. I don’t know who, but not fuckinghim, because he really does have this all planned out. They won’t order a warrant on her accusation. She’s lumped in with me and they think we’re crazy, fame-hungry, and delusional.

I try to scream, but I can’t. If they think she intruded and shot Evan and he hurt her somehow in self-defense, they will take them into the hospital and she’ll be questioned. And so will he, but he’ll win. And they won’t see any ofthis. Me, this room, the broken window, any of it, because they have no reason to search. In moments they’ll all be gone and I will be trapped here, just waiting for him to be released and come back.

He’ll make his statement, get bandages and pain meds, and be back here to bury me before anyone knows where I am.

I try again as hard as I can to scream, but the tape over my mouth muffles the sound. I pull with all my might to free my hands and the dresser creaks, but it’s ancient and heavy and I can’t make it budge. I’m trapped.

29

FLORENCE

The call went through. I sit in the dark in a hospital bed with tears in my eyes, thinking about the gamble I took reaching for my phone instead of the gun, and they traced the 911 call even though I didn’t get to speak. They still found me. I’m alive.

They’re keeping me for a little while because my blood pressure and heart rate are high, and they need to cast my wrist. I asked them to call Herb and ask him if he’ll pick me up when I’m ready, but they won’t let me go until after I talk to the police and make an official statement. So I wait, worried my blood pressure and heart rate will never come down enough for them to let me go because I’m so worried about where Shelby is, I can’t think straight.

My heart pounds even harder when I see Evan. He’s standing, talking to a nurse who is handing him papers. Discharge papers it seems to me, and he’s freshly bandaged and perfectly playing the victim.I think the nurse might actually be flirting with him. He sees me watching him and gives me a wink before limping over to the elevator.No.He can’t be released. You have to be kidding me!

Then Riley appears in the doorway and gives a little knock on the door frame before he and Jones walk in and ask if now is a good time to hear my side of things.

“I told the other officer,” I say, and Riley pulls up a seat. Jones lingers at the door, looking bored by the whole thing.

“I know, dear, but why don’t you tell me again so I hear it from you?” Did he just call me dear? Is there no respect at all? I already know what Evan said. He got to talk first. He got to think the whole thing through and make me look unstable. He got to plot and plan.

“He says you just showed up at his door.”

“I did go to his place,” I say. “I took the bus because those hospital logs—the ones we gave you—the strange sign-ins. Blacklock. Remember? His video game name was Blacklock, and it was so odd that I thought, well, that had to be him signing in, but why?” I stop. I sound nuts because the whole thing sounds nuts. I’m embarrassed by how it’s all coming out.

“He told us that—that’s why you said you suspected him of being a…what? A mass murderer? Because of his video game name. He logged into his Xbox app on his phone right in front of us and his name was Evan_Charm75. Not Blacklock.”

“He changed it!” I say, louder than I mean to.

“When would he have done that?” Riley asks patiently.

“He did. He told me he did.”

“So besides the video game name that made you go over there, what happened?” I can hear the patronizing tone in his voice, and I don’t know whether I can fully blame him; this has been masterfully crafted for me to sound exactly like I do right now. Foolish.

“He tried to attack me and take my phone, but then I Tased him and…”

He interrupts me, holding up his hand in a “stop” motion. “So you brought a Taser with you but you are saying you weren’t the one attacking him. What about the gun? Whose is it?”

“It’s his! I brought the Taser for protection. I didn’t want to use it. It’s his gun!”

“The serial came back registered to Shelby. Did she give it to you?”

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