Page 118 of Soul So Dark
Green and white cotton squares stitched together, alternating between solid blocks and little green frogs on lily pads. But this doesn’t belong here, it belongs in my room. It should be safely tucked away. Why is it here, a pile of threadbare cotton reduced to ash?
It’s not real…it can’t be real…
My eyes bulge and I begin to tremble the longer I stare down at my black-streaked hands. A low hum builds in the pit of my stomach and claws its way up, finally bursting from my throat in one loud, long, and agonizing wail.
I grab another handful, and then another, sifting frantically through the burned remains of the only thing I had left that felt like her and, I swear, still smelled like her. At first, I don’t know what I’m screaming. It starts out as wet gibberish, but the longer I sob over my muddy black hands, the clearer it gets. The same word tumbles out of my mouth over…and over…and over.
Mamí.
I sink down to my knees, unable to lift my arms. I’m eight years old, inconsolable, watching her die all over again. And then I feel my dad holding me and telling me it’s OK to cry because I had the best mother in the world.
But it’s not my dad now, it’s Aiden. His arms are the ones wrapped around me, holding tight to keep me from collapsing onto the asphalt. My head falls back onto his shoulder in despair as I continue hyperventilating and crying into the treetops. His fingers dig into my arms as his chest heaves against my back.
I’m crying so hard that no sound comes out, only the clicks of silent sobs until I can catch another breath and let out another scream that burns my throat and makes me go hoarse again. Soon, I’m clutching the blackened shreds to my chest, my face swollen and soaked with tears as my cries morph into pitiful moans.
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here…” Aiden’s voice crackles in my ear.
I twist around and throw my free arm over his shoulder, burying my face in his neck as I start crying her name again and cradling the burned remains of my baby quilt to my chest. Tears run down Aiden’s cheeks and he bares his teeth in a loathsome grimace.
“She’s going to pay,” he rasps. “I promise you I’ll make her bleed for this.”
He takes a deep breath, his voice turning ominous and resolute.
“I’ll paint the walls with her fucking blood.”
???
“If you’re going to arrest me, just do it and get it over with.”
Aiden’s advice is simple and straight-forward, and it’s how I’m choosing to respond to Detective Lyle.
“Settle down, Barrera,” Copenhaver interjects. “We have you on camera in the back lot with Colson Lutz at the time of the incident. You also don’t fit the description of the individual caught on camera.”
Oh, so Detective Lyle just needed to put on his show to cover all his bases. Probably to make up for the fact that there are only security cameras outside the school and none inside.
“Alright, so what do you want from me?”
Copenhaver leans forward, speaking slowly and deliberately. “Do you know who else might want to hurt Jordyn? Anyone who might’ve been angry about what happened between you two, anyone she had an altercation with?” He’s throwing out any scenario he can to get me to bite.
The sinking feeling in my stomach returns, but I don’t bat an eye.
“I’m sure the line would stretch around the block,” I say bitterly.
I’m done here. If they want help trying to find Jordy’s attacker, maybe they shouldn’t have picked someone who wakes up every morning hoping a sinkhole opens up in the middle of Main Street and swallows her up on her way to school.
I move to stand. “Let me know how it turns out,” I say as I exit the office, jerking the door shut behind me.
I can’t get down the hall fast enough, sprinting up the stairs to the second floor while hoping to God that Aiden is where he’s supposed to be. I stop outside of Mrs. Peltier’s room, scanning the desks for Aiden, but he’s nowhere to be found. Then again, maybe it’s best that he’s not here if Copenhaver’s calling people down to his office to be interrogated.
With nothing else keeping me at school, I slip out the back door and head for the senior lot. Only when I reach my SUV do I pull out my phone and try to call Aiden. It rings over and over without answer. I keep glancing in my mirrors as I speed through town, paranoia setting in that he might’ve done exactly what he promised to do.
I check everywhere I can think of; the creek, the railroad bridge, Mason’s house, Colson’s house, and finally the Raffertys’ house to make sure he hasn’t been home the entire time, but I can’t find his car anywhere. There’s only one other place I can think of, but there’s no way in hell I’m venturing out there. If Aiden is somewhere with Brantley or Wesley Rhoden, the cops won’t find him anyway.
Unable to do anything else for the time being, I head back to my house. I want to blow up the group chat and see if Colson or Mason knows where he is, but I’m still too paranoid to put anything in writing until I see all of them in person. Sometimes ignorance is best. Mistakes happen when everyone is trying to get their stories straight.
My house is silent, the perfect conditions to study for my last final tomorrow, but that’s a pipe dream. Instead, I pull out my headset and PS4 from its hiding place behind my headboard and start playing,but I can only concentrate on it for about 30 minutes before I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin. After that, I begin obsessively sorting through my belongings, deciding what will happen to everything I own after I leave on Monday. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s not like I’ll never be back, but I can’t guarantee the safety of anything important to me while I’m gone—even with Adrian here.
Hours go by, and I still haven’t heard anything from Aiden, Colson, or Mason.
