In the Arms of Stone Angels (9 page)

What if White Bird was sending me a message…from wherever he was?

And if the past and the present had collided, could I trust those memories? Were they real or cries for help from him? I wanted to believe that I could help him and that he had reached out to me, but maybe that was my guilt talking. And when I thought about my own sanity, schizophrenia could make all of this seem real.

And I wouldn't know the difference.

Before I got my mind wrapped around that little hellish ambiguity, a loud buzzer blared down the hall and made me jump. The harsh sound of a door opening jolted me into the here and now. And with the steady rhythm of footsteps echoing outside lockup, I knew round two was about to begin. I felt as if I had gotten shoved into the deep end of an icy pool when I wasn't ready. I hated what my life had become. And there was no end to the torment.

Maybe I didn't deserve to be happy.

A shadow appeared outside my bars. A man in uniform. And with a jangle of keys, the jailer opened my cell. As much as I'd wished for him to release me, I knew Sheriff Logan wouldn't make it that easy.

“Sheriff wants to see you.”

Of course he did.
Why not?

I gritted my teeth and wished I were anywhere but here. With other prisoners sleeping, the hallway to the holding cells was dark. The only light came from the small wire-meshed window on the door I would walk through. I wanted to stay on this side of the darkness, but that wouldn't be an option.

I had crossed back into Sheriff Logan's world. And that man knew how to twist the knife.

Twenty Minutes Later

At the end of his shift, Deputy Will Tate had stayed to finish his report on the 911 call involving sixteen-year-old Brenna
Nash. Will was writing his report at his desk while he kept an eye fixed on the locked glass door that led to a small reception area outside booking. That lobby was the public entrance to the sheriff's office. The girl's mother would show any minute. And since he'd spoken to the woman on the phone, he wanted to be the one to escort her through the drill of visiting her daughter.

Kate Nash had sounded frantic on the phone. It couldn't be easy being a single parent, especially after what happened two years ago. He'd only glanced at the Heather Madsen murder book, but he'd spent more time reading the interrogation notes of Brenna and her involvement with the case. After reading the file, Will wasn't sure what to make of the kid. He had liked the girl he'd met at the cemetery the other night. She'd been respectful with an acceptable dose of sass that made her interesting.

But the sheriff had painted a very different picture of the girl. And the notes in the murder case that had pertained to Brenna had backed up the sheriff's side of the story. Yet contrary to what Will had seen tonight—the drinking, the fighting and the silent treatment—his gut instinct told him Brenna wasn't some demon hell-bent on the single-handed ruination of Shawano.

The kid didn't strike him as a bad seed, but he didn't know enough about her to argue with the sheriff.

Hearing a commotion from the lobby, Will looked up to see a woman peering through the glass door and calling out to the jailer in booking, “Where's my daughter? I want to see Brenna Nash. Deputy Tate called me.”

Will was up on his feet and heading toward the glass door before the woman could sink her teeth into the young officer behind the counter. Outside it had started to rain and
the woman hadn't bothered to bring an umbrella or wear a raincoat. Her hair was wet and her clothes were spotted with rain, but she didn't seem to notice. From the look in her eyes, her only concern was for her daughter.

“Mrs. Nash?” he asked. After she nodded, he introduced himself. “My name is Deputy Will Tate. I was the one who called.”

He ushered her through the locked door and to his desk.

“Can I get you some coffee?” he asked as he pulled out a chair for her to sit. “And I can get you paper towels to dry off, too.”

“No, I just want to see my daughter.” The woman sat and leaned an elbow on his desk, not taking her eyes off him.

“Yes, ma'am. We'll get to that.”

Wearing jeans and a crimson Oklahoma Sooners T-shirt, Kate Nash was tall and slender with shoulder-length sandy blond hair. Will knew he hadn't caught her at her best, not so early in the morning after a night of worry over her daughter, and after being doused with rain, as well. But her dark eyes had a way of staring a hole through a man. And he'd bet that the lines around her eyes and mouth tipped the scale toward good humor rather than a nasty disposition. She looked like a strong woman with big problems on her shoulders.

“What happened?” she asked. “Can you tell me anything?”

“We got a 911 call about a girl wandering down Highway 12, near the old Thompson ranch at Booker Road. I was first responder.” He cleared his throat, trying to figure out how to tell her what he'd found. A mother had a right to know.

“When I found her, your daughter didn't have any clothes on, ma'am. She says she wasn't raped but she refused to let one of our female officers take a rape kit on her. And her blood
alcohol level was above the legal limit. She'd been drinking and she had a pretty good shiner and a cut lip. Someone had beaten her up.”

Will was thankful he'd gotten to the girl before the rain had hit. Being caught in an Oklahoma downpour would have made things much worse for the poor kid.

“Oh, my God.” The woman gasped with a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were already watery and red, like she'd been up half the night crying. “She was supposed to be at a party. I dropped her off at Chloe Seaver's house. I didn't know Chloe's parents weren't there. I swear I never would have let her go if I had known.” She bit her lower lip. “This can't be happening.”

“Sheriff Logan is taking her statement now.”

“No, he can't do that. Not without me being there.” She clenched her jaw and glared at him. “You tell the sheriff that we're not having a repeat performance of two years ago. If my daughter needs a lawyer, she's getting one. You tell him that. He'll know what I'm talking about.”

“You act as if your daughter's behavior is someone else's fault,” a voice bellowed from a hallway that led to the jail.

When Will looked up, he saw Sheriff Logan standing across the room and the man didn't look happy to see Kate Nash.

“You and me are gonna have a talk, Kate. My office. Now.”

The sheriff would have intimidated a lesser woman. And Will had seen plenty of men cower at his overbearing nature. Sheriff Logan acted like a father figure to everyone he met. Being sheriff had put the man in the awkward position of feeling like the moral compass to the community.

But Kate Nash didn't back down. And she didn't hesitate to get out of her chair and march down to the sheriff's office. If
Will had the power to reinvent himself as the proverbial “fly on the wall,” now would have been the time to do it. After Brenna's mother disappeared around the corner, Will got back to his paperwork, but kept one eye on the Sheriff's office.

Even though it was too early for July 4th, Will had a pretty good notion he'd have a front row seat for the fireworks.

“How dare you interrogate my daughter without me? She's got rights.”

Kate Nash tore into him before she'd even crossed the threshold of his office. Sheriff Logan slammed the door to give them privacy and was too furious to sit, especially after she tossed her purse onto his visitor's chair and glared at him with her hands on her hips. Seeing her indignation set him off. She had lit his fuse.

“And this community has rights, too. Where do you get off lecturing me? Your little angel broke the law. She was drunk and parading around naked. That kid has serious problems and you're in complete denial. You have some gall, lady.”

It looked like the stark reality of what happened to her daughter had finally hit Kate Nash. She had a hard time looking him in the eye, but that didn't mean she'd keep her mouth shut and listen.
No, sir.
That woman was determined to shed the blame in another direction—anywhere but on her own doorstep.

“I dropped her off at a party. Chloe Seaver's house. How did she get the alcohol?” she questioned. At first, she was more hesitant, but when he didn't answer right away, she became angry and got in his face. “My daughter might have been raped. She could be a victim.”

“If she was a damned victim, why didn't she speak up? I tried to get her statement and she didn't open her mouth except to ask if she was being arrested. She demanded to see you and she wanted an attorney.”

“Can you blame her…after what happened the last time?”

“And if it was your daughter who'd been murdered two years ago, you'd be all over me to get results. I did what I thought was right. And I won't apologize for that.”

When she got quiet again, he heaved a sigh and slumped into the chair behind his desk. He was getting too old for this.

“That kid of yours is a magnet for trouble. And now she even thinks like a criminal. She knows her rights, but she has no respect for anyone else's.”

“I don't need a sermon, preacher.”

“Sinners never think they do.” He swiveled in his chair, not taking his eyes off her. “Did you know she visited that boy at Red Cliffs?” When he saw the shocked look on her face, he smirked. “Guess that's a ‘No.' Yeah, someone saw her there…inside the detention center. She had to get through security to do that. So now, you got anything else to say?”

“Are you arresting her?”

“That's it? She went to see the kid who brutally murdered an innocent girl. And all you want to know is how to get her out of jail? You still don't get it, do you?” He shook his head. “You're some piece of work, Kate. You have no idea what you're doing to that girl. You're an unfit mother who's in over
her head. I think you know it, but you're just too stubborn to admit when you're wrong.”

Kate opened her mouth to argue, but she changed her mind. And the sheriff let the silence build a wall between them. Although she was still a fine-looking woman, Kate had aged since he last saw her two years ago. Raising a wild child will do that to a mother. The woman picked her purse up off the chair and sat down. She clutched her handbag to her chest and waited for his answer.

“I'm releasing her into your custody. You'll have to pay a fine with the booking clerk out front, but she's all yours. And good riddance.” He threw up his hands. “You're making things worse by coddling her, Kate. You're screwing this kid up. She's got to take responsibility for her actions.”

Kate clenched her jaw and got up from her chair, heading for the door.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Matt. Someday that righteous attitude of yours is gonna bite you in the ass.”

 

After getting another cup of coffee, Deputy Will Tate heard a door slam down the hall and watched Kate Nash leave the sheriff's office. She hadn't seen him come out of the break room. The woman took a few steps before she stopped and leaned against the wall. Her fingers were trembling as she covered her mouth and tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Nash?” he asked.

Talking to her only made her cry harder. And she couldn't look him in the eye.

“It's like my little girl's drowning in quicksand,” she choked on a sob. “I can almost touch her, but I don't have what it takes. I feel so helpless.”

He didn't know what to say. Not having any kids of his
own, he had no idea what she was really going through. So he kept his mouth shut and listened.

“Maybe he's right. I'm making things worse.” She shook her head and wiped tears from her face. “I'm losing her. And maybe it's already too late.”

“For what it's worth, I don't believe that.”

She looked up at him in surprise with fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“I hope you're right.”

Without another word, she headed for booking to get her daughter released. And for her and Brenna's sake, Will hoped he was right, too.

After Dawn

Even Mother Nature took it out on me. I'd heard it raining from inside the jail and knew what to expect, but once I got outside, the humidity was suffocating, even this early. And the endless rain made me more miserable, if that was even possible. The thick dark clouds mirrored what I felt in my bones. Heading out of the police station into the rain, I walked with Mom to where she'd parked the car.

She hurried. I didn't.

I didn't give a shit if I got wet. Resembling a drowned rat in my oversize jail threads could only help the way I looked. After I got into the car, I slammed the door shut and slouched deep into the passenger seat with my arms crossed. I braced myself for what she'd say now that we were alone, but Mom surprised me.

She did the worst thing she could have done.

Mom didn't say one word. She started the car and pulled from the parking lot. And we drove to Grams's house in total silence, except for the unending rain pelting our car and the
wiper blades fighting a losing battle. I wasn't exactly the one with diarrhea of the mouth anyway. So the odds weren't good that I would be the one to break the ice. But when I caught a glimpse of Mom at a stoplight, I saw she was crying.

And I felt lower than dog poop.

I wanted to say that I was sorry, but not for the obvious. I was sorry that I had turned out to be such a big disappointment. Sorry that I couldn't make things better. Sorry that everything I touched turned to crap. Seeing Mom cry had torn me up.

Until finally she said something.

“What happened to your hair? Did you do that?”

At that moment, I hated Britney Spears. The media had elevated a slow news day into “breaking news” to cover Britney's whacked-out hair shaving fit when she broke out of rehab. But what happened to me was way different. Mowing down every strand off my head would have been one thing, but shredding it like Jade had done to me was off the scale. No way I'd do that to myself.

I gritted my teeth and refused to say anything.

“I need to know what happened, Bren. The sheriff, the kids at the party, they made it sound like you…” She didn't finish. “They all said you got drunk and went off with a couple of guys on motorcycles. So I have to know. Did you do that? Did something happen that you're too embarrassed to tell me? Did they…hurt you?”

Her tears came heavier now. I had the feeling she thought she knew the answer. And she didn't trust me to tell her the truth. And that hurt. But before I could defend myself, she surprised me again. Mom swallowed hard and wiped her eyes.

“I let you down, Brenna. I shouldn't have pushed you to go to that party. And I was so eager for you to go that I didn't
even ask whether Chloe's parents would be there. If something happened to you because of me…” She didn't finish.

I waited for her to turn the tables and follow her big admission with some lame justification that completely absolved her of any wrongdoing. But when that didn't happen—when she admitted making a mistake and didn't try to weasel out of it—well, that shocked me. I didn't know what to say. I stared out the window, half watching the rain bleed down the windshield and half watching her from the corner of my eye.

But Mom wasn't done. She gripped the steering wheel and pulled the car over. When we were parked on the shoulder of the road, she turned to me. And her eyes met mine.

“I'm supposed to be your parent, but I have no idea how to fix what's happening to you. I wish I did. I wish—”

“That's just it, Mom. You can't fix this.”

My refusal must have sounded like denial to Mom. She didn't stop.

“Did they…rape you? Do you need a doctor? Because I can get you to a hospital, right now.”

“God, no. Just quit, will you? I wasn't raped, but I don't wanna talk about it.”

Mom had let bad things happen to me, but that didn't mean she did it on purpose. And I didn't see any reason to make her feel worse than she already did. She was asking for me to let her in, but I couldn't do that. Not like this and not because I needed someone to stand up for me.

So keeping my mouth shut, after she'd opened up to me, would hurt her. But it would hurt her more to know that I didn't see the point. I wasn't ready to let her into my life. And I may never be.

But Mom didn't let my silent treatment stop her.

“I want you to tell me what happened because you trust
me…and you want to. You can't bottle stuff like this inside. And if you can't talk to me, I'll help you find someone who you
can
talk to.” She reached for my hand. It shocked me, but I didn't pull away. “What I'm saying is that I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I'm in uncharted waters here. And I can't do it alone. I need your help.”

I couldn't give it to her. She wanted to be a parent in control again. And I didn't see the point in living
that
lie.

“I'm tired, Mom. Can we just go home?”

I knew when I said it, that I'd done the wrong thing, but I couldn't stop myself. I was being a shit. The only person I wanted to talk to was locked in a mental hospital. But that didn't mean anyone else could take his place.

Maybe what I'd told her was for real, that I was exhausted. I'd been beaten and I ached all over. And my head hurt from the liquor. My first hangover that I hoped would be my last. I wanted to sleep for days. And crawling into bed, buried under my own covers in Grams's house, was the only thing that would make me feel safe.

It was all I could think about.

“That's it?” she asked. “That's all you've got to say?”

I heard it in her voice. The wall had gone up between us again and we were back at square one. And it made me wonder how we had gotten so fragile.

“The other day when you ran errands for me, did you go anywhere else besides the stores?” Mom asked.

I stared at her, feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks as I thought about what I'd told her.

“No. I didn't go anywhere else. I did exactly what you told me.” I glared out the windshield and watched the rain, wishing I were anywhere else.

“No, you said you were hungry and had a craving for something. Where did you go? Refresh my memory.”

My
memory was the one that needed refreshing. Sometimes I lied to keep in practice. And I didn't always remember what I said.

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that.”

Stalling gave me time to think. I knew Mom was testing me. If I lost my temper, she'd know something was up. All I had to do was come up with the right answer and act like the whole conversation bored me. Everything would blow over. Mom never really listened to me anyway. She probably didn't remember, either.

“I grabbed a cheeseburger at Sonic with a cherry limeade that had two cherries, my usual.”

I didn't hesitate. I blurted it out as if I'd told the truth. When she didn't say anything and merged into traffic, I took a deep breath.

I had either passed her test or confirmed her disappointment in me. And since I didn't feel lucky, guess I knew how I did.

After Midnight

I opened my eyes to pitch black and listened to the sounds of Grams's house as I lay in the dark of my room. I must have slept the whole day and I was still exhausted. I pulled the covers off my face and stared at the ceiling. I don't remember dreaming at all, not about White Bird or anything else. And when I listened to the old creaks and groans of Grams's house, I didn't feel my grandmother and that made me sad.

I didn't want to forget her.

I turned my head toward my window and bunched my pillow under me. The shadows of the old oak tree undulated
outside. Its branches cast dark fingers across my drapes. And like an old friend, the tree beckoned me outside. Moving real slow, I got out of bed and changed into jeans, a T-shirt and some old sneaks. I pulled a baseball cap down low on my head to hide what was left of my hair. And I stuffed a flashlight, a small notepad and pen, my cell phone and two things of gum into a fanny pack that I strapped around my waist.

The last thing I tossed into my pack was a box cutter that I'd kept with me since North Carolina. The blade was sharp and Mom had never known what I really used it for. She thought it was something I had to open boxes for our last move. Before I zipped the pack shut, I stared down at the silver cutter and thought about leaving it behind.

But I didn't. I knew I'd need it.

After slipping through my bedroom window, I scaled down the oak tree. I grabbed my old bike from the garage and headed for the stone angels—and Grams. And even though it was after midnight, I took my time getting to the cemetery. I stuck to the shadows on the street to avoid anyone seeing me. And I kept an eye out for patrol cars. No way I wanted more face time with the cops, not even Will Tate.

When I got to the cemetery, I hid my bike and climbed over the stone wall. I located the newer section and read the names on the headstones. It didn't take me long to find Grams. I almost cried when I saw that her grave had the prettiest stone angel I'd ever seen. The angel was a child. A little girl. And I swear she was looking at me. Just me. Her eyes followed me as I walked around my grandmother's grave.