Chapter 17
Ella
“Ella?” My dad knocks on my door. “You in there?”
“Yeah, hold on.” I set my laptop down and race over to open the door. “How was work?”
He smiles. “I missed having my partner with me.”
“Sorry. I really needed to study and finish some homework.”
“How’d it go? Are you all caught up?”
“Yeah.” I force out a smile, hoping he doesn’t notice I’m lying.
I haven’t been studying. I’ve been looking online for stories about the man we hit.
After the guys dropped me off, I did some research about hit-and-runs, like how often the people are caught and the penalties for those who get charged.
The penalties aren’t that bad if the person you hit is injured, but if they die, the penalty could be prison time.
Even if you’re just a passenger, you can still get charged.
Why didn’t I stay behind? If I’d stayed with the guy, I wouldn’t be in trouble. We were almost in town. My phone would’ve worked. I could’ve called for an ambulance and let Parker, Finn, and Briggs be the ones in trouble for leaving. But that’s not what I did, and I can’t go back and change it.
“Did you have dinner yet?” my dad asks.
“No, I was waiting for you.”
“Let me go clean up. We’ll stop and eat on our way to get the truck.”
I’m nervous about going there to get it. We’ll be passing by the spot where we hit the guy. I was hoping I’d never have to go back there.
“What if it doesn’t start?” I ask.
“I’m sure it will. I’m guessing it’s the battery. I should’ve replaced it when I had the oil changed. We’ll jump it and see, but I’m thinking that’s the issue.”
On the way there, we stop for fast food, but I struggle to finish my burger, already feeling sick knowing we’re about to drive past the scene of the crime. When we’re almost at that spot, my dad slows down, pointing to some flowers on the side of the road.
“Looks like some kind of memorial,” he says.
My stomach’s clenching, my heart’s racing, and I feel like I can’t get enough air in my lungs. I’ve never had a panic attack, but I might be having one now.
“It must be for that man who was hit,” my dad says, glancing at the handwritten sign someone put on the side of the road, right next to where we hit the guy. The sign reads, Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy. Proverbs 28:13 .
A chill runs down my spine. It’s like whoever left that sign knows what we did, and that we’re trying to cover it up.
I know that’s not actually true, but it feels like it, or maybe it’s God telling me to turn myself in.
I don’t even go to church, but I feel like God is watching me, waiting for me to do the right thing, and ready to strike me with lightning if I don’t.
“Honey, you okay?” my dad asks.
I was staring back at the sign, but I quickly face forward again. “Yeah. That was just kind of creepy.”
“It’s a shame he got hit, but he was putting himself at risk being out here at night. With the sharp curves and no shoulder, I wouldn’t even walk on this road in the daytime.”
“You think they’ll catch who did it?”
“I doubt it. There’s no cameras out here and I’m guessing they were the only people on the road that time of night, other than whoever drove by later and called it in.
Or maybe the guy who hit him called it in.
Maybe he felt guilty for leaving the scene and called for an ambulance.
But the cops would’ve already traced the call back to the guy’s cellphone and no one’s been arrested so it must’ve just been a good Samaritan. ”
My heart’s racing even more the longer he talks about this, and yet I feel compelled to ask him the question that’s bouncing around in my brain, desperate to get out.
“Would you do it?” I ask, noticing my shaky voice. I need to calm down. I can’t have my dad suspecting anything.
“Do what?” he asks, messing with the air vent on the dash.
“Would you leave the scene of an accident?”
“Of course not.” He reaches over and gives me a playful shove. “You know me better than that.”
“What if you panicked and left before you had time to think it through? Would you turn yourself into the police? Even if it meant you’d go to prison? Assuming the guy died.”
He glances at me. “Why are you asking me this? You’re usually not this morbid.”
“I’m just making conversation. And it’s not morbid. It’s just a question. It’s hypothetical. No one’s actually dead.”
He takes a moment to ponder it. “I suppose it would depend on what’s at stake.”
“Meaning what?”
“If the man’s already dead, and turning myself in means taking me away from my family, and taking away the income from my job that they rely on to live, then I might not do it.”
“What if you didn’t have a family?”
“I’d like to say I’d turn myself in but I think it would depend on the situation. It’s hard to answer because I can’t imagine leaving the scene. I couldn’t see someone suffering and just drive off. I’d never do that. And I know you wouldn’t either. It’s just not who we are.”
Guilt fills me, seeping into every crevice of my conscious. My dad’s right — I’d never do something like that. And yet I did.
“Remember when you saw that squirrel in the road with the injured leg?” My dad smiles at me. “Your mother went out there with a shovel and carefully scooped him up while I signaled the cars to stay back?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
I was only four, but I can still see the memory in my head.
It’s one of the last ones I have of my mom.
When I saw the squirrel, I ran into the house screaming for help.
My parents thought I was hurt until I told them about the squirrel and how it’d die if we didn’t hurry up and help.
We ended up taking it to the vet, who fixed its leg and let it stay there until it could go back out in the wild.
I saved a squirrel, but I left a human being lying in the road. What does that say about me? That I’m a horrible monster? I feel like I am after what my dad just said. If he found out what I did, he’d be so ashamed. He didn’t raise me to not help someone.
We get to the truck, and my dad hooks up the jumper cables. He was right. It was the battery. We get it jumped, and I wait in the truck while he packs everything up.
“You go ahead,” my dad says, standing by my window. “I’ll follow behind.”
“Could we go a different way back?”
He gives me a confused look. “There’s only one road to get back. You know that, honey. We’ve been coming out here your whole life.”
“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll see you at home.”
He reaches up to put his hand on my arm. “You okay? You seem off tonight.”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired from studying.”
“You okay to drive back?”
“Yeah, I’m good. See you at home.”
We drive back, and when I pass that area of the road again, I look straight ahead, not looking at the sign and the flowers marking where the guy was hit. Why did people leave that stuff there? I thought they only did that if the person died.
What if he did? What if he died today? I have to get home and find out.
Back at the house, I race to my room, telling my dad I’m tired and going to bed. I fire up my laptop and search for any updates, but all I find is stuff I’ve already read.
I get out my phone and call Briggs. A week ago, if you told me I’d be calling Briggs Chadwick III, I would’ve laughed and told you you’re crazy. He’s the last person in the world I’d ever want to talk to, and now I’m calling him.
“Ella?” he says, his voice sounding groggy.
“Yeah, were you sleeping?”
“I was. I fell asleep watching a movie. What’s going on?”
“Is he dead?” I whisper.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
I go in my closet and sit on the floor, facing the wall so there’s no chance my dad will hear me.
“That guy,” I say. “Did he die?”
“I don’t think so. Why? Did you hear something?”
“No, but I drove by there today on the way to get the truck and there was one of those roadside memorials set up. There were some flowers and a sign with a bible verse on it. People usually only do that when someone dies.”
“I don’t think he’s dead. Last I heard, he’s still in intensive care.”
“Did you hear anything else? Did they release his name or anything about him?”
“No, they still haven’t identified him. Who walks around without a wallet or ID? The whole thing seems suspicious.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, like... maybe he wanted to get hit.”
“What? That’s insane.”
“Not if you want to die. What if he was trying to commit suicide?”
“That’s not what he was doing.”
“You don’t know that. Why else would he be walking on a dark road at night? Finn swears the guy was in the road when we came around the turn. He had to have heard us coming, and he doesn’t get out of the way?”
“I don’t think it was suicide. And what does that have to do with him not having ID?”
“If you’re killing yourself, you don’t need your wallet.”
I hear a man yelling something in the background and banging on a door.
“I have to go.” Briggs ends the call.
That was abrupt, not that I wanted to keep talking to him.
Tomorrow we’ll all be back at school, and I’ve been wondering what will happen. Will the guys be their usual asshole selves, or will they treat me differently now that we’re drawn together by this secret?
* * *
The next day, my question is answered at my locker. Something’s stuck in it, and if I don’t get it open soon, I’m going to be late to class.
Looking around the hall, I see it’s mostly empty except for Parker and Briggs.
“Hey!” I yell at them as they head down the hall.
They turn back but don’t say anything.
“Can you help me get this open? I need to get my book.”
They turn and continue down the hall.
“So that’s how it’s going to be?” I say to myself as I bang on my locker door, trying to dislodge whatever is stuck.
“Need some help?” someone says.