Letter Twenty-Nine #7
That night, with my stomach churning, I jumped up, ran to the side of the road, and vomited on the sidewalk. When I lifted my hands, they were covered in the man’s blood. A sob escaped my throat as I wiped my hands down the front of your jacket, then wiped my mouth with your sleeve.
When I stepped back to observe the grisly scene before me, I thought about what would happen when the first responders arrived.
They’d pronounce the man dead. Bree would be identified as the driver who’d recklessly mowed him to the ground.
The Harrises would be embroiled in a huge scandal, the likes of which they’d never known.
I could picture the headline: Mayor Harris’s daughter kills local runner.
Bree would probably be taken to the police station, maybe go to jail.
Though accidental, her crime would turn the Harrises’ lives—their whole family—upside down.
And you.
It wasn’t your fault, Casey, but if I know you—and I definitely do—you’d think it was. It wouldn’t matter that I was far more culpable than you ever were. You’d blame yourself for the whole thing.
If only you’d stayed home like I asked…
If only you hadn’t left with Hal…
If only you hadn’t forced me to stay in and make up with Bree…
It never would’ve happened at all.
“He’ll be good and settled by now, and here you’ll come…to wreck everything. But go on. Go wreck his life like you’ve wrecked mine.”
I couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t risk you thinking your piece-of-shit dad was right. Couldn’t risk the very real possibility that Michael might blame you for wrecking his family, in addition to taking me.
It’s like my dad said that time: “There’s what you wanted, and then there’s what you can’t live without—what you’ll do anything to protect. And it makes you a little crazy. It makes you do things you never dreamed you’d do.”
Like giving up your freedom when it’s finally—finally—within your reach.
I grabbed Bree’s arms. “You need to leave. Get out of here.”
“What?” Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the man’s blood on the grille, at the black pool of his blood still spreading across the pavement.
I shook her. Grabbed her face. Waited for her eyes to focus on mine. “Walk a few blocks. Call Hal to pick you up. Tell him you left the party on foot. You were never here.”
“Elliot, I can’t—what? I can’t do that. What about you?”
I glanced around. We probably didn’t have much time. I didn’t know that particular street well, but the houses were pretty dark. It was after midnight by then. Most of the people who lived there were probably fast asleep. “I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Let me take care of this.”
“What? No. I can’t let you do that.”
I grabbed her. “You have to. You have to get out of here.”
“Elliot, no,” she said, grabbing me back, her fingers digging into my arms through your jacket.
“Come on. This is what I do, right? I get mad. I fly off the handle. No one will even be surprised.” I smiled. Like it was funny. Like it was no big deal. “Let me do this.”
“I can’t,” she cried.
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“For Casey! You want him to be part of your family?”
“Yes.” She nodded, tears pouring down her face.
“Then you have to let me do this. Trust me, he’ll never let himself be in your dad’s life if he thinks he’s even partially responsible for this. He might disappear for good. Now, go.”
“I—I don’t know—oh my God—Elliot—”
“You left the party on foot. You walked a few blocks, then called Hal to pick you up. You were never here. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Elliot—”
“Get out of here!” I pushed her so hard she stumbled back. “Start walking! Go!”
Bree backed away, tears streaming down her face, a breeze catching the blonde tendrils of her hair. It caught mine, too, dark strands rippling in the wind and snagging on my face.
I waited until Bree disappeared around a corner before I went back to the car for my phone and shakily dialed 911.
You know what happened next.
The police took me into custody. I gave them my statement. They arrested me. Then, with John’s help, they released me on bail.
Our lawyer spent hours at the house every day, the wretched sound of Nic’s voice—bargaining, lamenting, begging—carrying through his office door.
The future didn’t look good for me, so I savored what little time I had left in my favorite room of the house, soaking up the weight of Garland’s disappointment.
And you were there, Casey. Always there—sitting nearby, bringing me water and tea, or asking me to eat.
Despite everything, you refused to leave my side. Soaking up what little time we had left, I guess, before we were ripped away from each other.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.
During those final weeks, whenever we found ourselves alone together, your gaze burned through me.
I knew you wanted to say something, wanted to find the right words, wanted to apologize for those horrible things you’d said.
But words couldn’t mend what had been broken that night, couldn’t bring that man back, couldn’t save me.
I was going to jail, and no one seemed more unwilling to accept the stark reality of my fate than my dad. He pushed for house arrest instead, but our lawyer couldn’t sway the judge, not after she saw the video that had gone viral of me attacking Sienna just moments before the accident.
The morning of my arraignment, I showered and dressed, knowing it would be the last time I’d be able to do those things in the privacy of my own room.
I caught you sitting at the bottom of the staircase, legs spread wide, hands wringing in the empty space between your knees, and it reminded me of our beginning.
How you’d often wait there—exactly like that—to greet me after school.
A hard knot of regret leapt to my throat as I eased by, and you glanced up.
“That night,” you said, standing to address me. “You said you needed to tell me something else. What were you trying to tell me, Elliot?”
You, guilty and unshaven as you searched my face.
Me, arms crossed over that cropped sweatshirt of my mom’s, barely able to look at you—so beautiful and distraught it pierced my heart to tell you such a hideous lie. My very last one.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But it did matter. You know that now.
The other thing I tried to tell you that night should’ve brought you closer to your dad.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “for the awful things I said to you. I didn’t mean—”
“Promise me you’ll stay.”
You blinked at me, startled by the abrupt subject change.
“Promise me.”
You swallowed. “I promise.”
“Say it.”
“I promise to stay.”
“You’ll stay with my dad. You won’t leave him all alone inside this dark house.”
Despite our lingering issues, I couldn’t bear to think of Nic living alone in that dark dungeon of a house. Not like this.
“Of course,” you said. “I’ll look after him. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Funny how you decided to stay in the end. Your guilt was so great you might’ve promised me anything.
You pulled me into a hug, our last one, gripping me extra tight, your breath coming out ragged against my collarbone. I kept both arms pinned to my side, struggling not to fall apart. I should’ve hugged you back, but I didn’t think I had the right.
Later, at the courthouse, I pled guilty to a misdemeanor charge of vehicular homicide.
The judge had wanted to give me two and a half years, but our lawyer talked her down to two, citing my clean record, my (Bree’s) attempt to stop before hitting Daniel Prichard, and the fact he’d stopped in the middle of the road to tie his shoe rather than doing so on the sidewalk.
My dad and the Harrises hugged me in the courtroom that day. Nic kissed my forehead and told me he loved me. It would be the final time I’d see my dad’s face for the next two years.
The night we first met, I told you, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
At least a couple of times, I’ve warned you: I’m really good at fucking with people.
Of course, when I said those things, I never realized they’d become the truest statements I’d ever make.
Do I regret it?
Thanks to your weekly visits, I know you’re doing very well for yourself—you didn’t regress or spiral or break—so definitely not. I don’t regret doing this for you. Turns out it’s not so hard to throw your dreams away when you’re protecting someone you love.
Besides, they were never my dreams, anyway. They were Nic’s.
And here’s something else you need to know: I didn’t only do it for you, though you’re definitely the main reason. I also did it for them—for all the Harrises. No matter what, they’re still my family.
But you might want to buckle up for this next truth, Casey, because it shocked me, too.
You want to know what I felt as the police escorted me out of the courthouse in handcuffs that day? As they lowered me into the back of the police car? As they drove me away?
The chains loosening. The horrible weight on my chest sloughing to the ground. The tension melting from my shoulders for the very first time in my life.
Free.
Finally free.
For a little while, at least, until they slammed the door shut on my cell.