Chapter 22 Avery #2
“Emerson’s wrong about Mr. Jay,” Caulder says. “He keeps trying to trap you into talking about it. But I know…I know you’d never do something like that.”
A cold laugh slips out of me, surprising me almost as much as what I say next.
“Do you really, Caulder?” I ask, meeting his eyes. “Because Emerson wasn’t wrong. I hated Mr. Jay. I wanted him dead. I was even imagining it on the drive here.”
Caulder stares at me, eyes flaring wide with shock. I realize as soon as the words are out that I shouldn’t be saying this to anyone. Caulder doesn’t know me—not anymore. He might believe Emerson over me, if I give him the right ammo.
But…He also used to know me better than anyone. Our secrets were kids’ secrets, like where we hid our toys, but he knew them. He knew me. And right now, I need to talk about Mr. Jay’s lifeless body out there or I’ll come undone.
“I hate him,” I tell Caulder. “But you knew that already. You heard us arguing.”
“But you didn’t actually want him dead,” Caulder says, as if saying it will fix what I said.
But I can’t lie. I’m too tired.
“I mean, probably not actually?” I say. “But I’m not gonna lie…I thought about it. And I’m not sad that he’s dead. Is that awful?”
Caulder watches me, not answering, as I drink my tea—regretting it immediately as the water burns my tongue.
“I’m a bad person,” I say. “Go on. Say it.”
Caulder’s expression remains steady. “I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
“I guess maybe I just wanted to fight him,” I say, and now I feel the rambling coming on. Am I doing this to prove something to Caulder, or just to fill the silence? I really don’t know anymore.
“Like maybe that would’ve been enough,” I continue. “If he suffered, that would make the pain I felt sting just a little less.”
I look down at my mug. “It’s funny. I always thought Javi was unhinged for what he did to Warren. But maybe now…I kind of get it.”
Caulder’s quiet, and when I look over at him, I see that his eyes have darkened. In the background, I hear the bathroom sink still running. Emerson’s not listening to us. These are just our secrets.
“Javi didn’t start that fight,” Caulder says.
“What’re you talking about?” I ask, because everyone knows about the fight between Javi and Warren. Literally everyone. “Javi attacked that guy behind the baseball field.”
“You mean he confronted him,” Caulder corrects. “Because Warren had been sending messages to Kaitlyn all week.”
Messages?
“What kind of messages?”
Caulder hesitates. I wonder if I’m asking him to break some kind of bro code with Javi, because I’ve never heard about these messages. All I knew was that Javi attacked Warren because of something to do with Kaitlyn, allegedly.
“You know last year when Kaitlyn had those really important volleyball games?” Caulder explains. “They were about to play the game that would determine if they made it to State.”
“Yeah,” I say. “She kept wanting to skip debate practice.”
“Well, the day of that game, Kaitlyn was walking down the stairs in the 200s building. She was by herself, and Warren was behind her. He and Kait, they never got along. She hated his jokes. He said she couldn’t take them.
He sees her not paying attention, and he gets real close behind her and pushes her. ”
My eyes go wide. “What?”
Caulder nods. “Right before her game. They thought she might’ve torn her ACL. But she refused to go to the hospital. She knew that, if she did, she would’ve been pulled from the game. So she played. And they won.”
“So…she didn’t have an ACL tear?” I don’t mention I have no idea what an ACL is, but it sounds like something that should stay in one piece.
Caulder laughs. “Oh, she did. And a lateral meniscus tear to go with it. Two things that should’ve made it nearly impossible to play as well as she did.”
“But how do you play with…leg tears?” I ask, because I can barely run the mile with an ingrown toenail. “How do you…you know. Jump and stuff?”
Caulder laughs. “Adrenaline? Pure determination? Stubbornness? Not that you know about that.”
“Very funny.”
“Anyway,” Caulder continues. “Kaitlyn told the school what happened. They even got it on video. But they said it was inconclusive, and Warren swore it was just him kidding around. He didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Caulder takes a drink of his tea. “Well, that’s what he said. But then he spent all week messaging her, taunting her. He used a burner account, but Kaitlyn knew it was him. He kept saying he wouldn’t miss next time. All kinds of nasty shit. She told Javi, obviously.”
Caulder’s gaze finds mine, then the floor. He’s reached the part he’s not sure about telling me, but I feel like I can put the pieces together.
I stare at him. “So Javi took care of it?”
Caulder sets his cup down and leans toward me.
“What would you do,” he asks me, “if someone you cared about was hurt like that? It could’ve ruined her chances for playing in college. I sure as shit wouldn’t wait around to see if someone tried that again.”
I don’t like it, the steadiness of his gaze, the ease with which he can look right at me. Lightning flashes outside the window as the rain continues its steady, determined downpour.
“So he did attack Warren,” I say.
Caulder shakes his head. “I did.”
I stare at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
Caulder runs his hands through his hair and sighs.
“Javi’s always had my back,” he says. “During baseball games, when the other team would heckle me about my dads—say bigoted bullshit—Javi would be the first to tell them to cut it the fuck out. One game, some guy wouldn’t stop, so he punched him. Knocked him out.
“He knew he couldn’t risk something else with Warren. But he also couldn’t let it go. So I did what he’d always done for me. I…took care of Warren.”
I stare at Caulder. He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. I saw the pictures of Warren. I’ve heard the stories. Javi walked away from the field covered in blood.
“Javi was there with me,” Caulder explains, reading my mind.
“He pulled me off Warren, and he got hit in the process. I kind of…lost myself in it, if I’m honest. Warren’s always been an asshole.
And this…this was beyond. But when the admin found us, they didn’t believe me that I did it.
They thought I was covering. No matter what I said. ”
Shame, deep and potent, seeps through every pore on Caulder’s face.
“I tried to push it, but Javi told me to stop,” he says. “Told me to let it go and let everyone believe he did it. He’d dealt with this shit before, he said. Said it was better if Kaitlyn thought he did it, anyway. So I…I let him.
“So,” he says, meeting my gaze. “Still think you’re the only bad person here?”
I smile in spite of myself. I don’t approve of what Caulder did. But it’s good to see the golden boy taken down a peg or two.
“Well,” I say. “I’m—”
Thump.
Both Caulder and I whip around toward the sound at the same time.
At first, I think maybe it’s the echo of the kettle, like the noise was trapped by the house and tossed back to me like a boomerang.
But the thump we heard is quickly buried under a new sound, making it indistinguishable.
This new noise, though, I recognize. Music, but something’s off.
A song that sounds vaguely familiar, except that it’s distorted, stretched and tugged.
The record player, I realize. The same haunting sounds that pulled Caulder and me from that room, that led us to Lucas.
“Emerson must’ve started it,” Caulder says. “Let’s go look.”
I pick up the wok, just in case, and fall into step behind Caulder. There’s another sound under the record player. The running water from earlier.
“The bathroom,” I say. “They must still be there.”
We head that way, turning off the record player as we pass it, and wind around the hall to get to the bathroom.
Lucas is alone, body splayed out on the white tile, fresh bandages on his arm. Emerson must’ve done his chest, too, because a white bandage peeks out there as well.
“Where’d Emerson go?” I say, turning off the faucet.
“I don’t know,” Caulder says, checking Lucas’s pulse for the millionth time.
Without the record player or the water running, the sound of rain fills the otherwise silent room.
“Stay here,” Caulder says, and before I can argue, he’s gone. Almost immediately, I hear the now-familiar bang-bang-bang of him checking doors. He’s faster this time, moving through the house at a sprint. I hold my breath, jumping at each bang until—
He’s back, white-faced, eyes steely. Something’s wrong. And just like with Mr. Jay, I know what Caulder’s going to say before he speaks.
Emerson’s gone.