Chapter 19 #2
Shit. I hadn’t used a disposable camera since elementary school and forgot you had to wind the film.
As I moved my thumb over the wheel to advance the film for another photo, Mr. Fortenberry turned to Frances.
He shook his head, panic rolling off him. Frances scrambled near him, but he shoved her away. “Did you know about this? Frances, what are y’all up to? Is this about leaving Allison? I told you. She can’t know about us yet. Goddammit, what did you do?”
“What?” Frances asked, her voice sounding so small, her eyes watching as his hands raked through his hair and his own eyes turned wild.
“I swear to God, Frances, if you think taking a picture of us is going to force me to do something I’m not ready to do, it’s not.
” Mr. Fortenberry’s voice was sharp with a panicked edge.
I could hear how hard he was working not to yell.
“I thought you knew better. I thought you were mature enough to understand. Hell, I thought you loved me.”
Even in the dim light, my sister wore her hurt plainly. Her brows drew together. Her mouth pinched, bottom lip poked out. She made a hiccupping sound.
It broke me.
“Leave her alone,” I demanded. “I mean it.”
Frances spun to me, tugging her fine hair with both hands. “Milly, dammit, what are you even doing here?” Her voice was desperate.
I held up the camera, staring down Mr. Fortenberry. His eyes darted to it.
His face flushed red. I imagined his entire life as he knew it flashing before his eyes. He thought he’d picked a safe girl, one nobody would care about. He’d been so wrong.
“Milly,” he said sternly. “Give me the camera. I know this looks bad, but the thing is, it’s all a misunderstanding. We—”
“There’s no misunderstanding. You touch my sister again and I’ll ruin you. I’ll show these pictures to everyone.”
“Ruin me?” He inhaled a deep breath. “Jesus,” he whispered.
“Look. There’s no need to be so dramatic.
You’re a senior. Give me that camera, and I’ll write whatever letter you need for whatever college.
I can help, I have connections. I could make it so you graduate with honors. ” He sounded pathetic.
He is pathetic.
“I’m salutatorian, you piece of shit.”
I turned to my sister. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Now.” I reached out, gesturing for her to come to me, but she stayed put, a doe caught in headlights.
“Shane.” She looked up at Mr. Fortenberry, touched the side of his face in a way that made my stomach roll. “It’s okay. Milly doesn’t understand, that’s all. She will, though.” Her tone shifted. “Milly, I know you will. Please. I love him. He loves me. Please don’t do this.”
Mr. Fortenberry flinched away from Frances. He peered down at her as if she were disgusting. “Don’t touch me.” Then to me, “I can’t help it if a student has a crush on me. It happens sometimes. It doesn’t mean any lines were crossed. She lured me out here, she made a move. This is all a setup.”
My mouth dropped open. That place inside screaming, bad man, bad man.
“Come on, Frances,” I said, urgency creeping in. “I mean it. Let’s—”
“Give me that, you little bitch!” Mr. Fortenberry yelled, and swiped for the camera, but I moved it out of the way.
Frances grabbed his arm. “Shane, no—”
He grabbed a handful of my sister’s hair, jerking her against him. Her mouth snapped closed in a whimper.
“Give me the camera,” Mr. Fortenberry demanded. “I won’t ask again.”
When I didn’t move, he snorted. “What is it you think you’re going to do, exactly? You can’t ruin me. I know who you are. I know what your mama did and what your aunts get up to in that shack.”
I looked from Mr. Fortenberry, with his flared nostrils and wild eyes, to my sister, whose mouth was drawn and brow furrowed. Afraid.
Mr. Fortenberry shook Frances. “Give it here, or I swear I’ll break her neck. Nobody will even miss her.”
Frances’s hands flew to her scalp and a high-pitched whine escaped her lips. One of his hands moved to her neck, his fingers squeezing her windpipe.
My heart pounded.
If he got the camera, then he won. Without proof, no one would believe us.
Frances gasped an awful gurgling sound. She grasped at Mr. Fortenberry’s grip, her fingers working and failing to unwind his.
“You give me that goddamn camera.”
Death. Death in my leaves.
Her wide, wide eyes.
I needed to move. To run at him. To do something. Anything.
But it was as if I’d grown roots like the tree from the stories we’d once whispered after light’s out. The rotting willow, sick and twisted, waiting for a spill of blood.
No. I won’t let him hurt her.
Another choking gasp rattled from my sister.
The sound unleashed something in me, and the idea came in a flash.
Toss the camera.
We’d have no proof of what he’d done, and now he was our enemy. It chilled me to think what this man was capable of.
How long before he hurt somebody else?
Frances’s lips moved, silently mouthing words she couldn’t form. I’m sorry.
Her fingers dropped from her throat, twitching into the sign we’d created long ago. Two fingers, pointed down, and a scratch, scratch, scratch.
I’d promised her I’d always come when she needed me. All she had to do was give the sign.
I couldn’t let her down. I threw the camera.
It arced in the air and Mr. Fortenberry lunged for it, releasing my sister’s neck. She inhaled sharply.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Her hands reaching for me, his hands snatching the camera from the air, and then the feeling. The cold weight, my muscles contracting, lifting, lifting.
I took the shovel in both hands and swung. Hard.
The impact from the blow vibrated up the handle and into my arms, my chest. I swung again. There was a crunch. A spray of blood.
The world around me faded to darkness.
My baby bird was safe.