Eight Dana Reeves
Eight
Dana Reeves
“They know.”
Fear slides through me like icy cut glass.
It at once freezes my insides and rips me apart.
I stare at Janie and hope to God she is wrong.
Really, how could they know? We were so careful.
Still, after I told her every detail of the detectives’ visit to my office, she says this.
As much as I hate to admit it at the moment, she is usually right in her assessments.
“Someone must have seen us,” Janie insists. She plants her hands on her hips and swears.
I collapse into the nearest chair. Think of the way the two detectives watched me so closely.
Looking for a potential lie, no doubt. “I suppose that’s possible.
” I close my eyes and force the idea away.
Why did we do it? It was a ridiculous attempt at doing what the law should have done years ago.
But it was obviously a mistake, and now we can’t take it back. Dread congeals in my gut.
Still, I admit, it felt like the right thing to do when we all decided. It was a plan. A plan that needed to happen.
Janie lowers onto the chair arm and puts her arm around me. “Whatever they learned, maybe we don’t need to worry. No matter what someone may have seen, they can’t prove we did anything wrong. We saw the news and we drove by. Big deal. All we have to do is be calm.”
“But what if they go to the cabin?”
For a moment she only stares at me. “We say we weren’t there. Whatever happened was not our doing.”
I stare up at her. She is my lifeline, my one true tether to sanity.
I lean into her. Honest to God, I don’t know what I would have done without her.
By the time I was in high school, I was ready to end it all.
My family never understood. They thought I should hold my head up and move on.
Not a single one of them had a damned clue.
I couldn’t bear the dreams anymore. I just wanted to die.
But Janie helped me. We faced our tormented pasts together. We became each other’s reason for going on.
She scooches me over and slides down into the big old chair with me. The ragged thing is way past its prime—as is everything in this decrepit apartment. But it’s comfortable, and being frugal here allows us to save for the future.
We have so many plans.
But first we have to get through this.
“We just have to stick with the plan,” she reminds me. “We’ve all discussed it. We all have our roles. All we have to do is let this play out.”
I draw in a deep breath. She’s right, but I would have much preferred to know and understand what each of us was doing. We know the expected order of each step but not who carries it out. That way, none of us has to lie to the cops. You can’t lie if you don’t know.
As for the rest, the agreement was that the plan would go with us to our graves. End of story. Anyone who broke and felt the urge to talk would be just as guilty as all the others. No one could claim innocence regardless of their part in this.
Once the steps were decided upon, they were written individually on pieces of paper and folded carefully before being dropped into a small basket.
Then we each took a turn drawing from that basket.
We read it, privately, of course, then ate the paper.
Literally chewed it up and swallowed it like in some spy novel.
When the step drawn was completed, your part was over.
Janie and I decided to combine ours into one—which should have worked perfectly . . . except it didn’t.
Now all we have to do is pray and keep it together until the police finish their investigation. I tell myself this again and again.
Strangely, that’s the hardest part.