For the whole trek home, I stare at everything with a fresh set of eyes—as if I haven’t seen it before. Nothing in Ferndale will ever be the same. No more family visits to Jan’s Famous Pie Company. No more walking down Main Street after school with Madison. We wouldn’t—no, I—I wouldn’t have those shared moments ever again.
When I finally make it home, I’m not surprised when I open the front door and am greeted by silence. My parents are nowhere to be found. Rather than dwelling on it, I drag myself up the stairs, and instead of pushing through my bedroom door, like I know I should, I push through my sister’s. Her room is immaculate and so … mature. Very Madison, through and through.
The silk sheets on her bed are still rumpled from her getting up the previous morning. No matter how many times I stressed to her the importance of making her bed every morning—to prevent spiders, insects, etc.—she never listened. I take in the entirety of her room without her scolding me for invading her privacy or yelling at me to get a life. I reach my hand out and place it on her pillow.
My face crumples, and a broken sob rips out of my chest, echoing around the stillness of her bedroom.
“Oh, Mads,” I whimper, letting the tears carve hot trails down my cheeks. “Why didn’t you just let me go to that stupid rock?” I whisper, almost angrily. I wait for her to answer with a smart remark, but she never does. The realization that she never will, ever again, hits me full force. I fall onto Maddie’s bed and cry. I cry until I have nothing left.
“What are you doing?”
The horrified voice has me jolting upright on the bed. I feel disoriented. My hand shoots to my forehead as a wave of dizziness slams into me from moving so quickly.
“Get up. Right now. Go before he sees you.” The urgency in my mom’s voice slams into me. I look down and flinch when I see where I fell asleep. I must’ve cried myself to sleep on Maddie’s bed. I didn’t even hear my parents come home. My mom stands stock-still in the doorway. Her skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it. As though she’s just seen a ghost.
Slowly, I push up off the bed and try to rearrange the sheets back where they were, but her words hit me like a lash from a whip, freezing my movements and sending me into a world of pain. It’s a slow leak that seeps into my chest, dripping incessantly. I have the urge to rub it away, but I can’t seem to move.
“Stop it! Just…stop touching her stuff. Please.”
My lungs squeeze with distress. “Mom, I—”
“What the hell is going on in here?”
My stomach folds in on itself in anguish at the sound of his voice. I risk a glance in his direction and flinch at the anger painted on his face as he takes in my form still hovering over the bed.
“I asked a question.” He raises his voice, eyes darting from me back to my mother accusingly. “Well?”
“I was upset earlier. I just needed to feel close to her. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the bed. I must’ve lost track of time. I’m sorry.” I gnash my teeth together to stifle the sob building.
Mom already has fresh tears streaming down her face, and what’s more surprising is the wetness I see pooling in my father’s eyes. His next words are like a shot through the heart.
“One day, Mackenzie. You couldn’t give your sister one goddamn day?” The anger and sadness with which he regards me break my heart. He’s looking at me as if I’m the problem. As if I’m the reason this happened. And though he would never say it out loud, I know he wishes it was me instead of her.
“I’m sorry,” I choke.
“Get out. Both of you.” The whole time he says it, he stares at me. Eyes that are identical to mine and my sister’s regard me with such disgust before he’s turning on his heel. His heavy footfalls thud down the hallway until they disappear into his office. The door slams shut.
I’m about to apologize to my mother again when the doorbell rings. We share a look, and I can see the fatigue written all over my mother’s face. She looks like she’s aged ten-plus years in the span of a few hours.
I climb down the stairs to answer the door, my mom’s soft footsteps trailing me. I don’t bother looking through the peephole. Instead, I open the door and am surprised when I see who’s on the other side.
Sheriff Keller and Officer Ferguson walk in with expressions that have the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. Their eyes shoot past my head to my mother who is still standing on the last step of the staircase. She has a white-knuckle hold on the railing, and I know she’s just waiting for them to deliver another dose of bad news.
“Hello, Monica. Can we talk to Mackenzie about her statement she made earlier?”
Mom nods robotically, and Sheriff Keller turns to me. Ferguson pulls out a notepad and pen from his back pocket.
“There seems to be a … discrepancy with your statement, Kenzie.”
My brows dip, and I glance toward my mom to make sure she’s okay.
“What kind of discrepancy?”
“Trent Ainsworth, Zach Covington, Marcus Whitehorn, and Vincent Hawthorne all say they’ve never met you. Trent was particularly adamant that he’s never laid a hand on you, let alone kissed you. They said the kiss at the bonfire between you and Trent never occurred. We’ve yet to get a hold of Sebastian Pierce’s family since they’ve already left on their annual vacation, but the rest of the guys…” he trails off, and my chest heaves, trying to accommodate my increase in breathing.
How dare they. How fucking dare they do this to me.
“They’re lying, Sheriff. He kissed me. They were all there. I even confronted them!”
“Did they admit to it then?”
“I, well, no, not exactly, but … but it happened, Sheriff. I’m not lying. You know this! You know me! I would never ever make up something like this.”
“Mackenzie,” Mom whispers in a soft voice from behind me, startling me. I hadn’t even realized she moved from the staircase. My heart crushes when I stare into her eyes that are brimming with another round of tears.
She doesn’t believe me.
Sheriff Keller doesn’t believe me.
No one believes me.
Hysteria claws at my throat, and anger surges through my veins at the mere fact that I’m the one who looks like the liar here. I can’t believe this.
“It happened! I was supposed to be the one at that kissing rock last night. It was supposed to be me meeting Trent, not Madison. They know what happened to her. They have to. They were the last ones to see her alive!”
“Look, Mackenzie,” the sheriff starts, his deep voice cutting me off. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just … we have four individuals who swear they’ve never seen you, and you have no one to corroborate your story.”
My story? This isn’t a story. It’s the truth!
I rack my brain, trying to think of someone who might have seen us at the bonfire, but the only person was Madison. God, I should’ve stayed with Winnie. Why the hell didn’t I just go mingle with Winnie?
“What does that mean then?” I ask, voice colored with my anger. “We’re just supposed to let those murderers get off scot-free?”