“My parents and I saw something about this on Caldwell’s news site before we came,” I say.
“It’s happened a bunch of times now.” Keely shivers. “But like, closer to downtown—like in town hall and at church.”
“I don’t think it’s happened in the neighborhoods,” Miles adds.
“We should call your dad, Keel,” I say.
“Wait—no, we can’t. He’ll know I was drinking!”
“Liv’s right, Keely,” Miles says. “We should call your dad.”
Keely chews on her bottom lip. “No. He can’t find out I’m drunk. Let’s leave it for someone else to find, they’ll call it in.
“What, like a little kid?” Miles says. “Come on, that’s not right. Here, have a piece of gum to cover the smell.”
Miles and I stare at her expectantly. At least he’s on my side about this. After a beat, Keely groans and snatches the gum. “Fine, but you guys better cover for me if my dad knows something’s up.”
The swing set creaks against the silence as we wait for Roger to get here. The rusty chains are cold in my hands, and my feet swipe against the earth each time they touch the ground. We’re far enough away from the carcasses that the visuals are unclear, but the queasy feeling remains.
“Do you think they were in pain?” I ask absentmindedly. Miles and Keely look at me.
“Probably,” Keely says. “That looks pretty bad.”
“Nothing deserves to go like that.”
“They’re just squirrels, Liv,” Miles says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I know they’re just squirrels, Miles, but I can’t stop imagining what they went through.”
“Maybe the person killed them before they tore them apart.”
“Or maybe they tortured them.”
Silence. Darkness drenches us, but light from the waning moon perforates the clouds. When two police cruisers pull alongside the curb, I skid to a halt and hop off the swing, relieved. Roger hurries out of one car, another cop from the other, and they meet us at the edge of the playground. As one of three cops in Caldwell, Roger has sporadic hours despite being the police chief.
“You kids okay?” Roger asks, huffing as he jogs toward us.
“We’re fine, Dad,” Keely says. “It’s just like what happened before.”
“Where are the carcasses?”
Keely nods toward the park bench but avoids her dad’s gaze. Roger’s lips purse in a grim line, and he nods at the other cop, a red-headed woman in her twenties. I recognize her as Maggie Jones. She was a senior in high school when I was in the sixth grade. Popular too. The beautiful lifeguard type, but I doubt she ever knew I existed. When she turns on her flashlight and points it at the bench, the beam overpowers the weak light of the street lamp.
Roger gets down on one knee and observes the carcasses for a long moment. The squirrels’ lifeless, beady eyes gleam against the flashlight. Roger straightens up and hooks his hand to his belt. “We should call the state troopers on this one,” he mutters to Maggie before he faces us, his police chief’s badge reflecting. “Okay, you kids get out of here. We’ve got this.”
There are police officers all over New York City, but Caldwell is small and sleepy—a state trooper wasn’t ever called in the entire time I lived here. Not that I remember, anyway.
“But Dad, what’s going on?” Keely says. “This is so gross!”
“It’s nothing to worry about, Keely. We’ve got it all under control.”
If they had it under control, it wouldn’t keep happening. This is creeping me out way too much.
“I’m just glad we found it, and not some little kid,” Miles says.
“You did the right thing by calling me.” Roger turns to Keely, and the serious look on his face becomes the expression of a concerned father. I know both sides of him well. Keely looks scared when he steps closer to her, but he doesn’t seem to notice her smell. “You just head on home now, okay? You kids stick together and get home fast. Miles, have your parents pick you up from our house.”
With that, we hurry away. I take one last glance at the trees surrounding the park. If someone had wanted to watch this, it would be easy to hide behind the leaves of an oak, up in the branches where no one can see.
The porch light clicks on when we get to Keely’s house. It’s a single story, ranch-style home with beige brick and black shingles. In the garden of red and pink roses, a cement stepping stone of Keely’s handprint is displayed. We made some together in kindergarten, but my parents lost mine in the move. Facing us on the cobblestone path that leads to the front door, Keely sighs.
“Whew, I think I’m off the hook. My dad didn’t notice I was drunk at all.”
“You’re good now,” Miles says. “Honestly, I don’t even feel it anymore.”
“Tell me about it. I really wanted to keep partying, but that was the biggest buzzkill. Let’s just call it a night. Pick it back up tomorrow?”
Miles nudges Keely’s shoulder with his fist. “You got it.”
Awkwardness spikes, so I shift away when Miles looks at me. He outstretches his arms, and before I can process it, he’s hugging me. I hesitantly hug him back. The citrusy smell on his shirt is so foreign—Miles never smelled anything like this before. It was always spring laundry, and he was warm. Now his skin is cold on mine, and his frame is so much bigger. His shark tooth necklace digs into my cheek. Somehow, it’s like I’m not hugging Miles Hendricks at all. He’s a completely different person.
Disappointment weighs on me. Of course Miles is different—people change when they grow up. I’ve changed, too, but unlike everyone else around me, I’ve regressed; they all grew up and got into drinking and partying, but I stayed a little kid, attached to my stuffed animals and watching movies in my apartment with my parents. My friends all left the nest, but I never did.
“It was awesome seeing you again, Liv,” Miles whispers into my hair, and honestly, it makes me feel a little weird. I’m relieved when he breaks away and walks down the driveway.
“But Miles, wait!” I say. “Roger said you should call your parents for a ride!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’m not scared of some animal killer.” Miles grins over his shoulder before he disappears into the night.
4
Sunlight pours through the blinds of the Myerses’ guest room. My body is heavy and my head throbs, because the last thing I remember is falling asleep to orange streaks of dawn coming through the window. Now the clock reads half past ten. Dammit, I didn’t even sleep for four hours.