All the Little Lights
Page 63
I could hear Leigh panicking through the phone, firing off questions.
“Mrs. Youngblood . . . Leigh . . . I know. I know he’s a good boy. But I think . . . I think you should call an attorney to meet Elliott at the station as soon as possible. Yes. Yes, I’m so sorry. Yes. Goodbye.”
Mrs. Mason hung up the phone and then covered her eyes with one hand.
“Becca,” Mr. Mason said, walking through the door.
Mrs. Mason looked up, trying her best to keep it together, but when she saw her husband, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.
Mr. Mason rounded the desk and helped his wife to her feet, holding her tight as she tried not to cry. I fell into Mrs. Mason’s line of sight, and she released her husband, straightening her blazer and skirt.
“Catherine?” She cleared her throat. “Leigh is on the way to the police station. John should be there soon. They’re calling Elliott an attorney. I want you to go to class”—sympathy touched her eyes—“and I want you to try very hard not to worry. If anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you about this, you come straight to me. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Good. I have an appointment with Tatum, Anna Sue, and Brie in ten minutes. Check in with me after lunch, please.”
I nodded, watching her stride out of her office, determined to hold the school together if needed.
The walk to my locker from the office seemed to take twice as long as usual. I twisted the dial, but when I yanked, the door wouldn’t open. The bell rang, and I tried again, desperate to avoid suspicious eyes and whispers. When I failed again, my bottom lip trembled.
“Let me,” Sam said, yanking straight up on the latch. The lock released, and he pulled my locker open.
I quickly switched out my books and slammed the door, twisting the dial again.
“Maddy went home,” Sam said. “Can I walk you?” He looked around. “I should walk you.”
I glanced over my shoulder, cowering under the accusatory glares of other students passing by. Word had already spread. “Thank you.”
Sam kept me close, walking me across the commons to B Hall. The students glared at me and Sam, and I worried he would become a target, too.
When we reached my world lit class, Sam waved to me and went on to his class. I slipped behind my desk, unable to miss Mrs. McKinstry pausing to look at me before taking roll.
I closed my eyes, holding Elliott’s keys tight in my hand. Just a few more hours, and I could go to him. Just a few more hours, and—
“Catherine!” Mrs. McKinstry said.
I looked down, feeling warm liquid pool in my palm and drip down my wrist. Elliott’s keys had punctured my hand.
Mrs. McKinstry grabbed a paper towel and rushed over, forcing me to open my hand. She dabbed my palm, the white paper soaking up the crimson.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” she asked, surprised. “What on earth do you have to be sorry about? Just . . . go to the nurse. She’ll get you cleaned up.”
I gathered my things and rushed out, relieved that I didn’t have to suffer through an entire class with twenty-five pairs of eyes on the back of my head.
The nurse’s office was across from administration, just around the corner and ten feet down from my locker. I stopped at 347, unable to take another step. Feeling Elliott’s keys wadded with the paper towel, I turned on my heel, running toward the double doors that led to the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Catherine
My worn, black Converses looked painfully juvenile next to Leigh’s snakeskin stilettos. She sat with perfect posture, waiting in one of the ten or so unpadded metal chairs that lined the main hall of the Oak Creek Police Department.
The walls were a dirty tan, the matching baseboards scuffed with black and splattered with coffee and unknown stains. I counted seven doors breaking up the monotony of the walls that bordered the hallway, most of their top halves taken up by Plexiglas windows that were covered by cheap miniblinds.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above our heads, a reminder that the sunlight from the front windows only reached to the end of the hall.
Occasionally an officer or two would pass us, each one watching with wary eyes, as if we were part of some intricate plan to help Elliott escape.
“I don’t have to tell you that it’s not a good idea to drive Elliott’s vehicle without a license,” Leigh said, keeping her voice low.
I cowered. “Yes. It won’t happen again.”
“Well,” she said, wiping her palms on her slacks, “I’m sure Elliott doesn’t mind, but next time, call me. I’ll come.”
I didn’t bother arguing that Leigh should have come straight to the police station instead of detouring to give me a ride. Leigh was in no mood for backtalk.
“John!” Leigh said, standing.
“I got here as quick as I could. Is he still in there?”
Leigh nodded, her bottom lip trembling.
“Has Kent made it?”
“Yes, he’s been in there for about half an hour. Elliott’s been in there twice as long. I’m not sure what’s happening. They won’t let me see him.”
“Did you call Kay?”
Leigh rubbed her forehead. “She’s on her way.”
John hugged her and then reached for me. I stood, letting him pull me in for a hug.
“It’s going to be okay, girls. We know Elliott had nothing to do with this.”
“Has she been found?” I asked.
John sighed and shook his head. He sat in the chair to my right, Leigh to my left, turning me into a Youngblood sandwich and offering some of the safety I felt when Elliott was close. John turned to his phone, typing arrest process into the search engine bar.
“John,” Leigh said, reaching over me to tap her husband’s knee.
She gestured to the right, and we turned to see Presley’s parents leaving one of the offices, the miniblinds swaying back and forth.
Mrs. Brubaker was dabbing the skin beneath her eyes with a wadded tissue, Presley’s dad guiding his wife with his arm around her shoulders. They stopped, seeing us sitting in the hallway. Mrs. Brubaker sniffed, staring at us in disbelief.
“Uh,” the officer said, holding up her arm to motion for the Brubakers to continue, “this way.”
After several seconds, the officer finally convinced the couple to proceed.
“It’s going to be okay, honey,” John said.
He was talking to his wife, but she hadn’t said anything, so I was surprised when she responded as if she had.
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay. Of all the kids in that school, it’s Elliott who was brought back to the police station?”
“Leigh . . . ,” John warned.
“We both know if he was my sister’s son instead of yours, he wouldn’t be here.”
John stared at the door across from him, his eyebrows pulling in a fraction of an inch. “Elliott’s a good boy.”
“Yes, he is, which is why he shouldn’t be here.”
“Catherine?” John asked, turning to me. “What happened at school?”
I took in a breath. I couldn’t tell them Elliott was taken into custody because of his behavior at the school. John and Leigh would want to know why he was being so protective of me. But a part of me wondered why Elliott wasn’t more surprised to hear about Presley. I knew he didn’t care for her, but as laid-back as Elliott was, even he should have been shocked to hear about Presley’s disappearance.
“Mrs. Youngblood . . . Leigh . . . I know. I know he’s a good boy. But I think . . . I think you should call an attorney to meet Elliott at the station as soon as possible. Yes. Yes, I’m so sorry. Yes. Goodbye.”
Mrs. Mason hung up the phone and then covered her eyes with one hand.
“Becca,” Mr. Mason said, walking through the door.
Mrs. Mason looked up, trying her best to keep it together, but when she saw her husband, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.
Mr. Mason rounded the desk and helped his wife to her feet, holding her tight as she tried not to cry. I fell into Mrs. Mason’s line of sight, and she released her husband, straightening her blazer and skirt.
“Catherine?” She cleared her throat. “Leigh is on the way to the police station. John should be there soon. They’re calling Elliott an attorney. I want you to go to class”—sympathy touched her eyes—“and I want you to try very hard not to worry. If anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you about this, you come straight to me. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Good. I have an appointment with Tatum, Anna Sue, and Brie in ten minutes. Check in with me after lunch, please.”
I nodded, watching her stride out of her office, determined to hold the school together if needed.
The walk to my locker from the office seemed to take twice as long as usual. I twisted the dial, but when I yanked, the door wouldn’t open. The bell rang, and I tried again, desperate to avoid suspicious eyes and whispers. When I failed again, my bottom lip trembled.
“Let me,” Sam said, yanking straight up on the latch. The lock released, and he pulled my locker open.
I quickly switched out my books and slammed the door, twisting the dial again.
“Maddy went home,” Sam said. “Can I walk you?” He looked around. “I should walk you.”
I glanced over my shoulder, cowering under the accusatory glares of other students passing by. Word had already spread. “Thank you.”
Sam kept me close, walking me across the commons to B Hall. The students glared at me and Sam, and I worried he would become a target, too.
When we reached my world lit class, Sam waved to me and went on to his class. I slipped behind my desk, unable to miss Mrs. McKinstry pausing to look at me before taking roll.
I closed my eyes, holding Elliott’s keys tight in my hand. Just a few more hours, and I could go to him. Just a few more hours, and—
“Catherine!” Mrs. McKinstry said.
I looked down, feeling warm liquid pool in my palm and drip down my wrist. Elliott’s keys had punctured my hand.
Mrs. McKinstry grabbed a paper towel and rushed over, forcing me to open my hand. She dabbed my palm, the white paper soaking up the crimson.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” she asked, surprised. “What on earth do you have to be sorry about? Just . . . go to the nurse. She’ll get you cleaned up.”
I gathered my things and rushed out, relieved that I didn’t have to suffer through an entire class with twenty-five pairs of eyes on the back of my head.
The nurse’s office was across from administration, just around the corner and ten feet down from my locker. I stopped at 347, unable to take another step. Feeling Elliott’s keys wadded with the paper towel, I turned on my heel, running toward the double doors that led to the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Catherine
My worn, black Converses looked painfully juvenile next to Leigh’s snakeskin stilettos. She sat with perfect posture, waiting in one of the ten or so unpadded metal chairs that lined the main hall of the Oak Creek Police Department.
The walls were a dirty tan, the matching baseboards scuffed with black and splattered with coffee and unknown stains. I counted seven doors breaking up the monotony of the walls that bordered the hallway, most of their top halves taken up by Plexiglas windows that were covered by cheap miniblinds.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above our heads, a reminder that the sunlight from the front windows only reached to the end of the hall.
Occasionally an officer or two would pass us, each one watching with wary eyes, as if we were part of some intricate plan to help Elliott escape.
“I don’t have to tell you that it’s not a good idea to drive Elliott’s vehicle without a license,” Leigh said, keeping her voice low.
I cowered. “Yes. It won’t happen again.”
“Well,” she said, wiping her palms on her slacks, “I’m sure Elliott doesn’t mind, but next time, call me. I’ll come.”
I didn’t bother arguing that Leigh should have come straight to the police station instead of detouring to give me a ride. Leigh was in no mood for backtalk.
“John!” Leigh said, standing.
“I got here as quick as I could. Is he still in there?”
Leigh nodded, her bottom lip trembling.
“Has Kent made it?”
“Yes, he’s been in there for about half an hour. Elliott’s been in there twice as long. I’m not sure what’s happening. They won’t let me see him.”
“Did you call Kay?”
Leigh rubbed her forehead. “She’s on her way.”
John hugged her and then reached for me. I stood, letting him pull me in for a hug.
“It’s going to be okay, girls. We know Elliott had nothing to do with this.”
“Has she been found?” I asked.
John sighed and shook his head. He sat in the chair to my right, Leigh to my left, turning me into a Youngblood sandwich and offering some of the safety I felt when Elliott was close. John turned to his phone, typing arrest process into the search engine bar.
“John,” Leigh said, reaching over me to tap her husband’s knee.
She gestured to the right, and we turned to see Presley’s parents leaving one of the offices, the miniblinds swaying back and forth.
Mrs. Brubaker was dabbing the skin beneath her eyes with a wadded tissue, Presley’s dad guiding his wife with his arm around her shoulders. They stopped, seeing us sitting in the hallway. Mrs. Brubaker sniffed, staring at us in disbelief.
“Uh,” the officer said, holding up her arm to motion for the Brubakers to continue, “this way.”
After several seconds, the officer finally convinced the couple to proceed.
“It’s going to be okay, honey,” John said.
He was talking to his wife, but she hadn’t said anything, so I was surprised when she responded as if she had.
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay. Of all the kids in that school, it’s Elliott who was brought back to the police station?”
“Leigh . . . ,” John warned.
“We both know if he was my sister’s son instead of yours, he wouldn’t be here.”
John stared at the door across from him, his eyebrows pulling in a fraction of an inch. “Elliott’s a good boy.”
“Yes, he is, which is why he shouldn’t be here.”
“Catherine?” John asked, turning to me. “What happened at school?”
I took in a breath. I couldn’t tell them Elliott was taken into custody because of his behavior at the school. John and Leigh would want to know why he was being so protective of me. But a part of me wondered why Elliott wasn’t more surprised to hear about Presley. I knew he didn’t care for her, but as laid-back as Elliott was, even he should have been shocked to hear about Presley’s disappearance.
