Made for You
Page 85
My parents are hugging me, and I see that my mother is crying. I don’t look away from the detective though. “I can make a full statement. I texted him on Grace’s phone, set a trap, and then I brought my mother’s gun. I held him at gunpoint while he drove me to—”
“Nate called us, Eva,” she interrupts gently. “We know.”
I nod. I’m not sure how Nate called after he gave me his phone. I glance at him.
“Backup cell because of . . . the things you told me before,” he says in a still-hoarse voice.
My visions of Nate and my decision to trust Nate enough to tell him about the vision, that’s what changed everything. He had a second phone; he called for help.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I want to be in his arms right now, but my mother is clutching me to her. My father gives Nate a wide smile, and then he reaches down and squeezes Nate’s shoulder. Then his arms are around my mother—who is still hugging me.
When they release me, I turn so I can see Grace. The EMTs are still with her, and her parents are hovering at Grace’s side. When Mrs. Yeung sees me looking at them, she murmurs something to Grace and comes toward me.
“You’re utterly irresponsible, and I can’t believe you put yourself in this kind of danger, and”—she wraps both arms around me—“you saved my Gracie. Thank you. I’m furious at the risks you took, but right now, thank you.”
I nod again. I don’t know why I can’t seem to do much other than nod, but I can’t. I swallow, and try to say something, but I’m not sure what it would be so I close my mouth again.
“Are you charging her?” my dad asks, and I realize that Detective Grant has joined us.
“Charging her? With what?” Mrs. Yeung asks with a frown.
“Eva shot Reid.” My mother sniffles as she says it, and then she turns to the detective. “It was self-defense.”
Detective Grant shakes her head at us. “We’ll sort it all out. Right now, Miss Tilling should see the EMTs. She’s in shock. Then we’ll deal with the rest.”
“Shock,” I echo. That makes sense. I just shot a boy I’ve known my whole life. I’m in shock. I nod again, and then my parents and I sit down while a very nice man examines me.
Afterward, my parents take me in their car to the hospital. Nate is with his mother, following us. The police need to take possession of his truck temporarily to collect evidence. He couldn’t have driven it anyhow. He wasn’t injured enough to go in the ambulance, but he wasn’t in any shape to drive either.
I know that there are things that have to happen, but I need to be there for Grace, as she was for me, and I need Nate with me. I try to explain this to my parents several times, but they aren’t able to help me. Grace, Nate, and I all need to be checked out by the doctors and talk to the police. We’re all in separate vehicles—Grace in the ambulance, Nate with his mother, and me with my parents. After the past few hours, that seems wrong. We should be together.
Thoughts of the things Reid did, the awful events I heard about and the ones I saw, threaten to overwhelm me. I don’t want to think about any of it. Mixed in with all of those horrible details is one more truth that repeats like a refrain: I shot a boy tonight.
I shot him.
In that last moment, I wanted to kill him.
I shot him.
For a moment, I came near to shooting him again.
“Eva?” My mother’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts and closer to the world around me.
“I shot him,” I whisper to her.
“I know,” she says.
I reach up and take her hand in mine. I try not to think about sitting in another car earlier tonight. My mother’s hand in mine is an anchor, one I am afraid to release. “He would’ve killed Grace. She wasn’t moving. I wasn’t sure . . . I thought she might have died for a minute, and then Reid was going to kill Nate. He told me to get in his car, and he wanted to kill them, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Shhh,” my mother says. She holds my hand tighter. “It’s okay. They’re safe. You’re safe.”
“Everything is going to be all right,” my father adds. He has both hands on the steering wheel, and I can see how tightly he holds it. His knuckles are white in the dim lights of the car. “Everyone is safe now, and your grandfather’s attorney is already at the police station. You’ll be fine, Eva.”
DAY 136: “THE AFTERMATH”
Eva
4 months later
LATE THE NIGHT WE were released to my parents’ custody, I copied the recording of Reid’s confession onto my laptop. I also gave the police a copy the next day, along with my statement. They took my phone into evidence, but I’d have given them pretty much anything they asked without hesitation anyhow.
I’m glad I kept my own copy of Reid’s confession though. It’s not right to let the true story be controlled by lawyers and journalists. Micki wasn’t their friend. Amy wasn’t in their school. Madison didn’t spend her last day in their homes. It’s my story. These were things that happened to me, in my life, to my friends.
Over the last month, I’ve transcribed it. I’ve typed out every sick thing Reid said to me when he drove me to see Grace. Once I started doing it, Grace and I both started writing down our own memories of what happened. Last week, we told our therapist.
He says it’ll help. I don’t know if he’s right or not. All I have figured out is that having our part of the story typed up on my laptop seems like a good idea. It makes me feel better knowing that Reid’s version of reality isn’t the only one on record.
“Nate called us, Eva,” she interrupts gently. “We know.”
I nod. I’m not sure how Nate called after he gave me his phone. I glance at him.
“Backup cell because of . . . the things you told me before,” he says in a still-hoarse voice.
My visions of Nate and my decision to trust Nate enough to tell him about the vision, that’s what changed everything. He had a second phone; he called for help.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I want to be in his arms right now, but my mother is clutching me to her. My father gives Nate a wide smile, and then he reaches down and squeezes Nate’s shoulder. Then his arms are around my mother—who is still hugging me.
When they release me, I turn so I can see Grace. The EMTs are still with her, and her parents are hovering at Grace’s side. When Mrs. Yeung sees me looking at them, she murmurs something to Grace and comes toward me.
“You’re utterly irresponsible, and I can’t believe you put yourself in this kind of danger, and”—she wraps both arms around me—“you saved my Gracie. Thank you. I’m furious at the risks you took, but right now, thank you.”
I nod again. I don’t know why I can’t seem to do much other than nod, but I can’t. I swallow, and try to say something, but I’m not sure what it would be so I close my mouth again.
“Are you charging her?” my dad asks, and I realize that Detective Grant has joined us.
“Charging her? With what?” Mrs. Yeung asks with a frown.
“Eva shot Reid.” My mother sniffles as she says it, and then she turns to the detective. “It was self-defense.”
Detective Grant shakes her head at us. “We’ll sort it all out. Right now, Miss Tilling should see the EMTs. She’s in shock. Then we’ll deal with the rest.”
“Shock,” I echo. That makes sense. I just shot a boy I’ve known my whole life. I’m in shock. I nod again, and then my parents and I sit down while a very nice man examines me.
Afterward, my parents take me in their car to the hospital. Nate is with his mother, following us. The police need to take possession of his truck temporarily to collect evidence. He couldn’t have driven it anyhow. He wasn’t injured enough to go in the ambulance, but he wasn’t in any shape to drive either.
I know that there are things that have to happen, but I need to be there for Grace, as she was for me, and I need Nate with me. I try to explain this to my parents several times, but they aren’t able to help me. Grace, Nate, and I all need to be checked out by the doctors and talk to the police. We’re all in separate vehicles—Grace in the ambulance, Nate with his mother, and me with my parents. After the past few hours, that seems wrong. We should be together.
Thoughts of the things Reid did, the awful events I heard about and the ones I saw, threaten to overwhelm me. I don’t want to think about any of it. Mixed in with all of those horrible details is one more truth that repeats like a refrain: I shot a boy tonight.
I shot him.
In that last moment, I wanted to kill him.
I shot him.
For a moment, I came near to shooting him again.
“Eva?” My mother’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts and closer to the world around me.
“I shot him,” I whisper to her.
“I know,” she says.
I reach up and take her hand in mine. I try not to think about sitting in another car earlier tonight. My mother’s hand in mine is an anchor, one I am afraid to release. “He would’ve killed Grace. She wasn’t moving. I wasn’t sure . . . I thought she might have died for a minute, and then Reid was going to kill Nate. He told me to get in his car, and he wanted to kill them, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Shhh,” my mother says. She holds my hand tighter. “It’s okay. They’re safe. You’re safe.”
“Everything is going to be all right,” my father adds. He has both hands on the steering wheel, and I can see how tightly he holds it. His knuckles are white in the dim lights of the car. “Everyone is safe now, and your grandfather’s attorney is already at the police station. You’ll be fine, Eva.”
DAY 136: “THE AFTERMATH”
Eva
4 months later
LATE THE NIGHT WE were released to my parents’ custody, I copied the recording of Reid’s confession onto my laptop. I also gave the police a copy the next day, along with my statement. They took my phone into evidence, but I’d have given them pretty much anything they asked without hesitation anyhow.
I’m glad I kept my own copy of Reid’s confession though. It’s not right to let the true story be controlled by lawyers and journalists. Micki wasn’t their friend. Amy wasn’t in their school. Madison didn’t spend her last day in their homes. It’s my story. These were things that happened to me, in my life, to my friends.
Over the last month, I’ve transcribed it. I’ve typed out every sick thing Reid said to me when he drove me to see Grace. Once I started doing it, Grace and I both started writing down our own memories of what happened. Last week, we told our therapist.
He says it’ll help. I don’t know if he’s right or not. All I have figured out is that having our part of the story typed up on my laptop seems like a good idea. It makes me feel better knowing that Reid’s version of reality isn’t the only one on record.
