In The Right Key

Chapter 13: Dead Man

Chapter 13: Dead Man

Red and blue lights flashed across the pale faces of the Forks High student body. A long line of shock stretched the parking lot as professionals coated in blue rushed to hide the body. The phone I used to call them sat on the ground next to me, looking foreign on the asphalt.

The light coming from the overbearing clouds faded into a harsh twilight. The sky belonged to another planet. A single night star blinked above, mocking our fragility. A single strand of humor left in me found it funny that the star was probably already dead, shining its unwanted light a little too late.

After the crowd dissipated, I was put into the front seat of a police car. My dad's musky scent surrounded me, but provided no comfort. His words drifted in and out of my attention.

"They were going to question you at the department . . . better to do it at home . . ." he said. I remember nodding. There were so many thoughts in my brain that they became a buzz; easily ignorable but still there.

We reached home. Charlie sat at the table, rubbing his hand over his forehead. I stood near the kitchen sink, remaining in one position.

Charlie sighed. "Now, Bells, believe me I don't want to do this right now either, but I have to ask you some questions." I nodded again.

"What happened?" I had rehearsed the lines before the police arrived at school.

"I was outside. I went to my car and saw something in the forest. I found him there and called the police." My voice sounded scarily monotonous.

"Is that all?" I nodded. He sighed and turned in his chair to look at me. "Look, Bella, I know you're in shock, but I need you to answer—"

"There's nothing else." I cut him off. My closed fist clenched and I felt the paper folded inside it.

Charlie saw it. "What's that?" He got up, convinced it had something to do with the murder (although they weren't sure it was a murder yet). It was his case, after all.

"Nothing." I placed my right hand across my body, half-crossing my arms. I knew he wouldn't reach for it.

"Bella, if it's—"

"It's not." Whatever he was about to ask didn't relate to what I held in my hand. I walked past him on my way to the stairs. "Goodnight, Dad." It wasn't nearly time for bed, but after what I'd been through, it sure felt like it.

My clouded brain didn't unclear when I laid down on my bed. I couldn't sleep because of it.

After half an hour of just laying there on a bed I wished could also have someone else in it, I found I could get a semblance of rest while still awake if I let the buzzing become a normality in my brain. When I closed my eyes and got as comfortable as I could in my too-warm bed, the buzz was a string of questions.

I sat up and covered my face with my hands. One incessant question came to the forefront of my mind: What does the note mean? I reached for the note I'd dropped on the floor. I unfolded the soft, warm paper, touched by a now dead man. I understood what it said, but I couldn't comprehend it.

If you want to end this, leave.

Is that what James wanted me to do? Is that why he's been doing these terrible things to me, to get me to leave? It just doesn't make sense. It doesn't add up.

If I want people to stop dying, then I should leave Forks. Leave my home, my birthplace, my father, my first and last love (because I know I'll never love anyone like I love Edward), leave the one place where I feel right.

I felt sick just thinking about it.

That's when I woke up. Figuratively.

I was not going to that anymore. James was not going to rule my life just so he could, undoubtedly, end it. He wouldn't hurt anyone else.