Can't We Be Seventeen? (If We Still Got The Right)

11- Closure

October 12th, 1989. Tuesday.
(19 days after Veronica Sawyer's murder.)

Veronica showed up again two days later. She was in Heather's room again, after the latter went home from school.

Thankfully, she went back to her normal appearance, with the blue blazer and her face not covered in blood like the last time Heather had seen her. She couldn't bear looking at that image again; it was still burned in her mind. She saw it when she closed her eyes when she went to sleep...

Who are you trying to convince, Heather? Me? Or you?

Veronica's words still echoed in her mind, like a song on replay, sending chills down her spine every time.

"It was JD, wasn't it?" Heather was the one to break the silence. "Heather McNamara said the police were going to investigate his house. Then everything will be over."

"Will it?" Veronica's voice echoed in the nearly empty room.

"Isn't that why you're still here?" Heather asked. "You're waiting for closure or something? Once they find the murderer you'll be able to cross to the beyond or whatever."

Veronica snorted. "I think you're watching too many movies," she said. "What makes you so sure it was JD?"

"It wasn't?"

Veronica shrugged.

"Why don't you tell me already?"

"Tell you what?" Veronica narrowed her brows, confused.

"What really happened? There are only two people who know for sure. You and whoever did this. So if you tell me, won't this make things easier?"

Veronica averted her eyes. She seemed uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I can't," she said.

"What?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know!" Veronica said loudly. A heavy silence fell over the two girls for what felt like ages as they stared at each other.

"You don't know?" Heather parroted, the words getting out of her mouth weakly. "What does that mean? Do you not remember him? Or did you not see his face?"

"Heather..." Veronica sounded tired. Practically begging Heather to drop the subject and talk about anything else. Heather didn't budge.

"I just don't understand how you don't -"

"I'm not real, Heather," Veronica said. Her words hit Heather like a punch in the gut. Like cold water being thrown at her, making her lungs burn, and her hands shake. "I'm not real."

"Stop," Heather closed her eyes to stop herself from crying.

"Look at me," Veronica asked so gently, Heather couldn't do anything but obey. She opened her eyes to stare at Veronica's warm gaze. She was much closer now. "The real Veronica is gone. Ok? Now she's buried next to her grandma. Her locker is empty. So is her seat at the Heather's table. They stopped calling her name during roll call. She's gone. I'm just... a part of your brain. The part that feels guilty for what happened. The part that is grieving her friend. But I'm not her, I'm you. Everything that I know about Veronica is because you know it. I know about the late-night phone calls where we talked about the lunchtime polls. I know that you cried on my shoulder after David forced himself onto you, and you threatened to kill me if I told anyone. I know about the kiss at our sleepover when Heather and Heather were already asleep. I'm inside your head. And if there's something that you don't, I can't know either. Like you said, the only person who knows is Veronica. And she's gone."

"She's gone..." Heather repeated it. Those words felt weird in her mouth. Wrong. Foul.

Heather began to cry.

***

Whenever his dad was home, JD tried to be as far away as he could. Sometimes, that meant staying at the 7- 7-Eleven or roaming through the streets of Sherwood until dark, other times, it meant locking himself up in his room with his headphones on and a good book, which is where he found himself in that Tuesday afternoon.

His back was starting to hurt from being in that same position for so long, and his eyes were tired, but he didn't move. The words in Baudelaire's Flowers of Evil made no sense to him, as his mind was a million miles away, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time.

He didn't hear the car pulling up on his driveway or the bell ringing. But he was able to see the unmissable red and blue lights downstairs, shining through the window and invading his room.

He narrowed his eyes and took his headphones off, and heard the muffled sound of voices coming from the first floor. His dad was speaking, but he didn't recognize who the other voices belonged to.

"Jason!" His father yelled. "Get down here."

JD usually ignored his dad's screaming, it usually meant he was drunk off his ass, but he obeyed. Before he even got to the first floor, he knew exactly why they were coming. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Part of him had been waiting for it since they found Veronica. Then, when the police showed up the day before with a search warrant, it just made even more clear.

So when JD arrived in the living room, he wasn't surprised to see two police officers waiting for him.

"Jason Dean," the one on the left said. "

"Yes."

"You're under arrest for the murder of Veronica Sawyer."