Guilty

Chapter 11

I burst out of the house and onto Darius's back porch, diving off onto the pine needle-covered lawn and booking it to the street, to the dock the river a bit further down. One thing I do know: the longer I stay at the scene of a crime, the more likely we will not be able to blur the lines.

My feet scratch the path to the river repeatedly, throat burning.

The shadows of trees surround me, their long, twisted branches unfurling underneath the scattered stars in the inky sky.

I notice only then that I'm sprinting through the jagged path without tripping on a tree root.

I didn't deserve this.

But did Violet deserve this nightmare? I consider. She only wanted this because—

I reach the river. The moonlight glistens on the smooth surface of the water, stretching across it like a long, wavy scroll of listed secrets kept in a lifetime. Long weeds tangle onto my ankles from the abrupt stop, but somehow I steady myself, gazing across the water, expecting a cop to hop out of the bushes and arrest me.

It's only crickets, calling back and forth to each other in the seemingly-peaceful night.

I grab my phone from my back pocket, nearly dropping it down the river slope with my trembling hands. My thumbs slowly progress to my dad's contact and I press the phone to my ear when it rings.

I can't tell him what I've done. I just can't.

"Hayden?"

"Dad," I breathe. I imagine him sitting up in bed beside my sleeping mother, whispering softly. I push hair away from my tear-soaked cheeks, yanking at the roots, my mind racing with options of what to say to him. I know he'll never understand. No one will. Not even Violet. But he will come the closest out of anyone I know. He deals with people like me everyday. "Dad, I'm in trouble."

He only groans under his breath, sleepy puzzlement reaching me from the other end of the phone. "Hayden, where are you? Are you home? What are you talking about?"

Where am I? I don't even know the answer to that question, I realize as my eyes follow the river, wishing I could just fall back on the surface and float back to Patapsco Ridge. I'd give anything to wake up to the morning light of my perfect life once again. But I'm here, in the humidity of a Central Maryland night, just after killing somebody.

Killing somebody.

"I-I'm in trouble," I repeat hopelessly.

"What's the matter?" His voice slowly transitions to its usual focused, steady, and concentrated self.

I close my eyes. "Dad—I can't say. I just—I-I need help. Please. I need to"—I rub a tear from my cheek—"I'm...I just...I'm somewhere I'm not supposed to be. I made a—I made a huge...mistake." The word scrapes off my tongue painfully, shifting to a scream-like pitch. "I need to...not be here. I need to make it like I was never here."

I picture Violet in her dark clothes, coating through the entirety of Darius's house with a cloth of soap and water, or vinegar, or whatever would erase a fingerprint. She would care more about that part of this all.

Dad attempts again to understand. "Hayden, I'm not playing games. It's past midnight. What have you done?"

A whimper rips from my throat when I manage, "Please don't ask me that."