The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Eight

“Quinn?” he says. 
    And instantly, I freeze. What the hell am I doing? He’s not going to admit even if he did! I know how these types of people work… I’ll never get an answer.
    “Are you alright?”
    Say something. Just say something!
    But I can’t; I can’t say a single word as the tears come back up. 
    My phone rings with Wesley’s name on the screen. Do I pick up? I left his house without a word-- he probably thinks I’m terrified to be around him. 
    I leave Brandon in the dark, answering to Wesley.
    “Hey,” he says. The thought of what Brandon and I might’ve done is still lurking in my mind, creeping into the darkest places. “Can you come over? There’s-there’s something I need to show you.” His voice cracks as if it’s breaking at the seams. 
    “Yeah,” I say, wiping my tears. “Yeah, I’ll be right over.”
    So I get up and race to my car before my parents get home.
    When I get there, I knock on the door but Wesley isn’t the one to open it. His little sister, Grace slides it open.
    “Wesley!” she screams with a smirk on her face. “Your girlfriend is here!” 
    Oh.
    Oh. 
    Wait-- that’s not true. Why does she think that? Am I- am I showing signs of that? It was one kiss; he’s not my boyfriend. Maybe I felt bubbly and all warm inside that night, but it was only once. He’ll never give me that feeling again.
    “Grace,” he says. “That’s not-- that’s not my girlfriend.”
    But when I see him again, those thoughts disappear. 
    He stands in front of me, with hair as smooth as silk and eyes that resemble that of a diamond. He’s so perfect-- in every way possible. I wish I could run into his arms and tell him how I feel. I wish he would feel the same.
    “Hey,” he says, leaning down to Grace’s height. “Can you go talk to mommy? She needs someone to keep her company.” 
    She nods and runs off to Ms. Kingston’s room.
    “Okay,” he says. “Come here.” 
    I follow him into his room, where a journal is laying wide open on the bed. 
    “Read it,” he demands. “Someone hurt her.” 
    So I listen.
   

   

April 14th
I’ve had enough of hurting. I want to escape, but something is holding me back. I want to run away, maybe. But then people will search for me.
There’s my mom and Wesley… they’d hate me for running away. And we just got Grace so I can’t do that to her. 
I’m stuck. 
Do I tell someone? The police, maybe.
Yeah, I’ll do that. 
I wish I could tell Mom, but she’d overthink it. She wouldn’t know what to do and it’d just ruin her. Wesley? He couldn’t handle it. He’d try to kill them and I don’t want a murderer as a brother. 
I love them, though. I love them so much. I’d do anything for those losers.

I sit on his bed in awe, staring at the journal page and the tear stain on the bottom of the page. Someone’s been torturing her-- maybe blackmail… sexual abuse, physical abuse, for all I know. 
     But she was suffering.
    Maybe it was somehow a suicide.
    But she wouldn’t leave her family.
    I flip through the pages, finding the rest to be torn out. Why is this the only one left? Maybe she was smart-- maybe she knew something would happen to her. 
    “She was smart,” Wesley says, sliding his palm down from his cheeks. “She knew,” he continues. “and she left us clues because she didn’t know one thing.”
    “What didn't she know?” I ask. 
    “Who.” 

    It’s been nearly two hours and we’re sitting on Wesley’s bedroom floor, sorting out pieces of paper with names on it-- at least twenty. They’re suspects, being investigated as a savage citizen who did a cruel and vile act. 
    “So who’s left?” he asks.
    I sort the names out in a triangle, determined to find the killer. If we get their confession, we’ll be running to the police station with hardcore, legitimant evidence in the palm of our hands.
    “Riley, Jessie, and Brandon, Skye, Carter, of course, Chief Larsen, Cecilia James, and Heath Prescott,” I answer. “But her birth parents-”
    “Cecilia and Heath,” he adds.
    “Right,” I say, grabbing their names. “Did she have any contact with them?” 
    He leans against the wall, scratching his head in thought.
    If she never spoke to them, even if it was just once, what reason would they have to murder her? There’s no motive-- no need for vengeance.
    “Last year,” he says, sitting up. “Last year she drove to Bell Grove and met Cecilia… and-and just a few months ago, she went behind Mom’s back and drove all the way to a prison in Dallas to meet Heath.”
    A prison? This could be something. Maybe he’s not in it anymore! Maybe he didn’t appreciate her visit. If he’s in prison, maybe he’s not in the right mental state.
    “Pulling Heath Prescott up,” he says, sitting on his knees to reach the laptop we previously used, sitting on the bed. He types in his name, clicks the first link, and there it is-- his prison record. “Released May 2nd… two days before prom.” 
    It’s him-- it has to be. It adds up, it makes sense, it-
    My phone rings-- my mom.
    Oh no-- I forgot to tell her where I am. Time got ahead of me and now-now she’s going to be panicking. She’s probably worried sick. I never do stuff like this.
    Here I was, thinking I was getting back to my old self… but I’m just back into this crappy, self-loathing version of myself.
    “Quinn. Rose. Taylor,” she yells through the phone, making me move it from my ear in fear of going deaf. “I let you stay at Keller’s and that was enough! Where the hell are you? This is not like you, young la-”
    “Mom,” I say, staring at Wesley with wide eyes. He raises his eyebrows and smirks, making the bubbly feeling in my stomach begin again. I squint my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “I’m okay. I’m with a… a friend. We’re just like, hanging out. I’m fine, Mom.”
    “Who is this friend? Do I know them? Are they safe?” her voice calms down a bit. 
    “Her name’s… Mia. Mia Gulinski. Keller and I had a fight so she’s just helping me out. He’s not my only friend, you know?” I half-lie, proud of myself for coming up with that on the spot. 
“Oh, your friends with the Gulinski girl?” she says, pleased. I said the right thing-- I did it. “They’re good people. I hope you and Keller are doing okay, sweetie. I love you.”
Wait-- she knows them. She’ll call and make sure I’m there.
“Love you too, Mom. Bye.”
And with that, I hang up and call Mia. I need her to cover for me. If she calls, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Mia!” I say when she picks up. 
“Quinn?” she says, surprised.
“Can you cover for me? My mom called and I kinda said dI was at your house because you’re the first person that came to my mind  and-and turns out she knows your family, so she’ll call and-”
“Relax,” she says. “Yeah, I’ll cover for you… hey, did Jessie say something to you? I’m sorry. I kinda broke up with him and he went all crazy-”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I can handle a few harsh words. Thanks so much, Mia. If you ever need a favor, just call.”
And with that, I hang up. 
Wesley and I are left, silently staring at each other. Does he not approve of Mia? Maybe Maeve didn’t like her. Does he… does he think my mom is too overprotective?
But then he starts laughing; he laughs for the first time since prom.
“Mia?” he says. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
Looking at his cheesy smile, I remember what we used to be. We were happy, we were care-free, we didn’t have to worry about a thing. That smile brings me back to the kiss we shared in Jessie’s basement, to the soft, loving words he whispered in my ear. Wesley was the man of my dreams and I wanted him so bad… I still do.
But things have changed.
“Okay,” he says, grabbing Cecilia’s name. And just like that, the joyous moment is gone. “What time do you need to be home?” 
I check my phone-- 3:13 p.m. 
“Eight,” I say, making him raise an eyebrow, finding my curfew unsettling. “To be safe,” I add. When he doesn’t change his expression, I tell him, “I haven’t seen my parents since yesterday morning!”
Just like that, his eyebrow lowers and he chuckles, satisfied with himself.
“Bell Grove is an hour and a half drive. We can make it-- spend no more than thirty minutes at her house, and boom. We’ll be back by eight.” He gets up, motioning me to do the same.
“Wes,” I say. He turns around, shocked. What did I do? Why does he look like that? “How uh… how do we know where she lives?” 
He doesn’t move, but just stands in the doorway with a cheesy grin.
“You called me Wes,” he says.
That’s why? I didn’t do anything wrong! He’s just… he’s just being aggravating; or at least, trying to. 
“Relax,” he says. “I went with Maeve when she went.” 
***
    It’s been thirty minutes of driving without a word to be spoken. Maybe it’s our past creeping up on us that forces us this vow of silence or the thought of what may await us when we reach our final destination. It could be dangerous. It could get us killed. Yet somehow, we haven’t spoken about it. 
    If we’re going to a murderer’s house, we could become a victim. But it’s not inevitable, right? It would never be us. 
    The conversation we had earlier, the untroubled, easy-going time we had is gone and now, this truck is full of uneasiness and turbulence. 
And looking at him, I want to speak. I want to open my mouth... let the words flow naturally. But all of a sudden, conversation is going to have to be forced.
“You think Chief Larsen really could’ve done it?” I ask, staring him down with pity. 
Yeah, that’s right. I pity you, Wesley Kingston. I don’t like you. I have sympathy for you. Just because you’re the cutest human alive doesn’t mean… doesn’t mean you affect me.
“Well she won’t take the case and keeps making reasons up.” He looks at me. “Yeah, she’s a big suspect.”
He’s right-- but I already knew that. 
Come on, just keep talking.
The silence is deafening.
“Hey, Wes...ley,” I say, digging under my fingernails. He glances at me for a second, then puts his eyes back on the road.
“Mhm,” he says.
“What do you-” I stutter. Why am I saying this. I need to stop, I need to stop right now. “What do you think we would’ve been if we met earlier?” 
Great. I’ve gone and ruined this entire relationship… this entire friendship.
He whips his head from me to the road a few times, stunned. For what feels like forever, he’s stuck in a trance with a tongue unable to speak.
    “Something,” he finally says. “Definitely something.” Slowly, his hand reaches over to the cup holders, then slides onto my thigh and all of a sudden, my heart races. The bubbly feeling comes racing back and my thoughts run dry.
His hand strokes up and down, making goosebumps cover every portion of my body as he says, “I just need some time.” 
And with that, he takes his hand back and focuses on the road.