Spring Won't Come

Twenty-Three

"I love you too."

Blake's final words hung in the air and echoed in her mind. It took Kayla a moment to realize that those words were the last time she would ever hear his voice.

She cradled Blake's head in her lap and wailed, her cries more animal than human. She rocked back and forth, pleading for someone to help her. No one came. No one even knew they were there.

Kayla placed Blake's head gently on the ground. His eyes were still staring up at her, unblinking and unfeeling. There was a slight smile on his face and she wondered if it had been painful. Was dying painful or did things just fade away, like going to sleep?

The front of her sweatshirt and her hands were sticky with red. She had been crying for so long that Blake's blood had begun to dry. She wiped her hands against her sweatshirt before realizing the futility of the effort.

The apartment was silent, Manny and Alice had left minutes, or maybe hours, ago, leaving Kayla alone with Blake. She bowed her head and prayed, begging God to send someone to help her.

"It's not supposed to be like this," Kayla said. "I thought you would protect us from her. Why did Blake have to die?"

Kayla remembered seeing a payphone down the street. She needed to call the police so that they could come and get Blake. No, she corrected herself, so they could come and get Blake's body. Blake was gone.

The walk from the apartment to the sidewalk was a blur. Kayla shivered, her skin crawled from the kiss of the night air. It got dark so early in the fall, she hated it, it always made her feel like someone was watching, like some tragedy was lurking around the corner. This time, that feeling had been right.

The payphone was fastened by metal wires to a rickety chain link fence. The housing was covered in graffiti and it looked like someone had tried to sever the cord. Kayla lifted the phone from the receiver and dialed 911. The call was picked up immediately and the operator's voice came through the line. It was a woman with a thick Chicago accent.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I, uh," Kayla didn't know what to say. She also didn't want to say it. "My boyfriend's been killed."

"What is your location?"

Kayla gave Alice's address.

"Miss, where are you? Are you in danger?"

"No, I'm outside. I'm calling from a payphone down the street. The killer left."

"Okay, do you know how your boyfriend died?"

"Yes," Kayla's throat tightened and her words became forced. "He was stabbed."

The operator stayed on the line with Kayla until the police arrived. A white squad car pulled up, blue stripe down the side, blue lights flashing. An officer emerged, blue sleeves jutting out from his black vest.

The police weren't sure what to make of Kayla's story. Manny's fingerprints would later be found on the switchblade but they never recovered evidence of Alice's presence at the scene of the crime. Kayla didn't bother to tell them what she had seen Manny do to their parents. After some more questioning, she was free to leave with April.

April let her take the day off school for the rest of the week, and had even offered to stay home to keep her company. Kayla lied and said she would be okay, she just needed some time to herself.

The next day, Kayla crawled out of bed a little after nine in the morning. She put on a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt that April had lent her, not bothering to examine her appearance in the mirror. She sat down at April's kitchen table and began to sob. It felt good to cry, especially since there was no one around to judge her.