Page 46

Chapter 45

That tragic night

Alan

Age 21 - Clearwater

H ere’s a fun fact about my friend Robbie. When he’s pissed, he’s a shitty fucking communicator.

As it turns out, when someone is too upset to speak clearly, I desperately want to punch them. Let’s consider that a fun fact about me.

Facing off in a convenience store parking lot with him wasn’t on my list of things to do tonight. I thought this double-date hook-up thing would be much more enjoyable than it’s been thus far.

He glares at me over the hood of my dad’s Jaguar, irate fumes virtually billowing around him. I’ve never seen my friend this livid. The worst part is that I have no clue why he’s so enraged. The few words he’s spoken made as much sense as tits on a bull.

To honor my promise to return to Daniel quickly, I devised a solid plan, and it was going well.

After we picked up Ashley and her incredibly bangable friend Melanie, I pitched my idea of pizza, movies, and swimming at my house. The girls were immediately game for it, which is typically the case when ladies learn I live in the ritzy part of Clearwater.

Off we went. Everything was fine.

Or so I thought.

A few minutes into the drive, Ashley asked me to make a stop at the Circle K store for whatever the fuck girls buy before a hookup. Probably condoms, although I have plenty.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Robbie jumped my ever-loving shit. I sat there dumbstruck while he bumbled for an explanation that never came.

When he bashed his fist against the dashboard, I told him to get the fuck out and calm down. I’ll be damned if I let him trash my dad’s prized possession with his temper tantrum.

Rather than punch him, I hold my palms face out and address him calmly. “What’s the problem with going to my place, man? Did you see how quickly they agreed to my suggestion? They’re totally on board. This is a good thing.”

He aggressively licks his lips. “Why did—why did you... dammit .” After rolling out his shoulders, he finally spits out his question. “Why did you change the plan without asking me first?”

I shake my head, face crinkling on one side. My fist twitches to meet his nose. “What’s the big fucking deal? You wanted to hang out with them, and that’s what we’re doing. I don’t see the problem.”

His pacing speeds up, and he glances at his pager again. “Alan, I wanted to hit the club first.” A smile gradually slides into place, but it’s fake as hell. “Thought we’d dance, get the girls some drinks so they loosen up, and then we’d take them somewhere private. Let’s get them to go along with that idea when they come out here.”

My gut grows heavy, reigniting the dumb fucking ache that started when my brother was doing his scared-to-be-alone bullshit.

Again, Robbie checks his pager.

The cliché about drug dealers having beepers comes to mind, but I push the ridiculous thought away. Robbie isn’t a drug dealer. He uses a pager because he can’t afford a mobile phone like me. That shit with Dad thinking Robbie’s sketchy is just messing with me.

He looks up from his pager and jabs his fingers punishingly through his buzz-cut hair.

The heaviness in my gut intensifies, gradually seeping into my chest.

Shaking off my nervous system malfunction, I attempt to appeal to his pride. “You said you’d spent time with Ashley before. You already hooked up, right?”

He nods brusquely.

“Cool. And since she’s seeing you again, she must trust you. Unless you’re suddenly getting a vibe shift from her. Do you think she’s afraid to be alone with us? I don’t get that impression at all.”

He scoffs. “Of course Ashley trusts me. It ain’t that, man.”

“Then why do you need to ply her with booze? I already feel some sparks with her friend, dude. We don’t need to get them drunk. And frankly, it’s creepy as hell that you think we do.”

He spits on the ground. “It’s not about the booze.” As his frustration steeps, he smacks his lips together. “I want to take them out dancing. It’s romantic.”

I expel a mocking breath, making a psh sound. “Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit.”

He doesn’t give two shits about romance. He’s the poster child for hit it and quit it .

The riotous lump in my chest works its way up my throat. I swallow forcefully around it.

Something is very wrong here.

Robbie grits his teeth and flails his hand in my direction, physically dismissing me. Once more, he checks his pager, then cranes his neck to see in the store. “They’re gonna be out any minute. Dammit .”

The tension in my gut and chest expands throughout my body. Even my legs are vibrating with a confusing ache, and the pulse in my throat pounds so violently I have to smack my hand over it.

There’s got to be a reason why my instincts are in overdrive. I should call Daniel to ensure he’s all right.

I make a step toward the car to retrieve my mobile phone.

Robbie springs three quick steps forward. “What are you doing? We can’t go to your house yet.”

“I need to make a phone call to check on—” My words cut off as my gut coils into a ball. My palm goes to my stomach to quell the sting.

The intensity of my gut instinct has far surpassed bad juju levels tonight. There’s a whole fucking forest of what the fuck trees taking root inside me.

“Why the fuck can’t I go home?”

He flings his straight arm in the direction of the store. “The girls. Are you leaving us here? What the fuck, man?”

For a solid five seconds, I study him more carefully than I’ve ever studied him. I’ve never felt compelled to look beneath the surface before.

I sure as hell do now.

He’s crawling out of his skin. More frantic lip-licking. His eyes dart around aimlessly, looking anywhere but at me. His entire frame visibly trembles as he shifts his body weight from side to side.

I put my hands on his arms to steady him. “Robbie, what the fuck are you on?”

“Nah. You know I don’t fuck around with that shit.” He shakes his head in an arc, timid at first, then more emphatically. “Nah, man. I’m good. It’s fine. You want to go to your house. That’s cool. My bad, dog. Let me hold your phone real quick.”

“Hold my phone?”

He motions toward the pager clipped to his jeans pocket. “Need to call someone back before we go to your place.”

The surge of discomfort pulsating through my body becomes so severe that I must physically shudder and shake myself out of it.

Everything inside me is telling me to check on Daniel.

I refuse to ignore it for another second.

Holding out my palm to Robbie, I seethe, “Hang on. I need to use it first.”

I slide into the driver’s seat and call my house. It rings until the answering machine picks up. “Daniel, it’s me. Pick up the phone. It’s me. I’m on my way home now. Pick up if you can hear this. Answer meee . I need to know if you’re okay. Come on, Daniel. Pick up.”

My heart thrashes while I wait for him to answer. He never does.

I try calling the house once more. Maybe he was taking a piss.

Again, it rolls to the answering machine. And again, he doesn’t pick up despite the substantially louder and longer message I broadcast through our living room.

Barely able to breathe from the intense pain flooding my midsection, I look out the windshield and meet Robbie’s dead-eyed gaze.

Squinting, I look closer.

Wait . No.

His eyes aren’t dead.

They’re frozen with fear.

He launches into a rambling rant, pacing frantically. “Who’d you just call, man? Why’d you say that? Who’d you call?” He bangs his fists on the hood of the car, demanding an answer. “Alan, who the fuck did you just call? Is someone at your house? Who’d you fucking call? Why did you say you’re on the way home? Who’s at your fucking house?”

Adrenaline pumps through me, sharpening my senses like a switch flipped. I bolt from the car, slam into him, and pick him up by his collar.

“What did you do, Robbie?” I growl the words, my teeth bared. “What The. Fuck. Did. You. Do?”

His panic melts into sorrow, and his eyes cloud over with a sheen of tears. This time, when he speaks, his voice is whiny and burdened with guilt. “Who’s at your house, man? You said your family was on vacation. No one was supposed to be there.”

My rage boils over, and I shake him roughly by the collar. “My brother is home.”

“You said they were on vacation until next week,” he insists. “You said?—”

His words are choked off when his cheap-ass shirt rips, and my hands slide upward until they’re surrounding his neck.

“I said my parents were gone. Not my entire family. My little brother is home. What the fuck did you do?”

He grabs my hands, clawing at them to pull them from his throat.

A female voice calls out, “Hey, let him go!”

“Someone get help,” another yells.

I ignore them, my stare fixed on Robbie. His face turns scarlet, and he gasps for breath. Veins bulge at his temples. Loosening my hold on his neck, I lower him to the ground.

“I’ll try to call it off,” he sputters through serrated breaths. “Give me your phone, and I’ll try to call it off.”

Dragging him by the arm, I snatch my phone from the car and thrust it at him. “Call it off.”

Whatever the fuck it is. I’m guessing some type of robbery.

“Hey, what’s going on, guys? Why are you fighting?”

“Robbie, are you okay?”

Our fucking dates are in a state of panic. Like I give a shit anymore.

While he makes the call, I glance to the front of the car, where the girls hover. Confusion and fear color their features. All I can do is wave an open palm at them.

And I wait.

Suddenly, Robbie blurts into the phone. “Somebody’s at his house. Don’t do it, man. You have to get out?—”

His breath is choppy, and his face goes ashen as he listens to the person on the other end of the call. “What do you mean?” His voice cracks, then he wails, “No, no, no, nooo .”

“What’s fucking happening?” I roar at him.

Robbie dares to meet my eyes, his chin wobbling. “He had a gun.”

“Who did?”

“Your brother. He pulled a gun on my friend. He was gonna shoot. Your brother had a gun. And now...”

“No,” I mutter, thoughts jumbling through my mind. “Dad has a handgun in the safe, but Daniel doesn’t have the combination to open it.”

The safe. In my father’s study.

Where I stood earlier tonight and felt my gut riot in warning.

A warning I didn’t heed.

“My friend broke into the safe, Alan.” Robbie points at the phone, words clambering out in an incoherent rush. “That’s why he went. For the money. He opened the safe. Nobody was supposed to be home. Your brother wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m so fucking sorry. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Oh my god . Why is this happening? Alan, I’m so sorry. He wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Inconsolable now, Robbie sobs into his hands. The phone clatters to the ground.

Through mournful wails, he keeps ranting, “He’s dead, man. Your brother got the gun from the safe after my friend left the room, and he followed him upstairs. He was raving and saying crazy shit, and it spooked my friend. He was saying that it doesn’t matter if he shoots the gun because it isn’t real. It freaked my friend out, and they fought. And your brother got shot, man. Your brother got shot.” A braying sob shakes its way out of him. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. We just wanted the money.”

Everything around me fades, putting me at one end of a long tunnel. Robbie’s tear-soaked face is at the other. His words are lost to the echoes of silence surrounding me.

The rioting tension lancing my body has long since vanished, replaced with bitter numbness.

Because the danger is gone.

And so is my brother.

Time goes by in a blur. I’m unsure what’s happening from one moment to the next.

Someone must have called the cops when they saw me choking Robbie. They’re here now. I don’t care.

I’m unable to speak to defend myself, so they cuff me and put me into the back of a squad car.

Through raining tears, Robbie tells the cops what happened.

The truth, I think. I hear but don’t process it.

They don’t handcuff him.

Although I watch through the window, I somehow see nothing.

None of this matters. Nothing matters anymore.

I didn’t listen to my instincts. I had every chance to stop this from happening when I was at home with Daniel. Warning bells were firing right and left, and I walked out the door like it was nothing.

That’s what I’m left with—nothing.

Eventually, the cops attempt to cuff Robbie.

They must not have expected him to fight since he’s been a bawling mess this entire time. He flings himself away from them, falling a few steps toward me.

His splayed palms smack against the squad car window a few inches in front of my face, and they linger there.

With his mouth open wide, he bellows in anguish. “Alan, I’m so sorry, man. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. I didn’t want this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Alan. Please . I didn’t mean for this to happen. Alan, please.”

I don’t answer. Don’t even flinch.

As the cops drag him off the car, his hands gradually pull away from the window. “Alan, please forgive me.”

The cops carry him toward another cop car. He keeps pleading for my forgiveness, reciting my name like a mantra. “Alan. Alan. Alan, please. Alan, please. Alannn.”

Robbie’s betrayal barely registers over the searing guilt that’s slowly replacing the numbness inside me. None of this would have happened if I had trusted my instincts. If I had paid more attention to who Robbie was deep down. And if I hadn’t been so selfish.

My brother would still be alive.

Before they shove him into the other police cruiser, Robbie yells at me once more. “Alan, please . Forgive me, Alan. Alannn .”

For the second time tonight, I turn away from someone on the other side of the glass as they cry out for me in the same way.

The very sound of my name sickens me because it serves as a brutal reminder of my selfishness and the horrors I’ve caused.

I don’t want to remember my name spoken this way. By someone who befriended me only to get close enough to rob my family.

I don’t want to remember my name spoken by someone who was begging for apologies for killing my brother.

And I don’t want to remember my brother crying out my name as I walked away from him.

I never want to hear my name again.