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“Yeah. He did it all the time.”
“It would be pitch black, though right?” Ray asked.
“He had good lights on his bike, and a headlamp,” Kevin clarified. “Plus, he knew it like the back of his hand. Could’ve done it in his sleep.”
“What about Tyler?” Kat asked, “Would this path lead to his house, too?”
There was a short pause that was filled with the heavy sound of our breathing, the crunch of the path under our bike tires, and thick rustle of leaves in the wind, animals in the undergrowth, birds in the trees. “He lived on the other side of town,” I said, explaining how 10th street bisected the town, with Tyler’s house on one side, and my family’s and Kevin’s on the other.
“So, there’s no reason he would’ve been in the woods?” Kat asked.
“Not really,” Kevin said.
“In the trial, they said he was taking a shortcut home though,” Kat said, breath catching, “like Ethan.”
“Yeah, but that never really made sense to me,” Kevin explained. “I’ve never been able to figure out why Tyler would’ve been in those parts of the woods that night, to be honest.”
There was silence again as we approached the road, and Kevin pulled up to a stop. “So, this is the short cut Ethan probably took. You leave the woods here, and cycle straight up Hillier Street, past Jessica Heng’s house, where the party was, and then into the woods again, right by the high school,” he said, pointing ahead of him. “If you stay in the woods for this bit it takes twice as long navigating the trails, so he always cut through here.”
“And so, this is where Cole Sampson would have witnessed Tyler going into the woods, shortly followed by Ethan?” Kat asked.
“At the other end, yeah,” Kevin said, getting ready to take off on his bike again. We followed the route right past Jessica’s old house, where I spent that last night before Tyler died. Someone else lived there now, different cars in the driveway, the outside painted a different color. I stared up at the windows of the first floor while we rode by, as if the ghost of my teenage past might be there, but all I saw was the fluttering of pale pink drapes. Jessica had lived just a few blocks from the high school, and it took us mere minutes to get there, Kevin up ahead, flying past the entrance and going right to the back where the street trailed off into the woods. This had been my route to and from school every day, walking past stoners and slackers, loners and young lovers who sought out the coverage and seclusion the woods easily provided.
“Will you show us where Tyler was found?” Kat called, her voice echoing in the chamber of cedar trees.
It didn’t take too long before Kevin slowed to a stop once again, scanning the area with a searching look on his face. “He was found somewhere round here, I think,” he said by way of explanation. “I couldn’t tell you for sure.”
“Olivia?” Kat said, “Do you know?”
There were trees as far as the eye could see, trunks thick, leaves an everlasting green. It was hard to believe we were just a few minutes from busy streets, a bustling high school. If you listened hard enough you could hear the gentle rush of Cedar Creek, and then, further away, the growing roar of Hood River. It seemed darker than it should have been, a temporary twilight falling over the footpath, and I looked up; through the canopy of leaves the sky had started to turn grey, and with my face upturned I felt a drop of rain land on my cheek. “Olivia?” Kat said again, bringing me back.
I looked around us, and shook my head, “I don’t know the exact spot, either. But it was probably around here. We’re still a few minutes from my old house.”
By the time we reached the house, the 20 or 25-minute bike ride Kevin had predicted had taken much longer due to all our stopping, and Kat and Ray were saying they wanted to try it again with no stops this time. Maybe even under the cover of darkness, just to be sure. “And we need to go back to Jessica Heng’s old house,” Kat said, “I want to see if you could actually identify anyone going into the woods from that far away. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to –” Ray started to say something and Kat held up her hand, as if she knew exactly what was coming, “With my glasses on I mean.”
But my attention had been caught by something just a few houses down the street. I narrowed my eyes, not sure I could really believe them, because standing out on a porch, just three houses away from where I’d grown up, were Cole Sampson and Morgan Washington.
And they were watching us.
13.
THEN
It’s the first day of Ethan’s trial, the air heavy and slow with heat, summer wafting in through my open window as I dress. My legs and arms shake as I worry over what to wear. Is a dress too much? Is a suit too formal? Eventually I settle on a dark blue jersey maxi dress I would normally wear to the beach, but with a brown leather belt cinching it at the waist, it somehow looks okay. My hands tremble as I do up the belt, fingers sticky and stiff. I have no idea what I’m doing.
But no one does. That’s what I soon realize. I can’t rely on my older sister, or even my parents to lead the way now. Neither of my parents could ever have imagined finding themselves in a situation like this. My dad is a city planner, my mom a landscape gardener. They see life through a series of plans and blueprints, one stage leading to the next, leading to the next. You prepare the soil, you plant at the right time, you water the ground, and whatever you put in there, you grow. But they could never have planned for any of this. Nothing about their lives up until this point, up until the morning the police knocked heavily on our front door, could have left them with even a hint that their only son was going to be arrested for murder. They did everything right, prepared us all perfectly for the world that was waiting for us, but they failed to take into account the blurred or broken line on a blueprint that eventually led to ruin and chaos; the weeds running rampant in the garden; the woodworm condemning the house to rot. So, when we get to the steps of the courthouse, the sidewalk and street packed with journalists, photographers, reporters and cameramen, I lead the way. It’s as if I can feel my parents’ inability to believe any of this is happening, and instead of scaring me, it bolsters me somehow. Because someone has to go in there and show Ethan they believe him, and that everything’s going to be okay.
But I’m not prepared for the other side of the courthouse door. I thought this would be the worst of it – the reporters and the onlookers, the rubberneckers and the muckrakers, but I couldn’t be more wrong, because on the other side of the door is Mayor Washington and her family. Her husband stands by her side, arm clamped around her shoulders, and in front of them is their daughter Morgan, my former friend and cheer captain, just one year older than both me and Tyler. I don’t expect anyone to say anything; I don’t know what I would say, what any of my family would say, so I can’t imagine what any member of Tyler’s family would say either.
But apparently my imagination isn’t quite up to scratch, because before I realize what’s happening, Mom is edging away from our family huddle, and taking a few steps towards the Washingtons, her mouth open to speak. But the sound that comes out is strangled and all wrong, and the Mayor just gives her a withering, disgusted look, her mouth drawn into a hard, straight line while Morgan says, “Don’t you dare come a single step closer, you murderous bitch.”
But her voice is thin and tinny, when I know from hours of cheerleading practice with her, that it’s normally hard and strong, as cheerful and confident as it is forceful. And for some reason, it makes my mind go clear, a glorious blank sheet of water roaring through it, and even though I have no idea what I’m doing or why, I walk over to Morgan and pull her into a hug, whispering into her ear as I do so, “I’m so, so sorry,” and that’s when I finally let myself cry, and that’s when her body collapses and the shudder of her sobs join mine.
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