Passerby: A Psychological Thriller Read online

  The girl shifts suddenly, and I shift too. My flashlight, which is still on but is pointed at the ground, shines in her direction. That’s when I see the blood smeared across her thigh. Suddenly everything clicks into place. She’s not just a drunken girl left behind by friends in the park.

  “Who did this?” I demand, kneeling beside her. “Who left you here?”

  She opens her mouth, only to close it again. Tears stream down her face. She does not meet my eye. Her gaze is far off, like it’s stuck back in the past.

  The woman clears her throat. “Is there someone I can call?” She glances at me as she asks, a disapproving look on her face. Your parents are what I’m thinking, but that’s not what she says, “A friend?”

  The girl looks at me. “You’re Ruth, right?” Her voice shakes, but I don’t think it’s on account of the booze.

  “Yes,” I nod. “I’m Ruth.”

  The woman glances at me and narrows her eyes. Then she turns to the girl. “I’m Ashley.”

  I want to like Ashley. Mostly, because I want her to handle this situation so I don’t have to. But she isn’t making it easy. This isn’t a goddamned pow-wow. This isn’t the time for introductions. And anyway, I know the girl.

  Gabby. She works at the ice cream shop on Main Street, and she shares half of her DNA with the love of my life. Former love of my life, I should say. Once upon a time. A lifetime ago. “And you’re—”Ashley starts. She pauses and waits and when nothing comes, she waits some more.

  I roll my eyes.

  Finally, she runs her fingers over a patch on the girl’s backpack, which is on the ground next to her. “Gabby?”

  “Gabriella,” the girl says, correcting her. She tries to sound grown up, authoritative even, but her voice cracks as she speaks. I think about making a run for it, but the crowd around us is growing larger. Around here people talk. Channings do not simply walk away. And anyway, I’d never forgive myself if I did. I tried that once, a long time ago. I’m not sure I have it in me anymore.

  Gabby pulls at several blades of grass, ripping them from the ground one by one. She doesn’t look at me as she does it. She doesn’t look at Ashley either. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Who did this?” I say again, because what else is there to say? White, fiery rage burns inside of me. I am definitely missing the parade. I will not see our float in all its glory. I’m going to have to call the police, which is a shame. This girl’s night appears to have been bad enough, and it’s about to get worse. My stomach flip-flops at the thought of what I’m about to do. My sweaty palm grips my phone, a reminder that if I hadn’t forgotten it, this would be someone else’s problem.

  I’m aware of how that sounds. But if I know anything, I know some stories are better learned secondhand. “Gabriella,” I say, leveling with her. “I need you to tell me who did this.”

  She chokes up at my question. Ashley gives me the death stare, which is not only annoying because it is, but because she’s gorgeous even with her face all twisted up like that. The sobbing goes on for what feels like forever. Long enough for me to send several text messages. Finally, Gabby looks up and meekly, almost inaudibly, says, “I should have said no. I didn’t say no.”

  Chapter Two

  Anonymous a.k.a Passerby

  It’s hard to stay anonymous in this day and age. Not impossible. But far from easy. It requires staying out of the fray. Or above the fray. However the saying goes.

  So I guess that’s where I’ll start. It’s important. Staying above the fray, that is.

  It’s important. And she’s terrible at it. I really don’t know why she has to go and get herself into these situations. You might have thought I was referring to that other girl, but…no. I mean, lots of girls get themselves into those situations. Of course, it’s not their fault. No one is victim blaming or victim shaming or whatever it is they’re calling it today.

  Least of all me. She was a pretty girl. And it’s really too bad. A lesson learned for her the hard way: You can’t trust people. Not even when they say they’re your friend. Sometimes, especially not when they say they’re your friend.

  Not even when they tell you they love you. Sometimes, especially not when they tell you they love you.

  Which is kinda sorta, you could say, how I, too, found myself wrapped up in this mess.

  I’ve hurt lots of people. I didn’t hurt that girl. You can bet I have plans for who did. It’s almost too easy. Considering everyone knows who it was. Small towns do not hold their secrets well.

  Before you go thinking I’m some sort of hero, allow me to save you the trouble of being wrong. I’m the furthest thing from it. I won’t try too hard to convince you. Believe me, time will take care of that.

  Chapter Three

  Ruth

  I was born with the cord wrapped around my neck. I guess that’s where my bad luck started. Mama liked to say I was cursed. She said it like she was joking, but the older I get, the less I’m sure. She always dressed it up, usually with one of her platitudes. Mama had a lot of those. Usually, she’d add something about it making me stronger, or say that whatever ill-fated scenario was happening in my life was simply the Channing way. We are survivors, she often said, even if just barely.

  This is what it feels like as I stand there waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Waiting and not wanting to see Ryan Jenkins. Or his lovely wife. Not wanting to see the agony on his face, agony that would be on any parent’s face.

  Not wanting to remember.

  This is also what it feels like the first time I meet Ashley Parker. Having a cord wrapped around my neck. Suffice it to say, Davis’s latest girlfriend is not my cup of tea. First the police arrive, and by police I mean Roy. He calls in a female officer, as is protocol. I would have texted her, too, at the start, but she’s new in town and so far, we’re not on a first-name basis. I was hoping that wouldn’t change. Although, knowing Roy, of course it would.

  But then, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Every Channing baby for generations back was thrust in the world that same way. With our cords around our necks. Lots of Channings died before they’d ever gotten a start. There’s a whole cemetery filled with baby Channings, somewhere west of town. I never go there, but Mama did.

  Only Davis had been different. He didn’t come into the world like the rest of us. It was almost like he was the chosen one or something, which Mama always thought he was.

  She wanted more children and would’ve had them had it not been on account of the babies in the cemetery. I don’t know when it got to be too much for her, because when you’re a kid, there’s a lot of stuff you don’t know. But at some point it did, and that’s how even though Daddy always said he wanted a whole zoo full of kids, or a slew of them, which sounded to me at the time like he was saying a zoo, it ended up being just Johnny and Davis and me.

  That’s not to say we were alone. We had—we have—tons of cousins. No one ever leaves Jester Falls.

  No one but Davis.

  His unconventional and ill-timed idea planted the seed that would be the ultimate manifestation of me meeting Ashley Parker face to face, here and now. Some things, they start small, and they grow and they grow and they grow. I know that. But I don’t think I knew it. There’s a difference. And as it turns out, it’s quite a big one.

  One morning, out of the blue, Davis waltzed into the kitchen and, over Julia’s famous biscuits and gravy, announced that he was going on a cross-country trip. The nerve. Upsetting Julia that way. And the way he said it, like it was nothing. Like leaving Magnolia House to Johnny and me to take care of was no big deal. He dressed it up, kind of like Mama used to do with her platitudes. He said he wanted to see how other bed and breakfasts were staying afloat in the age of Airbnb and all the rental sites and whatnot. Funny thing is, Jester Falls is a tight-knit community. You could call it exclusive, if you want. That would be putting it politely. Which is why I never believed Davis. We don’t have the kind of people here who want
to rent out their homes. What happens between our walls tends to stay there.

  I know because…well, let’s just say I know. The real estate developers have been coming to town with their fancy ideas and dollar signs in their eyes for as long as I can remember. Jester Falls is the type of town where they’re run right back out, with their tails tucked between their legs.

  As for Davis, I wasn’t sure what he was going after. Greener pastures, maybe, and in a sense, looking at Ms. America here, I guess that’s what he found.

  Davis called me from the road exactly two days ago. He should have sounded happy. He should have sounded free, but he didn’t. Anyone else in that position, they would’ve sounded happy. Anyone else who managed to escape the back-breaking labor of the hospitality industry, anyone else who’d shirked their family responsibility, would have sounded elated.

  But he didn’t. He sounded pensive and worried. And perhaps a little restless.

  “I picked up a woman,” he announced.

  “What, like a hooker?” His voice sounded funny, like he was whispering, like he was trying not to be heard. So I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t know what the big secret was. I didn’t expect him to say what he said.

  “Like a hitchhiker.”

  My brother is maybe a little naïve. But he isn’t stupid. Although Johnny would argue with that. I might too, if we were in the same room together. For posterity’s sake, Davis is wicked smart. Earned himself a full ride and passed the bar exam on the first try. He barely even studied.

  “A hitchhiker?” This was exactly something my little brother would do, and still I had to ask. “Why would you do that?”

  “I don’t know.” He sounded far away. “Anyway, she’s sort of sick. I think we’re going to lie low for a few days.”

  “Lie low? Where are you?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “Louisiana? Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Clearly.”

  I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. So naturally, I filled the silence. “Davis?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I have time.” It was a lie. We’d been booked solid for weeks, with no chance of things slowing soon. Not with the summer season upon us.

  “I know.”

  “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “You’d tell me if you were?”

  “Of course.”

  I wanted to believe him. At one point I would have. This time I didn’t.

  “She’s not underage, is she?”

  “Jesus, Ruth. No.”

  “You sound nervous. Why do you sound nervous?”

  “The reason I’m calling, actually… is—” His voice cut out. It was several seconds before I could hear him again. “I wanted to know if you could get the place cleaned up?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The house.”

  “What house?” I knew what he was saying and suddenly everything made sense, and yet it didn’t.

  “Magnolia House.” The phone jostled and then he came back, his voice clearer. “Can you hear me okay?”

  “I can hear you fine.”

  “Good. Anyway…like I said—we’re going to lie low here for a few days. Just until she’s feeling better.” There was a rustling noise in the background, and the line went quiet for a second.

  “Davis?”

  “Yeah—sorry. I think it’s just dehydration. It’s really humid here.”

  “So you’re coming home?”

  “The beach and the fresh air will do her good.”

  “So you’ll be home in time for the Watermelon Festival, then?”

  “I think so.”

  “It’s in two days.”

  “I know when it is, Ruth.” He exhaled deeply, right into the speaker. Right into my ear. Purposely and righteously. The way Daddy used to. It shouldn’t have, but it made me miss them both. “I’ve been there every year of my life.”

  “Great,” I quipped. “Then you won’t end your streak.”

  “I didn’t plan this.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by that. And I didn’t ask. I had a million other questions floating through my mind. None of them seemed to want to be asked. I just wanted him home. I hadn’t wanted him to leave in the first place. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound okay.”

  His voice hardened. Davis didn’t get angry often. But he had his limits and once you’d crossed them, he had a way of letting you know. “I said I’m fine.” He sighed heavily. “Good bye, Ruth. I’ll call you when I’m on the road.”

  Davis left me hanging, so I did the opposite of what I should have done, which was to keep my mouth shut, and I went to find Johnny. I spilled the tea, and I did it in a big way. The Channing way.

  “You need to mind your own business,” Johnny said.

  “He made it my business!”

  “And now, what? You’re making it mine?”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “That’s just it, though, Ruth. There’s nothing to know! You’re just making things up—out of thin air!”

  “He called, Johnny. Davis called me. Why didn’t he just show up? Why didn’t he just come home? It felt like a warning. Like he might have gotten himself in some sort of trouble.” I swallowed hard. “He sounded like he was in trouble.”

  “Well, he didn’t call me.”

  “So, what?” I threw my hands up. “You don’t care?”

  He looked at me for a long time before he spoke. “Frankly, no. No, I don’t. And you shouldn’t either. Davis is—well, you know how he is. Same as he’s always been.” He ran his hand along the length of his jaw. “Things will play out the way they’re supposed to. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Sure there is.”

  “Whatever is going on with Davis—if anything—it doesn’t concern you, Ruth. Let it be.” He crossed the room, and I thought the conversation would end there. I almost wish it would have. “You can’t fix other people’s problems. And anyway, you have enough of your own.”

  “This isn’t just anyone! This is our brother.”

  Johnny put his hands on his hips and lowered his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, shaking his head. He took several long breaths before looking up again. “You never learn.”

  A part of me knew Davis hadn’t called because he wanted to know if I could get the place cleaned up, or because in two days’ time, they’d be back here in Jester Falls. He couldn’t have meant that. If there’s one thing Mama taught us, it was the meaning of clean.

  After I relayed the conversation to Johnny, I was annoyed that he didn’t provide the answers I was hoping for. Instead, he took personal offense to it. I guess I should have known. Johnny takes offense to everything.

  Chapter Four

  Ruth

  “What kind of monster would do something like this?” Johnny asks as he paces back and forth. He looks so much like Daddy—he always has. But even more so standing here tonight. Maybe it’s the concern etched on his face. Maybe it’s the volunteer fire department T-shirt, or the way he carries himself, with his hands on his hips, his shoulders slightly slouched. He’s a mountain of a man. He towers over me. He towers over most people.

  “No, seriously,” he says, repeating himself. “What kind of fucking monster would do this?”

  “The kind that gets handled,” Cole says. We’re all just standing there, among the crowd which has gathered and is growing in size, watching Roy and the female officer and the paramedics do their jobs. It feels like nothing is happening and everything is happening, which can often sum up life in this town.

  “Not now,” I say to Cole, looking over at Ashley and back at him. “This isn’t the time.”

  Cole’s gaze flits from Ashley to me and then to Johnny. His eyes ask the question that’s on everyone’s mind. Everyone but mine. And hers. What is it about men, always being the last to know
? Cole is asking in his way who she is and if she’s with Johnny, although I can tell he assumes. I can also tell Johnny is wondering the exact same thing. He has no idea who she is. But he wants to.

  Cole leans toward Ashley and extends his hand. I watch as she takes it, expecting to feel nothing, and I almost succeed.

  “I’m Ashley,” she smiles. “Ashley Parker.” I roll my eyes because finally Cole has met someone who is as well-mannered as he is.

  Cole is Johnny’s best friend. Has been since they were toddlers. Why is anyone’s guess. The two of them couldn’t be any more different. That, and, Johnny never has been very good at keeping friends. Davis likes to say that if it weren’t for me, Cole would’ve been long gone by now. Knowing him, though, that’s not true. There are good dogs less loyal than Cole Wheeler.

  Johnny looks at me. My brows raise. He nods a hello at Ashley. It’s clear what he thinks of our little brother’s latest love interest. She might as well be a ghost.

  “When did you guys get in?” I say to Ashley. Partly because I’m curious, partly because I hadn’t expected to meet like this.

  “Just a few hours ago.”

  We all watch as they load the girl onto the stretcher. They’ve barely closed the ambulance doors when her parents pull up and the crowd parts to give them room to move through. Cole watches me closely. I pretend not to notice.

  “Where’s Davis?” Johnny asks. He’s looking at Ashley as he says it, but he’s speaking to all of us.

  “He’s driving the Thompsons’ float,” Cole says.

  “He had to run back to the house,” I say at the same time.

  “He said there was something he had to handle,” Ashley says. The words spill out in the way that makes it obvious she wishes she could take them back.

  “Well, which is it?” Johnny demands.

  We all stand there, surrounded by flashing lights, shrugging in unison.