Hushed (23 page)

???

Archer watched his ten-year-old self squalling on the beach. Vivian threw her arms around his waist, tackling him into the water. Marissa sat next to him in the sand in her favorite red dress. Beautiful and out of place.

The same dream he had a hundred times before, but this was different.

“You’ve been asleep for awhile,” she said.

“This is how it’s supposed to be.” Archer pressed a hand to his stomach. Completely whole. “It should’ve happened a long time ago.”

“If it were meant to happen, it would have.” Marissa took his hand and turned it over, tracing a line across his palm. “What do you want more than anything, Archer?”

He closed his eyes. What he
wanted…
He wanted to wake up. For all of this to be a dream. Lay near the ocean. Watch Evan swim. Listen to Roxy and Vivian screeching and laughing about some new movie because such-and-such actor was
so cute
. Eat his mother’s cooking. Play stupid board games with the Bishops.

He wanted to watch dolphins with Evan. To touch his face, kiss his mouth.

When he opened his eyes again, the beach was empty save for him and Marissa. The tide swept in, silent, nearly halfway up his calves.

Finally: “I’d like to live.”

Marissa smiled.

“Good. You haven’t done that in awhile.”

???

When he woke, the dark-haired woman next to his bed had on purple scrubs, decorated with little rainbows and clouds. He tried to focus on the pattern to make his vision clear. She noticed him and smiled, removing her pen from the top of her clipboard.

“Good morning, Archer. How are you feeling?”

Tired. Groggy. His body felt so heavy. His left arm and hand throbbed from the IV. How long had he been in there? A day? A week? When he tried to sit up, his limbs ignored him. The nurse pressed a button on the side of his bed, raising the head of it to prop him up. “Better?”

He nodded. The room around him… So bright, clean. Made his eyes hurt. “Where…?”

“You’re at Mercy General,” she said.

That wasn’t what he wanted to know.
Where is—

“You’re one lucky boy, though, you know that?” She drew part of the blanket aside, long enough to check the dressing on his injury. He looked down, equal parts fascinated and horrified at the idea of doctors digging around to remove the bullet. They must have, anyway. How else would he have survived it? “Didn’t hit anything vital,” the nurse continued. “Just a lot of muscle. Give it a couple weeks and you should be good as new.” She lowered the blanket, scribbled something down on his notes.

Archer swallowed hard, trying to wet his dry throat. “Thank you. Has anyone…” Been waiting? Wanting to see him? Evan, his mother, anyone?

The smile slipped from her face. “Well, the police have been waiting to talk to you.”

He closed his eyes again, waiting for the panic to settle in, but he was too tired. Yes. They would know everything now, wouldn’t they? The police would have shown up, would have found his gun—Mick’s murder weapon. They would have found his list. In a way, maybe he was relieved. It was all over, no matter what. He wouldn’t have to kill again. No more lies.

The nurse fussed over him a few minutes longer before slipping out of the room and leaving him alone. He drifted along the fine line between sleep and awake, trying to think of what to say when the police came in.

An hour later—or maybe it was two or three, he lost count—someone stepped into the room, just out of sight. He swallowed hard, turning his head to look, expecting to see someone in uniform ready to drill him for answers.

“Are you awake?”

—Evan.

He shut the door behind him, leaving them in relative darkness, and stepped around the half-closed curtain surrounding Archer’s bed. Nothing the nurses were feeding him through a tube could’ve relaxed him like the sound of that voice.

Evan touched his face, brushed his hair back, kissed his forehead. “You’re okay,” he murmured, reassuring Archer. Perhaps reassuring himself. Archer noticed the slight tremor in his hands. “I’ve been so worried…”

Archer brushed his fingers against Evan’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Evan pulled back, sinking down into a chair and taking up Archer’s hand in his own. Tracing a finger over Archer’s knuckles. “The detective is here to talk to you.”

Funny. With Evan here, the prospect of going to jail seemed a lot more frightening. His fingers curled around Evan’s hand as tightly as he could manage. “We aren’t telling them you lied. I don’t want you in trouble.”

Evan studied their hands, their interlocked fingers as though completing the meaning of them before looking him in the eye again. “What about the rest of it?”

His throat hurt something fierce. “The truth. All of it.” Lies wouldn’t save him, and he couldn’t risk Evan getting in trouble.

Before Evan could reply, someone rapped on the door, not waiting for an answer before coming in. Detective Stevens tugged the curtain aside, letting light from the hallway spill across the bed. Archer squinted. “Look at you. Still in the land of the living.”

“A miracle.”

Stevens pulled up another chair near the foot of the bed and took a seat. His dark eyes flicked from Evan to Archer and back again. “Well, Archer. I’m guessing you already know why I’m here.”

Evan squeezed his hand tight. Archer was grateful for whatever pain meds the doctors were giving him, because he had a feeling it was the only thing keeping him calm. He was able to respond and keep his voice completely level. “Yes. I think I know.”

“We found this.” From his pocket, the detective pulled a plastic bag with a piece of paper inside. Archer didn’t have to look twice to know exactly what it was. His list. It took everything he had to accept it when it was offered and stare down at it. The biggest piece of damning evidence against him.

“What is this?” Evan asked softly. As though he didn’t know.

Stevens leaned back in his seat. “We found it on Vivian Hilton. It’s typed, but Mickey Dumont’s name is written in. The writing matches Vivian’s.”

At that moment, too many thoughts flew through his drug-addled brain at once. The list was on Vivian? That wasn’t right. It had been tucked away in the notebook, where he always left it. Sure, it was possible she’d grabbed it before he came home, but…why?

“We did some research.” Stevens inclined his chin. “The first guy on her list there…he died of a freak accident a few years ago. In her house. She was the only one home.”

Archer continued to stare at the list, unsure what he was hearing.
That’s right. Marissa sent me home before the police even showed up that day.
He almost forgot to breathe.

“Her mother had a complaint filed against all the guys on this list, stating Vivian had been molested. Nothing ever came of it due to lack of evidence. Her word against all of theirs.” A shrug. “Looks like she decided to take matters into her own hands.”

This was the part where he was supposed to speak up. Where he said it was all his fault, and Vivian had been—almost—blameless. He opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. Evan’s grip on his hand was tight to the point of being painful, as though willing him to keep quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “I just…”

Stevens waved him off. “We have Evan’s statement. I can come back in the morning to take yours when you’re a little more coherent.”

He excused himself. None of this made sense. Archer waited a few minutes to ensure they were really alone before sitting up straight, gaze snapping to Evan. “The list…”

Evan refused to meet his eyes. “Like he said. They found it on Vivian.”

Archer thought he was going to be sick. How far had Evan been willing to go to keep him from getting into trouble? “They…”

“They also have our phone records. Copies of the texts she sent.” His eyes flicked to Archer but averted again quickly. “Told you it was smart not to reply to anything she sent.”

Archer’s mind reeled from the possibilities. Evan had lied for him, but would he go as far as setting Vivian up? Archer tried to picture it—Evan stumbling out of bed, still drugged and out of it, trying to call for help while planting the list on Vivian.

“Evan…”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly. Finally, he met Archer’s gaze, mouth drawn thin. “I’ll tell them the truth in a heartbeat if you won’t buckle down and get help. I don’t care if they charge me for lying to the police.”

There was nothing in his voice to suggest he wasn’t serious. It meant therapy and shrinks and telling them things he had never told anyone and he…

“Anything you want.”

…didn’t agree because he was afraid of going to jail. What did that matter? He agreed because this was
his
mess. His mess that he had drawn Evan into. Had ruined him for life with the weight of their shared secrets.

Evan’s entire composure relaxed. He brought a hand up, smoothing Archer’s hair back. “Thank you. That’s all I ask for.”

That simple touch was all it took to confirm he was making the right choice. What were secrets if he could keep Evan safe from the mistakes
he
had made? And speaking of which, he didn’t want to ask. He already knew, of course, but—“Vivian…?”

The smile slipped from Evan’s mouth.

No, no, never mind. I don’t want to hear it.

Evan touched a hand to his jaw. “Archer, she…was gone before the paramedics got there.”

Hearing it made it real.

And as Evan gently brushed away the tears on his face, all he felt was relief.

Saturday, December 6
^th

It hurt like hell to walk. He’d gone through all the fuss of waving off Evan and nurses while getting out of the hospital and into the car, only to end up grasping Evan’s arm to keep his legs from buckling.

“
You really should stay another few days,”
the nurse cautioned, but since he was healing and there was no sign of infection, they’d reluctantly been willing to discharge him.

Now, though…he sort of wished he’d stayed.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—go home. Didn’t think he could ever step foot in that apartment again. Everything would’ve been cleaned up, but he could still picture it. The blood engrained into the walls, the carpet, the air… No matter how clean they got it, he would always be able to see where Vivian had died.

“You’ll stay with me,”
Evan insisted, and Archer wasn’t about to argue. They planned to head to his parents’ house. Mr. and Mrs. Bishop said they were more than happy to have them stay awhile. Mrs. Bishop was a nurse; she could help keep an eye on Archer while he recovered.

First things first, though. Before they left town, he had one place he wanted to go.

The entire drive, Evan kept tight hold of his hand. Occasionally asking if he was okay, if he was in pain. By the third time he’d asked within the hour, Archer sighed in exasperation. “
Evan.
”

“Sorry.” Evan pursed his lips, frowning. “Just…you know. You seem distracted. Like something’s bothering you. Maybe that’s kind of a
duh
thing, but…”

Archer kept his gazed fixed on the rolling scenery and the setting sun outside his window. “Distracted,” he murmured. Trying to find the strength to be honest. No more lies, he had promised, and he fully intended on keeping that promise. “Thinking…”

“About?”

“Vivian.”

Silence.

Archer clarified, “Vivian told me Mom was right in thinking I’m a monster. I want—
need
—Mom to see that I’m not.”

Evan’s fingers squeezed his hand tight. He said nothing, and Archer preferred it that way.

Despite being dark out, the porch light of his mother’s house was off when they pulled up an hour later. Archer struggled with the overflowing mail in the mailbox, trying to balance on his crutches at the same time. Evan finally took the cluster of envelopes and ads out of his hands, unlocked the door for him, and let him hobble inside on his own. Taking the porch steps had already left him a little dizzy.

It was chilly inside. Evan was at his back, easing the door shut, looking around the entryway and peering into the living room to their left. It was the first time he’d seen Archer’s house. It would probably be the last.

Archer lingered there, fighting off nausea that was part nerves, part pain medication wearing off. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since the last time Evan had brought him here weeks ago. Wasn’t that enough of a sign nothing had changed between them? She didn’t care. She probably hated him more than ever after what he’d told her.

And yet every day in the hospital, he’d watched as Evan tried to call her to tell her what had happened. She never answered any of his messages.

Now the house was cold and uninviting. No warmer than the miserable thirty-five degrees outside. He limped down the entryway, poking his head into the kitchen—lights on—and yet everything was silent. No dishwasher, no washing machine, no television.

“Mom?”

Evan placed a hand to the small of his back, voice soft. “Maybe she’s out?”

“Maybe,” he agreed. They made their way to the back of the house where Archer pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms, ushering Evan inside.

“This is—
was—
mine.” Now his old room was mostly empty, save for his bed and a desk. He’d cleared out all his personal belongings when moving out for college, trying to do his mother a favor by leaving nothing behind.

For some reason, though, it struck him that the bed hadn’t been moved. Nothing in there had been. The bedding was still made
his
way. The rolling office chair sat at the exact angle he used to sit in and stare out the window. Mom was always complaining about the lack of storage she had in the house. Here, she had an entire room at her disposal…and seemingly hadn’t touched it.

Evan had wandered over to the window, hands in his pockets, peering outside. He looked out of place. Archer felt wrong being here. Or maybe it was a general feeling of
wrongness
about everything in the house. Something he couldn’t place. Evan looked over his shoulder, frowning.

“Archer? What is it?”

His stomach flip-flopped a little. He turned, slipped back into the hall.

“Mom!”

Silence. Never-ending silence.

The farther he moved down the hall to her bedroom, the thicker the air got. Beneath the cold, there was an undercurrent of something he recognized, something he shoved to the back of his head. He knocked on her door and, when she didn’t answer, pushed it open.

The television was on, muted, casting eerie shadows across the dark room. Something about it reminded him of Mickey’s apartment the night he died. The lack of light, the chill in the air, the putrid scent that hit him as soon as he opened the door and the way his heart wouldn’t get out of his throat.

The mail piling up. The porch light.

Something was wrong. Something was…

He stopped. Stared down at darkened blotches of carpet that surrounded and led away from his mother’s rotting body, face-down on the floor.

Evan grabbed him around the waist as he tried to move forward. Dragging him back, trying to pull him out of the room.

“I proved it. I proved it, you’ll see for yourself,
” Vivian had said.
“I took care of you like you always took care of me.”

She’d told him, and he hadn’t listened.

He broke the silence, screaming.