Blood on My Hands

ahead, Bravo five-seventeen.”
    Third male voice: “I’ve checked around the railroad station. Nothing here.”
    Female voice: “Ten-four, Bravo five-seventeen. Chief wants you to go over to the middle school. Look around the back.”
    Third male voice: “Ten-four.”
    The bravos are patrol cars. Maple Hill is my street. I assume Bravo 511 has been assigned to watch my house. Bravo 513 is patrolling the main street through town, the Post Road. Bravo 517 is now going to look for me behind the middle school.
    None of them is anywhere near the EMS building, so that’s good news for now. A yawn reaches up through me. I cover my mouth with my hand and, despite everything that’s happened tonight, I’m tired enough to sleep.
    Slade and his dad loved to fish and kept a boat in the harbor. Slade took me fishing a few times, but I didn’t like handling the smelly chunks of bait or the slimy fish we caught. And I especially disliked the way the fish frantically flopped and squirmed before dying in a bucket.
    My birthday is June 27, and the day before I turned sixteen, Slade called and told me he’d pick me up the next night and take me out to celebrate. So the next evening I put on makeup and a dress and waited. Slade showed up right on time … wearing old sneakers, stained jeans, and a threadbare shirt with a tear in one elbow.
    “Should I change clothes?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.
    “No, you look great,” Slade said, and ushered me out to the pickup. I couldn’t help noticing that in the back were fishing poles and a cooler.
    “Where are we going?” I asked once I was in the pickup.
    “Fishing,” he answered.
    We’d been dating for two years by then and I knew he was capable of playing practical jokes, so I went along with it. But when he drove to the dock and asked me to carry the poles down to the boat, I really began to wonder.
    Soon we were motoring into the Sound, with the orange sun in the western sky, maybe an hour from setting. At one point Slade slowed the boat down and asked me to take the wheel, and I thought maybe then he’d do something to reveal the joke. But all he did was put two lines out to troll, and open two beers. Handing one to me, he said, “Happy birthday!” and took a big gulp.
    “Are you serious?” I asked.
    “Hell, yeah. It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” he said.
    “So … you decided to take me fishing?”
    Slade’s face fell. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful out here?”
    The water was calm and blue, and the air fresh and clear, so I said yes, it was beautiful.
    “Well, I just figured maybe it was time to try fishing again,” he said.
    Some girls would have gotten angry, but I just felt confused. After two years, this was how he thought I wanted to spend my birthday? But it was a beautiful evening and we were out on the water, so I decided to make the best of it.
    We traveled west for about forty-five minutes and then Slade looked at the gas gauge and said he needed to stop for fuel at a nearby marina. We pulled into a slip and started fueling and Slade went into the boat’s cabin. By then the sun was close to setting and I sat in the boat, wondering how long he planned to fish.
    When Slade came out of the cabin, he was wearing a jacket and tie and slacks. He offered me his arm. “Ready?”
    “For what?” I asked, astonished.
    “Your birthday.” He pointed down the dock to a restaurant at the water’s edge.
    We had the best time, watching the sun go down and eating lobster. Slade had called ahead and arranged for a cake, and after dinner the waiters crowded around and sang “Happy Birthday.” Knowing that blue was my favorite color, Slade gave me a sapphire ring.
    Later we cruised home under the stars. Slade had one hand on the boat’s wheel and his arm around me. It had gotten cooler and he’d draped his jacket over my shoulders. I was beyond happy. For the first time, I thought I knew what true love was.

Chapter 13
    Sunday 7:36 A.M.
    IN MY DREAM they are chasing me through the beer-kegger woods. Dakota, Mia, and the other kids, the police, the EMS squad, even Ms. Bernard, my French teacher from the fourth grade, who used to get angry when I chewed on the ends of my pens …
    The sound of knocking wakes me. My heart banging like a drum circle, I sit up straight and look around. It takes me a second to remember where I am. My eyes go to the window and meet Slade’s. He’s peeking in.
    Now it comes back—why I am sleeping