How to Date Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 1) Page 5

  I hear the thud of my own skull landing on a large rock. Red flashing lights from the wailing emergency vehicles blind me before everything goes black.

  I wake up in a hospital bed with blurry vision and a throbbing headache. Someone must have taken out my contacts. I turn toward the bright sunlight shining through the window, but the motion causes a nauseating pain in my head. I cautiously feel at the back of my skull and flinch when I hit a huge tender goose egg from where I fell on the rocks. The hair around it is sticky and matted with blood.

  A male voice booms. “Emma Roberts, how are you feeling?”

  I cringe at the startling loud noise and then attempt to focus on an African American man lounging in a chair far across the room.

  He stands up, strides toward me, then settles into a nearby chair. “I’m Officer Charlie Walker, the UW-Eau Claire campus security police liaison. When you feel up to it, I have some questions for you.”

  I say nothing in return. In the pause that follows, I hear my heart racing on the monitor.

  The policeman clears his throat. “I tried to contact your parents, but can’t seem to reach them.”

  I stare at his blurry brown cowboy boots and blue jeans, and wish I had my glasses on. His moustache makes him look thirty-something, but he could be younger than that.

  “They’re in Europe.” My words sound unfamiliar and weak.

  “Do you know exactly where they are?” The officer takes out a small notepad and pen.

  “Southern France.” My voice croaks like a rusty can. “They rented a villa for two months―that’s all I know. They’re retired.”

  “How can I get in touch with them?”

  I stare at the IV catheter in my right hand and whisper. “Have they found Mike yet?”

  “No. There are search and rescue teams canvassing the area right now. It’s possible he got out of the river on his own somewhere downstream.”

  I know the cop is wrong. I knew there is no hope, but I nod anyway. I just keep nodding until the tears splash down.

  Officer Walker hands me a box of tissues. “Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

  I tell him about the socks, the gyros, and swimming. I don’t lift my head until the end, which sends another debilitating wave of nausea through me. “When I finally reached the other side, Mike disappeared. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t cry for help. He was just gone.”

  “I see.” He nods, still busy writing.

  “It’s all my fault.” I reach for the last tissue in the box.

  He glances up. “Why do you say that?”

  “I was taking care of him. I’m the responsible one. I don’t even like to drink. I’m the one who babysits all the drunks who get dumped off in the dorm when their friends don’t want to deal with them anymore. They leave them with me and head off to some other party. Everyone expects me to do it because I’m always in my room studying.”

  Officer Walker points his pen at me. “You were at a party last night.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t drinking.” Why do I always sound like such a weenie when I say that?

  “I know. They checked your blood alcohol level. You were completely sober. So why did you try to swim that river? It’s dangerous. Last year a senior drowned in it just before graduation.”

  “I heard about that, but I still couldn’t talk Mike out of it. And I couldn’t just stand there watching him from the shore. I would have been scared to death the whole time.” I silently pray that somehow Mike did get out and is on somebody’s sofa sleeping off his hangover.

  Even if it is some other girl’s sofa.

  Even if it is her bed.

  Then this whole nightmare will be over.

  Before he leaves, Officer Walker has me point out on an aerial photo the exact spot where we entered and I exited the river.

  “Yep. That’s where we found your shoes.” He puts the photo away. “I’ll be in touch. You take care now.”

  After the policeman exits my hospital room, I hear him ask the nurses in the hall to keep a close eye on me. Now that I’m awake, their constant fluttering in and out of my room irritates me.

  “When can I get out of here?” I ask every nurse who comes in to check my vitals.

  The nurses give noncommittal answers. Eventually an employee from Residential Services comes to escort me back to my empty dorm room with a bottle of pain meds for my throbbing head.

  I sit there on my bed, waiting for my roommate, but Chrissy never comes home.

  Nobody looks at me when I wander down the hall to the bathroom. While I sit in one of the stalls, two other girls come in to brush their teeth.

  “They’re dragging the river today looking for that poor guy. The search and rescue teams have been running their dogs up and down the riverbank, but they haven’t found anything yet.”

  “Are they sure he drowned?” the second girl asks.

  “Definitely.”

  They leave in a hurry as I start heaving into the toilet, trying to be as quiet as I can. Afterward, I rinse my mouth out and leave the bathroom. I walk past my room and take the stairs down to the ground floor. Everything’s a blur as I head straight for the side door. Once I get outside, I shy away from the other college students milling around and try to steady my ragged breathing.

  Head down, I blend into the Putnam Woods. I have to see what they’re doing. I creep between the tall trees high above the river until I spot the bright yellow vests of the rescue workers near the water. My feet crunch on fallen leaves as I pace back and forth, trying to get a better view. Small rocks dislodge and fall down toward the Chippewa. For hours, I watch the dogs pace along the riverbank as I curse and question myself.

  Where’s Mike? How can this be happening? I never should’ve let him swim, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  Finally, I retreat to my room, swallow down pain medication for a piercing headache, and curl up on my lower bunk. The meds help me fall asleep, but my dreams are just as bad as the nightmare my real life has become.

  In my dreams, I stand upon the bridge in the middle of a chalk-drawn pentacle, lighting Angie’s candles one by one over the river. After the last wick goes up in flame, I turn to watch the river thrash and boil. The churning waters deposit dead bodies all along the shoreline, every one of them dressed in the same red shirt Mike wore the night of his party.

  Mike is dead.

  He is gone.

  And it’s all my fault.

  When I wake, I notice that Chrissy must have stopped in while I was out searching the woods because some of her things are missing.

  Why doesn’t she call me? I could really use someone to talk to.

  Instead of going to class, I search on my computer for news of Mike. A blonde news reporter in a short skirt explains that it usually takes three or more days for a drowned body to float to the surface in a river. Then the helicopter search will begin. Her words chill me as I leave my room for breakfast.

  News about Mike travels fast. I hear whispers behind me as I head for the cafeteria. Everywhere I go I meet questioning eyes, some curious and others hostile. In the hallway, the dorm director approaches me. Even though it’s my second year living here, I still don’t know her name.

  “Emma, I just wanted to make sure you’d gotten a hold of your folks,” she says. “I’m sure they’d want to be here for you.”

  “They’re busy.” I try to give her a reassuring smile. “But thanks for your concern. I’m okay.” Skipping breakfast, I flee back to the relative safety of my room. My stomach hurts too much to eat anyway. I flop down on my bed and think about my parents.

  My father is twenty-five years older than my mother. She isn’t his fourth wife or anything. He simply had been too busy amassing his fortune to get married. After his store became a national chain, he took the company public so he could spend all his money and time with his beautiful young wife.

  First they had me, but I didn’t turn out as planned.

  I was supposed to be f
antastic at everything, but I only excel at academics.

  I suck at sports.

  I’ve never been popular.

  I’m not tall and blonde like my mother.

  I had the best private schooling, the most expensive piano and voice lessons in town, and all brand-name clothing my mom handpicked for me. By the time I reached high school, Mom finally let me choose my own clothes, which nobody liked except me.

  When my parents visited during my freshman year of college, they’d adored Chrissy. She was the type of daughter they were meant to have. On the rare occasion they call me, they always ask how she’s doing before they ask about me.

  Although my parents would have been happy to have her visit, I never brought Chrissy home. She would have loved to see it, but I’m embarrassed by its lavishness. Chrissy’s house is average sized and filled with typical American furnishings. Mine’s a monstrosity filled with white carpets, white leather furniture, a black granite wet bar, and a crystal blue swimming pool out back.

  Our dorm room would fit inside my private bathroom.

  My parents now live a lifestyle of semipermanent vacations. I only see them on holidays. I really don’t want them to know about Mike. They’re already disgruntled with my decision to attend the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire―a public school. They had their short list of prestigious private schools, and I disappointed them by only applying here.

  In high school, our state music contest was held on this campus. I’d fallen in love with the trees, as well as the river running directly through the college grounds. I thought this was a place I could feel at home, but I was wrong. My Nerd Herd friends all attend the private schools their parents chose for them and haven’t kept in touch.

  So far, I haven’t found anyone here at college to replace them. Without a friend to tag along after, it’s too intimidating to join any campus clubs or extracurricular activities. The other girls on our dorm floor all have their own friends, and Chrissy is right―this is a “suitcase college”. On the weekend, when I actually have some free time on my hands, most everyone on our dorm floor is gone. And during the week, I spend most of my time either studying or working at my tutoring job.

  Chrissy is the only friend I’ve made that I halfway trust, but she hasn’t even spoken to me since Mike disappeared. I fiddle with my cell phone, then place a call. Chrissy’s number goes right to voice mail. I don’t leave a message. Where is she? Is she with Kevin? Why doesn’t she at least call me?

  I’m afraid to leave my room, scared to meet everyone else’s eyes. A few well-meaning girls from my floor visit me. After sitting together in awkward silence for a while, they leave.

  Finally, I escape again to the campus woods and watch the dive team search the river for Mike’s body. Filled with self-accusations, I wander among the trees.

  Why didn’t I do more to stop him?

  How am I going to face everybody?

  Why didn’t I make him go home?

  An unsettling thought occurs to me. Is Mike’s family waiting for me to offer my sympathies, or should I stay away from them? Just what is a person supposed to do in a situation like this?

  Hours later, I return to my dorm, down more pain pills, and have more horrifying nightmares.

  Late the following morning, Officer Walker knocks on my door wearing jeans and a blue dress shirt.

  “Please, tell me what’s going on,” I beg, not caring I’m still in my pajamas.

  “Emma, I think you should sit down.”

  “I don’t want to. Just tell me.”

  Officer Walker pauses. “Earlier this morning, the helicopter squad spotted Mike several miles downstream. His body has been taken to the medical examiner for an autopsy.”

  I sit down.

  “You might have to report to a hearing,” he says.

  I start hyperventilating.

  Officer Walker scans my room and hands me a water bottle, probably because he can’t find a brown paper bag.

  I gulp in tears and air. “I haven’t…talked to his family. I haven’t…seen Chrissy. I’m not…going to class. I’m scared…what people…will say to me.”

  Officer Walker pats my back. “Things will get better.”

  It doesn’t look like he’s lying, but I’m certain he is.

  The funeral is held at a Catholic church near campus. I get there early in the morning and find a hiding spot up in the choir loft behind some dusty red curtains. I wait, watching the mourners file into the sanctuary.

  Kevin and Chrissy escort a woman who must be Mike’s mother up to the closed coffin. Mrs. Carlson places a framed photo and a few mementos upon the lid.

  Kevin helps her into a pew. She kneels to pray for what seems like an eternity.

  I wish I’d drowned instead of, or at least along with, Mike. His mother has been through so much already. Now one more thing has been taken away from her. I can barely breathe as I watch her shuddering frame far below.

  The service is packed with college students. The heart-wrenching homily makes me consider jumping out of my hiding spot and begging to be stoned for my crime. I don’t want to stay, but am afraid I’ll be spotted leaving, so I continue to hide.

  When the service ends, Kevin and his mother exit the church. Then I hear the terrible sound of their footsteps climbing up to the choir loft. I sink back into the curtain, frozen in horror as Mike’s family approaches.

  At first they don’t see me.

  “I can’t talk to all those people! Don’t make me!” Mrs. Carlson’s trembling hands grip one of the chairs. “Stay here with me,” she begs her eldest, and now only, son.

  “At least one of us has to be down there, or they’ll come looking. I’ll send Chrissy up to sit with you.” Kevin heads back toward the staircase just as Chrissy comes up.

  “Kevin, is there anything I can do to help?” Chrissy’s steps pause as she spots me only half-hidden within the curtains.

  Kevin turns and finds me. His jaw clenches.

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I whimper.

  Mike’s mother strides toward me.

  I wish I could be anywhere else, and anyone else, but me here right at this moment.

  “Come out from there!” she orders.

  I swallow, then step toward her slender, well-dressed form.

  “Is this the girl?” she asks.

  Kevin nods.

  “What are you doing here?” Her hands grip my upper arms.

  I almost welcome the pain.

  “All week, not one word from you, and you dare to show up here and hide like a child? Why are you still alive? Why didn’t you save him? Why did you only save yourself?”

  I’m crying so hard I can’t answer.

  Kevin drags me out of the choir loft and down the hall of the connected grade school. His ragged breathing echoes through the empty hallway. We rush wordlessly down the stairs until we burst outside onto an empty playground.

  “Why did you come here? Hasn’t my mother been through enough?” Kevin’s eyes are red, but his face remains quite pale.

  I want to tell him how sorry I am, how much I blame myself, but I choke on my tears.

  “This is your fault,” Kevin snaps. “You never should have let him swim in that damn river.”

  The thought occurs to me that Mike wanted to swim the Chippewa to impress Kevin, but I only repeat, “I’m sorry.”

  “Just stay away from me, and what’s left of my family!”

  I gape at him.

  “Go!” He shoves me. “Just go!”

  I turn away and run. I never want to stop.

  evin’s words leave me gasping as if the wind has been knocked out of me. He’s right. I didn’t try hard enough to stop Mike from swimming. Despite my fear that night, part of me wanted to swim to the other side. I want to be the type of person who does interesting things.

  Two blocks from the church, in a nice family neighborhood, I spot a police car trailing me. I stop, and it slowly pulls up alongside. As the window rolls down, I r
ecognize Officer Walker.

  “How did you know where to find me?” I ask.

  “I was at the funeral.” He nods in the direction of the church.

  “You were?” He’s everywhere.

  “I overheard what happened in the choir loft.”

  I cringe. “You did?”

  “Yes… I think everyone there heard it.”

  How mortifying.

  “I’ll drive you back to the dorms if you want.”

  “Okay.” I climb in the car, ready to accept any sort of refuge.

  We ride on in silence. He fiddles with his radio.

  “Officer Walker, can I ask you a question?” My hands tremble.

  “Sure.”

  “Is Mike’s family going to press charges against me?”

  He pauses before answering. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Kevin said Mike’s death is my fault,” I choke out the words, struggling to hold back tears. “And it seems like everybody sues everybody these days.”

  He pauses again. “Emma, the worst you could be accused of is something called ‘constructive involuntary manslaughter’.”

  “What does that mean?” Oh no. I’m going to start hyperventilating again.

  “Now calm down and listen.” Officer Walker hands me a tissue. “If you were brought to trial, Kevin and his friends might also be considered accessories, since it was their activities which led to Mike’s extremely elevated blood alcohol level. Therefore, I think it’s highly unlikely Mrs. Carlson will actually press charges against you.”

  After five minutes of heavy silence, we arrive back at the dorm. “Emma, I really do understand what you’re going through.” He sounds like my old high school counselor talking about bullying and peer pressure.

  “No offense, but how could you possibly understand?”

  “Perhaps you’re not the only one who’s gone through something like this.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  In his eyes I glimpse a flash of pain. He clears his throat, and I lean closer.

  Just then, a flurry of loud beeps from behind us interrupts the conversation.

  “Looks like I better get out of the loading zone.” His gaze flickers to the road. “I’m blocking traffic.”